#and both of these options are phenomenal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petitemistletoe · 11 months

Text

S.O.S. She's In Disguise

Part Two to She-Wolf

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin, Potter!Reader

Warnings: smut and angst!

Word Count: 4.8K+

A/N: I had to do a deep dive into Beauxbatons and all I can say is I wish we got more Beauxabatons and Durmstrang content because they're both phenomenally interesting. Also the James Potter in She-wolf absolutely eats up the James Potter in Grudges! There were a few of you who asked to be tagged that you could not be :( so sorry! If I left you off the taglist please let me know :)

“What do we do?” Peter asked, wringing his hands.

“You two get Remus back to the shack. I’ll try to carry her to the hospital wing.” James put on his authoritative voice but everyone could tell he was incredibly rattled.

“Do you want one of us to help you?” Sirius asked but James shook his head, picking you up gently and hoisting you over his shoulder.

“No, no. Take the cloak and go. Madame Pomfrey should be down here any minute you have to go now.” James was not able to hide the quiver in his voice.

“Okay. We’ll see you soon.” Peter nodded at James before helping Sirius support Remus back to the shrieking shack.

You woke up as James was setting you down on a bed in the hospital wing.

“Don’t try to talk, it’s alright,” James said when he saw your eyes widen, “Madame Pomfrey will be back in a few minutes. I filled her in on everything but you need your rest.”

“You know?” You croaked, accepting the water from James and soothing your scratchy throat.

“That you’re a werewolf? Yes, I worked that out what you stumbled out of the woods.” James pursed his lips and you could tell that he was trying to hard to keep his voice level.

“I imagine you have some questions, then.” You said, trying to keep your own voice steady as well.

“Yes. But you can rest first if you’d like.”

“No, no. We can talk now.” You sat up straight in the hospital bed and smoothed out the blanket that was laid out in front of you.

“When exactly did you become a werewolf?” He asked. His nails were digging into the palms of his hands.

“Last year. Beauxbatons has a requirement for outdoor education for all wizards and witches and I’d chosen the option of solo fitness survival. I failed the first round of solo fitness survival so I apparated to a random forest last summer to practice. I did not pay attention and it was during the full moon and I was attacked by one of Greyback’s pack. I barely survived and when I apparated back home I splinched myself pretty badly. My parents knew they couldn’t take me to a hospital because I would be forced to register myself immediately. My mum called your mum and she was able to stitch me up and then was sworn to secrecy. The medi-witch at Beauxbatons tried to help me as much as she could but she’s never dealt with this kind of thing before. Then your mum mentioned in an owl a few months ago that Madame Pomfrey had some experience in this field so I went down yesterday to try to find more information but there were too many people in the hospital wing so we did not have any privacy. I ran into the woods last night and thought that I’d be able to pull myself into the hospital wing in the morning and get Madame Pomfrey’s help then. I knew that Madame Pomfrey’s experience must have come from a student who was also in hiding but I had no idea it was going to be your friend Remus. I also still don’t understand why you were there?” You took a deep breath as you realized you hadn’t taken one breath the entire time you were speaking.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” James looked deflated as he put his hand on top of yours, “I was there because Sirius, Peter, and I are all animagi. We became unregistered animagi to help Remus during the moons. They make his moons easier, having other animals to run around with and he doesn’t have to be stuck in the shack.”

“Oh James,” you bit your lower lip hard to stop yourself from tearing up, “Remus is so lucky to have friends like you. The moons can be so terribly lonely.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go through this,” James said, finally breaking. He laid his head in your lap and sobbed. You just ran your fingers gently through James’ hair until his sobs were reduced to a few sniffles. The curtains were pulled open and Madame Pomfrey stepped in, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Potter?” She replenished your water and ran her hand soothingly over your forehead.

“Tired.” You said with a small smile.

“Of course you are. Take this sleeping draught. Your parents will be coming by later and meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Will you be staying, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes I will. Is Remus awake?” James asked, standing and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Yes, he is. He’s supposed to rest so make it quick, Mr. Potter.” Madame Pomfrey left after she made you drink the rest of the draught and you drifted off to sleep.

James made his way over to Remus’ bed where he was engaged in rapid conversation with Sirius. He was only able to catch the tail end of what Sirius was saying,

“-That explains why you were so attracted to her. It was the wolf instincts and-”

“James!” Remus cut off Sirius off when James pulled the curtain back.

“Alright Moony?” James asked, taking the seat next to Sirius’.

“Yeah, yeah. How’s your cousin?” Remus asked.

“She’s alright. My aunt and uncle are coming to meet with Dumbledore but neither of us know what it’s specifically about.” James sighed.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asked.

“I just…I don’t get why she didn’t tell me. We tell each other everything.” James shook his head.

“You didn’t tell her about being an animagus.” Remus offered.

“That was different.” James thought about it for a moment before looking back at Sirius and Remus, “You two were talking about attraction and wolf instincts. What the hell is that about?”

“I think it’s probably time for me to go back to bed!” Remus said quickly.

“Alright. I’m going to see if I can catch my aunt and uncle before they see Dumbledore.” James said with a sigh and left Remus and Sirius on their own.

“That was close.” Sirius said once he heard the door to the hospital wing shut behind James.

“Definitely.” Remus nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked.

“Honestly, the best I’ve felt in a long time. The moon was invigorating rather than draining.” Remus sighed again, thinking about the uncomfortable, awkward implications.

“You should talk to her.” Sirius suggested.

“Yeah…maybe I will.” Remus said with a small shake of his head.

✰

When you woke up again, your father was leaning over you, rubbing your forehead gently.

“Hey,” you said softly, blinking the sleep out of your eyes.

“Hello darling, I’ve heard that you’ve had quite a night.” Your father said with a sad smile on his face.

“That’s an understatement.” You said, weakly. You pushed yourself up on your shoulders and saw your mother, your Aunt Effie, your Uncle Fleamont, and James were all sitting around your bedside.

“Have some more water, love,” Aunt Effie poured a goblet for you and held it up to your lips. You drank gratefully, not realizing until the present moment how dehydrated you had been.

“Professor Dumbledore will be coming down in a few moments to talk. I’m not exactly sure what he wants but I’m sure he will help with the situation. James shared with us that you know about Remus. Your parents said you do not want to register with the ministry, is that correct?” Uncle Fleamont pushed his glasses up further up his nose as he explained the situation.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “my life will be ruined if I register. I…I don’t want that.”

“Of course. Then we’ll make that clear to Albus.” Uncle Fleamont said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Thank you,” you croaked, “for all being here. I…I don’t know what I do without all of you.”

“We’re your family.” James said, grabbing your hand and giving it a tight squeeze. You nodded and accepted another large gulp of water as you heard the door to the hospital wing open and the deep, calm voice of Albus Dumbledore say,

“Thank you, Poppy. Just that bed over there?”

“Yes sir,” Madame Pomfrey replied. Your mother stood and pulled the curtain back for Professor Dumbledore to enter.

“Hello Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter. Oh, Euphemia, Fleamont, I was not expecting to see you two as well.” Professor Dumbledore bowed his head respectfully as he entered the room.

“Hello Albus. We thought it best that we come to help with our niece at this time.” Uncle Fleamont said, standing to shake hands with Professor Dumbledore.

“Of course. Ms. Potter I trust that you are recuperating well.” Professor Dumbledore set his bright blue eyes on you. You nodded.

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore. I want to apologize for any alarm I may have caused.” You responded.

“Yes that is something I would like to discuss. I have no problems with the young Ms. Potter finishing her schooling here at Hogwarts where Madame Pomfrey can better care for her. However, Ms. Potter, I am sure you are aware of the ministry’s registry for werewolves.” Dumbledore said. He was speaking perfectly calmly but there was something off-putting about his statement.

“She will not be registering. Just like Remus.” James said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Is that how you feel, Ms. Potter?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes sir.” You nodded.

“I would be remiss if I did not highlight how seriously the ministry takes such affairs. There are severe implications that are in place for witches and wizards who fail to register.” Dumbledore said, placing one of his hands on your bedpost.

“She is quite sure of her decision, Albus.” Uncle Fleamont stood so he was eye-level with Dumbeldore.

“You know as well as I do, Albus, that the registry is discriminatory and the way the ministry has treated magical creatures has been nothing short of barbaric.” Aunt Effie said, placing her hand over yours and giving it a light squeeze.

“I will have Professor McGonagall bring the sorting hat over and then we will set up your schedule and accommodations. I understand, Ms. Potter, that you were Head Girl of your house at Beauxbatons?” Dumbledore diplomatically changed the subject.

“Yes sir, I was. I was also in Ombrelune house at Beauxbatons. I believe the closest house to it would be Gryffindor.” You said, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Ah, Ms. Potter, the houses of Beauxbatons do not directly correspond to the houses of Hogwarts. I will arrange with your future head of house for a prefect position for you as we already have a head boy and girl. If you would be more comfortable, you may stay in James’s dorm this evening, as I understand it has been quite a weekend for you.” Dumbledore left without saying much else. Your parents and aunt and uncle wanted to stay for longer but you sent them off, promising to write and telling them not to worry, the Christmas holiday was just two months away.

Remus, Sirius, and Peter joined you and James as you waited for Professor McGonagall to come back with the sorting hat.

“Here,” Peter said, thrusting a wrapped package into your hand, “it’s a chocolate frog. Moony always says they make him feel better after a moon.”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, munching on his own chocolate frog, “chocolate makes everything better.”

“Thanks Peter,” you said, patting the boy’s hand lightly, “so I take it you forgive me for the broomstick incident.”

“Never! I don’t care if you are a werewolf.” Peter laughed. But the word hung heavy in the air. Werewolf. You looked down at your lap.

“Nice going Wormtail.” Sirius elbowed Peter hard in the stomach.

“Hey! I didn’t mean anything by it.” Peter grabbed at his stomach and glared at Sirius.

“No, you never mean anything. Do you?” Sirius retorted.

“Tell us more about the houses at Beauxbatons.” James interjected, sending a look Peter and Sirius’ way.

“There are three houses: Papillionlise, Ombrelune, and Bellefeuille. Papillionlise is the house of kindness and good nature. Ombrelune, my house, is the house of ambition, curiosity, and logic. Bellefeuille is the house of bravery, sensitivity, and compassion. Everyone wants to be in Ombrelune and we have a little rivalry with the Bellefeuille students.” You explained.

“Ambition and logic?” Remus asked, “That sounds like Slytherin.”

“There’s no way that you’ll be sorted into Slytherin. She’s a Potter. All Potters are Gryffindors.” James said with a sense of finality in his voice.

“There’s nothing wrong with being sorted into Slytherin.” A new voice said. It was Lily, carrying a tray of sandwiches that must have been from dinner.

“Cheers Lily.” You said with a grin, practically shoving an entire sandwich into your mouth.

“What are you doing in the hospital wing?” Lily asked, “Remus, you’re out of bed early. Feeling better already?”

“Uh, yeah, well…you see…” James was searching for an excuse but you just shrugged.

“I’m a werewolf.”

“Oh!” Lily almost dropped the tray.

“You can’t just go telling anyone.” James scolded you.

“Lily isn’t anyone. She knows about Remus and I didn’t want to be a secret between you and your girlfriend, James. Besides, you’ve gone on and on about how smart Lily is, she would have figured it out herself eventually. Lily, I trust you won’t tell anyone?”

“No, no. Of course not. Are you all right?” Lily asked, immediately sitting at your bedside and grabbing a cool soaked rag and placing it on your forehead.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You said with a small smile. You filled Lily in on your new attendance at Hogwarts.

“Like I said before, there’s nothing wrong with being sorted into Slytherin. One of my good friends is a Slytherin and so is Sirius’s entire family!” Lily said, glaring at James.

“That’s not much of an argument.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“I can’t protect her if she’s sorted into Slytherin, Lily.” James narrowed his eyes, “Those Slytherins are bigots and you know it.”

“It’s not very safe for Remus in Gryffindor either. The way werewolves are seen in the eyes of the wizarding world is not only a Slytherin problem.” Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

“Respectfully, Evans, stay out of this.” James said, coolly.

“There are many fine and brave wizards in Slytherin. Don’t listen to James.” Lily told you,

“If this is about Snivellus again, so help me Evans.”

“Fine,” Lily stormed out of the hospital wing.

“So much for coming between you and Lily.” You said sheepishly. James was still seething with anger but he took a deep breath and said,

“I’m going to go for quick walk. Sirius, call me when McGonagall gets here.” James stormed out of the hospital wing as well.

“Is Slytherin really that bad?” You asked Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

“A lot of dark wizards, most of my family included, come from Slytherin.” Sirius said with a sigh.

“That’s all? A lot of dark wizards come from Ombrelune too but so do a lot of amazing wizards. I can’t believe James is being so silly about this.” You shook your head.

“I think he just wants to protect you.” Peter said, obviously uncomfortable at the idea of speaking ill about his best friend, “you’ve always been like a baby sister to him and he already hates that Sirius and Lily have strained relationships with Slytherins. I don’t think he wants anything like that for you two.”

“All that is premature, anyway.” You said with a head shake, “I haven’t been sorted yet.” As if on cue, you all heard the voice of Professor McGonagall in the corridor. Sirius whipped out his pocket mirror, one that you recognized from your family vault, and whispered for James to come back.

“Ms. Potter, I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Minvera McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration, head of Gryffindor house, and deputy headmistresses of Hogwarts. Do you have any questions before you are sorted?”

“No Professor.” You said, taking a deep breath as James made his way back into the hospital room. Professor Dumbledore placed the hat on your head.

“Another Potter,” the sorting hat murmured in your ear, “in all of my years I have only ever sorted Potters into Gryffindor. But you, you are not like the other Potters. You are ambitious. You are curious, always seeking more and more. You have secrets, more than most of your contemporaries. You seem to be the perfect fit for Ombrelune. You know the origin of the name Ombrelune, don’t you?”

“Uh…no I don’t.” You said, fiddling with your fingers.

“Ombre is shadow and lune is moon. You hail from the house of shadow moons. Quite ironic, isn’t it? Considering your currently monthly situation,” the hat chuckled, “alas there is no equivalent to Ombrelune so I will have to say SLYTHERIN!”

There was an eery silence that broke out over the room. Professor McGonagall took the hat back and cleared her throat.

“Congratulations, Ms. Potter, on being sorted into the fine house of Slytherin. Your head of house is Professor Slughorn. I believe tomorrow during breakfast you will be assigned a companion from your house that will show you everything you need. I’ve been told that you’ll spend this evening with your cousin?”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall, that’s correct. She’ll spend the night in my dormitory.” James said quietly.

“Alright then, have a pleasant evening.” And with that Professor McGonagall marched away.

“So the conversation is no longer premature.” You said with a weak chuckle, “I’m a Slytherin.”

“It really isn’t that bad James,” Remus said.

“I can’t protect you in Slytherin.” James said with a sad shake of his head.

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“It’s been a long night. Why don’t we go to bed and revisit things in the morning?” Peter offered. You all nodded and headed back up to the dormitories for bed.

Remus had a restless night. The moon was over but he still felt on edge around you. Of course, things made a lot more sense now but he didn’t want to make an advance for a number of reasons. He didn’t want to burden you, he wasn’t really sure of what he was feeling himself, and he did not want to bring down the wrath of James Potter. It must have been four in the morning when he turned again from his side to his stomach to his other side and then settled on his back.

“Alright Moony,” Sirius’s sleep laced voice cut through Remus’s thoughts, “what the hell is going on?”

“Can’t sleep.” Remus sighed.

“I figured,” Sirius propped himself up and glared at Remus, “considering you’ve woken me up at every toss and turn.”

“Sorry. I’ll go downstairs and have a smoke.” Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius’s forehead before making his way downstairs. He wasn’t expecting to see you leaning at one of the open windowsills, angling your blunt out the window so the pungent smoke made its way outside instead of back in the common room. Remus cleared his throat and you turned at the noise, giving Remus a small smile.

“Hey Remus. What are you doing up?” You asked.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Remus said with a sigh.

“Me either.” You handed Remus to joint, which he took gratefully, “Is it always this hard? This soon after a moon?”

“I usually sleep better after a moon, because I’m so exhausted from it. Having you here, though, it’s been different.” Remus realized that he had smoked half of your joint without thinking. He handed it back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Me too. It’s been easier, having you with me. I guess that was the goal, though, right? Being able to connect with others who could understand my…being a werewolf.”

“Yeah, it can be lonely sometimes. I’m glad to have you here with me.” Remus realized that your eyes had been trained on him the entire time he spoke. You closed the distance between the two of you, crawling into his lap and pressing your lips against his.

Remus was caught off guard at first but then he kissed you back just as hard. It was intense, hungry, teeth clashing against teeth. You kissed down Remus’s neck and bit along the way, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh. Remus winced at the pain from your sharp teeth but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you to stop because he loved the feeling. You pulled his thick jumper off and ran your nails down the front of his chest, tracing his scars. He felt, awkward, ashamed at first, but you took off your own shirt and he saw the pale, magical scars that lined your own chest. He took a moment to kiss down your chest, kissing your breasts and around your nipples. Finally, he took your right nipple into his mouth and bit down harshly. You moaned out in a mix of pain and pleasure and shock but nodded at him to continue.

Remus’s hand went down your pants next, tearing your panties off. He held them up to his nose and sniffed harshly.

“You smell delicious. Good enough to eat.” Remus said, running his tongue over his sharp canines. He pulled your pants all the way off and shoved his face between your legs. You had never been eaten out like this before. Two of his fingers were deep inside you as his tongue made a repeated assault on your clit. His teeth would bump your clit occasionally, sending shockwaves through your system and you had your fingers buried in his hair, yanking the tendrils so tightly that you were near the point of ripping them out. You came on his face, your legs spasming, and you released a howl. That sobered you and Remus right up. You pulled up your pants and chuckled nervously.

“I, uh, I’m going to go back to bed.” You said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good night.” Remus was cursing everything as he watched ascend the stairs and couldn’t help but think about how it might be better that you were going to be sleeping all the way in the dungeons.

The next morning was a bit awkward as you made your way down for breakfast. The place was alive with rumors swirling about the new girl at Hogwarts. You sat down at the Gryffindor table next to James. Lily gave you a warm hello and then sent an icy glare James’s way before sitting down next to Marlene and Mary. You desperately wished you have spent the day with the Gryffindor girls but the boy you saw a few days ago made his way over to your table.

“What do you want, Snivellus?” James glowered at Snape.

“I’m your cousins assigned companion.” Snape returned the glare.

“It just keeps getting better and better, huh.” You said with a small smile. “Alright Severus, I’m all yours.”

Snape barely let you out of his sight for the next month. You were more than adjusted to Hogwarts after the first week but Snape wouldn’t leave you alone, much to James’s chagrin. The marauders joked that Snape must have some twisted crush on you but you weren’t so sure. It felt much more sinister than that. The moon was this evening and you felt like you could crawl out of your skin. It didn’t help being close to Remus. Everything about Remus felt like your nerves were exposed, especially being so close the moon. Tensions were still high between James and Lily, the couple were barely speaking and when they did, it only devolved into a fight.

You were lucky enough to have potions with Gryffindor but the lovely Professor Slughorn had assigned Snape to be your partner. Your spine felt like it was doing somersaults and kept shifting in your chair uncomfortably.

“Are you alright?” Snape whispered in your ear as Slughorn prattled on and on about whatever the day’s lesson was.

“Fine.”

“That time of the month, eh?” Snape asked.

“What?” Your blood ran cold.

“Forget I said anything.” Snape said with a smug grin. Icy sweat ran down the back of your neck. You pushed it out of your mind. Snape didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Right? You were lost in thought as you walked with the boys up to lunch. Snape had made some rude comment to Lily which caused James to jump in front of her and draw his wand.

“You take that back, Snivellus.”

“Or what, Potter?” Snape asked, drawing his own wand.

“I don’t need you to defend me, James.” Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

“Shut up, mudblood.�� Snape spat. You felt yourself surge forward but Remus held you back.

“Don’t. You’re emotional because of the moon,” he whispered in your ear.

“Get away from us, Snivellus. Take your disgusting plague somewhere else.” Sirius looked down his nose at Snape.

“Oh I’m the disgusting one?” Snape laughed, cruelly, “You would know all about unsavory actions, wouldn’t you Black? Lupin?”

“Take that back.” Sirius was very pale.

“Everyone keep moving,” it was that boy, the one who looked like Sirius. You knew by now his name was Regulus and he was indeed Sirius’s brother. Regulus was a prefect for SLytherin and it looked like he would be making head boy next year.

“I don’t answer to you, Reggie.” Sirius said with a hard look on his face.

“Just go. Before I take points from Gryffindor and Slytherin.” Regulus gripped Snape’s arm hard before Snape could fire off another comment. Everyone made their way to lunch in a much more sour mood than before.

The moon descended upon you and Remus that evening and things had been great. But for the second time, you woke from a moon at Hogwarts with an uneasy feeling in your chest. James wasn’t there, which was odd, but Sirius was. Sirius looked down at you and Remus with a nervous smile and said,

“So I messed up.”

Taglist:

@sceleratuspoeta, @hotchnerswife, @8crazy-freak8, @the-marauders-psyche, @spiderman-stilinski, @valencia-rou, @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly, @padf00ts-l0ver, @nevillescomslut, @simpfoegeorge, @willbedecided, @harry-pottah-as-an-otter, @knmendiola, @moonlightwonderlan, @wolfy-kat, @im-a-simps-blog, @mangodamochiii, @justmadethistoreadotherblogs, @princessmiaelicia, @eviethetheatrefreak, @screamqueen1996, @the-slytherin-library-12, @chi1d-0f-the-m00n, @avee09

#sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #wolfstar #wolfstar x reader #James potter #lily evans #Peter pettigrew #marauders #atyd marauders #harry potter

1K notes · View notes

aeor-is-for-reccing · 1 month

Text

MODERN AU: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have modern AU! Check under the cut for a whopping 24 fics that all take place in modern times, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

LOVE & OTHER ENCHANTMENTS by LivThael (2092, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

An imagined review and synopsis of a movie about a Shadowgast modern-setting bookstore AU.

Reccer says: Hilariously awful, I say with great love, and by that I mean it purposefully and artfully swan dives out of the AU tree and hits every trope on the way down. This was written to be as cursed as possible, and Liv really delivers both that and non-stop laughs. This is clearly a love letter to terrible romcoms, cliché fanfic tropes, and the Shadowgast fandom as a whole. A+ satire, PLEASE read this!

like 80/20 on the kinsey scale by jakia (2772, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb bangs his hot TA and panics about it the next day. Beau did not sign up for listening to this.

Reccer says: Caleb -- who's only dated women before -- discovers he LOVES the D.

ask to be unbroken by chaotic_geeky (40038, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes, Unfinished Cliffhanger

Caleb gets a last minute chance to be a photographer at a big runway event. He meets the star model at the afterparty, and things go from there.

Reccer says: The premise is great, the story is excellent, and the characters are enthralling. It does end on an unfinished cliffhanger, but the beginning is so good it's worth it.

Fundamental Forces Other Than Gravity by mllekurtz (TheKnittingJedi) (40676, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

How cold, ruthless and lonely Essek Thelyss (a brilliant student with a secret) accidentally makes some friends and falls in love: a Shadowgast college AU.

Reccer says: This is a fantastic college AU! And the characterization is done so well it's phenomenal.

a smile is more than showing teeth by thought (13642, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

"you are welcome in Zadash should that be an option for you," Caleb had written, "and I would be pleased to set aside a few days to work with you in person." Or How to seduce your academic pen pal through basic kindness, stolen sweaters, and books. Mostly books.

Reccer says: This is the start of an incredible AU with two more after it in the series. I love this version of Essek and Caleb falling in love. SO MUCH.

Paradigm Shift by full_time_dreamer_behold (114291, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb joins a law firm. He meets Essek, the IT manager. Things happen. They fall in love

Reccer says: It's a super sweet slow burn!! Essek and Beau have a really fun dynamic and the budding romance is very satisfying.

(your face in my hands is) everything good i need by mllekurtz (25884, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Academics Caleb and Essek are nerds and fall in love over the course of a conference

Reccer says: I liked it!

like colored indigo inscribed with my name by KmacKatie (kmackatie) (30648, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

An exploration of tradition, culture, what is worth sacrificing in finding yourself and family. Essek learns how to make a new family.

Reccer says: This is an incredible pic with a lot of beautiful world and culture building set into it. Though I love the idea that Essek knits, I am especially fond of the other handcrafts that the Dynasty may do culturally, and this one does such a great job with it. And the interpersonal relationships are absolutely incredible!

we learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts by vegabondfirelily (5777, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Sometimes things don't go as planned. Caleb will always be there for Essek, though, even after a life-changing accident. Non-linear narrative, angst with a better ending

Reccer says: I love this pic, even if it makes me cry every time. It is emotional and brilliant.

the fire kept closest (burns most of all) by Mousecookie (21822, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death

Takes place on a modern Rumblecusp, Essek and Caleb are volcanologists. Absolutely bonkers genre mashup of scifi disaster thriller ghost story romance that somehow works. There is a MCD warning but it is also tagged as Happy Ending and that does come through!

Reccer says: The writing style is like watching a movie and it made me cry both sad and happy tears.

Starting with your heart (bright heart) by 2manyboys (9914, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek and Caleb have been taking showers together, but it's totally platonic, they swear

Reccer says: I liked it!

scene: a shift in tempo by hanap (6790, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek, first soloist of Rosohna Ballet, comes across the mountains in an exchange to be Caleb's new partner.

Reccer says: A beautiful fic! I love the way the AU fits our characters so beautifully, and how it honors ballet while also subverting it just a little. Gorgeous!

A King in Cat's Clothes by royalgreen (1544, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Frumpkin is extremely suspicious of this interloper Essek who keeps visiting Frumpkin's domain (the cat cafe) and sniffing around Frumpkin's human

Reccer says: Frumpkin's POV is utterly hilarious. He is so angry that Essek is sweetly romancing Caleb.

read between the lines (everything is gradual) by SpottedEnchanse (SpottedEnchants) (3047, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

A series in which Caleb owns a cat cafe. It's amazing.

Reccer says: SpottedEnchanse's writing can do literally no wrong ever. It's like flossing for the brain

the golden thread around your neck whispered visions of my undoing by MarsBar2019 (191412, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek is the CEO of an arcane tech company in Roshona where Caleb gets a job as his personal assistant.

Reccer says: A tense slow burn that's sexy as hell, one of my favourite fics.

Sleep, With Benefits by KmacKatie (62272, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb tries out his coworkers' mattress. That's definitely all and not that he has a major crush on Essek.

Reccer says: I liked it!

take chances by 06151126 (3021, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek left Formula One and came back, but his return isn't going well. He hires Caleb to help.

Reccer says: This is the second work in a series, and the whole thing is wonderful! Well written and honest, it's very cool to see how Essek and Caleb come together over the course.

Empire of Lights by mllekurtz (TheKnittingJedi) (17215, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Rosohnans call it the rainy season: a time of humid days, heavy showers, and suffocating heat. Caleb, who feels less and less like a stranger in the city he recently decided to call home, finds it's also a time for revelations.

Reccer says: This is a fantastic, sweet AU of our wizards getting together and I love it.

A mile high by Mousecookie (545, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek (try to) get frisky in an airplane lavatory.

Reccer says: It's cute and funny.

The Kitchen Sink by mousecookie (17126, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek is a supermodel and Caleb is a jack-of-all-trades, and they keep meeting in increasingly unlikely circumstances. WIP with 6/12 chapters.

Reccer says: It's funny and the writing style is almost Pratchett-esque at times

The following fics each received 2 recs each!

Something to Believe in by AwesomeFroggy (108948, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek's mother sends him to Nicodranas as punishment, where unbeknownst to her he already has a friend. Jester thinks he'd really get along with her friend Caleb.

Reccer 1 says: I liked it! Reccer 2 says: This is an amazing incredible story! I love it so very much! The story is complete, though it is marked as one chapter left as no epilogue is out. Don't let that stop you from reading! I love every single second of this story so very much.

I’ve been lost before (and I’m lost again, I guess) by toneofjoy (165k, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Rock climbing AU! Caleb is the new athlete to the gym and Essek takes over his training. Despite the specter of their pasts, feelings blossom.

Reccer 1 says: It's well written, most of the esoteric climbing stuff is explained well, and I really enjoy their characterizations. There's a good balance between the relationship-building and the climbing part. Reccer 2 says: This is top three Shadowgast stories ever. It's a wild, beautiful, heartfelt ride. It's worth every second of time it takes to read. Also, this will make you want to take up climbing or at least start watching climbing. It's so well written and enjoyable. Everyone should at least give it a try!

The Secret Romance of Caleb Widogast by Cardinal_Daughter (15680, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

All Caleb wants is a peaceful, romantic weekend alone with his boyfriend. The boyfriend none of his friends know about. Naturally, nothing goes quite as planned.

Reccer 1 says: a sweet and silly story where we get a glimpse of the absolute chaos of a M9 group chat Reccer 2 says: A fantastic AU with a brilliant sequel. I love it!

coping skills by eldritchmochi (251061, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

BDSM fic for a disabled Essek and the trials he experiences

Reccer 1 says: There is so much good about this WIP! The depiction of both Essek’s disabilities and the kink community are so well done, and the characterization is super fun. Well written and super hot. Reccer 2 says: This is one of the best long fits out there for a modern prompt. It is an absolutely wonderful story, heartfelt and meaningful, and the characters have so much depth. And I'm a sucker for a well written chronic illness/chronic pain Essek, and this one is so realistic it walks the line to uncanny. I love this!

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with WIPS

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #cr fic recs #fan fiction rec list #aeor is for lovers #critical role fan fiction #cr fic #cr fics

100 notes · View notes

milgram-tournament · 5 months

Text

MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 1, Match 2 BRING IT ON vs. AFTER PAIN

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for BRING IT ON:

"Reasons why Bring it On should win:

- Just by starting the song, the instrumentals are BANGER. Like his more rock style is very cool, even better than After Pain’s more mellow style - Arthur’s voice (Futa’s va) had bills due because have you HEARD his singing?? His raspier voice fits Futa so well - It feels so explosive and like a call to action in a sense, which very much matches Futa’s mentality during trial 1. He also wasn’t playing victim like a CERTAIN girl… (jk, love you mu!) - SAA HAJIMEYOU USOTSUKI KARIDA - UNDEAD HEROOOI YES SLAY KING HIS HIGH NOTE HERE IS HEAVENLY - His scream at the end. Oh my god. HE LITERALLY ATE THIS NOTE. AFTER PAIN COULD NEVER. BRING IT ON FTW 🔥🔥🔥" - His range goes WAAAAAY higher than Mu. She would end up like PHG if she even tried hitting any of his high notes in the last chorus /j

---

- The vocals are amazing, those growls are so well done - You’re able to get Fuuta’s crime and motive pretty succinctly, only based on the visuals - But it still leaves a lot up to interpretation, like how he only attacked once in the final fight scene. It lead to some cool theories. - On that note, the game aspects are so cool!! Especially when paired with him going after people online, just good synergy with awesome style! - Fuuta’s scared face after he realizes what he did. The great contrast of other foes simply being knocked out then being met with blood splatter. - The tempo of the song changing with his mood is a really good touch as well. Make the song more chaotic which highlights his character traits well

---

"propaganda for bring it on: the music FUCKS it genuinely slaps so hard listening to it. song style is incredible its perfect for fuutas personality and gamer vibes. also the way the mv frames everything as a game? the only time real blood and real gore happens being when killcheroy dies? the little details of all the usernames, the different monster designs, the generally distorted feel of everything being too lighthearted?

okay i could go on about the mv for hours but lets not. aside from that: the FEEL of the song!!! the vocals!!!! it really feels like fuuta putting his whole heart into it, into this point of view that both blows problems out of proportion and minimises them, and DEEPLY fucking up. my darling little hypocrite gamer boy twitter user. he makes his witch hunt genuinely sound like something that could sweep people up into it. also the instruments goddddd. the guitar and synth the bass and the drums the DRUMS. im relistening to it to write this propaganda and it keeps making me headbang when i should be writing. if you arent headbanging to bring it on you are LYING.

the way the lyrics are written is wonderful too!!!! they feel so brash and brave and powerful and like. cocky about it. and it fits PERFECTLY. its gets someone swept up into it and it FUCKS. vote bring it on im serious. lets go!! a victory march!! dan da dan!!"

Propaganda for AFTER PAIN:

"so here is why people should vote for AFTER PAIN !!"

Muu's vocals. Need I say more?

The bridge to it is absolutely wonderfully done, the way she softens her vocals to an almost creepy point is incredible

during the final chorus you can hear the desperation in her voice and it’s very well portrayed

The coloring in this music video were phenomenal

The overlapping vocals at the end of the song just have a really really nice effect

Its just a pure banger

In some parts of the song there’s the sound of a clock ticking in the background used as a sort of beatline… GENIUS??

Its just a banger

even with what we found out about Muu in her second trial, After Pain on its own portrayed bullying in a very realisitc and artistic way (from someone who deals with it regularly)

---

"After pain propoganda: She just girlbossed too close to the sun and happened to be holding a knife at the time"

---

"Gosh everything about After Pain... How can you NOT like it? It's literally such a good song and is very singable. The instrumentation is absolutely amazing and I've listened to it on loop so much."

#milgram #milgramtournament #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #(ooc: im voting for bring it on because i love his dumb stupid walk cycle. and also his evil little laugh at the beginning)

108 notes · View notes

theoneprecioustome · 2 months

Text

Aigis' S-Link: Platonic & Romantic Route

P3R (finally!) introduced the option to stay just friends with the girls, and Aigis wasn't the exception. I think there's a lot to be said about the way both routes were handled, especially in regards to the rooftop scene, so I wanted to share my thoughts about it while the game is still fresh in my mind lol

First things first: No matter what route you pick, Aikoto truly are the cutest. Just look at them! Their bond is truly phenomenal regardless of how you choose to interpret it.

From what I've seen, the rooftop scene remains the same whether you romanced Aigis or not. Which is logical, because the rooftop scene has been the same since Vanilla, back when Aigis didn't even have a Social Link. It is not influenced by whether the player chose to romance Aigis or not, because it's mandated by the main story rather than by optional choices.

In other words, whether you choose to interpret it romantically or not, Makoto's bond with Aigis (and the strength of it) has never been optional.

That said, now that we have a "platonic" and a "romantic" route to compare, I feel like P3R makes it even more obvious that the rooftop scene we all know and love features an Aigis who is in love with Makoto rather than one that just sees him as a friend 😂

Beware of spoilers for the entire game and Episode Aigis - The Answer!

Let's begin chronologically. In P3R, you can avoid having to reject the girls by simply not giving them any reason to confess to you in the first place. For Aigis, this happens on Rank 8 of her social link, where we get this choice:

If the player chooses to tell Aigis that what she feels for Makoto is just friendship, Aigis will accept it and focus on becoming Makoto's best friend (more on that later, because there's a lot to be said about that, too). If the player tells Aigis that what she feels for Makoto is love, Rank 9 and 10 of her Social Link happen just like they did in FES and P3P (unless the player rejects her, of course).

What is really interesting here though is the way the Social Link Cards choose to describe Aigis' mindset in each route. During the platonic route, we get a very general description telling us that Aigis has "shared her thoughts on the significance of finite things such as life..."

Meanwhile, if you go for the romantic route, you get the following description:

"She's decided to cast her doubt aside and share her true feelings with me..."

There's no description like that in her platonic route. This is also true of the way Aigis chooses to "confess" her wish to Makoto.

In the platonic route, Aigis says: "I have to tell you my feelings..."

While in the romantic route, she says: "Even if this wish of mine is to never come true... I still want to tell you my true feelings..."

So, the game itself describes Aigis' romantic feelings as her true feelings.

With that important distinction out of the way, let's go back to their platonic route:

As you can see, it keeps the parts of Aigis' Rank 10 speech that (retroactively) tie it to the rooftop scene. The lines are just modified so they work in a platonic context. This is achieved by including the rest of SEES into the mix, and by having Aigis define herself as Makoto's "best friend".

However, aside from Aigis promising that she will always be by his side, there's no mention of Aigis wanting to protect Makoto, or of the fact that being by his side is what's most important to her. The Rank is focused on Aigis remembering Makoto and being able to carry her memories of him & SEES forever, and this is what is highlighted in its description.

Now, let's compare this with the romantic route we've always known:

And what do we see in the rooftop scene?

Aigis echoes the same sentiments she expresses during her romantic S-Link, in which she is confirmed to be in love with him. Coincidentally, it is her Romantic S-Link's description that deliberately gives focus to Aigis' promise to be by his side in his last moments, even though this promise of hers is present in both routes:

So I feel that the addition of this Platonic Route and its contrast to Aigis' usual S-Link has helped prove what most of us have been saying along: Aigis falls in love with Makoto through the course of the game, regardless of whether you do her S-Link or not 😭

It is not a coincidence that Aigis' speech to Makoto is very similar to Chidori's speech to Junpei. As I've mentioned before, the only thing missing is the "I love you", but Arena explains why Aigis refrained from saying it:

Which begs the question, what about Makoto?

Unlike in FES, P3P and especially Vanilla P3, this time the player does have a choice as to whether Makoto reciprocates Aigis' feelings or not. If the player allows Aigis to confess to Makoto during her S-Link, they can even reject her outright.

That's why Makoto's behavior during P3R's rooftop scene stands-out even more than usual. After all, while some of Vanilla/FES Makoto's reactions to Aigis' weren't reproduced in P3R, his behavior towards her in the rooftop scene remained intact.

And the rooftop scene shows him being intimately close to her in a way that he isn't shown being to anyone else in the game.

We see him laying in her lap, reaching out to wipe her tears away, smiling at her as she confesses that she wants to stay by his side. Most importantly, she is the very last thing he sees and yet he still passes away with a smile on his face, looking perfectly at peace.

When P3P gave players a choice as to who Makoto should have by his side during his last moments, this choice was described as being Makoto's "precious person". I'd argue that the way the rooftop scene is executed in P3R implies that Aigis is still meant to be that person for him, even in this new iteration of P3 where he is much closer to everyone in SEES.

Even if you choose the platonic route, the game makes sure to establish that Makoto and Aigis are supposed to be really close, to the point that she is the only one, out of the platonic social routes with the girls, that can be called his "best friend".

If you choose "that's a beautiful wish", the scene ends the same way, with Aigis thanking him and declaring them best friends. So even in the platonic route, Aigis is established as being particularly close to Makoto.

So, technically the rooftop scene could work within that context, right? Aigis is Makoto's best friend, who just so happens to realize she's actually in love with him during the fight with Nyx. It fits and doesn't stop Makoto from being in love with whoever the player chooses for him.

But... whoever the player chose to date instead of Aigis isn't there, yet Makoto doesn't look like he misses them.

Truth be told, he doesn't look like would rather be anywhere else than right there with Aigis lol

Another interesting little detail is that P3R itself tells you that whoever Makoto is dating is supposed to be his strongest bond. A bond that is "far stronger and different from the others."

So even if Aigis is his best friend in the platonic version of her S-Link, whoever Makoto has feelings for is supposed to have an even stronger bond with him than her according to this.

And that doesn't quite add up with The Answer, where Yukari acknowledges that Aigis was the one who felt the strongest about Makoto (or even the one "closest to him", if you consider this official side-story as canon).

You know what does line up with The Answer, though?

"And the bond you share will deepen even more, entwining their fate with yours..."

Aigis' is the one whose fate was inexorably tied to Makoto's, to the point that she gained his Personae (the ones that come from the sea within his soul), his Velvet Room and reached the same Answer to Life that he did.

(Granted, I'm basing all of this on The Answer as we know it. It is entirely possible that the P3R Team will rewrite it and come up with a new reason as to why Aigis gains Makoto's Persona, so that P3R SEES are all equally close to Makoto now 😂)

So personally, I'd say that just like Aigis' feelings for Makoto are the way they are regardless of player input, it's fairly easy to assume that the Makoto we see at the end of the game reciprocates her feelings regardless of player input as well 😭 But of course, this all just my opinion!

#aigis #makoto yuki #aikoto #meta #p3r #games #I've had this in my drafts since I finished the game a month ago but I completely forgot about it 😭

57 notes · View notes

lustbile · 2 years

Text

Something To Prove

JaeminxReader

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings/Summary: enemies to lovers, smut, mentions of drinking, vaguely dub con, fingering, oral (reader receiving), penetrative, degradation, public. And where Jaemin is kind immature dick, the reader is an emotional masochist, and together they’re both fucking morons, so I hope you enjoy. (Also sorry Jeno I used you for story development)

——————————————————————

Jaemin was a good boy.

Jaemin was a very good boy.

That’s why, as he rambled on about something, something blah blah momentum and force nonsense, you wanted to lean over and take a big bite right from his pretty long neck.

It’s also why you kind of hated him if you thought about it for too long.

Jaemin wasn’t someone you’d consider yourself very close with, actually, he wasn’t someone you ever really spoke to until very recently. He was a nice guy, a hard working student, and seemed to get along with everyone that spoke to him, but to you, he was more of just a guy you’d admire from afar. You knew enough about him to know that he just wasn’t someone you’d ever cross paths with if it wasn’t for your shared classes and mutual friends.

But other than that, you never had any reason to dislike him. Not until your physics professor gave you a reason.

—

“This is just how it is,” the older man had said, his face showing more age than he had actually lived from how many students he’d had to deal with, “the few homework assignments you do turn in, aren’t good,” he spoke honestly as he flips through the very few copies of your submitted work, “and your grade just keeps dropping by the day. So it’s either you find some initiative to bring up your grade, or I’m going to request you drop my class.”

“But it’s already past the drop period,” you argued, worry blooming across the features of your face, “if I drop it now, I fail immediately.”

“I mean this in the nicest way I can possibly say it,” he said with an exhausted sigh, “but that’s not really my problem. I do as much as I can as your professor, but I can’t force you to do your work.”

When he said this you wanted to cry. Well, no, you wanted to offer to suck his dick for a higher grade if you’re being totally honest with yourself, but the lovely picture that he kept on his desk of him, his wife, and baby daughter was enough to plague you with guilt for even considering that.

“Well, then I can bring up my grade instead, right?” You asked hopefully, the look of skepticism that flashed on his face making you shrink, “that’s what you said,” you reminded, your hands moving rapidly in front of you as you tried to encourage him and yourself, “bring up my grade or drop the class. Bringing up my grade is an option.”

“The science department has a student-ran study center,” he told you with a sigh, standing from his desk to politely tell you the conversation was coming to an end, “they even have student tutors that can help you if you’re that determined to make this work.”

“Thank you, professor,” you spoke genuinely, moving to his office door with a weak smile on your face, “I swear I’ll figure this out.”

“Study center is just down the hall,” he informed you, “but,” he continued, stopping you in your tracks as you already had a foot out his door, “only go there if you’re serious about this. They’re students too, so you don’t need to be wasting their time.”

—

His words still sting even now as you sit next to Jaemin, your pen bouncing against the library table in impatience. It stung, but now as you sit zoned out staring at the way Jaemin’s Adam’s apple bounces as he speaks, you can kind of understand where he was coming from.

You weren’t a horrible student, you just struggled to focus on classes that don’t actually interest you, and physics does not interest you in the slightest. Jaemin on the other hand, was a phenomenal student. There didn’t seem to be any subject he had any real issue with, but physics was his bread and butter. That’s why the sweet girl who assigned tutors sent you to him, but it’s also why you kind of wanted to rip his head off his nice, wide shoulders.

You wouldn’t call Jaemin a nerd, not to his face at least, but he genuinely wasn’t what you’d think of when you pictured a text-book “nerd.” He didn’t struggle in social situations, he didn’t seem weird or creepy, and he was admittedly drop-dead gorgeous. He just really seemed to really love math and science, which would be a huge help to you, if you could just stop staring at his throat like a hungry animal.

“And when you consider the angle in which…” he says as he turns to look at you, the dazed look being very evident on your face and making him trail off before he sternly says your name, “are you even listening to me right now?”

You jump at his sudden acknowledgment, the annoyed look on his face reminding you of the main issue you had with him.

Jaemin kind of hated you.

You would understand if he hated you for not paying attention, you could see how frustrating that would be, but he seemed to hate you before he even started tutoring you. The day you met, he was immediately distant and cold towards you, and you had seen plenty of instances of him being a very friendly guy. So, you were very confused, and you even tried to switch your tutor to avoid the tension and preserve the image of him you liked to fantasize about, but unfortunately, Jaemin was all they had. So the deeper you got into tutoring sessions with him, and the more you saw just how blatantly he did not like your presence, that’s where you started to zone out, choosing to at least appreciate the eye candy if you weren’t going to get anything academic out of the relationship.

“Yeah totally,” you lie, leaning closer to look at the textbook as you clear your throat, “just trying to keep up.”

You laugh weakly as he keeps staring at you, his dark eyes and the way his thick eyebrows lower making you feel like he can read your mind. You shift uncomfortably under his glare, and when he simply rolls his eyes, you feel your own spark of annoyance bubble up in your chest.

“How about we call it a day then, hm?” He offers, flashing a fake smile in your direction before he loudly slams the book in front of him closed, “you very clearly have more important things to worry about.”

“You know what, Jaemin,” you sigh, matching his sarcastically sweet tone, “I actually do.”

You both immediately turn to your respective things, packing your bags and moving to leave the small private study room. He stands quickly before you, turning to look down at you as irritation radiates off his body.

“Well, whatever it is,” he starts, putting his hands together in front of his chest to speak to you like a kindergarten teacher, “I can only assume it must be incredibly important considering you’re putting it above the class you’re miserably failing.”

“I’ll have you know,” you argue, making him stop in his walk towards the door, “my grade has gone up more than a few points these past few weeks,” you speak honestly this time, an amused laugh coming out as a huff from your nose, “which I can admit, is partially due to your help, but also because some of us, actually know how to balance school work and having a fucking life.”

“And what exactly was that supposed to suggest?” He asks, turning back to you with an offended twist in his features.

“Oh come on,” you huff again, getting up and walking to stand next to him at the door, “you know exactly what I was suggesting.”

“Actually I don’t,” he shrugs, crossing his arms and tilting his head, “so why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You. Have. No. Life,” you speak slowly and childishly, smiling when you can tell your words bother him.

“I have a life,” he scoffs, getting annoyed in a way that is a lot more enjoyable to you then it should be, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I don’t?” You start, looking up at the ceiling as if you’re deep in thought, “I have never seen you without your head buried in a book, and of all the parties I’ve been to, I’ve never seen you once,” your hand flitters in the air as you speak, and you continue, speaking over him as he tries to defend himself, “which arguably, could just mean we don’t go to the same parties, right? But that’s not the case, at least not according to Jeno.”

The mention of his friend’s name makes him stiffen, his lips curling in between his teeth as he shakes his head, “just because I don’t go to parties doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” you agree, nodding your head, “but the fact that the only place you go to aside from your dorm and your classes is the library…” you trail off, clicking your tongue in faux disappointment, before you turn to open the door.

“Also,” you start to add as you step out of the room, “you might want to have a talk to Jeno about keeping some things to himself,” you nod gently, “I swear that boy is just an open book when you find the right questions to ask.”

——

Jaemin clearly doesn’t take your advice about talking to Jeno, or at least Jeno just didn’t care if he did. Because not even a full hour later, he was sending you a text to tell you how annoyed Jaemin was when he got back to their shared dorm.

I’m surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears, Jeno’s message read, the multiple laughing emojis he put on the end telling you he was probably rolling in unsympathetic laughter after Jaemin gave him a rundown of what happened.

You didn’t want to enjoy the relayed information as much as you did, but there was just something about getting the last laugh with Jaemin that gave you a rush. So you grinned stupidly at your phone, the idea that you could plague Jaemin’s mind without having to be physically present making the device shake in your hand.

The shaking stops when another text from Jeno pops up on your screen.

Anyways, the message starts, now that you’re free of Jaemin’s wrath you should come out to the bar with us tonight.

You don’t know exactly who the “us” in his message entails, Jeno’s list of friends being long and always interchangeable, but you agree regardless. The need to get wasted to celebrate getting on Jaemin’s nerves almost overwhelming.

——

The bar is loud but familiar as you stumble in. Bodies of already drunk college students dance and writhe in front of you, and you reach to tug at the hem of your dress as your eyes dart around in search of a familiar face.

The fading pink of Haechan’s hair is the first thing you see, and you let out a sigh of relief that gets lost amongst the heavy bass that shakes the floor. You start to stumble towards the beacon that is the boy’s head, and when you see Jeno sat next to him animatedly telling a story, you feel a soft smile pull at your lips.

Your smile doesn’t prevail for long, as when you get within a few feet of the table they have claimed, you see that the person who sits on Jeno’s other side is none other than the boy who put the fire in your chest that you anticipated in smothering out with alcohol.

You stop in shock for a moment, the sight of Jaemin sitting in the bar unfamiliar and admittedly, a bit weird. He doesn’t look extremely out of place, for one he doesn’t have his face within inches of an academic article, but you can see the tension that pushes at his shoulders.

His hand is wrapped around a mostly filled drink, his lips strained slightly red to tell you that he’s taken at least a few sips, and he leans in with a furrow in his brow as he tries to hear Jeno’s voice over the music.

You aren’t really aware of how blatantly you’re staring at him, analyzing the way he moves and interacts like he’s a wild animal outside of his usual environment, until his eyes flicker quickly towards you. He has to double take, not registering who you are at first glance, but when he returns your stare, you can tell he feels shy under your intense eyes.

You can tell he clears his throat from the way his throat shifts, his head dropping slightly as he nudges a still rambling Jeno. Your legs seem to remember their function in that moment as you start approaching them again, a degree more hesitantly now, and you’re almost directly behind Jeno when he finally turns around.

“Hey,” Jeno drawls, speaking your name as a smile fills his face, “I was wondering when the fuck you’d get here.”

You can tell he’s already a few drinks in from the way the skin of his face flushes and how he wraps his arms loosely around the back of his chair. Without thinking, you reach to brush the few strands of hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes, and return his smile with a small laugh.

“Well, I’m here,” you say, leaning back to playfully motion your hands up and down your body, “you can hold your applause.”

Your words earn a laugh from Haechan as he reaches to pinch at your elbow, but Jeno only scoffs. You almost forget Jaemin is even there as he sits there silently, but when Jeno turns towards him as quickly as his intoxicated brain will allow him, the boy straightens at the sudden acknowledgment.

“We saved you a seat next to Jaem,” he nods, leaning his head back to wink at you not as discreetly as he had probably intended, “if you think you can hold back from ripping his head off for the night.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” you hollowly promise, leaning down to kiss his heated forehead before you step towards the empty seat, “for now at least.”

Jaemin shifts uncomfortably in his seat as you sit down, and you hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you scoot your chair closer and lean towards him as Jeno starts to clue you in to the story he had already gotten halfway through.

——

You, Haechan, and Jeno bounce the conversation around the three of you as the night goes on, Jaemin only adding grunts and nods of acknowledgment where he sought fit. He looks more comfortable than when you first arrived, and you can only imagine it’s due to his drink now being mostly finished at this point, but he seems to refuse to let his eyes linger on you for more than a few brief seconds every now and again.

“So, Jeno,” Haechan starts, taking a long swig of his beer as a teasing slur weaves through his words, “how’d you get our little bookworm out of the library for once?”

He leans over Jeno to pinch roughly at Jaemin’s thigh as he speaks, the boy next to you jumping and shooting him a scowl in response. His fingers tap in annoyance against the table in front of him, and as the beer you stole from Jeno slinks through your veins, you can’t stop yourself as your eyes zero in on the movement.

“He asked to come,” Jeno admits playfully, proudly slapping Jaemin on the back and forcing a sarcastic smile to spread over his face, “I guess he finally decided we were good enough to get a drink with.”

“He needed it,” you interject before you can even stop the words from coming from your mouth, and as Jaemin’s blank stare flicks over to you for longer than a few seconds, you stumble to explain, “I mean,” you say with a huff, laying a hesitant hand on his bicep, “you should see how tense this one gets when were in that study room.”

“Probably because he’s bricked up from being locked in a room with you,” Jeno laughs, leaning forward to shoot you what you think is his attempt at another wink, “I know I’d be.”

“That’s because you’re disgusting,” you argue, rolling your eyes, “Jaemin’s a good boy, isn’t that right?”

You glance at him with a smile, just trying to include him in the conversation that centers around himself, but when his arm tenses under your touch, you slip your hand away from him quickly.

“Yeah, our perfect little guy,” Haechan coos, reaching behind Jeno now to tug at Jaemin’s ear.

Jaemin jerks away from his touch quickly, grumbling under his breath and making you tense as his knee accidentally pushes between yours briefly. He doesn’t seem to notice the action or the way you respond, as he just straightens back up when Haechan pulls away and rolls his shoulders back.

“I’m tense because the person I tutor,” Jaemin finally interjects, his eyes darting back to you, “doesn’t seem to actually care about anything I’m telling them,” he continues, turning back to his friends, and you can’t help but feel like he’s tattling on you.

“He speaks!” Jeno almost yells, ignoring Jaemin’s admission that you’re a horrible student, “but admit it,” he says, his voice calmer as his arm falls across the back of Jaemin’s chair, “you have a hard time paying attention too with someone that hot sitting so close to you, don’t you?”

“Jeno,” you interrupt as he tries to wink again, trying to spare yourself and Jaemin from his question, “have I ever told you how much of a gentleman you are?”

“Actually, no you haven’t,” he responds, the shock in his voice being so genuine that it throws you a bit.

“Good,” you nod, “because it would be a lie if I did.”

You want to enjoy the way Jeno starts to petulantly writhe in his seat, his head falling back as he whines about how mean you are, but you suddenly feel the weight of eyes on you. You hesitantly flick your eyes towards Jaemin, and you see him staring blankly at you in your peripherals. You know he sees the cautious glance you offer him before you look back towards where Haechan is laughing at Jeno’s display, but he shows no interest in looking away, instead he just sinks back in his seat as you start to squirm.

You cross your legs as he seems lost in trailing his eyes over you shamelessly, your eyes darting back to him a few times as you try to focus on the new conversation Haechan and Jeno had started, but he seems unmoving aside from his eyebrows knitting together like he’s trying to figure something out. You want to ask him what’s up, the question bubbling rudely at the back of your throat, but his face just continues to screw up as if he’s angry and it kills any syllable that tries to form on your tongue.

You jump slightly at the first touch of his hand on your knee, his fingers swirling curiously against your skin as if it was a normal action for him. But you could count on one hand the times Jaemin has made any physical contact with you, and considering how most of them were completely unintentional, having him move towards you with so much purpose made you twitch.

You glance down at where his fingers prod at your skin, the same fingers you’ve unfortunately found yourself staring at as he wrote notes down in your textbook during your tutoring session, before you finally look up towards him.

His head is tilted down, watching the small invisible patterns he creates on your leg with the same deep, angry look on his face. You can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking, but when he looks up to make eye contact with you, it feels like he can see every thought you’ve ever had.

You feel sucked into a bubble with him as Jeno and Haechan are too busy talking over one another to notice the newly formed tension. It feels like you’ve started a staring contest with one another, the unspoken rule that you can’t look away being agreed upon quickly, but you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you did.

You see a small twitch at the corner of his lip when you harshly swallow, a movement so minuscule that you’re shocked you notice it, but you feel your head jerk back slightly in response. You feel like he’s challenging you to something, to make a move or say something to clue in your other friends into what he’s doing, but you just sit there, waiting.

At the exact moment you bring your bottom lip between your teeth, he moves. His hand slides up further, cupping your knee with his entire palm, as his fingers brush against your thigh in a way that would be comforting if it wasn’t for how confused you were.

You notice quickly how much you like the feeling of his hand, the realization flooding through your chest so quickly, you pray it doesn’t show on your face. His fingers are slightly calloused, gentle but firm as they dimple your skin, and his touch makes goosebumps raise on your skin, and from the way his eyebrow darts up quickly towards his hairline, you know he feels it.

A sharp intake of air goes through your nose when he slides up your thigh, his hand getting more confident as he starts to roughly grope at your flesh, but his face stays as blank as ever. Your facade drops as you finally toss him a look of confusion, but he just continues to knead your tensing muscle until you feel his fingertips start to push under the hem of your dress.

You stand too quickly on wobbling legs as a hiccup of shock bubbles from your lips, and you have to place your hand on the table to steady yourself as his hand falls away. Jeno and Haechan’s conversation dies as they turn to look at you in shocked concern, but all you can focus on is the way Jaemin’s head tilts back, his face finally pulling into a look of sleazy pride as he watches you in amusement.

“I um,” you try to speak, your voice coming out cracked and quiet before you clear your throat, “I’m gonna go get a new drink,” you nod, a weak smile pulling on your lips, “your taste in beer is shit, Jeno.”

He groans immediately at your words, the concern slipping from his face and getting replaced by playful annoyance, “no one told you to steal my drink you big baby,” he grunts, reaching for the abandoned bottle only to be disappointed to learn that you finished it off.

You roll your eyes as he stares at the empty bottle longingly, his ability to sulk over anything being admirable to some extent, but you’re glad that he’s now distracted by the label as he doesn’t see the way Jaemin’s hand sticks out to brush against the inside of your thigh as you step away.

You walk quickly away from the table, your arms lifting to cross over your chest as your thoughts swirl in your brain rapidly. You don’t look back towards the table as you push towards the bar, but you can feel the way Jaemin’s eyes follow your every move regardless.

—

You have a new drink in hand when you feel a presence next to you, a broad chest pushing into your shoulder as you slide your finger around the rim of your glass. You stayed at the bar, taking a few sips of your drink, in hopes to collect your thoughts about what had just happened between you and the boy that had never shown any other feelings but hatred and indifference towards you since you met him. And you felt like you had formed some coherent opinions on the situation, until he pressed against your side and made every thought fly from your mind at once.

You turn your head hesitantly towards him as he leans his side against the bar, the soft smile he wears making you even more confused as he nods. You try to smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes in a way that you know would be more convincing, so you just look back towards your drink with a huff.

“I told the guys I was coming to make sure you were okay,” he admits, his voice rumbling his chest and shooting vibrations against your shoulder, “also that I wanted another drink.”

“Do you?” You ask, the question honest as you’re shocked to think he would ever finish the first one.

“I guess,” he shrugs, leaning to get the bartender’s attention, before he looks back to you, “I’m here so I might as well.”

“Why are you here?” You ask bluntly, your eyebrows furrowing in curiosity as you look at him again, his stare just as intense as it was at the table as you make eye contact.

“It’s a public place,” he grins, reaching to tug at your ear.

“Why did you really come?” You ask, pulling away from his touch as annoyance builds in your chest, how casually he’s treating you suddenly making you suspicious.

He hesitates for a moment, his face twitching as if he’s debating whether or not to tell you the truth, before he smiles again.

“Jeno told me you were coming,” he nods, pushing his tongue against his cheek as he hums. You don’t respond, instead you just stare at him in confusion as you wait for him to elaborate, “and you think I don’t have a life,” he continues, making you tense, “so… here I am. Having a life.”

“Jaemin,” you start, speaking genuinely for once as it starts to feel like everything that conspired between you earlier happened in an alternate dimension, “you’re a good guy,” you try to reassure, feeling a small inkling of guilt about your earlier words, “you don’t have to be Mr. party animal just because you’re in college.”

“No,” he agrees, with a sigh, “but you clearly seem to think I’m some boring goody two shoes.”

“Jaemin, why do you care what I think?” You ask as you take a sip of your drink, “we’re not even friends.”

You see a flash of something on his face when you say this, but he covers it quickly and just leaves you more confused, “what if I showed you that I’m not some loser who just sits in the library all day?” He asks as he steps closer to you, lowering his voice as he locks his eyes onto yours, “I can prove to you that I can cause as much trouble as Jeno.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you argue, the mention of your mutual friend making you shake your head as you try to think of a correlation, “when has my opinion ever mattered to you?”

“I’d give the exact date if I could,” he mutters as he reaches to grab your wrist, and before you can even question what he could possibly mean by what he said, he’s pulling you from the bar.

Your drink clatters from your hand as you stumble on your feet, and in a panic, you try to reach to catch it, but as he tugs you through the mass of people trying to squeeze into the now empty spot you leave, you abandon the glass as you try to keep up with his long strides. He steps so quickly and with so much purpose you trip over your feet and earn a few elbows in your sides, but as he leads you to a familiar door, you can’t help but focus on wondering where this is going.

“Why are you taking me to the bathroom?” You ask without thinking, speaking loudly over the music and causing strangers to turn to you two in confusion. He ignores your words though, and before you can try to interrogate him further, he’s pushing open the door and pulling you in.

You gasp as you stumble into the room, surprised at the rough way he handles you as well as the fact that no one’s inside. You’ve been in this bathroom enough times in your college career to know that it usually has at least one or two drunk girls in it, either crying in a stall or fixing their makeup, but as Jaemin turns to lay his back against the door, you realize quickly it’s just you two alone.

“Now can you tell me why we’re in the bathroom?” You sigh, laughing gently to cover the nerves that bloom in your chest as your eyes trail over the obscene amount of graffiti that covers the walls.

Your laughter trails off awkwardly as he just continues staring at you, and you come to realize you somehow prefer when Jaemin is mean to you rather than when he’s silent. You didn’t love the fact that Jaemin hated you, but you had at least come to find it amusing; him staring silently just made you feel anxious and small.

You feel like weak prey as he starts stepping over to you, his steps slow and calculated as he eyes your entire body. You want to ask something else, to fill the quiet of the bathroom with something other than just the muffled music and voices that slip under the door, but your voice dies in your throat as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek in thought.

Your arms cross over your ribs as you hug yourself anxiously, shrinking slightly when he stands in front of you. You try to hold eye contact with him, trying to read whatever thoughts he has swimming in his head, but the intensity he holds in his glare licks at your skin until you're forced to turn your eyes towards the floor.

You tense when you feel his fingers brush against your jaw, a reminder of how they felt gripping your thigh flooding into your mind and making you pull in a deep breath. You stay frozen in your spot as his hands trail across your skin, his thumbs pushing gently into your cheeks, before his palms lay against the sides of your neck. He squeezes at your skin, forcing your head back up slowly until all you can see is his blank expression, the lack of emotion he shows making your lips part slightly.

You stumble back slightly as he pushes himself into you, and it takes a few seconds for your brain to register that his lips are pressed tightly against yours. He kisses you roughly, your teeth clacking together and rattling your skull, and you reach quickly towards his chest in an attempt to steady yourself.

You grunt in confusion against his mouth, your eyes fluttering as the voices in your head debate on whether or not to kiss him back. The last remaining sliver of rationality in your mind screams at you, begging for answers and to understand the way he’s acting, and with a sharp breath, you finally gain the strength to push your bodies apart.

His hands remain on you as you stare at him wildly, your mouth opening and closing as you try to find your voice, but the way his tongue darts out to lick your lipgloss off his lips makes your thoughts stutter. Your fingers dig into and curl around the fabric of his shirt, a need to pull him back to you making your arms twitch, but before you can make the move, you blurt out the first words that come to your mind.

“What the fuck is up with you tonight?” You ask, your voice exasperated and winded. You stare at him, your eyes darting around his face as you silently beg him for answers, but when he just smiles in response, anger bubbles in your chest.

Every emotion you’ve ever felt for the boy that clings to you floods your system; your annoyance when he makes mean comments, your amusement when you get on his nerves, and even the weird underlying arousal you’ve felt towards him whenever you paid too much attention to how handsome he was. But all of it was just always met with his clear indifference towards you, so why was he doing these things to you so suddenly? Accusing him of not having a life wasn’t even close to the rudest thing you’ve ever said to him, so why was that his tipping point? And why was groping your thigh and kissing you in a dirty bar bathroom his response?

“Does it bother you?” He whispers, his voice becoming rougher and making your hands twist tighter into his shirt, “I thought you liked making me mad?”

You want to respond, to ask him something that will give you clarification of where his head was at, but he doesn’t give you the chance to formulate a coherent sentence before his lips are pressing against yours again.

You don’t push him away this time, your resolve breaking as he licks at your mouth. You lean into him instead, your mouth falling open as he starts to walk you backwards, and you tuck the question of what was it that I said to make him act like this into your pocket for another day.

You feel breathless as his tongue dips into your mouth, his hands pushing tightly into your skin so you can’t pull away even if you wanted. You jerk slightly when your back bumps into the wall of one of the stalls, smacking your shoulder painfully into the edge as he blindly guides you to step into the small space. You hear the high pitched creaking of the stall door as he reaches one hand to pull it behind him, and as he pushes you to lean against the cool metal wall, you hear him slide the rusted lock into place.

When his hand returns to your body, he pushes it against the curve of your back, pulling you closer to him as he grunts into your mouth. You pant when he finally detaches his lips from yours, your lungs begging for oxygen as he tilts your head back and licks at your jaw. His teeth scrape against your skin harshly, and as he pushes his leg to rest between yours, you let out a grumbling plea of his name.

He bites roughly at your neck, stopping only to suck at patches of flesh until it stings. You feel your hips start to tilt towards his thigh, searching for friction as he abuses the skin that protects your drying throat, and when he smooths both his hands down your body until they rest on your ass, he digs his fingers into your skin to hold you still.

You mumble pathetically, moving your hands to wrap around his shoulders as you try to shift your body in his hold, but all he does is smile against your skin as he drops his head to lick between your collarbones.

“You think you deserve anything?’ He asks with an amused scoff, kneading at your ass until your dress starts to lift, “I’m doing this because I want to, not because you’re asking.”

His nails dig into your skin as he speaks, his head lifting again to lick at the shell of your ear as he pulls your thighs further apart. Your underwear shifts tighter against your body as he moves you as he pleases, the fabric sticking to your skin and making you gasp as you realize how wet you’ve gotten, and it feels like you might start falling apart if he doesn’t do something more.

“Jaemin, you’re a good boy,” he grunts in your ear, mocking your voice and words from earlier as he moves to tug your underwear upward, “and good boys don’t do stuff like this right?”

You whimper quietly, the fear that he’ll stop making your hips squirm against his hold. You would take back what you said if you could, if it meant him giving you what you need now, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d even think to do this if you hadn’t said it in the first place.

“How wet are you?’ He asks crudely, pressing his nose into your temple as he bites down on your cheek, “how badly have you ruined your pretty little panties for some boring little bookworm?”

Your head bumps dully against the wall behind you as you tilt it back in frustration, a small huff slips from your nose as your body heats up in embarrassment. You don’t want to answer him, the way he throws your beliefs back into your face making you feel stupid for ever thinking it, but you would never said any of it if you knew what he could do to your body.

You jolt when his hand swats at the skin of your ass, the way he holds his palm and fingers flat making the sting bad enough that you let out a small squeak, and when his fingers immediately move to scratch at the tender skin, a sob deflates your chest.

“No wonder you’re such a bad student,” he clicks his tongue, “you can’t even answer when someone asks you a simple question. Guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

He keeps his nails sunk into your skin as he drags his hand to the front of your thigh, leaving angry scratches in his path. You feel the painful throbbing between your thighs, and when his traces over the seam of your underwear, you grit your teeth and whine.

The way he continues to bite at your skin feels like a punishment, his teeth scraping at your face and jaw making stabs of pain spread throughout your nerves, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the dull ache you feel in your core. You need something, but how his fingers feel tickling at the inside of your thigh stops you from voicing any demands.

He lets out a rumbling groan when he presses his middle finger against the damp spot that’s formed at the seat of your underwear, the sound deep and loud around you and making your heart flutter in your chest. And when he starts to circle it and pushes until he shoves the fabric shallowly inside you, your thighs tense and clamp around his hand.

“You’re ruined,” he confirms, sounding proud and cocky over how your arousal seeps through and sticks to his finger, “it’s dripping down your thighs.”

You mumble in shame at his words, the way he chuckles softly making you let out a soft hum of his name. One of your shaking hands falls from his shoulder, wrapping around his wrist as you suddenly want to pull him away, but you feel his forearm flex immediately, keeping his hand where he wants as you fall apart.

He grabs roughly at the crotch of your underwear, twisting and pulling up on the thin fabric until it digs into your sensitive clit. It’s a weird feeling, not enough movement or friction to give you any relief, but from the sounds that roll from the back of his throat, he must be more than pleased from how the sensation makes your face twist.

He forces the fabric in place for another moment or two, tugging on it just enough to make your breathing pick up as your knees buckle, before he finally pushes it out of the way. You cringe when his fingers finally slip against you, the sticky sounds that attack your eardrums as he smears your arousal around making you much too aware of what you already knew.

“So good,” he praises, prodding at your entrance as he drops his forehead onto your shoulder, “so fucking slutty and perfect.”

You both sign when he sinks his fingers inside you, two of his long digits stretching you open as he curls them gently. He pushes slowly, taking his time to feel the way you wrap around him, and when you clench softly he lets out a hiss of approval.

He shifts slightly, straightening up and pulling the hand that was still pressed against your back until it rests around your throat. His fingers drum against the side of your neck, testing the waters for a moment, and when they finally push against your veins, your eyes fly open again in shock.

He pushes you tightly against the wall, keeping you in place as he stares into your eyes, and when he can see them glass over from how dizzy you’ve become, he starts to drag his fingers out of you.

He seems fascinated by how your face reacts to the friction, even the smallest twitch in your features making him tilt his head and grumble under his breath. But when he shoves his fingers back in too quickly for you to handle, he smiles at the way your mouth falls open.

He starts fucking you quickly with his fingers, the pace rough and overwhelming and makes your legs shake. You twist your hand that still wraps around his wrist as you try to get him to slow down, but he’s too strong for your weakening muscles, and he pushes easily past your tightening grip.

“Take it,” he commands, spitting the words quietly into your face as shakes your neck slightly, “you’re gonna fucking take it.”

You cry out as he parts his fingers inside you, the sound coming out broken and strained as your hips start rocking sloppily. Your nails dig into his wrist, your eyes starting to roll back, and all you can do is give him control of your body as you start to melt in his hold.

You can’t control the volume of the noises that break mindlessly from your throat, the wet sounds that come from between your legs being the only thing to combat how your moans bounce around the metal walls. You want to calm down, to find your bearings and keep some decorum, but when he tilts his wrist to push the heel of his hand into your neglected clit, the last remaining bits of sanity and awareness slip from your body.

The pleasure comes on too fast, the tightening knot in your belly forming too quickly and making your vision blur. You can barely make out the details of his determined face, but the vulgar words that spill out in a jumble off his tongue is enough to let you know much he dreamed of seeing you like this.

You bounce in his palm, the lack of control he has on your hips making you move wildly and without rhythm. You can feel now the arousal he claimed was dripping down your legs, but your mind is too far gone to be ashamed of it anymore.

“You’re such a mess,” he sighs, keeping his fingers steady and quick no matter how much you squirm against him, “you’re gonna come so hard it drips down my arm aren’t you?”

You pant and moan without thought, agreeing with him with mindless hums as you try to nod against his fist, and as if waiting for your acknowledgment, you feel the promise of your orgasm start scratching down your spine.

Your breath comes out in short, sharp huffs as your stomach starts to flex tightly, the way your toes curl into your shoes making the arches of your feet ache. You try to hold off, to control the way you react as the reality of where he has you weighs on your shoulders, but as he pushes the tips of his fingers into the spot that makes your blood rush loudly in your ears, you feel pleasure crashing down on you all at once.

Your sounds are muffled as he leans forward to press his mouth against yours, his tongue licking past your teeth until he can brush it against yours crudely. He kisses you messily, eating the moans you let out as if he needs them to survive, and as your back arches away from the wall, you feel your combined saliva drip down your chin.

He keeps his hand moving against you, fucking you roughly through your orgasm as he rolls against your sensitive clit. You finally let go of his wrist, the overstimulation of your nerves becoming too much, and you move until both your hands are clinging to his shoulders in the need to keep him close.

He slows down when he hears the begging whimpers you let out against his lips, his fingers pushing gently until they slip out and start to pet at your heated skin. He continues toying with you, coating you in the evidence of your orgasm, and he smiles when you let out a hiccup every time he brushes your buzzing clit.

You're still swimming in the afterglow of his body against yours, clinging to him desperately as the fear of what will happen after his lips slip away from yours tries to clear the fog that wraps around your mind, when the bathroom door creaks open. You barely hear it, not registering what it means as his fingers still tap against your neck, and you're too lost in the taste of his lips to hear the heavy footsteps approaching the stall.

The loud banging that rattles the door makes you both jump, Jaemin having the awareness to pull away from the kiss, but not enough to stop sliding his fingers against you. You try to slam your thighs together, trying to push him out and away, but he looks too unbothered by the interruption for your liking.

“Come on kids,” a deep, unfamiliar voice speaks from the other side of the door, “this isn’t a classy establishment, but you still can’t do that shit here.”

If you could crawl into a hole and die at that moment, you would, but instead you just curl into Jaemin’s chest in shame. He finally pulls his hands away, releasing your throat to hold gently at the back of your head, and you grumble in annoyance when you feel laughter shake his chest.

You move towards the door when you hear the stranger step away, your skin heated and your hands falling to push at the hem of your dress as the need to run away from the room overwhelms your senses. Your limbs feel too heavy, and your weak legs make you stumble, but you scramble to be presentable enough to face the room full of strangers.

“Hey, wait,” Jaemin stops you, his hand moving to grab your arm and you cringe at the feeling of your arousal that still sticks to his skin. You tense as he pulls you back, your anxiety rising at the idea of talking about what just happened, but you huff in annoyance when he just slams you back into his chest.

“What are yo-“ you try to ask, pushing against his arms as you try to squirm away, but he wraps an arm around you tightly as he slinks to squat behind you. You say his name, your voice scandalized as you feel him pushing your dress back up your hips, “we have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he blows you off, using his free hand to drag your underwear down your thighs. He taps carelessly at the back of your knees when the fabric pools around your feet, and you jerk in shock enough for him to slip the still damp article of clothing from under you.

He stands quickly, letting you go and allowing you to whip around with an angry furrow in your brow. You move to fix your dress again in confusion, and when he twirls your underwear around his fingers and offers you a sleazy grin, your hands twitch in the need to hit him.

“Call it a memento,” he shrugs, holding your underwear out as if to appraise them, before he shoves them in his pocket, “my own little souvenir.”

—

You stumbled out of the bathroom quickly, an annoyed grimace on your face and a grinning Jaemin hot on your heels. You returned to the table, feeling incredibly exposed from the lack of underwear beneath your dress, but grateful as Haechan and Jeno seemed too drunk to notice how long you were both gone and the fact that neither of you returned with drinks.

You didn’t talk anymore to Jaemin, even though you left the bathroom with way more questions than when you entered, and you continued not talking to him for the next few days. You texted Jeno, asking him to tell Jaemin that you would have to skip your tutoring sessions for a while, and you made sure to dart out of the room before him anytime you were in the same class as him.

You weren’t sure why you were avoiding him, maybe the shame of what you two did was just too much for you to look him in the eyes, but that didn’t stop you from itching for an answer. You found yourself staring at him in class, drilling holes into the side of his face as he listened to the lecture in oblivion, as if you’d find some kind of answer lingering on his form.

It was about a week later when your curiosity became too much, and the way you were constantly using Jeno to cancel your tutoring sessions felt too childish. He had sent you a text, asking you if he needed to relay anything to Jaemin, and you felt almost crushed at the fact that he was anticipating you being a big baby. Not that he knew why you were canceling, you hadn’t told him what happened and you assumed Jaemin didn’t either, but it all made you feel a little foolish.

Which is how you ended up back in the library, staring blankly at the door of the private study room as if there was a carnivorous animal behind it, rather than just Jaemin.

You cringe as the door creaks open, your hand so tight around the handle that it makes your fingers ache, and when you peek around the edge of the door, you see him sitting there studying quietly.

He turns quickly, his face flush as he squeezes his pencil in his hand. All the confidence and slyness he held in his features the other night is gone, and is replaced by a soft nervousness instead.

You watch each other intently, neither of you speaking as you see his shoulders tensing as you step into the room. You feel how clammy your palm has gotten after you pull your hand away from the door handle, and you clench your fingers together to relieve some of the stiffness.

“Hey…” he speaks slowly, testing the waters and visibly relaxing just a bit when you smile softly at him.

You notice almost immediately how he’s pushed his chair as far to the end of the table as he could, your heart sinking slightly when you see the chair left empty for you has faced the same fate at the other end. You respond just as quietly as you pull out your seat, and you can hear him tapping his pencil on the table when you move it closer to him.

“Am I allowed to get closer to you?” You ask, trying to break the tension with a nervous laugh, “or are you gonna jump on me for skipping out on tutoring?”

You see his eyes widen at your words, his mouth falling open and closing a few times before he lets out a breath, “yeah I just didn’t know…” he stumbles, “I didn’t mind you skipping.”

“It probably just confirmed you thinking I’m a shitty student, right?” You tease, moving to hit him playfully for a moment, before you reconsider and shrink back as you sit.

“I don’t think you’re a shitty student,” he argues quietly, turning to you and offering you a soft smile, how genuine he sounds making you shift.

“That’s not what you said at the bar,” you huff, the words coming out of your mouth before you can stop them. If the tension was thick when you walked in, it thickens even further with you mentioning that night, and you mentally kick yourself for bringing it up.

He falls quiet again, his eyes turning towards the table as thoughts move through his head. You want to eat the words out of the air, rewind time and never bring it up, but instead you’re just forced to sit there and stew in your lapse of judgment.

“I said some stupid shit that night,” he mumbles, tracing his pencil against his paper and watching it like he’s hypnotized, “did even stupider shit.”

“So you regret it?” You hesitantly ask, keeping your eyes trained on the side of his face in hopes of catching the smallest movement or reaction.

“Yes,” he breaths, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, oblivious to the way your chest tightens, “and no,” he sounds strained, confused as he filters through his thoughts, “I can’t sit here and act like I didn’t enjoy it, but I can’t help but feel like a bad friend.”

“Why would you feel like a bad friend?”

“Because you know,” he grumbles, moving his hands in front of him as he speaks, “it kind of intrudes on whatever you and Jeno have going on. Not that I know what you two have going on, but to make a move like that on you was kind of a dick head thing to do.”

You jerk back at his rambling, his words coming out too quickly and making your mind take a moment to register what he means. But even when you collected everything he said in your mind, you’re left even more confused than you did that night.

“What are you talking about?” You interrupt, his shoddy defense and explanation coming to a halt as his head whips towards you, “there’s nothing going on between me and Jeno.”

“What do you mean what am I talking about?” He asks, his eyebrows pulling together tightly as his voice pitches in confusion, “you and Jeno!”

“What about me and Jeno?” You lean towards him, matching his volume as you resist the urge to grab and shake him, “Jeno is my friend.”

“I know that,” he says in frustration, leaning closer to you as well, “but you’re also kind of more than friends, right?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head, “did Jeno say something to you to make you think we were?”

“No,” he says shyly, shrinking back slightly in shame, “but I see the way you two act, and I just thought… you’re always texting and hanging out, and the fact that you never say anything to me directly, it’s always through Jeno.”

You stare at him in shock, the jealousy that drips from his words making your brain feel like it’s coated in mud.

“Jeno is just fun to get drunk with,” you defend, “and he texts everyone, that doesn’t mean there’s something going on between us,” you feel lost as you speak, the accusations he throws at you making you feel flustered, “and you hate me! So why would I go to you directly?”

You watch as emotions shift across his face, the hope that picks up his features when you confirm you and Jeno are just friends makes your chest warm, but it’s short lived when he deflates at the last thing you say.

“I don’t…” he groans, moving his hand to roughly swipe at his face, “I’m such an idiot.”

You move your chair again, bringing it closer to him and forcing yourself into his space before you reach to pull his hand away.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” You ask sternly, the confusion getting too much for you to deal with patiently anymore.

“You’re going to think I’m an asshole,” he warns, hesitating until you throw him a look that tells him you already think that exactly, “I… when I first met you, I really liked you,” he confesses, his body relaxing as if truth takes a weight off of him, “but you were already friends with Jeno and I thought you were into him, so I figured if I distanced myself from you then I wouldn’t have to think about it. It was just a stupid crush so I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but when it didn’t go away, and I had to start tutoring you,” he groans in frustration, “I just ended up being a dick to you instead. I feel like a stupid middle schooler, but that’s just how it ended up.”

You both sit quietly when he finishes speaking, his body visibly shaking slightly as you stew in his explanation. Was it incredibly stupid and immature of him? Yes. But the way you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, the way he looked at you and touched you, blurred your rationality and made your heart thump wildly in your chest. Even the way he treated you before that night always gave you a weird rush of excitement whenever you were near him; it made shame settle over you, but it still couldn’t fight the urge you felt to accept his confession blindly.

“If you thought there was something between me and Jeno,” you start, avoiding acknowledging his confession to give you more time to think, “then why did you do what you did the other night?”

“Alcohol?” He tries, sounding unsure and unconvinced as if the word doesn’t fit right in his mouth.

“Jaemin, you only had one drink,” you hum, rolling your eyes as he starts to beat around the bush again.

“I’m… very stupid?”

“You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” you cut him off quickly, throwing him a disappointed look as you roll your eyes, “try again.”

You can see panic settle behind his eyes, the first inkling of fear that you’ve ever seen him show, and it makes concern settle in your stomach. He plays nervously with his fingers, shifting in his seat and sucking in a deep breath before he speaks again.

“I don’t know,” he speaks honestly, reaching to finally touch you with his hand resting gently on your thigh, “there was just something about what you said that day,” he grunts at the memory, brushing his fingers against your skin as if it helps him think, “and it wasn’t just you saying I don’t have a life, I kind of agree with you on that one, but it was the fact that kept reiterating how good of a guy I am. Even after how I treated you.”

“But you are a good guy,” you defend quietly, moving your hand to lay across his, “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“I don’t think being a good guy is a bad thing, I try to be a good guy all the time,” he rushes to elaborate, turning his hand to tangle his fingers with yours, “I just… I know good guys aren’t your thing. I let everything get to me, and the way Jeno just laughed when I told him about our argument, I felt like I had something to prove.”

“Maybe you are stupid,” you sigh, trying to keep a straight face until his hand tenses around yours and he jerks back in offense, making a soft smile pull on your lips, “you never had to prove anything to me, and maybe I’m fucked up, but even when you were being a dick I still couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He bites harshly on his lip, shaking his head in disbelief, “thought about me how?” He asks hesitantly, nervous that the conversation will turn against him, but ready to accept it in shame.

“When I’d zone out while we were studying,” you start, leaning to whisper softly in his ear, hoping to smother your nerves with faux confidence as you pull your connected hands towards your chest, “all I was thinking about was how your hands would feel on me, and how badly I wanted you to do whatever you wanted to me.”

You watch as a shiver runs up his spine, his nails digging into your skin as his eyes slide shut, “I don’t deserve that,” he mutters, wallowing in doubt as images of you crumbling beneath him flutter through his mind.

“No,” you agree, moving your free hand to brush against the side of his face, “but that didn’t stop me from wanting it.”

You pull him closer before he can respond, your heart jumping to your throat as you press your mouth softly against his. It feels wrong, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, but the familiar taste of his lips warms you enough that you can’t even think about pulling away.

He deepens the kiss quickly, his hand that’s not squeezing almost painfully around yours reaching to push tightly against the curve of your back. He moans quietly, the sound making your jaw fall open, and when he licks desperately into your mouth, you respond with a moan of your own.

He forces you out of your seat, guiding you with his palm as he keeps his lips locked to yours. You fumble slightly, your eyes fluttering and making you clumsy to your surroundings, but once he pulls you to straddle his lap, you sink comfortably against his chest.

Your tangled fingers fall apart as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, your arms stretching to curl around his neck as he slides his hands up your side. His fingers tap rhythmically against your ribs, making you curl into him and sigh, but when you feel his hips start to jerk, you tense.

His palms smooth down until they rest on your hips, the way he pets at your body making a warmth roll over you, and when he pushes down on you until you feel his bulge slide over the crotch of your underwear, you breathe out in surprise.

“Can’t,” you mumble against his lips, your voice coming out winded and unsure as he guides you to grind against him slowly, “can’t do it here.”

“Why not?” He asks, playful arrogance coating his words, “after you went on about fantasizing about me in this room?” He taunts, using your confession against you, “you shouldn’t have started something you couldn’t finish.”

Jaemin’s ability to go from stoic and shy, to this other being of confidence and shamelessness gave you whiplash, but it also made you melt in his palms. You want to push him away, beg him to take you to your apartment and do whatever he wishes there, but as his fingers grip at the fabric of your skirt and force you to move faster, you can’t imagine having to pry yourself off of him.

“Don’t want to get caught,” you argue, your body working against your words as you start moving on your own, “someone coul-“

“No one will catch us,” he interrupts, reassuring you as he tilts his head down to kiss down your chin, “we have the room booked for an hour,” he reminds, licking at your jaw, “and it’s better than you letting me fuck you open in the bathroom, yeah?”

Your head falls back at the memories of that night, his tongue smoothing over your throat as you remember how his fingers felt inside you. You bounce more eagerly against him, and when he bites down harshly on your skin, you thread your fingers in his hair and groan.

You whimper as his greedy fingers brush against the hem of your shirt, his cold skin making you hiss out a swear as they push under the fabric and crawl towards your chest. The first knead against the swell of your flesh is rough, desperate as if he’s dreamed of feeling you under him like this, and when he tugs the cup of your bra away from your body, he immediately pinches your nipple between his knuckles.

He shoves your shirt up until it bunches under your armpits, the cool air of the room brushing against your partially exposed chest as he ducks down to replace his fingers with his tongue. He laps quickly at your stiffening skin, and when he uses one arm to pull you close again, he wraps his lips around your nipple and bites down.

You squirm in his hold, pained pleasure spreading across your chest as he abuses your skin with his mouth, and all that fills your ears are your small whimpers and the slick sound of his saliva bouncing against the walls.

You barely register his free hand tickling down your body, his mouth encapsulating your skin and taking all your attention as he slips his fingers under the hem of your skirt. He gropes mindlessly at your thigh, squeezing roughly at your flesh before he moves to tug at the seam of your underwear.

You gasp out when his fingers dip into you, his wandering digits slipping to prod at your entrance as he groans against you. You can hear the slick noises of your arousal dripping around his fingers, and when he drags it up to smear it around your clit, your body trembles in his hold.

“I missed this,” he hums, keeping his lips pouted against your chest as he mumbles without thought, “all I thought about for days, just thinking about how warm you were when I had nothing but my hand.”

You buzz at the thought of him touching himself while thinking of you, the image amplifying how he circles his calloused fingers around your clit. You tilt your hips down to grind against his hand, trying to meet his patterns as you lament not being able to have him sooner.

You whine when he takes his hand away from your skin, his fingers curling around the seat of your underwear as he pushes it aside, and when you feel the way the denim of his pants brushes against your sensitive skin, your thighs tense around his.

The sound of him messing with the button of jeans makes you pant in excitement, your fingers pulling roughly at his hair as the metallic sound of his zipper falling open hits your ears. You feel a hunger deep in your belly, a nervous anticipation building in your chest, and when he tugs clumsily at his pants and underwear, it feels like the room around you falls away.

You feel his length brush against your skin as he pulls himself from the confines of his underwear, the small amount of friction making you both hum and twitch. You glance down as he pushes himself against his stomach, and the size of him wrapped tightly in his fist makes you tilt his head back until your eyes lock together.

“Please Jaemin I-“ you babble wildly, shifting your body forward until you can grind against the underside of his length, “please, need it.”

“Calm down,” he shushes you, running his hand softly up and down your back as he brings you to press against his chest.

He handles your body carelessly, moving you how he wishes as he lifts you slightly above him, and when he pushes himself against your entrance, your eyelids flutter. He sinks you down slowly, stretching you open around him, and when your thighs start to shake and broken sighs fall from your mouth, he moves both hands to hold against your sides.

“Slow down,” he warns as you accidentally shift down, his head tilting so his lips can brush against yours, “don’t hurt yourself.”

You let him pull you down gently, his skin sliding against yours as your arousal drips around him. You feel your body weaken and go lax in his hold as his size overwhelms your senses, and he mumbles soft praises against your lips as his fingers dig into your skin.

He presses his mouth into yours again once he’s fully seated inside you, the way you clench and shift around him making him smile against your lips, and when he feels the heavy breaths of air that puff from your nose brush his skin, he moves his hand to grab your ass.

He keeps you still for a moment, reveling in the way your body flutters around him, but when your hips start to jerk as if they have a mind of their own, he grunts in amusement. The way his hands feel against you is more than you could ever imagine, how they brush and dimple your skin makes you feel like he has control over every one of your atoms, and the way he fills you completely makes stars dance behind your eyes.

Your movements are immediately messy as he moves you to bounce in his lap, his nails scraping at your skin and your legs shaking as you struggle to keep kissing him with the way he fucks you quicker than your fuzzy mind is prepared for. You feel your stomach tensing and your body screaming as he stretches you, but you love every moment you sink down on him with a broken moan.

He swears crudely against your lips, the way you wrap around him making his hips jump until he’s fucking up into you roughly, and your thighs ache to slam shut as he splits you open perfectly.

“So perfect,” he moans, his voice strained as he holds you still again, gripping your skin tightly as slams his hips against yours, “take me so well.”

Your head falls against his shoulder as the sound of your skin slapping together rings in your ears. You can feel your arousal start to stick to the inside of your thighs, and with the way he pushes as deeply as possible with every thrust has you crying out and nipping at his neck.

You huff out when he tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly as the air gets knocked from your lungs, before his tense fingers scrape along the skin of your ass. He scratches against your hip, making the skin burn and rise in his path, until he dips his hand back between your thighs in a rush.

He presses roughly against your neglected clit, pinching and rolling the skin between his fingers as he continues to thrust against your wildly. He abuses your nerves meanly, toying with you, until he lays his fingers flat against you and starts sliding them against you sloppily.

A rush of pleasure licks up your spine too quickly for you to handle, your body pushing against his hold as you roll against him. Your hips try to lift away from him, trying to escape his quick fingers, but he holds you tightly and keeps you pressed against his chest as you’re helpless against his touch.

You clench around him tightly as your orgasm starts to consume you whole, cries of pleasure hitting against the skin of his neck as you sink your teeth into his flesh. He keeps his fingers and hips moving against you, fucking you through the way your nerves feel like they’re on fire, but as you drip and tense around him, he feels himself following close behind you.

His fingers shake against you, his hips becoming messier as you writhe in pleasure on top of him. He groans and swears loudly as you flutter around him from the overstimulation your body endures, and he only makes it harder when he shifts to fucking you with deeper and slower thrusts, his length dragging and stilling against your sensitive walls as his breathing labors.

The sound that rattles his chest as he comes makes you delirious, your head lifting like it’s filled with lead as you turn to watch his face screw up tightly. You gasp and pant softly at the feeling of him filling you completely, and watch him with a dazed look as he pushes his hips until they’re flush against you.

You smile at one another when his eyes open back up, both of your features pulled soft and delirious as you cling to each other. You melt into him as his arms wind around you to pull you into a tight embrace, and for a moment you feel your breathing start to calm as he leans in to brush his nose against yours.

You don’t think much when his arms tense against you, or the way his thighs continue to shift below you as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You feel warm and sated as you curl around him, but your peace is interrupted as he starts to stand on his wobbling legs.

You squeak as he lifts you in his arms, your hands falling to grip at his shoulders as he moves you to sit on the edge of the table in front of him, and when he slips out of you, you whine at the sudden emptiness.

You try to question him, your confusion bubbling at the back of your throat, but it dies on your tongue when he pushes you back. He looks oddly energetic as he watches over you, his fingers moving to dance along the waistband of your skirt as you stare at him with wide eyes.

“There was one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about after that night,” he starts, his voice gravely and strained as he shakes his head, “and I’m not letting you leave this room until I do it.”

You yelp his name when he grabs your thighs, the way he tugs at your limbs making your head bump against the wood below you as you fall flat, but he ignores your exclamation as his fingers quickly dance back up your skin.

You squirm when he grabs at your underwear, your thighs trying to slam shut as he tugs the fabric down, but the determination that makes his muscles tense overpowers you as you try to push him away.

He gets your underwear off with ease, as if the way you kick doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and when you see the still damp cotton twisted around his fingers, you huff in frustration.

You watch with a pout as he lifts them up with a grin, and when he presses them shamelessly against his face, you let a scandalized shout of his name.

“You smell amazing, angel,” he compliments sleazily, his words muffled behind the fabric as he makes a show of pressing the damp spot against his septum, “do you think you taste just as lovely?”

He doesn’t present it as a question as much as he does a threat, and when he shoves your underwear deep into his back pocket, you try to push yourself up the table away from him.

“No you don’t,” he laughs, grabbing your legs before you can get too far, “I know you can handle it.”

You whine when he drops to his knees in front of you, only the top of his head visible as you move to lean on your elbows. You gasp when he tugs you closer to his face, and at the first tap of his tongue against your entrance, your head falls back between your shoulders.

He keeps your thighs open wide with his tense palms, a wet sound coming from between your legs as he lays his tongue flat against you, and with a shuddering sigh you realize he’s lapping at his come as it drips out of you.

You clench around his tongue as he pushes it inside of you, the action earning you a deep growl from him that vibrates against your skin, and you wiggle as if you’re possessed from the way he curls his tongue against you.

He’s messy as he licks at you, his saliva and the new arousal that drips from your spreading to the insides of your thighs and across the lower half of his face. He moans happily against you, holding you tightly against his mouth as he licks you clean, and once he’s gotten every drop of his come from your body, he leans to swipe the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt.

You hiss and sob when his lips wrap around your clit, finally being able to see the wild look he holds in his eyes as he sucks at your skin harshly. Your hips cant up roughly, trying to push him off your hypersensitive nerves, but he follows your movements easily as his eyes slide shut in pleasure.

You sit up quickly as he rolls tongue against you, your hands flying to tug at his hair as your shoulders lift towards your ears and your mouth falls open. Your entire body shivers as pleasure takes over your senses, the heat between your thighs aching painfully as you still aren’t recovered from when he was inside of you, but even with the way you struggle against him, he happily licks at you in hunger.

Your second orgasm builds too quickly, your feet moving to hit against his shifting shoulders as he lays his tongue flat against you before shaking his head. The sounds he makes below you are vulgar and make your skin hot to the touch, and before you can even think to beg for sympathy, you feel your body start to fall apart at the seams.

You can’t control the sounds that spill from your lips, mindless words getting lost in the mix of syllables and broken moans as your hips start to roll against his face, and before your mind can come to terms with what he’s doing to you, your orgasm washes over you in violent bursts.

He laps at you greedily as your hands push at the back of his skull, seemingly glad to be smothered by your body as he loosens his hold until your thighs close around his head. His eyes flutter open again, looking up at you with a look drenched in satisfaction and pride, and all of it combined makes you shudder harshly.

You both gasp when he finally pulls away, both of you sinking back in relief as he stands back on his feet with a rattling intake of air. His face is slick with your arousal when he leans into you again, but he seems unfazed by his state as he wastes no time before pressing his mouth into yours.

The taste of both of your orgasms that sticks to his tongue spreads across your taste buds as he licks into your mouth, and the way it invades your senses makes you sigh and twitch. You can feel the wetness on his skin transfer to yours as he kisses you hungrily, but as he pushes his hips between yours and lays his chest flush against you, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbles as he pulls away in apprehension, “I will never forgive myself for acting the way I did and pushing you away.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, kissing across his face as his fingers grab at you as if you’ll slip away, “there’s no point in worrying about that now.”

You both know that’s not true, that whatever is happening between you two will need a deeper discussion, but with how you press against each other in hopes to make up for wasted time, it pushes rationality to the side.

“I’ll do everything I can to make up for it,” he nods, looking you intensely in the eye, his still remaining desperation buzzing around him, “I’ll do anything you ask me.”

“Really?” You ask, breaking the tension with the playful tone you adopt without thinking, but he hums in agreement eagerly regardless, “then can I have my underwear back?”

“Oh,” he jerks back in shock, pausing to think, “which pair?”

“Both?” You say in suspicion, not liking the guilty look that pulls on his features.

“Oh that’s not happening.”

#Nct smut #jaemin smut #nct imagine #jaemin imagine #nct one shot #jaemin one shot #kpop smut #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream oneshots #nct fic

2K notes · View notes

mysterycitrus · 3 months

Note

it’s been rumored that dick will appear in the next battinson movie (please matt reeves do it for the people 🛐) but i was wondering magic wand, full creative control ceded to you, what villain(s) would you want to see featured? i love what they did with the riddler in the first, managing to maintain a level of camp and absurdity while still positioning him as a dangerous and serious threat. same with the penguin and falcone. i’ve seen rumors that hush may be the central villain in the sequel? which would not be my first choice, but i’m also not mad at it

obviously (hopefully) if they’re doing dick they’ll include tony zucco but beyond him what would be your dream villain(s) appearance? (and who would you cast! if you have one in mind)

if i had full creative control via magic wand i think there’s only one right answer — an actual batman film where two face is the primary antagonist.

hush super sucks for a lot of reasons, not least because his whole shtick only works if a) tommy elliot is well established in canon prior to faking his death and b) bruce has the sufficient pool of allies to make the story beats work. the batman canon has neither. cringe. get him outta here.

unlike a lot of gotham rogues, harvey dent has a relationship with both batman and bruce wayne. he’s a literal symbol of what bruce is trying to achieve in costume. he represents how a lack of supportive infrastructure can harm anyone, even those trying to do good. his internal morality, his desperate desire for control when he lost everything by another’s actions, is a really really good foil to the batman mythos.

i also think he’d continue the riddlers ideology from the first film — here’s someone who does want to change things for the better, and loses literally everything by doing so. harvey in general is just a really interesting character who’s never gotten proper respect on screen, and i think that’s a shame!! he’s a really fascinating dude!! his relationship with bruce as a civilian might inspire bruce to develop his public persona. so many options!

in an ideal world, dick grayson would feature in the first half of the film, then two face in the second. you’d have to ignore long halloween + dark victory canon to make this work, but that’s fine. maybe harvey would be disfigured while in court with zucco — a fun connection to the acid that snapped the graysons lines. harvey also has an interesting history with robin, and this would be a great start to that too.

idk who id pick to cast — someone who could portray harveys trauma in a way that’s engaging rather than disrespectful. if colin farrell hadn’t already played the penguin id say he’d be a pretty good choice. michael b jordan or daniel kaluuya would also do a phenomenal job, and keep him around the same age as bruce. someone very charismatic and charming. as long as it isn’t jacob elordi or tom holland i think there’s a lot of potential

let bruce have tender moments with gothams district attorney and adopt an orphan!!! that’s all i want!!

#batman #bruce wayne #harvey dent #dick grayson #robin #dc comics #the ask and the answer

123 notes · View notes

rottenraccoons · 7 months

Note

So sorry if you've gotten this question before! I looked through the asks tag but couldn't seem to find it. Regardless, I don't mean to take up your time!

I noticed that in the official trailer on itch.io, (and in the intro when I open the game) each character is listed with what initially looks like a scientific name and a diagram with their chapter one CGs. Keir and Francisco's names are either a one to one exact copy of the names they use in game or very close, in Francesco's case.

With Oleander and Cirrus, both characters that have more reason to use fake names (because it's said in game the Oleander frequently changes his name for his ~*mystique*~ and Vesper speculates that Cirrus' name is likely not his true name, but still says a lot about him,) they have different names. Cirrus is called "Presbyter" which from a quick google search means "elder or minister (most often of a church)" and Oleander is listed as "Nerii" which, from looking up the wikipedia page for the "Daphnis Nerii," also called the //Oleander// hawk-moth. So, I was wondering (if it isn't spoilers to answer) if their true names have been right under our noses this whole time? With Oleander possibly being named Nerii and Cirrus possibly being named Presbyter?

Also, their titles of a sort are listed after their names in what might be latin(?), with Cirrus' "Ecclesiae Lunaris" meaning (from google translate, mind you, I haven't done a deep dive into latin) "a formal congregation of believers of the moon;" Keir's "Cavillator Fur" meaning "one who jeers or mocks a theif(?);" Oleander's "Perriculosum Scurra" meaning "Dangerous clown" (or more likely in this case, "Dangerous Showman;" and Francisco's (Franciscum's) "Innocentes Nobiles" meaning, unsurprisingly, "Innocent Noble."

I just wanted to point this out and ask about it because I really appreciate all the work that has gone into this VN- it's one of the best that I've ever read, and that alongside the beautiful art (the sprites and of the stunning backgrounds, the music that perfectly sets the tone...) and it really is such a breathtaking visual novel. This has- no joke, taken over my brain since I found it three, four days ago, and I couldn't be more happy about it. The work you do is phenomenal.

On a more personal note, too, Cirrus has very much captured my attention, and although I usually don't like to sub all that much, the sheer //intimacy// of scenes with him has me sold on his route. I also love how he holds Vesper to a higher standard- looking through the player guide, all of the other three LIs all have good endings that don't necessarily require getting the maximum affection, bur Cirrus' best ending does require maximum affection (there are, of course, ways to slip up and make up for it later, as stated in the guide, but still.) (That's not to say I don't like the other LI's, they absolutely have my attention, but I do have a favourite, ahaha)

The safeword menu is very much appreciated, and I do so love always having that option of backing out without having to close the game altogether.

OH ALSO I happen to have noticed more things while rewatching the trailer Each character has a number corresponding to them. Cirrus has the number 18, Keir has the number 20, Oleander has the number 11, and Francesco has the number 10. Later on in the trailer, after the character introductions, each of these numbers flashes again, connected to a title and a subtitle. For 18, the latin connected to Cirrus, it says "obedience", with the subtitle meaning, from a quick google translate, "sweet to heaven." For 20, the latin connected to Keir, it says "fate," with the subtitle meaning, "yours or a stranger" For 11, the latin connected to Oleander, it says "patiently" with the subtitle meaning "as you have" and for 10, connected to Francesco, it says "time" with the subtitle meaning "runs" I can guess that this is connected to their routes somehow, because Cirrus values obedience from Vesper, and he //is// a priest. I'm actually not sure about Keir or Oleander's stuff, but Francesco is acting with a certain amount of urgency, so I assume it has to do with him trying to get the full "experience" as it were before he has to take on the family business. Either way, I love love love the details in the trailer, it's absolutely wonderful to pause to try to catch the little things (Also, as an addendum to my last ask, I am not realizing that Keir's title likely means "sarcastic thief," and I might've taken the translation too literally) Obscura has given me a Catagory Five Autism Moment, and that is absolutely a complement! Great work!

So I showed all this to Mugi, who did those images for the trailer, and she was thrilled to see this analysis!!

(I have censored one thing to preserve the mystery~)

A bunch of the stuff in the trailer will probably make more sense the more you know about the guys and their stories, but yesssssss please keep analysing things, we put stuff in there on purpose for people to play with!

#obscura vn #rotten raccoons #asks #this isn't lore or a character thing so #obscura analysis #i guess??

116 notes · View notes

xxbimbobunnyxx · 1 year

Text

The Pull: Steddie x Succubus reader

Summary: You move to Hawkins after spending the last decade in New York City hoping to have a peaceful and quiet next few years flying under the radar only feeding when necessary and making everyone you spend a night with forget you. But when you arrive, you feel a pull from two men like you’ve never felt before. As soon as you feel it you know flying under the radar here wasn’t going to cut it, you had to find them. Masterlist.

Warnings: Not very many for this chapter, sexual themes, language. But future chapters will have rough smut, dom/sub dynamics, M/M/F threesome, demon sex, and I’ll probably add more once I post the actual chapters.

‼️THIS STORY AND MY ENTIRE BLOG ARE 18+ MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED IMMEDIATELY‼️

Also this is my first fic not only in this fandom but in MANY years so please be nice to me, feedback would be amazing too I’d love to hear what people think. I hope you enjoy!🖤 (also shout out @bimbobaggins69 for helping me understand how to format my fic on here and giving me the confidence to do so🥺)

You watched them quietly, perched on a tree branch outside the window of the large house. They were both sprawled out on the bed, still naked after they had just been ravaging each other moments ago. The longer haired one with the tattoos on his chest who looked like he just walked out of an MTV music video ran his fingers through the hair of the other boy, who looked like some kind of Prince Charming in a fairy tale. They were an odd pair, you thought, that was part of what drew you to them. The stark contrast of light and dark, both ends of the spectrum. Over the time you had been watching them you’d noticed a few things about them, the tattooed boy was very dominant when they were intimate with each other he was very much in charge, but the few times when you braved watching them out in public you noticed that Prince Charming was much more level headed and in control of his partner. It seemed they balanced each other out well despite their physical differences.

That’s not truly what drew you to them though, when you first felt them you didn’t even know what they looked like yet. You had just arrived in Hawkins, a small town in Indiana, a fresh start. You had spent almost the entire last decade in New York, under your latest identity but the people around you changed, aged, and you didn't, so before they noticed you would move on, again and again for as long as you can remember you have existed this way. Indiana is a state you’ve yet to live in, and having spent the last ten years in busy New York you choose a quaint small town to settle and the moment you drove past the welcome to Hawkins sign you could sense them.

You had never felt a pull like this before, so you immediately followed it, and what you found was two very attractive young men who were absolutely enthralled with each other, but each of them had something they desired, something they felt was missing… a woman. They wanted a woman to join them, you could feel their need and their want to share that with each other. Not that their sex life wasn’t phenomenal because it was, if it was just any two human males wanting to find a third you wouldn’t feel it this strongly but these two were passionate and they were extremely horny just from watching them you felt like you were gaining energy every time. But watching was getting old, you hadn’t fed since you arrived in town almost a week ago, no one could measure up, you needed them and you needed them soon.

•

The next day you sat in the small apartment you had charmed the property manager into giving you the keys for trying to come up with a plan. You had two options, you could either just burst into their house and tell them the truth about who and what you were (which you’ve never done you aren’t sure what it is about them that has you even considering it) OR you can run into them in public, stage a meeting and go through the motions of getting them into bed with you without telling them what you were and erasing yourself from their memories after.

Option one was sounding better and better… you never had a desire to be with the same person twice, no one ever having a long lasting effect on you, so why do these two boys who you have yet to even speak to have you reconsidering that? You needed to know.

So you made a decision, probably a stupid one, but a decision nonetheless. Getting dressed in a short skirt and a tight tank top, you slipped your shoes on and walked out the door. Before you could talk yourself out of it you got in your car and drove in the direction of the large house you’ve spent so much time outside of recently, determined to be on the inside this time.

•

“Babe, I’m telling you, I saw that girl again yesterday when we were walking out of the arcade with the kids! I don’t know how you haven’t noticed her ANY of the times? We have a hot stalker and you’re oblivious” Eddie said with a huff plopping down on the couch next to his boyfriend

Steve scoffs “Dude, babe, we do NOT have a stalker, let alone a hot one. It’s probably just a girl you haven’t seen before that has HAPPENED to be in the same place as us a few times”

“No Steve, I’m TELLING you, this girl was watching us, I looked over at her and she just kept staring right at me and didn’t even move or blink dude it was like she was a statue. The most gorgeous statue I’ve ever seen but still, a statue”

“Okay? So a pretty girl stared at you and now she’s stalking us??” Steve looked at his boyfriend with an amused smile on his face before laughing

Eddie rolled his eyes “I don’t know why you’re laughing at me, I already told you I also saw her at the store when we were grocery shopping in the parking lot, and I saw her outside the diner the next day. I’m NOT crazy dude she is REAL”

“Okay, fine, say she IS real, why would she be stalking US?” This makes Eddie think for a moment because why would she be stalking them? He’s not sure.. but he knows he really wants to find out next time he sees you. “Okay that’s a good point but still, I’m gonna try and talk to her next time I see her”

“Yeah okaaay Eds if she’s real I’m sure you’re really gonna chat her up with your lady killing skills” Steve snorted

“You know WHAT HARRI-“ He was cut off by the sound of the door bell “whose that? I didn’t think we were expecting anyone?”

“We weren’t, I’ll go see who it is” Steve said as he got up to walk to the door. When he opened it to say he was surprised would be an understatement, one of the prettiest girls he’s EVER seen, maybe the actual prettiest girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep looking at him with the sweetest look he’s ever seen.

“H-hi, can I help you?” He asked, and before you could answer you heard loud footsteps come bounding into the entryway “Babe, who's at the door-“ he’s stopped in his tracks because standing there, living and breathing and very real was YOU, the girl who he keeps seeing everywhere, who has been haunting his dreams, standing on their doorstep.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic recs #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steddie x reader smut #steddie x reader #steddie #steddie x succubus!reader #fic rec #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

197 notes · View notes

catcas22 · 1 year

Text

So I’m Pretty Sure Hyetta is Vyke’s Maiden

Or at least her reincarnation. Maybe this was already super obvious and I’m just late to the party, but I’ll write it down anyway.

Let’s start with the Shield of the Guilty description.

Shield made to venerate a maiden whose eyes were crushed by Briars of Sin before being reborn in these lands.

Given it’s placement on the Weeping Peninsula, we seem to be meant to assume that the maiden in question is Irina. According to her dialogue, her eyes have been weak since birth. After her revival (?) as Hyetta, she says the same, her blindness was a congenital condition, not the result of an illness or injury. Based on the Dung Eater’s questline, we know that killing someone in a specific way (or tampering with the body after death) can inflict a curse that persists into the next life.

(Side note -- I’ve seen some theories proposing that “Hyetta” is actually the corpse of Irina being possessed either by Shabriri or by the Three Fingers. However, unless she is a phenomenal actress I think we can rule out both of these options based on her horrified reaction to the truth about Shabriri grapes. While I do think that Irina is dead and her body is being possessed, I think that the entity in question is one of her past lives, not Shabriri.)

So who was this maiden who was executed via the Briars of Sin? I think we can make an educated guess.

Assassin's Approach Description

The assassins were charged with eliminating Tarnished who had strayed from guidance.

Crepus’s Vial Description

A ritual implement used by Roundtable Hold assassins. There was a time when Tarnished who had strayed from guidance feared nothing more than utter silence.

Confessors are tasked with hunting down and assassinating the enemies of the Golden Order, with a special emphasis on Tarnished who strayed from the guidance of Grace. They almost certainly would have gone after Vyke, a very high-profile Tarnished who chose to follow in the footsteps of the most reviled man in history.

Fingerprint Set Description

No other Tarnished was closer to the throne of the Elden Lord than Vyke. But without announcement, Vyke traveled far below the capital, and was scorched by the flame of frenzy. Did he make his choice for his maiden, or did some other force lure him with suggestion?

We find Vyke’s berserker shade guarding the Church of Inhibition, within which we find the body of a dead finger maiden. At this point in Vyke’s journey, I think we can confidently say that he did not intend to become the Lord of Chaos, and still hoped to control the Flame of Frenzy to serve his own purposes.

The description of Vyke’s War Spear (which we gain by defeating the berserker shade) describes Vyke as “tormented by the yellow flame of frenzy from within.” And the ghostly figure at the base of the hill has this to say:

Ahh, Lord Vyke, it seems that you were no lord, after all. Then where is he? Our true Lord, our Lord of Frenzied Flame. We beg of you, incinerate all that divides and distinguishes. Ahh, may chaos take the world!

Clearly, this man was a worshiper of the Frenzied Flame. When he says that Vyke was “no lord, after all,” he is not referring to Vyke’s failure to become Elden Lord -- he is referring to Vyke’s refusal to become the Lord of Frenzied Flame.

So, my proposal:

Wishing to spare his maiden, Hyetta, Vyke accepts the mark of the Three Fingers. However, he keeps his armor on during the Fingers’ embrace, hoping to blunt the effect and maintain control of himself.

The Roundtable Hold hears of Vyke’s heretical actions. Assassins are dispatched to kill him.

Vyke and Hyetta are ambushed at the Church of Inhibition -- or, if you want to get really tragic, Vyke sent her away after his meeting with the Three Fingers so that she would not be incriminated by her association with him, only for the Confessors to hunt her down anyway.

The Confessors execute Hyetta via the Briars of Sin. Vyke proceeds to lose his shit so hard that an echo of his rage (the berserker shade) still guards the church centuries after. For the first time, he gives in to the Flame of Frenzy.

After massacring the Confessors, Vyke attempts to rein himself back in. He finally manages to wrest control back from the Flame of Frenzy by tearing out his fingerprint eye (which we can later find) and throwing it away.

He rejects the influence of the Three Fingers and heads for the Mountaintop of the Giants to finish what he started. Vyke remains in control -- for the time being.

Many years later, Hyetta is reincarnated as the maiden Irina. Due to the manner of her death, she is born with damaged eyesight. After Irina’s death, Hyetta slips back into the driver’s seat (albeit without any memory of her past life) and more or less picks up where she left off, acting as a finger maiden to one who would become the Lord of Frenzied Flame.

#elden ring #elden ring lore #elden ring theory #roundtable knight vyke #festering fingerprint vyke #lightseeker hyetta #vyke's maiden

217 notes · View notes

theabyssal · 5 months

Note

By God I didn't think the demo could get any better than it was before but you very much proved me wrong.

So many things to say lol

Not really spoilers but maybe???

1. firstly mask options are so cool good job! 2.Marcella is adorable and I can't wait to find out more about her.

3. That first interlude nearly had me in tears with how much emotion there was like damn that much guilt was just so saddening.

4. Was really lovely meeting Mr mortician and Sophie is a cutie.

5. I really hate how well you wrote the last bit of dialog because although I want to hate our dear sister somehow I kind of just pity her.. there is just an undertone of bitterness that comes from her that's both sad and makes me want to slap her kind of.

the dialog options were just phenomenal too. Especially right before the end.

I'm honestly just so excited for this. I can't wait to have a Sol POV tho because that's gonna be emotionally taxing to read and I love torturing myself and I look forward to just go from very compassionate Death to emotionally stunted and chaotic. It's gonna be wild! Somehow you made a wonderful demo even greater. Which is a talent in itself. ♥️

Heeey!!

You just highlighted my favorite things about this update!! 🥰🥰

So happy you enjoyed!! 🖤🖤

#the abyssal #theabyssal #ask #mc death #sol #update

82 notes · View notes

californiannostalgia · 2 years

Text

Things They Could've Done Differently in Doctor Strange: Multiverse of Madness

A list of ideas, in no particular order

*SPOILERS FOR MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS*

1. Give Benedict Cumberbatch a Monologue to Act with (bonus points if it's about the million bad endings he had to sort through to find the Endgame option): Instead of a short convo in the benches, have the doctor who got dusted come up to Stephen at the afterparty of the wedding. In fact, have several people ask for his autograph or talk to him like he’s a celebrity beforehand, casually questioning him about the biggest call he made with the fate of the universe. When the past colleague questions the validity of his choice, maybe Stephen gets fed up, and the conversation goes something like this:

Doctor Colleague: What if you’d done [ ] before― Stephen: Nope, wouldn’t have worked, [ ] and [ ] goes off too soon, shit gets blown up, everyone dies, try again― Doctor Colleague: Then what if you’d [ ]― Stephen: Again, no, [ ] and [ ] means [ ], everyone dies! Doctor Colleague: But what if― Stephen: No, no, it doesn’t work! I looked through a million other choices we could’ve made, and we lost every single time. You think I made that call based on, what, personal preference? I saw the universe die more times than you can fathom, I saw galaxies crumble, why does everyone think― My opinion had no sway in the decision I made. I made the only choice I was supposed to. (etc.)

2. Show at least one way Stephen's disability impacts his daily life: Maybe his hands shake too much to steadily hold a glass. Maybe he can't get a key in the lock at the first try. It's either his hands or his magic, and Stephen chose magic. Show us the consequences.

3. I feel like the scariest villain should've been an Alternate Strange: We can keep the creepy chase scenes and all the emotional scenes with Wanda, Elizabeth Olsen’s performance was phenomenal and I love her. But everyone was talking about how Stephen has the potential for great evil. I feel like we should’ve gotten payoff on that.

4. At least One Alternate Christine should die in front of Stephen: I loved what they did in What If (tv series), we should’ve gotten to see Stephen’s grief on live-action too. Especially since it creates a direct parallel between him and Wanda. (They each only have the one love interest over countless timelines, yet they still can’t hold onto them, huh. Cruel fate.)

5. Elaborate on the Scarlet Witch Prophecy Thing: We needed a set-up of the prophecy in the movie before the actual reveal of the temple.

6. Wanda destroys the Big Bad Strange's universe (fulfilling the Prophecy―no one said anything about which universe) and seals the both of them in eternal combat: This feels like a better idea than what happened in the movie. Also it’s a cool parallel with an Alternate Stephen from the What If series.

7. More dreams about Alternate Stephens Fucking Up: Stephen should’ve just been constantly dreaming about instances where he makes the wrong choice and destroys the world. Drill it into his head that if he strays from the path, the world is done for.

8. Let Stephen complain about how apparently the only path for him is the straight and narrow one: If divergence from the Path guarantees certain destruction of the world by his own hand, how much freedom does he truly have? Show us what's so special about this superhero who sees everything that could go wrong with him every night he dreams, then wakes up to not do those things. He's tempted, he's afraid, and he Chooses not to do wrong.

9. Put more focus on Stephen giving Wanda a Second Chance: If he fucks up, it spells the end of universes, so he Can't fuck up; he has that pressure on him. But Wanda's fuck-ups don't automatically destroy universes. Wanda's fuck-ups can be recovered from. Let Stephen give Wanda what he will never be able to have across so many thousands of timelines: a second chance after a grief-stricken fuck-up. Trust her to help him fight the Big Bad Evil Strange.

10. Let Stephen snark and whine about his difficult life and still unfailingly do the Right Thing: We must remember that he is a smartass. Maybe he still gets jealous of practicing surgeons. Maybe he gives life-saving advice to doctors of alternate dimensions who are trying to save an Alternate Christine, whilst wishing he could do the operation himself. Let him complain about how everyone is hounding him about Turning Evil all the time. He rolls with the punches, accepts the madness that his life has become and the hard choices that are asked of him, but he can still complain about them all the way.

(I'm just choosing to focus on the two main characters here. I think a lot of the side characters deserved to be written better, but elaborating on that would make this post really long.)

TL;DR: Stephen and Wanda are characters with so much potential. They’ve got backstory, they’re morally complex, they’re uber-powerful and nigh impossible to keep in check. The only one that can stop them is themselves, apparently. Isn’t that interesting? Morality, power, corruption, accountability, grief, and sacrifice. When you’re faced with the physical manifestation of your choices, right or wrong, how do you grapple with the consequences?

#doctor strange #multiverse of madness #doctor strange multiverse of madness #stephen strange #wanda maximoff #my reviews #my thoughts #multiverse of madness review #doctor strange 2 #doctor strange 2 review #scarlet witch #fix-it #doctor strange spoilers #multiverse of madness spoilers #marvel #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #character study

1K notes · View notes

radical-sky · 8 months

Text

Shelter, part 1

don't you ever leave me alone, my war is over, be my shelter from the storm

One year post-Fallout, Ilsa joins the IMF, partnering with Ethan and his team. After their first mission goes catastrophically wrong, Ethan sacrifices himself in a desperate bid to save Ilsa's life. Believing he failed and she's dead, Ethan suffers the consequences of the unsuccessful mission. Five months later, the team - and Ilsa, get him out.

pairing: Ilsa/Ethan

wordcount: 4.1k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, violence, graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and the aftermath, pregnancy, very minor mention of a suicide attempt.

AO3 (user restricted) here

ENDLESS thank you to the truly amazing @agentfaust for the most thorough, in depth, and detailed beta anyone has ever given me. You are phenomenal babe!!

Ilsa can’t remember the last time she was tempted to fidget, all nervous ticks trained out of her before she was even with MI6. The old habits have never been as tempting as they are now, standing in a cold and damp third-world prison waiting for Ethan to be brought out to her.

Well, not just her. The White Widow stands next to her, her brother not far away. He scowls at Ilsa, not happy to be here and not happy to risk his and his sister’s lives on a job for her. It’s nothing sanctioned (if any members of your team are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions) but the moment Benji had finally, finally found Ethan the team had gotten things moving as quickly as possible. Luther and Benji worked their computers nearly 24 hours a day, and Ilsa called favors and made connections in country wherever she could. Even Brandt was helping, pulling strings and doing as much as he could legally behind the scenes while staying their inside man at the IMF.

Luther or Benji (it doesn’t matter now because they both had been trying their damnedest to get it done) had hacked into the security system in the prison; cameras in every cell, interrogation room, the hallways. Not that any of them needed to see what they were doing to Ethan (in the two weeks since she first saw him on the grainy camera feed it’s all she sees when she closes her eyes, doesn’t need audio to hear his screams and the sounds they rip from his throat, or backdated footage to catalog what tool made each scar or bleeding wound on his body. Those pictures will be seared in her brain for all eternity. She wants and yearns and rages at the sacrifice he made for her, for them, and falls asleep with a screen playing live footage from his cell in her lap, showing him pressed back into the corner of the tiny cage, curled up protectively, shivering or trembling she can’t tell. Wishing she could tell him somehow I’m coming. I will get you out. I haven’t forgotten about you. you’re not disavowed to me. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry Ethan).

They don’t have to watch the footage for long to decide that any escape that depends on Ethan getting himself out won’t happen. Without government backing and even with Brandt’s help they don’t have the resources or the manpower to storm the prison and break him out. That left one option, and it wasn’t one that any of them liked. The White Widow hadn’t been the least bit interested in taking a call from Ilsa until she’d said John Lark needs your help.

The team had debated on how to refer to Ethan, desperately wanting to keep his identity as an American agent secret. They knew he hadn’t revealed it, the terrorists would have auctioned him off or killed him if he had. The White Widow knew him as John Lark, and that was all it took. From there Alanna was easily bargained into breaking him out. To Ilsa’s trained eye she could tell Ethan intrigued the other woman. It wasn’t a jealous realization, wasn’t even a shock. It’s Ethan - people are drawn to him, he’s magnetic without even trying or meaning to be. Without even being in the room he can convince people to take jobs that are completely against what they usually do. Ilsa can speak to it herself, she knew she was burning a bridge when she saved him the first time, but despite her past, she couldn’t watch Vinter kill him in the most painful way possible. She’s never been in a relationship like the one with Ethan, drawn in and ready to sacrifice the mission for someone else. Ilsa had been ready to be out of the game for a long time, before Kashmir had believed that it would never - could never - happen. Ethan changed that. Changed her reasons for wanting out. She didn’t plan on falling in love when she tossed him the key in London.

Breaking him out had been the original plan, but when Zola studied the camera footage, guard patterns, and security he decided it would cost too many men. A second plan was formed, and the White Widow had brokered a trade as diplomatically as she always had; the prisoner who was arrested after a motorcycle accident on terrorism charges 5 months ago traded for cash and enough weapons for a small personal army. Ilsa knows she should be as worried about what the weapons will be used for as the rest of the team, but even though she is part of them now, she operated differently for so long that she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have those concerns. It’s Ethan, surely any price is worth his freedom? (Deep down Ilsa knows Ethan would disagree, loudly, with his dying breath, that his own life is not worth a single innocent life.) Benji and Luther had come up with a secondary mission, running alongside the retrieval to guarantee there would be no innocent lives lost because of the weapons traded for him. It took another week for Alanna to acquire the weapons, leaving ample time for the team to gather the cash for Ethan and the separate cash for Alanna, one-half of the price for her involvement in the exchange. Alanna, just like the terrorists, had also required a two part payment, unable to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself to her. Ilsa doesn’t worry about the other half of Alanna’s fee, it's a problem for later. After Ethan is back and healed and whole again. She hopes he won’t be too furious with her for agreeing to it on his behalf.

So, now here she is. Not fidgeting. Not twisting her ankle or flexing her calf muscles and imaging she can feel the rods and pins holding her leg together, or the scar where her tibia bone punched through the skin of her calf, not twisting her arm and feeling knitted scars where the bones ground together excruciatingly.

And above all else she’s not resting her hand on the barely there bump on her stomach, the bump invisible and hidden beneath a loose blouse and trench coat. Invisible to everyone who doesn’t know her and Ethan’s secret.

———

The first mission wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be easy and wonderful and the start of the greatest partnership of his life.

So of course, like everything else in his life, it went to shit in 5 minutes.

He and Ilsa had never exactly named The Thing between them, except that it was theirs. He didn’t tell Benji and Luther (although greatly suspected Luther knew and Benji was suspicious), and Ilsa being a free agent didn’t have anyone to tell. They were each other's greatest secret, greatest weakness, greatest compromise. Because they did compromise each other. There was no question after they’d saved each other so many times, sacrificing the mission for them. The Thing started simply. After handing Lane off to MI6 they spent a week in London exploring each other's bodies carefully around broken ribs and bruised necks (and how he had enjoyed adding his marks to her neck and having her hands on his chest) telling stories and sharing the private, secret parts of themselves no one else knew - then a night Cape Town, a weekend in Moscow, six hours in Brussels, two days in Paris, traveling 8 hours to spend half that time in her hotel room in Athens. Whenever they could and their schedules overlapped enough, or if they even happened to be in the same time zone, they were together.

After Julia, he didn’t think he’d ever feel this way about another woman.

Any chance he could he’d pull her into his missions. Anything to have her by his side. Ilsa was always available and never said no. She was traveling a lot, but he didn’t think she was taking any other jobs as a free agent, waiting for him to call her and almost always close by. Ethan had wondered many times if she declined jobs and traveled to follow him, just close enough it was convenient. When Brandt told him Sloane had given him the approval to extend the offer of a permanent position with the IMF - with Ethan’s team - to Ilsa he was perhaps the happiest he’d ever been. The two of them together - partners - properly, permanently.

He never thought he’d be considering marriage again either.

So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when it fell apart. The plan failed. His backup scenarios ran out. There were no more moves, no more chess pieces. So when he wrecked and went down, Ilsa dead in his earpiece, Benji too late to save her, a part of him, all hope, died with her. When he saw his pursuers approaching he was relieved, he’d never been so ready or willing to meet death than in that moment. To go where Ilsa would be waiting for him. He was already halfway there, a piece of rebar in his chest, internal injuries too numerous to catalog, his leg didn’t feel right, arm wouldn’t lift. Ethan closed his eyes, ready for the bullet that would end his life.

He certainly hadn’t expected them to take him alive, put him in the hospital, and get him just healthy enough that he’d survive the torture, and survive he did, but not as Ethan Hunt. As something else, a shell of a human. All hope lost. No prayer of rescue. He knew he was disavowed and no help would be coming. He tried to escape, more than once. Each time failed and each time it got worse. So he kept his mouth shut and took what they gave him. Didn’t utter a word except for the screams and shouts when it became too much. He’d already failed everything and everyone else. He couldn’t fail here. Couldn’t stand to betray his country on top of it all.

When his captors told him he was being traded for goods more valuable than him, he knew he had to end it or escape. He couldn’t do this indefinitely. Eventually, he’d break and the shell would crack and he’d be human again. So he plotted and planned, and when they came for him he knew what he had to do. His final mission, the last plan, the one to end it all.

———

The far door opens with a clang and three guards file in, dragging a body by a chain between them.

She’d known it would be shocking seeing him again and was already braced for what condition he’d be in, but she wasn’t quite prepared for how awful it would be to come face to face with the consequences of her own failures. How jarring it’d be to see Ethan so still and lifeless, compliant. She would’ve guessed he’d die before giving up.

Ilsa is the cynical one, she knows the harsh realities and cruelties of this world. She’s practical. She’s been the torturer and the assassin with no regard for the lives she’s affecting. But not Ethan, it was never supposed to be him that faced down the darkness of her world and had to, somehow, come out the other side. Ilsa has already done that. Too many times to count. It’s made her who she is and she’s not prepared to be on the opposite side of that. Ilsa had been alone for so long before him and no one had ever protected her like this before - sacrificing themselves to shield her from her own mistake. She hopes it hasn’t destroyed Ethan. Taken away his loyalty, compassion, the ability to see goodness in everyone, or the desire to protect everyone. It takes every bit of her not to step forward and cradle his body to hers when another guard grabs his legs and the two men toss Ethan into the center of the room.

Ethan hits the ground with a thud and multiple wet coughs.

“Fucker tried to kill himself. Been a long time since he’s had that much energy.”

Fury, hatred, and grief all ripple through her at the words, but the man spoke in his native tongue, one she isn’t supposed to speak. She keeps her face and body language impassive. This isn’t a man she’s deeply in love with. He’s a job, a mission required in the course of her duties. Nothing more than the man her employers want her to hunt down and bring to them.

If only it were that simple.

Ilsa steps forward and crouches in front of Ethan, fisting her hand into his hair. She pulls up harshly, detaching her mind from her body and what she is about to do. (Her mind is raking her eyes over him, unable to focus on one thing because her attention is immediately drawn to something else. There’s a thick chain fastened around his neck, tight to his skin and surrounded by some of the deepest bruising she’s ever seen. The end of it trails out from his neck, a mocking and sick impersonation of a leash. His hands are bound behind his back with rope that’s splotchy bright red with new blood and dark almost black of old, dried blood. She can’t see the skin of his wrists. She doesn’t want to. He’s shirtless and Ilsa can count his ribs where they protrude from his chest and the vertebrae of his spine down his scarred and bleeding back. She can identify where and what bones of his bare feet and hands have been broken and healed wrong because she’s done that, she’s broken those bones on prisoners before. She wonders what his legs look like under the ripped and torn tac pants he’s still wearing from the mission. Each breath rattles in and out across lips that are cracked and bleeding. Her eyes jump across him and she is seething, furious, ready to burn down th-) Ethan’s glare is still defiant when their eyes meet, and before he recognizes her he spits a wad of blood and saliva into her face. He starts to speak in a hoarse, raspy voice completely foreign to him “you might as well just kil-”

He cuts off as he realizes it’s her. Almost instantly his face collapses into the most profound display of grief and heartbreak and utter relief she’s ever seen. It’s an expression meant to be carved in marble, painted and displayed in a museum, or preserved in a book for all eternity but not on someone's face. Human beings aren’t supposed to look like that, especially not at her. Not for her, when she’s done so much wrong. There’s blood running from his bruised nose and congealing in the sparse hair on his lip. The smack she delivers to his face adds more to it.

“Хуй!” She swears in Russian and wipes her face as she stands and pushes Ethan away.

There is a simmering beast of rage burning within her. She has killed and tortured and maimed and done things that haunt her. Nothing will haunt her as much as the way his face instantly shuts off, all the emotion in his expression a moment before disappears. He doesn’t flinch or wince with the slap. Just takes it, and flops motionless to the ground. He’s nothing, a blank slate as if Ethan is gone, and here is his corpse.

“This is the target.” Ilsa still speaks in Russian, accent perfect, with no hint that it’s not her native tongue. No hint of the swirling emotions within her. She nods to the prison warden. Alanna, face a perfect mask, passes the backpack stacked full of cash to him.

“We can continue with the exchange then. I assure you, it’s all there. Couldn’t stay in the business like this if we didn’t ensure all terms were met on both sides.” Alanna says, perfect smile in place. Underneath it though, her skin has paled a shade. Shocked by the brutality Ethan has suffered.

The man takes it, a slimy grin exposing yellow teeth as he hands it to another man who excuses himself to count it.

“When my man confirms it you’re free to leave with him.” He rakes a dirty hand through his greasy hair and sends both women another nauseating smile.

Only in your wildest dreams, Ilsa thinks as she nods to him again. She expected nothing less, to everyone else this is nothing more than a business transaction.

The room waits in silence, save for Ethan’s rattling breaths. She glances at the White Widow whose face has gone another shade paler as she looks more closely at Ethan. Her brother behind her looks grim but is no longer glaring at Ilsa.

She refocuses on Ethan. He hasn’t moved since she slapped and pushed him back to the ground, hasn’t even turned his head so his face isn’t resting on the floor. His breaths begin to take on a wet quality and she steps over to him with less urgency than she feels. Ilsa pauses when she gets to him as if she’s considering, and carelessly uses her foot to push him up and onto his shoulder, the closest she can get him to the recovery position.

“Can’t have you dying before my employers get their hands on you can we?” She says, her voice low as she crouches back in front of him, trying to meet his eyes and communicate with just a glance like they used to. His stare is dead ahead, eyes unfocused. There’s a small pool of blood where his face was just resting on the ground, more running from his nose and mouth. It’s concerning, but not enough to be immediately life-threatening alone. She’s not sure if paired with the rest of his injuries and the disassociation it’s a significant concern.

She stays crouched by him, listening to his breathing and watching his chest rise and fall jerkily, winces as she can his broken ribs flex and expand under the skin that’s practically molded to them he’s so thin.

Ilsa stands when the outer door opens and the man who counted the money nods.

The warden looks at them, “It seems our terms have been met, the terrorist is yours. My men will move him to your vehicle. It’s a pleasure to do business with you, perhaps next time we’ll meet under more pleasurable circumstances.”

Ilsa wants to punch the man square in his smug face, maybe whip around his back and break his neck with her thighs. Instead, she nods and motions two guards forward.

“Carry him. My employers will not appreciate any more damage to the goods.”

The warden translates, and there is a brief bickering back and forth before the guards begrudgingly scoop Ethan up by his feet and under his arms. It’s not a long walk to the roof of the compound, but it still concerns Ilsa that Ethan doesn’t move or flinch throughout the journey no matter how many times the guards carelessly let him bump into the walls of the corridor.

Outside on the roof, the light rain from when they arrived has lifted, leaving the air damp and chilling to the bone. She instantly wants to shiver and pull her coat tighter around herself.

Ilsa points to the helicopter she arrived in, indicating where she wants the guards to set Ethan. They toss him in, none too gently. She dismisses them with a flick of her hand and they retreat back inside. She nods at Alanna and Zola, as they climb into their own helicopter.

Alanna has to shout over the sound of both helicopters spinning up, “I trust you’ll ensure he’s well healed by the time I need to call on the second half of my payment.”

Ilsa nods again, not needing another reminder of the other half of the agreement, “You have my guarantee.”

She nods to them in dismissal before ducking under the spinning rotors, stepping up into the helicopter, and sliding the door closed with a satisfying thunk when it latches. She reaches forward and taps Brandt, behind the stick of the chopper, on the shoulder, giving him the signal to fly to their first rendezvous point with Luther and Benji. His gaze is focused on Ethan, worry written in every wrinkle of his face.

As gently as she can she rights Ethan, crouching on the floor and leaning him against the fuselage of the helicopter. He’s still out of it, gaze empty and unfocused. Ilsa blinks back sudden wetness in her eyes and swallows a choking feeling rising in her throat before dragging the first of the multiple medical bags towards her, fishing a pair of medical shears out of a front pocket. She begins to reach behind Ethan to cut the ropes on his hands when he makes an almost imperceptible sound of pain, barely audible over the sound of the helicopter as it lifts in the air. She’d have missed it if she wasn’t leaning over him. As quickly as she can she leans back, gently cradling his body to rest back against the fuselage. His eyes are red and bloodshot, one swollen, and the other already surrounded by bruising. But they are staring directly at her, locked onto her face, his expression a mix of fear and hope, an open book to her always.

“Ilsa?” He asks in the same shattered voice as before.

“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” She drops the medical shears and cups his cheek with one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, her fingers tangling into his hair.

Ethan is staring at her with so much intensity it’s almost overwhelming. Like she’s an oasis in the desert and he’s drinking her in, a dying man and she’s the thing he needs to survive. He leans his cheek into her palm, pressing into it and nosing into her wrist, eyes falling shut for the briefest moment before they snap open and he pulls his head up like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, eyes locked back on her.

“You’re real? You’re alive? This is all real?” Ethan’s eyes are brimming with tears and he’s not even trying to blink them away, afraid she’ll disappear if he takes his gaze off of her for even a millisecond.

She presses a kiss to his forehead, “It’s all real. I’m real, I’m alive. You’re alright, you’re okay.”

Ilsa swipes her thumb over the bruise under his eye, catching a tear as it falls and watching as his face crumples with relief. She pulls him into her, tucking his face into the side of her neck, pressing her own cheek on top of his head, one hand still tangled in his hair, holding. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. We’re both alive. You’ll be okay. The other arm wraps around him carefully, avoiding the worst of the wounds on his back and holding him close for the first time in five months, pressing them together, and wishing she could lay her claim on him. She’ll never be able to protect him entirely, but damn if she doesn’t wish she could. Soon she’s crying too, silent, as Ethan shakes in her hold.

I love you. I love you. I love you. She thinks.

They’re safe. Together. Alive. A weight she didn’t know was on her shoulders lifts, relief coursing through her so powerfully it leaves her feeling breathless, overwhelmed, and exhausted. There is a fine tremble running through her hands. She almost didn’t get this; holding him, kissing him, loving him.

The baby kicks, shifts inside of her and she holds back a gasp. The doctor who had performed the surgery on her leg had consulted an OB after confirming she was indeed pregnant. After the surgery, there had been conversations - what to expect and when, how often she should be coming in for check-ups, and more dietary and health recommendations for herself than she wanted to think about. The list had been endless, but she had been out of it with pain, grief over losing Ethan, and overwhelmed with shock that she was pregnant after a lifetime of being told she couldn’t conceive children. But now, thinking back, the doctor had told she’d start to feel kicks and movement around five months. Even with tears on her face, she smiles a bit. He’s already like his father with perfect timing. She presses more kisses to Ethan’s hair, making her way down his face with gentle touches of her lips to his skin, ghosting over his eye, trailing across his cheekbone, and collecting salty tears until she gets to his mouth. He surges up to meet her, pressing them together desperately and with more force than she thought he was capable of. Ilsa smiles into him, god she missed this.

Meet your dad, little man, he’s the best of us.

an: anyone catch the sneaky little line of dialogue i stole from rogue nation in there?? title of this fic and the lyrics at the beginning are from the war, by syml. also, xуй means dick in Russian

taglist (i made this from people who showed interest, please don't hesitate to ask to be removed (or added!!), absolutely no hard feelings): @valmare @thethistlegirl @alcafrach @izzypuppybutt

#mission impossible #ilsa faust fanfic #ethan hunt fanfic #mission impossible fic #ethan hunt #ilsa faust #ethan x ilsa #ilsaethan #ethanilsa #ilsa x ethan #rad writes #my writing

97 notes · View notes