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yuukiiqwq · 2 months

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Dandelions: Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

His heart beats only for you while yours beats for someone else, so he made a wish on a dandelion, hoping it would come true.

Context/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Soft!Sukuna, swearing, unrequited love, flower language, a bit suggestive

Wc: 2.7k

Part 2

It's not like he wanted to fall in love with you. It was actually your fault. You weaseled your way into his life and then his heart. If only you had left him alone, then none of this would have happened. But you were too god damn stubborn to leave him alone. It was all your fault.

It was so stupid how he fell in love with you. Sukuna absolutely hated cliché stuff. And here he is going through the stereotypical cliché plot. He even told you how much he hated it. He remembers telling you how he rather die than read those stupid romance books you like to read. They were full of stupid plot with disgusting mushy feelings. Basically, it's the same thing in every story. He always felt like his ears were going to fall off listening to you talk about those stories. Recently, you started to read this one-shot called Dandelion. Something about a guy having unrequited feelings for a girl for years and the girl liking someone else.

Absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Sukuna remembers how he met you. It was a few years ago, back when they were still in school. He was minding his own business and then you fucking popped out of nowhere. He wouldn't tell you but you scared the shit out of him when you suddenly appeared.

"Yknow, smoking is bad for you."

He turned around to see you at the door smiling.

"Y'know, not minding your own fucking business is bad for you," he scoffed. "Get out of here. This is my spot."

You walked up to him and snatched the cigarette away. You tossed it onto the ground and put out the light.

"They can cause many health problems," you say as you crossed your arms. "And I don’t see your name anywhere on this rooftop."

He glared at you– "Listen here, you brat. What I do has absolutely nothing to do with you. So skip along to your friends and go bother them instead."

"What if you are my friend?" You said smugly. Your eyes were shining with mischief. "And since you said to go bother my friends, that's what I'm doing."

"You must think you're so fucking funny," he snarled at you.

You put your hands on your waist– "I am actually very funny."

He took a step towards you and towered over you. "Leave."

You looked up at him with a deadpan expression.

"No."

"Last warning. Leave."

"Make me."

News flash – He wasn’t able to get rid of you. He was unsuccessful no matter what he did.

You decided to bother him every single god damn day. Somehow, you always showed up at the rooftop whenever he was there. You just wouldn't leave him alone, so he decided to ditch the rooftop. To say he failed was something he didn’t want to admit. He didn't fail. He just decided to ignore you. But then you showed up in front of his classroom. You somehow found his classroom.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and quickly tried to leave before you could catch up to him.

Mission escaping the brat– failed.

You were a fast little thing. You immediately caught up to him and were now walking side by side with him. This caused a lot of people in the hallway to stare at both of you. You two were an unexpected duo to see together.

"Sukunaaaaaaa"

Great. You even found out his name. Amazing. Whoever told you his information is dead. He's going to kill them.

"Sukuna, if you keep looking like that, you'll end up being super ugly. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

Sukuna turned around to face you– "You trying to pick a fucking figh–"

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence as you stuffed a mochi in his mouth. Where the fuck did that mochi come from?!

He quickly chewed the mochi and swallowed.

"Did you fu–"

"Was it good?" You quickly interrupted. "It's a new flavor that came out recently. A friend gave me some to try."

"I don't car–"

"It was a limited edition sale. My friend camped outside the shop for a whole day just to buy all the stocks."

You continued talking about it, and Sukuna wanted to just smack you. You were so annoying.

"I am going to smack you if you keep talking."

You immediately stopped talking and walking. You looked up at him and grinned mischievously.

"Wow, Sukuna. Didn't know you were kinky like that. It's ok, though! I like it rough, but take me out to dinner first. Bedroom activities can come later~"

This caused him to explode in anger. You were teasing him. He immediately stomped away from you. He could hear you laughing as you tried to catch up to him. Fuck. You were annoying as hell. Sassy and challenging him in every way.

Your eyes were gleaming with mischief. Did you have to say that? Now he wanted to put you in your place. Bend you over under him and–

Oh fuck. Now you implanted a curse in his head. Fucking minx.

After months of you constantly pestering him, he grew used to your presence. He started to enjoy it. Wait, no. He meant he was just tolerating you.

Yeah. That's right. He's just tolerating you.

"Sukuna! Stop!!!"

Sukuna immediately halted– "What's goin–"

"You almost stepped on some dandelions," you say as you knelt down to the floor.

Sukuna felt like he was going to pop a vein. He can't believe you stopped him for a weed. Can you let he walk to a restaurant in peace?! It was fucking Saturday. He should have never allowed you to follow him home back then.

"Are you fucking joking with me right now?" He looked down at you as you pluck the dandelion. "You stopped me for a fucking weed?"

"First of all, it's a flow–"

"It's a fucking weed."

"It's a flower!" You huffed. "And it's a wishing flower! You make a wish and then blow away the seeds!"

"Great, now you've gone crazy. Just the thing I need from you. As if you're not annoying enough."

"I have not gone crazy! People make wishes on dandelions!"

"And do you know if any of them got fulfilled?" He raised his eyebrow at you. "And I'm sure the people you talk of are kids."

"Well um–" You try to think of something to say as a comeback but come up with nothing.

He smiled smugly– "That's what I thought."

"That's not the point!" You quickly shoved a dandelion in front of his face.

"Get that weed away from my face. I'm starving for food, and you're stopping me for a weed."

"Geez, stop being a party pooper," you sulked. "Make a wish! Maybe it will come true and prove you wrong!"

"I am not going to do something so childish," he said as he pushed your hand away.

"I'll buy lunch!"

Sukuna stopped and thought about it for a second before saying– "And dinner."

If he was going to indulge in your childish antics and look like an idiot, he better get something out of it.

You reluctantly agreed, and he snatched the dandelion out of your hands. He made a wish and then blew the dandelion seeds away.

"There. Made my wish. Now I hope your wallet is ready."

"Whatever, you glutton! What did you wish for?"

"None of your fucking business brat."

The two of you spent a lot of time together. You eventually introduced Sukuna to your other friends. Which surprised Sukuna because at this point, with the amount of time you came and bothered him, he believed that your friends were imaginary.

A girl named Shoko Ieiri, who looks like she's sleep deprived. A guy named Suguru Geto, who, in his opinion, looks weird. Why is he smiling like that!? And finally, a guy named Satoru Gojo. He was the worst out of all your friends. He didn't do anything to him, but just looking at him makes Sukuna want to get rid of him. Cut him in half. Sukuna didn't understand exactly why until he looked at you, looking at him.

Although Sukuna personally knew nothing about love, he knew what he saw. He seen enough people do what they do when in love. He heard enough about the stupid love stories you like to read. He can see it in your eyes when you look at your friend. You liked him.

The way your eyes light up whenever he comes toward you. The way your cheeks start to turn red with a small blush. The way you nervously play with your hands. The smile you give whenever you're around him. A smile that can rival the sun. He felt a pain blossom in his chest as he clenched his fist. These are things he has never seen or gotten from you before.

He hated everything that was going on right now. He hated the way you would sneak glances at him when you think no one was looking. The way you lean into his touch. The way you looked at him with pure adoration and love.

He absolutely hated it.

It took a while for Sukuna to understand why he hated Gojo so much. Why just the sight of Gojo annoyed him. And it's all your fault.

He didn't even know when these feelings started. Was it when you guys first met and you stood your ground with him? Was it when you teased him? Was it when you kept bothering him? Was it when you guys would go out for lunch or dinner together? Was it when he took care of you when you were sick? Did he fall for your looks? Your personality? Was it because of the times you've spent together?

Fuck. He was pissed. Here he is, catching those disgusting mushy feelings for you. Something he sweared would have never happened, and he doesn’t even know how it even happened.

"Fucking hell," Sukuna sighs as he run his hand through his hair.

It should be fine, right? He'll just ignore this. Move on like he didn't realize he fell in love with you somewhere along this journey. These feelings won't last anyway. It will disappear soon. You liked someone else, too, so it should be easy to move on. Right?

Fucking wrong. He's never been more wrong in his life.

All of you have graduated and are now doing your own thing. You all meet up regularly to hang out. Although Sukuna made an effort to see you daily as much as possible–

Wait, no. Correction: He sees you daily because he knows you'll do something stupid if he wasn't watching over you. Nothing else, really.

It's not like Sukuna had trouble moving on. He's not dreaming about you daily. He doesn't want you. It's not like that at all. He obviously moved on from you while you still liked Gojo. No point in these feelings since they're a nuisance.

Deep down, even if he ignores it, he knows he still likes you. But it's not like you'll ever look his way like the way you look at Gojo. Unless an opportunity arrives and it just so happens to arrive. That opportunity came knocking at his door, and he isn't going to let it slip away.

After years watching you love someone else, now he is watching you get your heart broken by that same person. Honestly, he never understood why you fell in love with this guy. That guy was a child in a man's body. Like, who even drinks those sugary, coma-inducing drinks??

But here you are smiling through the pain. He saw small tears forming in your eyes before you quickly wiped them away and said there was dust in your eyes. Others may not notice it, but he does. He saw the hurt in your eyes when Gojo told them that he fell in love at first sight with someone.

Great. Now he wants to murder Gojo even more now for hurting you.

However, he can't help but feel happy? Relief? He doesn't know what he felt. He just knew that an opportunity was given. But he isn't going to be a shitty person and confess to you right when you got your heart broken. He'll wait until you heal. If you ever will. After all, he had already kept his feelings to himself for years. What's wrong with waiting a bit more?

He could make you happy. He would give it his god damn all to make you happy. He would never hurt you. He wouldn't make you cry. At least not cry in a sad way. You crying under him, though, is a different story–

He quickly shakes his head to get rid of that thought. He's getting distracted. You got him wrapped around your fingers, and you don't even know it. He couldn't help but sigh. He really is still in love with you.

He watches as you and Geto try to give Gojo advice on how to win over the person he likes.

"You're an idiot," he interrupted.

He stared at Gojo as he said it, but it was meant for you and himself, really. Both of you two are idiots. Both of you have unrequited love, like in those shitty stories you read. He really is living in the stupid cliché plot he hates. And it's all your fault.

A few months have passed since then. He knew you had mostly moved on. He can still see the hurt sometimes, but it's fading. He knew he should make a move soon. After all, if he doesn't, what if someone else approaches you? But he also knows that just because you moved on doesn't mean you'll see him as he sees you. So he's willing to wait for that day. The day you look at him the way he looks at you.

So here he is. Standing in front of a flower shop. Looking extremely out of place. If you told his past self that he fell in love with you and is now trying to pursue you, he can see his past self attempting murder. He really can't believe he's going to order flowers.

He took a few deep breaths and walked in.

The minute he walked in, a florist greets him– "Hello sir! How may we help you today?"

"Can you make me a boutique?"

"Of course, sir! What type of flowers would you like for the boutique?"

He wanted something to convey his feelings and message. He's done some research about flowers and their meaning. Many websites showed different things, but he eventually settled for one.

"I want..."

When he finally finished ordering the flowers, he went home. On his way back home, he noticed a dandelion.

"...it's a wishing flower! You make a wish and then blow away the seeds! ...People make wishes on dandelions!"

He stared at the dandelion for a few minutes before he clicked his tongue. He bent down and plucked it. He then made a wish and blew the seeds away. He didn't know why he did it. It's not like the dandelion would make his wish come true.

"Tsk. Can't believe I did this. It's fucking stupid."

You really made him a god damn softie so it's about fucking time you take responsibility.

A few days later, he asked you to meet him at your usual spot. A place that only the two of you knew. When he arrived with the boutique, you were already there. You were sitting on the bench, looking over the city.

He quietly stared at you for a while. You were so beautiful sitting there. If angels did exist, you'll be one of them. But then again, your personality was more like a devil. You cast a curse on his heart, and honestly, he didn't mind it. You can curse him for his entire lifetime as long as you accept him.

"Hey, brat. Look behind you."

When you heard the sound of his voice, you quickly turned around. You looked at him and smiled until you noticed the boutique in his hand. You gasped as your eyes widened.

Red chrysanthemum and astilbe. I love you and I will be waiting for you.

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captainjamster · 4 months

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Observation Duty

Pairing(s): Price x fem!Reader Warnings: Manipulation, stalking, monitoring and surveillance, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual mutual masturbation, non-consensual recording and photos Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: John isn't quite the captain everyone thinks he is, but he knows just how to act like it. No one would ever believe the things he does behind closed doors. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: PLEASE LOOK AT THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ MORE! This is the first part of what should be two chapters, because I can't stop starting things without finishing them <3

If I miss any tags you think should be there, please let me know!

Full fic under the cut <3

John’s line of work has taught him that people are so, so easy to play with. Know the right person, the right place. Know what to say, who to say it to.

Keeping you safe, under his ever-observant eye, is easy in the barracks and on the field. You don’t make a single move he doesn’t see or hasn’t approved. But when you go home, away from him and his control, he just can’t help but worry. Are you safe, alone in that big, empty house? What do you get up to? Are you eating and drinking? Taking care of yourself? Who do you see? Do you invite anyone around? The idea of another man in your home makes him shudder, and in your bedroom isn’t something he even entertains. John needs to do something about it.

He’s been thinking for a while. Some way to watch you, every waking moment. A permanent eye on the wall. He knows your address; it’s right there in your files. There isn’t a single legal document or piece of information about you that he can’t obtain if he wants to. Every place you’ve lived, your parents, extended family, even your friendship circles. Your school results, community hobbies, bank purchases, every doctors trip – especially your birth control and fertility, he paid very close attention to those details. He knows how to play you; he listens to your grumbling, observes what makes you happy. Notices the moments where you’re less resistant, records what makes you flare up in defensiveness or fury. John is a well-educated man, one who could’ve been a scholar in another life, and he’s decided his favourite topic to study is you.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

“Remember to fill out your forms, lads. New policies coverin’ house insurance and maintenance, let me know if y’need any fixin’ at home.” He hands out the papers, carefully keeping yours separate without being too obvious. Soap’s head bobs up, glancing at you and taking the bait John has set out perfectly. “Oi bonnie, weren’t ye chattin’ ‘bout fixin’ a light o’ somethin’?”

Your face lights up at the mention, a bashful smile gracing your lips, and John would be mad that it’s not in his direction if he wasn’t so satisfied with himself. “I can’t believe you remembered that, yeah! I was going to wait until I got home.”

Gaz hums, hunched over his own form as he signs it. “Maybe Ghost can buy a piece of furniture this year.” His sentence is rewarded with a pen smacking into the side of his head, bouncing off him and onto the table as Ghost snorts in amusement, answering gruffly. “Fuck off, Garrick.”

It never goes wrong, but he still feels smug at how effortless it is to orchestrate an entire conversation before it starts. Getting your signature is as easy as an extra sheet, you can’t even tell the difference. No one reads terms and conditions, and he’s made extra sure you don’t - a couple of edited test forms a few months ago - to rule out the chance.

With the paperwork completed, he contacts the company and gives them a boring, digestible cover story. “Yeah, her husband. Installing cameras, yeah. Keepin’ it safe while we’re both on deployment. Just a light out the back to fix, cameras to install in and outside.”

They’re so quick to listen to the man playing the big, strong head of the house, not a single question about why everything but the payment would be in his ‘wife’s’ name instead. Lying, John finds, is easiest when others do the work for you; give vague details that seem right, and let them come to their own little conclusions. Let them assume you’re some kind of military wife who doddles along behind him, just an obedient little civilian pet while he organises the household. If only they knew what you were and what you did, he thinks. Though still, an obedient little pet is how he would like you. It just takes time to get there.

They come over and install the cameras in less than a week. John’s antsy the day he gets the call that they finished, waiting for it to be over so he can experiment with his new toy. He ignores the questioning looks from his inferiors as he dismisses his last evening meeting early, pushing out the door into the stream of soldiers heading for dinner, only departing from the pack when he reaches his office door.

John prepared a room for this in advance – the moment he set the plan in motion. A room at home, his central control that he could run unmanned and long-distance, circumnavigating his occupancy at the base. It’s almost undetectable; no pesky windows to peek in from the outside, entry hidden behind a locked door in his office. The numerous screens flicker to life, illuminating the room in a blue glow. The cameras are perfect; detailed quality, blur-less zoom. Every angle. It quickly becomes his favourite room to be in, despite only being in it once when he headed home to initially set everything up.

At the base, all he needs is an electronic device and an app to access the command. His favourite to use is his phone, flicking through each screen to take in the rooms, committing each detail and decoration to heart. Though to keep up all professional appearances, he often settles for his laptop, flicking between reports and gazing at the screens with every spare second. John takes the weeks leading up to break to memorise your house, seeing each room flickering on the back of his eyelids as lies in bed, tracing each path you’d take morning and night until he falls asleep.

He protects it. Types your address into his maps app, virtually scouting the neighbourhood to make sense of all your outside cameras, memorising every surrounding street. Plans escape routes, recording positions of defence and any weak spots he could reinforce, windows or vents that are just too easy to wrench open by perverse men like him. Within a month, he knows your house plan like his own; enough to contemplate how he would reorganise it if you wanted him to move in, how many little ones it could hold, tiny feet pattering up and down its hallways.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

When the last week before leave finally comes around, he’s beyond ecstatic. John is a carefully controlled slate around anyone else, but his boys know each twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his lip. They clue you in to his unusually excited behaviour with teasing jokes and remarks that have him rolling his eyes, gruffly ordering them back to work. Soap is betting on a secret missus, making a point to sneak up behind Price when Soap catches him texting away on his phone.

When he finally arrives home, he’s delighted to see your house is still empty. It gives him time to unpack, running loads of laundry and showering. He keeps an eye on his phone, monitoring the screens until he finishes, bringing a cup of coffee and dinner to his little surveillance room.

The screens fill the wall, a 3x3 set-up that basks the room in a pale glow, yet still isn’t enough to display every camera hidden around your house. Everything is silent, the occasional rumble of a car getting his hopes up, but nothing happens until a few sips of his coffee and an article later. Movement from one of the screen catches his attention, his head straightening to watch your front door swing open.

A bag is the first thing that comes through the door, flung down the hallway with a dull thud. Your figure follows it in, heaving another heavy bag behind you. John frowns at the sight, mindlessly tutting as he crosses his arms. He could be there to do that for you. None of this silly straining yourself.

Leaning back and settling in, he watches how you unravel from your long absence. It pleases him that you’re practical in your return, taking the time to wash your laundry, circulate and dispel all the stagnant air (although Price dislikes seeing your windows open, so unattended), and give the place a general tidy up. There’s a ping from your phone a few times that puts John on edge. Who’s texting you already, when you’ve been back for less than a day? His prominent guess is family and close friends, excited to have their beloved child home and safe, but he can’t help from worrying that he’s wrong. Maybe you’re so pent up that you just can’t help it, using those silly dating apps you talk about with Gaz, eager for someone to unravel all that need within you. Maybe it’s an old friends-with-benefits situation you already have that’s eager to climb back in your bed. Maybe – maybe he should bug your devices.

His deliberations are disrupted as you reward your productivity with what Price thinks to be a party in your bathroom. The small haven of what should be privacy isn’t free from his omniscient gaze, either. He doesn’t care if it’s disgusting; there are no boundaries to him. There isn’t a single side of you he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know.

The music comes through his speakers, some songs he recognises from the long travels spent in transport together. Melodies echo through your room as steam slowly gathers, whisps streaming in and out of his lens view as water slowly fills the bath. You trail from the room, meandering down the hall and grabbing some snacks from the kitchen, filling a glass with a carbonated drink you grab from the fridge. Snug in the corner above the entryway, paired neatly with the fire alarm, his camera catches the way you bend yourself over the counter, distracted by scrolling through some app.

He feels himself throb at the sight, fumbling to take a screenshot of the image. You tease him, staying bent like that as you wait for the bath, your ass swaying occasionally when a trendy song hums from your phone. Disappointment washes through him when you stand up, though he basks in the sight of your stomach peaking from under your shirt as you stretch, but his excitement is quickly renewed when you gather your snacks and head back to the bathroom.

The room has filled with a thick fog that blooms out into the hallway as you open the door. It clouds his vision, leaving him cursing for not considering the possibility. Your darkened figure is hardly visible as you move throughout the room, but from the soft, metallic clicks and flickering of light, he assumes you’re lighting something. Two lights blossom in front of you, remaining behind you as you crouch at the bath and start flicking the lighter again. The cloud has dispersed enough to let John see the fuzzy details of your face, watching as you bring a third candle to your face, inhaling with a hum of delight before you light the flame and return it to the bath’s edge. You strew the candles about the room, leaving a large one to glow on your vanity and putting the other one on your closed toilet lid.

You fiddle with the taps – running cold water, he guesses – and sit on the floor, sorting your snacks onto a long tray as the last of the mist spills from the room. He’s been lucky this time; had you not been treating yourself, taking the time to create a small sanctuary, the fog would’ve concealed any chance of John seeing you at such a vulnerable time. A flaw within his system that requires refinement. Perhaps a flaw he can turn into an excuse to visit you.

His thoughts fall flat when you stand up, slotting the tray into its position over the bath and silencing the taps with a few sharp turns. Finally. The point he’s been anticipating.

The captain waits with bated breath, eager to salivate over his uninvited striptease. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you undress, though it’s the first time you’ve been so beautifully unaware. Close proximity (and the resulting lack of privacy) is just another test of comradery – he’s showered next to you in just underwear and ripped your shirt or pants off to treat a stab wound more times than he can count.

But this time you undress, you don’t stop at your underwear.

There’s no to palaver or parade to your performance – there’s no real performance, just a one-sided show, and that alone has John’s cock aching. Capturing you without filter, pretences or social expectations, no song and dance of captain and soldier. You’re clumsy pulling off your underwear, catching the elastic on your toes and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor with the rest of your clothes through curses and grumbles. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, catching up on each new scar and burn, bending over and peering around to see the state of your backside and between your thighs. This is a side of you he can never glimpse on base, despite all his attempts.

The buzz of your phone distracts you, straightening up with a right, okay! and grabbing the small device, unlocking it to peer at the content as you gingerly slide a foot into the hot, soapy water. Bit by bit, you emerge yourself within the sudsy liquid, minding the tray as you let out an audible groan. John watches you melt into the bubbles, arms resting along the tub as your head falls back.

For a while, the two of you remain like that; John sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring the heat flickering in his lower stomach as he works through some papers, keeping an eye on your relaxed form as you decompress within the hot, sudsy water, picking at the tray of food and drink. His attention slips as the minutes go by, becoming more focused on his work – pushing the aching need between his legs further to the side - as he checks the screen every ten minutes.

The swishing of water becomes a tranquil ambience as you scrub at yourself, low voices from your phone that John doesn’t currently care to make out keeping you entertained through the process. You luxuriate in the tub for much longer than the barrack would ever allow, taking your time to scrub the build-up of product and dead skin that you give little concern during deployment.

A paper absorbs his attention, keeping his eyes occupied as he grumbles through writing. His concentration is only torn away as he finishes scribbling his signature, a sharp, unexpected moan filling his ears that has him looking up so fast his neck cricks. Scanning the screen, he quickly determines that it’s not coming from you – rather, your phone, and is now accompanied by a deep, masculine groan.

Your expression is clear on his screen, a flush to your cheeks as you gaze at your device, hand running along your chest teasingly to tug at a nipple. Whether it’s from the pornographic material playing on your phone or the heat of the water, John can’t tell.

The tent of his pants is already insufferably tight, and he swears there’ll be a zipper print against the red of his aching cock when he pulls it out. He wants to relish this, commit each moment of this first time to memory without the taint of his lust, but he can’t help the growing need between his legs. Ignoring it to finish paperwork, merely bask in the company of your unwinding routine, has been a challenge even for his steeled resolve.

As he watches your hand trail down the soft pudge of your torso, dipping into the bubbly water to follow the rise and dip of your stomach, he breaks. His cock springs out of his briefs like it’s gasping for air, bouncing angrily against his stomach with each haphazard tug at the elastic around his hips. He can only imagine how your fingers work between your legs at that sensitive skin, how you orchestrate your undoing.

The tray holds your phone conveniently, allowing both hands to roam your body, and John thanks his luck for at least the opportunity to watch you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. You tug at the sensitive buds with whimpered moans, water sloshing as your hips buck against your hand, teasing John with actions that he can’t see.

He’s damp to the touch as he grips his shaft, fingers immediately sticky with precum that’s been smeared throughout his briefs. Pearlescent beads drool from his tip in a lazy stream, lubricating his motions as he tugs lightly at his foreskin, already teetering the edge of climax. The slightest stimulation has his stomach tightening, listening to your gasps and whines grow in urgency.

You chase your orgasm eagerly, working with a pent up need that comes from the absence of full privacy within the miliary. Convulsions rack through you in synchronisation, moans combining in a harmony he wishes wasn’t separated by the screen. He wants to time it perfectly; fuck up into his fist and release as you reach your own peak, as if a flawless synchronisation is key to unlocking some phantom sensation of being buried between your thighs, clenched down around him.

It doesn’t take much more teasing before you catch up, your tiles wet as water breaches the rim with each careless thrust. The video in front of you has ended, long forgotten as your head lulls back, lost in the sensations that envelope your consciousness that prove to be too much. They push you over the edge with a ragged cry, your knees peaking from the water as your thighs clench around your hand, and John loses himself too.

All it takes it a few weak thrusts into his hand before his balls are tightening, seed spilling in enthusiastic spurts, striping his shirt and pants before it dies down to a dribble that John coaxes out with a groan. He sits there, watching your breathing even out as you wipe away at your mess, spent and catching his breath as the cum dries on his clothes. You’re quick in cleaning up the mess, pulling yourself up on unsteady limbs as you pull the plug, bending down to rinse your hands one last time for John to relish.

He's almost heartbroken when you step out the tub, droplets cascading down to drip from your form, only to reach for a towel to wrap around yourself. The fabric is a slim cover, leaving glimpses of your behind and chest as you dry yourself, humming a tune with a note of content John wishes he brought instead. John tucks himself back into the soiled briefs, shucking off his shirt and pants to wash momentarily, but not before he glimpses you one last time getting changed.

Before you can reach for the underwear placed in advance on the sink and discard your towel, the camera barely picks up the vibration of your phone, catching both his and your attention. Leaning over to the tray, your process is halted by a text on your screen that makes you smile, and whether it’s the drunken, post-orgasmic haze that clouds his mind, or the way it makes him more vulnerable to the surge of jealousy that flares up at your giggle, John finds himself fumbling through the lockscreen and pulling up your contact before he can stop himself.

If you’re not going to think about him during your masturbation, he’s sure as hell going to make sure you think of him after.

Dividers by cafekitsune

#READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS ONE BABIES!!!!#price x reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #jams writings #cw: noncon #cw: dubcon

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tojisbbg · 1 year

Text

𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚

❝you look at me the same, but i can’t reciprocate.❞

♡ reo mikage ♡

a/n: i luv reo.

content: reo mikage x reader, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, unresolved feelings cause sudden confession, not edited.

---

“you’re in my seat, nepo baby. move it.” you snickered, arms crossed over your chest as you see the familiar boy with the striking purple hair lounging on your chair. he was busying himself in a full on conversation with nagi while the white haired male was too indulged in his screen.

“don’t wanna.” reo answered, giving you an annoying smirk, making you want to smack it off of his face. it was eight in the morning and class was going to start soon. you didn’t have the energy to fight him, so, you decided to remove the root cause of the problem.

“let’s go get something from the vending machine.” you chirped, grabbing nagi’s arm as you tugged on him. this earned a soft groan from the boy, making you scoff.

“noo, that’s such a hassle.” nagi replied, making you roll your eyes.

“don’t care, now come.” you successfully pulled him off of the chair, making reo stop mid-sentence as his friend now disappeared with you. your face was now plastered with a contented smile, linking your arms with nagi.

the both of you were pretty good friends, although, being friends with nagi did get slightly tiring for you because of how often his needs had to be tended. fortunately, that was strictly left for reo.

“man, how long are you and reo gonna keep this up? i don’t wanna keep getting dragged between you two.” nagi complained, watching you punch the numbers in the vending machine to get two packs of cookies.

“once your friend stops acting like an assface.” you threw him the pack of cookies, which he swiftly caught before mumbling a small ‘thank you’ to you.

“why do you even hate him? he’s honestly not that bad.” nagi shrugged, shoving a few more cookies in your mouth. you looked at him with an unamused face.

“he worships your ass, so, of course you can’t hate him.” you answered, averting your gaze to your feet and that was until nagi suddenly stopped walking.

“so, you’re jealous that he pays attention to me more than you? i could just tell him to give you-”

“no, NO! that’s not what i meant, dumbass. i’m just saying that you both are friends, so you’re obviously gonna take his side. but i... i just hate him. everything about him makes me mad. just don’t question it, sei.” you sighed in defeat, wanting him to drop the topic as you just wanted to go back to class and hopefully have your seat back.

the bell rang as soon as you and nagi entered the classroom, being welcomed by the teacher who was beginning to write on the chalkboard. you saw that reo was back in his seat which was in the front, as you walked past him with a sly smirk.

take that, nepo baby.

you sat down and opened your books, taking down all the notes that were being written on the board. as class went on, the teacher was handing out the assignment packet and you noticed that the title was ‘pair-up project’. you hummed, looking around the classroom for a suitable candidate that could serve as your partner.

you didn’t mind who you got because everyone in the classroom was very smart. that’s one of the perks of going to a rich and prestigious boarding school.

you loved nagi to bits, but working with him just meant that you had to work for yourself and him. and of course, the last person you’d want to work with was reo.

“alright everyone, please write down the name of your partner as i assign them.” the teacher announced, making your heart drop. you silently prayed to god that your luck was on you side today.

as the teacher went down the list, your name was approaching.

“y/n and reo.” she said, making you slam your head against the wooden desk as you quietly whined. you didn’t want to work with reo because of how dominant he was, you hated his bossy character. he liked to act like mr. smartypants, which got on every single nerve in your body.

reo would soon take a seat next to you, shifting all his things on the empty desk. you couldn’t help but notice how all his supplies were expensive and fine quality, hell, the pen he used was imported from france and costs over a thousand dollars per piece. while you used the cheapest materials you could find because although you got into this school with a full scholarship, your family’s financial status wasn’t that good.

“so, are you gonna continue to mope like a baby or actually help me?” reo arrogantly asked, making you throw a glare at him.

“can you like not open your mouth for one second? i’m trying to think, asshole.” you snarked, grabbing your pen as you began to scribble some ideas that came to your brain.

the project was to construct a model of the heart and have it finished by the end of the week.

“ugh, forget it. i forgot i have a bunch of games this week and you probably won’t be much of a help. i’ll pay someone to build our model for us.” he yawned, your jaw dropping at his words from how much bullshit he was full of.

“fucking hell, you’re so full of shit, reo mikage. you nepo babies might’ve gotten into this school with money, but not any real talent. tch, whatever, fuck off. i’ll build the heart with clay, it’ll allow me to make intricate details.” you suggested, and he grabbed the pen out of your hand before throwing it to the side, grabbing your attention.

“god, you’re always so bitter whenever you’re around me, y/n. i can’t change the fact that i was born into wealth.” he said through gritted teeth, making you cock an eyebrow.

“did i lie though? it’s the truth, your parents bought your seat in this school while i had to work my ass off for years to get a seat. it’s honestly sad, how the world revolves around these useless pieces of paper and how dickwad people like you get to take advantage of it. tell me, reo, how many school related assignments did you actually do without paying someone for it?” you harshly spat, and each of your words felt like a tight slap on reo’s face. he knew how you felt, yet, he couldn’t help but stay silent.

“exactly, so shut the fuck up. for fuck’s sake, do something good with your money, not cheat your ass off just to prove something.” you said one last thing before getting up from your seat as the bell rang, grabbing your stuff to head out.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, making you stop walking as you stood in the corner to make sure you didn’t block people’s way. you saw the caller id and recognized that it was your mom.

“hey mom.” you greeted her with a smile, seeing your blueprint on the screen of the facetime.

“my baby! oh dear, did i call you in the middle of class?” she slightly panicked and you chuckled, quickly shaking your head.

“nope, you’re good. class ended literally a few minutes ago.” you replied, making her hum in response.

“ahh, well, that’s good. i just wanted to call you because we have some good news.” you mom said in a giddy tone, her eyes brightening as your curiosity peaked.

“oh? hit me.” you responded equally filled with eagerness.

“your dad got a job placement in this huge company that’s offering to pay him $250k a year!” your mom squealed, making your eyes widen to the size of two full moons and you gasped.

“what the hell?! no way!! which company?” your lips were stretched into a big smile as you waited for her to respond.

“the mikage corporation. your dad got a management position.” your mom informed you and all the happiness and excitement inside you died down.

“oh.” you simply said, your sudden change in voice making your mom grow worry.

“what’s wrong dear?” your mom asked, completely oblivious to your mood change.

“it’s just that, don’t you think it’s kinda weird? mr. mikage has been dad’s high school best friend, of course he’s gonna give him a huge amount of money for the starting job.” you scoffed, but your words didn’t settle in your mom’s stomach well.

“y/n, is this because of your and reo’s little rivalry going on? i told you to cut that childish nonsense out. mr. mikage is just doing your dad a small favor. besides you should be grateful because now you won’t have to buy your school materials out of your own pocket.” you mother said in a soft voice, attempting to reassure you but her words only angered you further.

“tch, i don’t need mr. mikage or dad’s money to help me pay for my stuff. i have a decent job, so i got it from here. my next class is starting soon, i’ll talk to you later, mom.” you quickly said and saw that your mom was going to respond back, but you were too mad to care. you clicked the red button with the ‘x’ symbol as you hung up.

---

it was almost eight in the evening, the smell of bleach and chlorine filled your nostrils as you entered the dorm’s shared pool. luckily, the pool was available for use any time. although, it was pretty late for a swim, but you knew that it’d help distract your mind.

you weren’t actually supposed to be here right now. you were supposed to be all dolled up in an elegant purple dress your mom sent you, on your way to the mikage mansion where they threw a congratulatory party for your father.

of course, there was no way in hell that you were gonna attend. you’d rather die than see reo’s stupid face for the night.

usually, there’s no one who cames to the pool around this hour as students are either out partying on a friday night, sleeping in their rooms or simply studying. so, you decided that it was too big of a hassle to travel back to your room to change into a swimsuit.

you chose the lazy option.

you pulled your shirt over your head and your pants down, neatly folding them and placing it on the nearest folding chair. your casual unmatched bra and pantie is the same as wearing a swimsuit, so you didn’t really care.

besides, it’s just you.

you pressed the button on the side which let you change the temperature of the water to your liking. this feature would probably be the only reason why you like attending filthy rich schools like this one.

the technology is unmatched.

you could feel the cold pool water slowly becoming warmer, deciding to dim the lights of the huge room and turn on the blue and purple led lights instead. this would bring you the yearning peace that you deserved.

after waiting for a few minutes, you finally walked down the short stairs and began to sink your body in the water. a relieved sigh left your lips as you backed into the edge of the pool, closing your eyes as you began to enjoy yourself.

your peace would soon be interrupted as the doors opened, making your eyebrows furrow. you turned around, curious to see who came.

your eyes were met with the familiar purple locks peaking, as you saw reo enter the space with nothing but a pair of shorts. he stopped in his tracks, equally surprised as you.

“reo?”

“y/n?”

you both said in unison, the man walking closer to you. you rolled your eyes, turning away from him and slightly annoyed that even your peace time had to be ruined by him.

“i can never really get away from you, can i?” you grumbled to yourself, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

“sorry, not my fault that i didn’t know that the little princess would be here at this time today.” reo scoffed, his tone laced with sarcasm as he spoke.

you turned to the side to glare at him as he walked down the small steps to get inside the water.

“shouldn’t you be at your daddy’s fancy rich party, hm?” you snickered, making him narrow his eyes at you.

“i could ask the same to you. what an awful daughter you are for not attending to a party dedicated to your father.” he responded back with equal malice in his voice.

“tch, why would i attend a party where your dad’s name is showered with praises and my dad is seen as nothing but a mere ant.” you bitterly said and your words were ringing loud and clear in reo’s head. with that being said, the room suddenly grew quiet as neither of you spoke.

“y/n, our fathers’ are best friends. my dad was just doi-”

“a favor? is that what you were going to say? no, he wasn’t, reo. open your fucking eyes and stop living in this cloud of delusion your parents put you in. every rich parent is like this, they help the poor and make it their entire personality.” you spat, making his jaw drop to the ground at how unfiltered and poisonous your words struck him as.

“that’s not true! my father would never.” reo tried to argue back, but you let out a chuckle of disbelief.

“is that so? surely my ears wouldn’t deceive me.” you spoke in a low voice, your teeth gritting as you remembered those awful words his father spoke when referring to your dad while he talked with another rich douche.

“the hell do you mean?” reo scowled, not understanding what you meant while he tried to read between the lines.

“when your dad threw your acceptance party, he was speaking absolute bullshit to this other guy about how my dad fell on his knees to beg him to pay for my tuition. my father did no such thing, ever. your father was the one who offered to pay, but i was the one who declined in front of him. and you know that i’m not lying because-”

“i was there.” he swallowed the lump in his throat, looking at you with an apologetic look.

“tch, stop looking at me like that, it makes me hate your stupid face even more.” you murmured the last bits of your sentence to yourself.

“i understand how you feel, y/n.” reo attempted to console you, but you didn’t want to hear these words of pity.

“no you don’t. you don’t understand how it feels to be looked down upon like a dirty insect that can be squashed under a single step. the feeling of all these eyes on you as you walk down the halls, whispers from those dumb bimbos who bathe in daddy’s money every day, and the list goes on. you don’t know how much i hate attending your father’s parties.” your voice began to shake, anger boiling inside you as you clenched your fists, hating how you were beginning to show him your vulnerable side.

“i don’t like going to them either. i know my father isn’t the most humble human being on earth, but sadly i can’t change that. i know you don’t want to hear my words, but in all honesty from the bottom of my heart, i never ever looked down or pitied either you or your family. it’s not in my nature, y/n, whether you believe me or not. i’m not telling you to like me, you’re free to continue hating me until we both die, but you can’t change my feelings for you.” reo admitted, your eyes widening as your words got stuck inside your throat. suddenly, the room felt way too hot, your heart rate increasing.

“w-what?” you stammered, a little taken aback by his words. he gave you a cheeky grin as he swam closer to you until he towered over you with his tall figure. reo brought a hand up, stroking your red cheek as you looked up at him in confusion.

“i like you, y/n.” he chuckled, and you had to blink a couple of times to make sure that you were in reality and not your own delusions.

“are you joking with me right now, mikage.” you slapped his chest, making him wince before giving you a pout.

“you want me to prove it?” he cocked an eyebrow. with that being said, a smile tugged on your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed the pout on his lips. reo place his hands on your hips, ushering you to wrap your legs around his waist, to which you obeyed.

your hands tangled inside his purple locks as you angled your face to deepen the kiss, tasting the faint taste of the cherry flavored lollipop he sucked on earlier on his tongue. you hummed at the sweet taste, making him smirk on your lips.

“so, i take this as a response that you like me back?” reo wiggled his eyebrows and you decided to toy around with him for a bit.

“hm, i never said that. i just wanted a kiss.” you said with a playful smirk, making him gasp.

“what?! so you now just go kissing around people for fun?” he exclaimed, making you bite your tongue to hold back a laugh.

“yup, who knows? maybe i’ll kiss sei tomorrow.” you teased, making him grimace at the mere thought of you kissing his best friends.

suddenly, he roughly pulled you back into his chest before grabbing your face in his hand, crashing his lips on yours. you let out a surprised yelp but eventually melted into the kiss as his lips were just so fucking addictive.

reo gently bit your lips as a warning before looking at you with a sharp glint in his eyes.

“don’t kiss anyone but me, okay?” reo sneered, making you roll your eyes.

“i was just kidding earlier, jeez, you don’t have to be such a baby.” you pinched his cheeks, making huff.

“whatever. hey, let’s go on a date after this.” he suggested, eyes lighting up at the idea.

“a date this late? i need sleep, reo.” you shook your head.

“dinner, you need dinner, y/n. i know a great noodle place near campus, i promise you’ll like it.” reo assured you and you let out a sigh.

“fine. you love moving fast, don’t you? asking me on a date right after a kiss.” you continued to tease him, seeing a small blush taint his cheeks.

“two kisses for your information. besides, i can take my girlfriend out on a date any time i want.” he cockily responded, making you raise an eyebrow.

“girlfriend? i don’t recall being anyone’s girlfriend.” your voice was full of faux suspicion, making reo frown.

“y/nnn, don’t be like this!” reo whined, shaking your shoulders back and forth as you laughed.

“fine, i’ll be your girlfriend if you get me that diamond necklace i rejected on my sixteenth birthday when you tried to gift me it.” you gave him a small smile.

“that’s it? baby, i’ll buy you all the diamonds in the world. you know what, i’m buying the entire company.” reo suddenly said, and at first you thought you were joking, but he was dead serious.

he left you to swim over to where he left his phone and your eyes widened as you quickly followed behind him to stop him.

“reo! don’t do that, you little shit!” you tried to grab the phone from his ears, a laugh escaping from both of your lips.

maybe dating a rich nepo baby like reo wasn’t so bad.

you got the money and the honey, it’s a winwin.

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tearsoftime0086 · 6 months

Text

Zero-Sum Escape: A Close Reading of Code Veronica’s Steve Burnside

Introduction + Disclaimers

If you’re a friend/mutual/unfortunate witness to my discovery of Steve Burnside, you might’ve seen this coming. I’ve become an avid enjoyer of the character, which has led to some interesting discussions about him with friends! I’ve decided to write a small (edit: it was supposed to be small) piece on what makes him so interesting, using quotes and cutscenes from the original Code Veronica game. A lot of online discourse around Steve has historically been negative, so I hope this can be a positive primer for folks who want to learn more about him, or even an interesting curio for folks wondering why someone would do such an in-depth read for a one-off character.

This reading will focus strictly on Code Veronica (and not any of the Darkside Chronicles material) – with the full understanding that many aspects of the game are a product of their time, good and bad. I’ll try to cite my evidence as much as possible, but this will obviously be coming from a subjective and modern perspective as a fan of his character! I’m also a fairly new Resident Evil fan, so if anything’s incorrect, please forgive me and let me know! I’d be happy to make edits.

Anyway, this is all in good fun – and to anyone who even reads a single sentence of this, I appreciate your time!

Reference

As a way to “cite” dialogue and cutscenes, I’ll be including rough timestamps to this great video of Code Veronica cutscenes: https://youtu.be/ym46RPHqaSY?si=a6ItTpdOn3rCZq-U. Feel free to follow along, but the text should make sense without the video too.

So, who is this guy, anyway?

Let’s start with the basics. In the game Resident Evil – Code: Veronica (taking place shortly after RE:2), you start as Claire Redfield, recent prisoner of Rockfort Island. Unfortunately, Claire finds herself in the midst of another biohazard outbreak. And what’s worse is that during her escape, a stranger in a watchtower starts shooting at her indiscriminately! (0:05)

When the dust settles, Claire comes face to face with an abrasive teenager named Steve Burnside, a fellow prisoner on the island.

“Uh, sorry about that little misunderstanding…” (0:43)

This, alongside his attempts to be “smooth” – (I mean, who says “Relax beautiful…” unironically?) doesn’t do him any favors for most players. Not to mention his active derision of Claire’s skills – he leaves her with a few choice “tsks” and a “I don’t want you following me, lady. You’ll only slow me down.” (1:30).

This opening scene sets up a few key characteristics for Steve, which I’ll be referencing throughout this piece.

Steve is someone who makes numerous mistakes, ranging from purely accidental to sheer negligence.

Steve puts a heavy emphasis on reliability/dependability. He leaves Claire because he thinks she will “slow [him] down”. We’ll see more examples of his complex with “relying on others” later on.

Where do these traits leave us? A character that ends up being deeply paradoxical, and in my opinion, super fascinating because of it.

“You’ll just end up disappointed if you rely on others”

Claire finds Steve somewhat quickly afterwards, perusing information about her brother, Chris. I think it’s important to recognize Steve’s intent here. If he was purely focused on escaping (and leaving Claire behind), he wouldn’t have bothered looking for any records relating to her. Some folks may argue that he has a crush on Claire already, and is just following teenage impulses. But trust me, there’s more concrete evidence of teenage impulses later. For now, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was trying to help her out – it ties well with point 2.

Steve’s snooping reveals that Chris is being monitored by Umbrella. Claire immediately takes action, contacting Leon about it. At this point, Steve sarcastically tells her,

“That file shows latitude and longitude of this place. Tch, why don’t you send your brother the coordinates and ask him to come help?” (2:20)

When Claire takes him completely seriously, he becomes prickly.

S: “Hey? I was just kidding? There’s no way he could get here, even if he is your brother.” C: “Yes he can; I’m sure of it.” S: “No way. He won’t come. You’ll just end up disappointed if you rely on others. Believe me, I know!”

Steve’s sudden anger and exit demonstrate how much this topic of “reliability” affects him. He’s vocal about his need for self-reliance – and yet, if we take his investigation in a positive light, it’s not like he’s completely selfish in his attempt to escape Rockfort.

Steve is someone who desperately wants to believe in human reliability, and yet has been spurned due to the circumstances of his imprisonment. We’ll see that he tries to emulate it himself, but unfortunately (and perhaps realistically) falls short.

Yet, what really nurtures this desire is Claire – someone who he can finally depend on. The pair’s next encounter comes when Steve is in trouble (if you’ve seen the “Steve is suffering” memes, it’s from this scene). The player hears him yell a pitiful “Help me!” as he bangs against a locked door – so much for relying on yourself.

If Claire solves the puzzle fast enough, Steve escapes and tells her, “That was too close. But I found something. Thanks to… you.” (3:44).

Thus begins the two’s shaky partnership – and believe me, it’s shaky. Steve runs off yet again, only agreeing to give Claire the essential golden lugers if she trades him something “fully automatic”. But Steve’s obviously on better terms with her now, as seen when he emphatically tells her, “See? This is why you need me. I got your back,” later (5:10). Quite cooperative for someone who was crowing about not relying on others.

In the midst of these scenes is a growing desire to look good to Claire – to be someone she can count on.

The knight fantasy – and bitter reality

Steve ends up describing his own motivation pretty well. Claire finds herself stuck with a nasty Bandersnatch, before Steve dramatically comes to her rescue (more on this in the next section). Afterwards, he eagerly proclaims the following:

S: “Oh yeah, that felt good! Don’t worry Claire, your knight in shining armor is here!” C: “You wish – but thanks for the help.” S: “See? This is why you need me. I got your back.” (4:54)

Steve wants Claire to see him as someone she can rely on – as a self-proclaimed knight to save her from the influx of zombies. It’s why he tells her to wait as he clears out the following area with his “new toy” (6:35). He wants to be the hero who saves the day – Claire might not be able to count on others, but she can sure count on him. He even states it outright afterwards:

“See? You can depend on me.” (6:58)

But maybe this is too blatant of a turn even for him, because he immediately backs off and instead mentions his guns instead:

“You see? This thing is a lot more reliable than any person.” (6:59)

Claire takes immediate suspicion of this, however, and starts to ask questions.

C: “Than people?” S: “…” C: “Steve, what were you doing here? Who brought you here, and where’s your family?” S: “Shut up – I don’t want to talk about it!” *shoots his gun at the wall* C: “Steve…” S: “Never mind. Let’s get going.” (7:04)

Note that he punctures this conversation with an angsty emptying of his gun magazine at the wall. This is no knight – this is volatile, teenage behavior. Claire can tell there’s something on his mind, but Steve doesn’t seem to be in the condition to explain anything.

Steve does the same thing four times – aka, analyzing entrances

As a brief interruption (but it ties into the rest, I promise), let’s take a chance to look at the different ways Steve barges into a cutscene. Humor aside, Steve’s physical actions vary across the four different times he comes to Claire’s “rescue”.

Bandersnatch (4:30)

The first rescue is all cliches and edge. Claire’s “knight in shining armor” breaks through a window dramatically. He shoots at the Bandersnatch without even directly aiming at him, walking forward as he shoots with his dual wielded lugers. It’s almost comical as he walks straight up to the Bandersnatch, delivering a kick and single killing shot for good measure.

It’s all impractical – Steve’s incessant wish to dual wield would hardly be effective in real life, let alone everything else here. But this scene, cliche as it may be, reflects what Steve wants to be in front of Claire. He’s the action hero, the knight – the one who can be counted on to swoop in and save the day.

The Infamous Father Scene (8:13)

These heroics fail him once the two encounter his father. No longer is this a fantasy but bitter reality – and Steve can’t find it in him to shoot his infected dad. It’s only when Claire is in peril that he takes action – and this time, it’s impulsive and rough. He unloads all his ammo in a single, shaking shot, continuing to press the trigger even when it’s all gone.

It’s now that Steve tells Claire the full story – his father was caught trying to sell confidential Umbrella information, leaving his mother dead and the two of them locked up here. He morosely tells Claire, “He was a fool to do something so reckless! So stupid…” (10:15). We can see how much his father’s actions have impacted him – his desire for consistency comes from having his familial life ripped apart by the actions of someone he trusted dearly. And now, at the end of it, he is truly alone – the last one left in his family.

Alfred (11:07)

The next time we find Steve, we see a little bit of the Bandersnatch energy back in him – there’s the same aim, the same kick (to open the door) – but it’s less dramatic this time. There’s no slow-motion focus on shattered glass, no cocky final shot. In fact, this encounter leaves Steve visibly hurt – a crack in his armor. Steve’s still trying to be Claire’s dependable rescuer, and yet this encounter shows that he’s not the infallible knight he wishes to be. Far from it, considering the mistakes he'll make later on.

Alfred in Antarctica (21:30)

This cutscene skips forward a little, but it’s a nice final reminder that Steve does genuinely try his best to protect Claire, and succeeds! We see him take two stylish leaps and then shoot a quick few bullets to rescue her from Alfred. He’s still trying to emulate that knight image, but it’s more efficient than his Bandersnatch moment.

The Flight (and THAT SCENE)

After numerous troubles, Claire and Steve are finally able to escape the island. Needless to say, they’re elated and exhausted. Now that the coast is clear, Steve decides to get honest with Claire and apologize:

S: “Claire, I’m sorry. I know I caused a lot of trouble for you.” C: “No; it’s okay. It was hard for both of us.” S: “Well, I really hope you find your brother. I… I know what it’s like to be alone.” C: “Oh Steve…” S: *coughs awkwardly* “So, where should we go now? I can take you anywhere you want to go, Claire.” C: *laughs* “I hear Hawaii’s nice this time of year.” S: “You got it!” (14:20)

(On a personal note, isn’t this scene so cute? If only this was how it all ended…)

It’s here that Steve bares his heart to Claire. It’s clear that his mishaps and snarky remarks have been weighing on him too – he genuinely wants the best for her. When Claire is all too accepting and sympathetic, however, Steve begins to reveal his feelings (in… controversial ways).

After they find out that the plane is out of their control, the two of them take an uneasy rest. In the cutscene at 16:12, we find Claire leaning on Steve – a physical sign of how she relies on him. As if to follow his teenage impulses, Steve leans in for a kiss – only to startle as Claire begins to wake. His notion is thwarted immediately. Steve stands up,leans on the glass, slams the window and sighs.It shows signs of a “what was I thinking?” moment of clarity.

After all, kissing princesses in their sleep is something knights do in fairy tales. And Steve? Well, he’s no knight. He’s someone who’s almost hindered Claire’s escape as much as he’s helped, and he knows that. This thought is only exacerbated with his actions upon their arrival in Antarctica.

Antarctica, where more mistakes ensue

The plane decides to violently crashes into the side of the Umbrella Antarctica base. Steve kicks the door down and jumps first, reaching his arms out to catch Claire. She lands after, only to stumble and leave them both on the ground. Steve pulls her into a hug, which Claire doesn’t quite reciprocate. As she stands up, Steve lays back flat on the floor, sighing. It’s clear he’s jumped the gun, and it leaves him embarrassed. He doesn’t take Claire’s hand back up and tells her that they should split up to try and find a way out (18:55).

Steve’s love causes another mistake shortly after. The two of them try to break through the base wall with a digging vehicle, only for Steve to get distracted by Claire midway through. This causes a toxic gas pipe to burst – interestingly Steve tries to correct it through the controls – perhaps a reflection of his desires and fantasies for an “undo”. But in reality, he can’t undo his mistakes, and Claire is forced to grab him and leave the area.

This last mistake hits Steve particularly hard:

S: “It’s all my fault…” C: “Don’t say that. Listen to me – we’ll escape from here, together.” C: “Come on, we’ve got to shut off the gas. If we split up, we’ll have a better chance of stopping it.” S: *sighs* “…Okay.” C: “Steve. Don’t forget. We’ll get out of here. Together.” (20:45)

It’s not as if Steve is blind to his own faults – he knows that he’s been the one hindering their escape and takes it particularly hard. Claire has to reassure him multiple times that they’re working as a team to get out of here.

As a further blow to his ego, Steve is completely useless when the two exit the base and encounter Nosferatu, previous Alexander Ashford. Claire notices Nosferatu first, but Steve forces himself ahead of her soon after. He’s still clinging to the need to protect her.

However, Nosferatu easily knocks him off the platform, leaving him clinging to the side. Steve’s at his lowest here, and urges Claire to just leave him behind. If he can’t protect her, then what use is he?”

C: “Hold on, I’ll waste that monster and come back.” S: “Claire, forget about me. Run!” (23:50)

Claire’s resourcefulness and skill allow her to defeat Nosferatu and come back to Steve, still weakly hanging on. She pulls him back up, and Steve is left apologizing again for his rash behavior:

S: “I’m sorry. I failed you.” C: “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.” *she leaves* S: “I swear I’ll protect you next time, Claire.” (25:15)

At this point, Steve’s all too aware of how his mistakes have left both of them in peril. It’s something that he deeply dislikes – as someone who wants to be dependable, he’s being a poor show of it. Claire’s been the one helping him out through most of this, both emotionally and physically. And so he makes himself a promise that next time, he’ll repay the favor.

It’s with this personal promise that the two climb aboard a snowmobile, hoping that they can make it to the Australia base. Unfortunately, this escape is a dead-end for them as well.

Sleep, weary knight

After Alexia awakens and destroys the snowmobile, Claire is rescued by Chris, who managed to find a way to Antarctica. She’s insistent that they must rescue Steve. She finds him cuffed to a chair in a long hallway, with an axe against his throat.

To Claire’s dismay, it seems she’s too late. Alexia has injected Steve with the t-Veronica virus. Steve’s last words before his transformation are a desperate plea for help. At this point, he’s actively asking for help from the one he loves, but fate has it that Claire is powerless. He begs Claire to save him, but she can only watch in despair as he morphs and chases after her.

In what seems to be a miracle of love, Steve manages to snap out of it just before he lands the killing blow. He instead slashes through Alexia’s entrapping vines, sparking her ire and a fatal blow to his chest. He dies in Claire’s arms, once again in human form, lamenting how he couldn’t protect her – how he couldn’t be her knight:

C: “Oh Steve…” S: *brings Claire’s hand to his cheek* “You’re… warm…” C: “Steve, you’ve got to hang in there, okay? My brother’s come to save us. We’re getting out of here!” S: “Your brother kept his promise. I’m sorry I cannot…” C: “What? What are you saying?” S: “I’m glad that I met you… I…. I love you… Claire…” C: “Steve? Steve?! Steve!” (34:15)

To players who dislike Steve, this may be a cheesy ending to a tedious character. And yet – we see Steve’s character arc complete fully in this final scene. No longer is he a volatile teenager, or a “cool” hero, or a self-perceived deadweight. He’s just Steve – utterly human Steve, who couldn’t keep his promise, and yet saved Claire in his own way. And it’s in these final, human, moments that he can confess his true feelings – only for everything – his façades, his love, everything – to all vanish.

The arm theory

As a somewhat lighter ending to this post, I’d like to discuss a little theory of mine.

People who have been following along with all the cutscenes might have noticed Steve’s right arm getting injured during the fight with Alfred. There’s no visual effect on his model, and Steve even claims, “I’m fine; it’s just a scratch” (11:30). And yet I’m convinced that it was quite a serious wound.

Note that he continues clinging to the platform in the Nosferatu battle with his left hand (24:40), not his right. Yet he keeps clutching his right arm in the cutscene after (25:44). And more importantly, Claire is the one driving the snowmobile during their escape attempt, after Steve had taken the wheel so many times prior (25:59). My theory is that the deterioration of his right arm is also why the arm is significantly skinnier upon his final transformation. If you look super closely at the bottom of the screen, you can actually see his right hand convulse as he mutates! Does this imply anything? Not really. But it would be cool to see this brought back somehow in a hypothetical remake, especially as Darkside Chronicles skipped these parts entirely. Kind of reminds me of another Resident Evil character who had arm injuries…

Anyway, if anyone made it this far, thank you! I hope this was a little insight into why I appreciate Steve so much as a character – and maybe in my wildest dreams, made you potentially enjoy him too.

#resident evil #resident evil: code veronica #recv #steve burnside #claire redfield #bits and baubles #temporary brainworm tag #aka my long meta post for steve that I hope did him justice

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duckprintspress · 2 years

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Editing Tips for Beginning Editors

This is a guest post written by Adrian Harley.

Congratulations! If you’re reading this, I’m willing to bet you already have a lot of the skills you need to be an editor. Even among full-time professionals, a lot of editing skill comes from reading a ton—you get an “eye” for when a sentence just doesn’t look right. The more you read professionally edited work, the better you get at it. (Fanfiction is incredible, obviously. But fanfiction has its own quirks, and the grammar and punctuation can vary, so I’m not confident recommending it as a way to brush up your instinctive grasp of when a sentence “looks right.”)

The specifics of what you do as an editor can vary a lot depending on what you’re editing and who you’re editing for, so in this post, I’ll be covering some of the basic principles that I think will be helpful no matter what type of editing you do. Broadly, I’ll be going over language-related tips and profession-related tips.

Language

I won’t be going over the nuts and bolts of grammar here, as a zillion good guides to it already exist online. Grammar Girl is my go-to free resource, and a lot of grammar and punctuation questions can be easily answered online or in a style guide from your library. I looked up the rules for commas a LOT in my first years of editing, and I still have to double-check them sometimes. A lot of the fiddly details differ between guides (how to write a.m. and p.m.; serial comma), but the nuts and bolts of grammar and punctuation stay the same across guides.

Professionally, those fiddly details are a big chunk of editing. Do you write out numbers less than 20? Less than 10? Do you capitalize titles like “President” all the time or only in certain situations? There’s no one right answer, which is one of the many reasons there’s no “right guide” to editing. A style guide will decide many of these questions for you. If you pick up editing as a profession, your employer will most likely have a style guide in mind. You may want to pick one for yourself if you do freelance editing. That way, you won’t have to re-decide on every job, and if you get repeat clients, you’ll be sure their text is consistent across all their documents. A “series bible” for fiction works on similar principles.

Whether you’re looking at those fiddly details or at the big picture, one principle of editing is to never take anything for granted. Someone says there’s five ancient orbs needed to defeat the dragon? You’d better count the orbs. Make sure every proper noun in the story (names of people, places, things) is spelled the same every single time. This is the kind of thing you’ll get quizzed on if you ever apply for a professional editing gig. Every editing job I’ve ever applied to has an “editing test” of at least a page, and it usually has at least one of those errors (if not both).

Another major thing to watch out for is colloquialisms, especially ones that mean multiple things. A short list of common errors I see:

“Since” should only relate to the passage of time; it does not mean “because.”

“While,” again, should only refer to time—two things happening simultaneously. “But,” “although,” “whereas,” and others are good substitutes for the other sense.

“Due to” does not mean “because of,” it means “caused by” (and I’ve seen some editors argue to not even use it for “caused by” and to only use it for when something is owed to someone).

“If” will often need to be replaced with “whether.”

Obviously with dialogue, that’s a whole nother story, but be careful about these in narration, even with a colloquial narrative. They can introduce unintentional double meanings.

When you’re moving from basic accuracy to style, you’ll often need to “tighten up” the language. This might be something you’re used to doing in your own writing. This doesn’t mean all prose should be sparse! But as an editor, part of your job is making sure that every word is contributing something, no matter whether the sentence is flowery or stark. One exercise is to go through and see if you can cut one word from every sentence. Depending on what type of editing you do, you’ll have different “filler words” to look out for. My personal demon is “just,” so I always do a search for that when I’m revising my own work. In my day job, the word “provide” often signals a clunky phrase that could be condensed into a single, better verb (e.g., “provides assistance” vs. “helps”).

You’ll look for a lot as you edit, so don’t feel like you have to do it all at once. A simple search can make sure you’ve caught issues like “while” and “since.” Other issues are best solved in their own read-through. For me, I try to do a read-through specifically for passive voice. I often skip over passive voice on my all-purpose read because, well, the sentence makes sense, doesn’t it? So my eye simply doesn’t catch it if I’m not on the lookout. As you edit, you’ll figure out what process works best for you.

And to wrap up the language section—checklists are your friend! I used to have a post-it of all the things I knew I struggled with, and I’d systematically search the document for those trip-ups after I did my first read. You can customize your own checklist with whatever snags give you trouble.

Professionalism

A huge part of editing as a professional is in how you interact with other people. Your whole job is telling people they’re wrong, after all, and you often have no control over whether they’ll listen to you. Everything you can do to make the criticism easier for them helps!

My favorite “one weird trick” that my first boss taught me is to turn every criticism into a question. If you’re suggesting a significant revision, “How about…?” is one of my favorite leads. If you have no idea what’s going on, do your best to figure out what might be causing the issue, then form a question around that. “Are there missing words here?” is kinder and more useful than “Huh?”

Essentially, your role as an editor is to advocate for the reader. This “reader stand-in” role can help frame critique as well. Will the reader understand this? If you’re in one of the more-technical editing jobs, that question may be completely necessary. As an editor for scientific research, I’m often editing documents meant for people who know way more about the subject matter than I do. The framing of “the reader” is also a useful tool in your toolbox for fiction. You may be editing something that you are not the target audience for. Or, on the other end of the scale, you may know without question that you’re reading something incomprehensible. The polite device of “the reader” helps add a level of depersonalization to the critique.

Unsurprisingly, for editing, communication is key before you even start work. “Editing” covers a huge range of possibilities. Make sure you and the author are on the same page. Do they want a proofread—only correcting glaring errors? Do they want you to improve the phrasing of sentences? It can go all the way up to practically rewriting the thing, if you’re working at a corporation and the authors aren’t professionals. This conversation beforehand will let you know whether you should make “artistic” suggestions as you read, whether you need to stick with nuts and bolts, or something in between.

If the author says they only need a proofread and you discover the whole thing is terrible, that’s when some tactful emails come into play. Never start doing a higher-level edit unless you’ve talked about it with the author first. You have much better odds of an affirmative if they feel like they’re collaborating with you–that you’re both in it together to make the best document possible. As far as the tactful emails go, be kind and be specific. If you have examples of what you’d like to correct, throw those in. It helps the author know what to expect and make an informed decision.

And sometimes the author says no, and that’s okay! You must wash your hands of it. It’s not your name on the thing, and if you don’t put it in your resume, it never will be (fresh out of college, I worked on a couple truly awful novels that nobody will ever know I worked on). Perfectionism is HARD to overcome, I know, but accepting the errors gets easier with practice.

And finally, if you’re still wondering, “Am I cut out to be an editor?” I would recommend the words of Neil Gaiman. In his excellent “Make Good Art” speech, he says that as a freelance artist, you need to do good work, do it on time, and be pleasant to work with. And then, he adds, “You don’t even need all three! Two out of three is fine.”I recommend the whole thing if you ever want to battle imposter syndrome, because the same tenets apply to editing. At least I think they do. You don’t need to be the perfect editor—nobody is. But I guarantee that you have most of what you need already, and I hope this has helped.

Biography

Adrian Harley, one of Duck Prints Press’s editors, has been a full-time professional editor of scientific research for 10 years. Their freelance and ad-hoc editing has run the gamut from books to blog posts to family members’ cover letters. They’ve been published in Duck Prints Press’ And Seek (Not) to Alter Me and the forthcoming She Wears the Midnight Crown, as well as OFIC Magazine.

Want to learn more?

Beware the Weasel Word has information and resources for “tightening up” language.

How to Ask for Feedback on Your Writing talks more about how, from a writer point of view, to help your editor understand what type(s) of editing you’re looking for.

Giving Quality, Motivating Feedback focuses on exactly what it says on the tin: how to give a writer feedback they’ll listen to.

What is an Alpha Reader? talks about what role alpha reader editors play and how to work with one.

#duck prints press #editing advice #on writing #publishing #writing advice #guest blogger #adrian harley

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jukeboxstan · 1 year

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Now that I'm back from my accidental hiatus (looking at you, tumblr support team) I'm catching up on all my notifs from the last couple months! @missjoolee tagged me once upon a time in a "share 7 sentences of a wip" challenge and since I've been gone so long I've decided to share a little a lot more than that. This is from my hallway!juke series where I'd planned to do something on Luke and Julie's first fight but honestly writing it gave me anxiety and I kind of lost momentum.

Without further ado, an excerpt from unreleased hallway!juke...

Luke was pretty much ready to prop his head against the frame of his locker and slam the door repeatedly into his own face.

He’d had a shitty night.

This one had really snuck up on him, too. He’d been poised to stay up late writing a song he’d been toying with in his head, hoping to have a solid first draft to present to Julie for edits in the morning. His 10 pm pantry raid for a handful of Oreos completely derailed his plan, though, because he’d come out of the little cupboard with his mouth stuffed full only to find his mother behind him wringing her hands in a way that immediately set his teeth on edge.

“Wha'?” Crumbs flew out of his mouth at the garbled question, and Emily flinched.

“I really don’t think you should be up this late, Luke. Don’t you have a history test on Friday?”

Luke struggled to swallow against the cookies that had turned to sandpaper in his mouth.

He should’ve known better than to double stack two single Stuf into his mouth. Amateur move. Julie’s family always bought Double Stuf. Way easier to swallow.

Finally, he chewed the two cookies into submission and forced them down his throat. “I’m studying with Julie tomorrow after band practice. I’ve got it under control.”

Emily’s frown only deepened. “Aren’t you guys up to band practice four days a week? Are you sure you’ve got the capacity to study after two hours of music? You should really be putting your focus more on school than–”

It was the same lecture he’d gotten a million times before. “Mom, I know the speech. You really don’t need to give it again.”

And of course, that had been the moment that Luke’s dad arrived in the room. He’d caught up quickly to the discussion and set his own disapproving gaze on Luke. “Now, son, you listen to what your mom has to say. She’s got a few–”

Luke’s head fell back on his neck, gazing at the ceiling. He knew this speech, too. The “respect your elders” speech his dad always gave him whenever he disagreed with his mom’s “school before music” speech. It was an endless cycle of lecturing, and they’d never seemed to pay attention to what he had to say in response.

Mitch snapped at him after that for his snarky impatience, and the argument completely devolved into yelling so many insults back and forth at each other that Luke couldn’t even remember them all this morning.

But he definitely remembered the reaction he’d had when Julie had come to find him at his locker after he hadn’t come to hers.

He wasn’t really sure how to handle this whole “fighting with his parents” situation now that he was in a relationship. He knew he needed to tell Julie about it, that he’d want her to tell him if she’d been in a similar situation, but being intuitively aware of it and actually being able to tell her had been two entirely different things. He’d wanted to wait until he’d cooled off enough to talk about it rationally with Julie, and he definitely hadn’t been there yet when he’d gotten to school that morning.

He had no idea what to say to her. Or that he’d be able to say anything to her without having a total breakdown right there in front of their classmates.

The idiot teenage boy in him hadn’t even considered that she’d come seeking him out when he didn’t show up for their morning routine. Which was really stupid on his part, because of course she would. He would have, too.

And then she’d shown up and been so sweet and affectionate and Luke’s only defense against crying into his locker had been to lash out, to brush her off and hurt her feelings so that he wouldn’t have to acknowledge his right here in this crowded-ass hallway before the bell rang for his English class.

And, yeah, the hurt he’d seen on her face had him ready to smash his face in with his own locker door.

He needed to have a really good apology and explanation ready whenever he found the time to finally talk to her. It had been churning in his mind all day long, what words he could possibly use to explain everything to her and ask for her forgiveness for his stupid reaction when she’d found him that morning.

Lunch came around and he still hadn’t quite decided what to say, but his time for debate was up. He’d be damned if he let them sit apart for the whole lunch period, and he wasn’t going to just sit next to her and let her keep thinking he was mad at her when really he was frustrated with himself. Whatever came to his mind in the moment was just going to have to do, and he’d have to hope that she’d find it in her heart to forgive him for being a total idiot.

Alex and Reggie had been lingering around him all day for moral support, to listen to his frustrations and to offer advice when it seemed he wanted it. They’d stuck around with him to head to the lunchroom, too, so they could sit with Flynn while Luke talked it out with Julie and then hopefully the groups could recombine for the rest of the lunch period like they usually did.

Except, the trio didn’t quite make it to the school cafeteria.

Because down the hall from the cafeteria was Julie’s locker, where she was standing facing a full assault from Carrie Wilson, her once best friend. A crowd of 10 onlookers had already assembled to witness it.

It only took Luke a second to realize that they were talking about him.

“It really is just so terrible that the whole school had to see that, Julie. How embarrassing! It’s only been, like, a month, and he’s tired of you already.” He sees Carrie’s eyes narrow, and he knows she’s going in for the kill. “But such is the way of life, I suppose. Everyone leaves eventually. Especially if you’re Julie Molina.”

Luke’s vision blurred red. Smoke poured out of his ears.

How dare she.

He took a step forward, ready to jump in, when Julie’s voice rang out so strong and clear that it surprised him into a pause. “It must really suck being so insecure about yourself that you have to tear everyone else down all the time to make yourself feel better. I hope one day you learn to love yourself.”

Carrie’s face turned as pink as her designer-labeled dress ensemble. Whatever insults she’d been planning had obviously stuck in her throat, and Julie took the opportunity to turn away with her head held high.

Except when she pivoted, her pretty brown eyes immediately locked on his, flitted over to Alex and Reggie briefly, and then her whole face crumpled into tears.

Luke was familiar with the reaction.

Like when you fell off your bike and scraped your knee as a kid but you still put on a brave face in front of your friends, until you saw your parents and suddenly all you could do was cry and seek comfort from the people you loved the most.

And in Julie’s mind, Luke wasn’t someone who would be willing to comfort her right now.

Because he’d fucked up and misplaced his frustration with his parents on her this morning, and she had no idea that he’d just been seeking her out to apologize and beg her forgiveness.

And so he watched his girlfriend cry because she’d spotted the person she usually went to for protection, and she didn’t think he would actually want to be there for her. She must have felt completely alone, trapped.

He wasn’t surprised at all when she ran straight past him and disappeared around the corner.

#missed these two so much #poor jules #poor luke #this is so insanely late i am not even going to try to tag anyone in it #but its fine tumblr i totally forgive you #my writing #writing

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monstrousproductions · 2 years

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Submissions are now OPEN for Season Three!

Hello, friends I'm very pleased to say our inbox has, at long last, reopened! If you haven't had a submission on the programme yet, now's the time to act as Season Three will be the last season of Monstrous Agonies.

You can send your submissions here on Tumblr, via the website or by email at submissions[at]monstrousagonies.co.uk.

Now, since we've gained quite a few new followers and listeners since the inbox closed way back in December, I thought it would be helpful to address some common questions and clarify some points!

What kind of submissions do you accept? We accept submissions for both letters and adverts. In both cases, you can either write the full piece, or submit a short prompt - or anything in between! For example, in Episode Thirty One the letter about a creature who could smell lies and worked in a government office was a three-sentence prompt, while the letter about a creature with rigor mortis was a full letter.

What kind of thing can I write about? Generally speaking, anything! I do encourage you to think about the tone of the programme and use your judgement on whether a topic is appropriate, though. For example, there's a great deal of fantasy violence in MA and plenty of jokes about people being eaten, but the context is always otherworldly and a step removed from real-world violence. This isn't something that's been a problem in the past, though, so if this is your first submission I encourage you to just give it a go. Especially because...

Will you edit my submission? Almost definitely, yes! Some submissions go into the show unedited but most get at least a little tweaking here and there, usually for improved clarity or to get the language more in line with the world-building that's already been done. Sometimes the edits are more substantial, for example if the letter is too long. By submitting, you're giving your permission for me to fiddle about with your submission as much as I feel is necessary - though I do always strive to keep as light a touch as possible. I want to hear your voices, after all!

How long should submissions be? There's no minimum length - you could submit a single word if you felt so moved. Though I'd, uh. I'd prefer you didn't. There's no maximum word count either, but I recommend reading your letter aloud and seeing if it comes in around the 2-3 minute mark. But as above, I will edit it down if necessary so as long as you're OK with that, I shouldn't worry too much.

Can I submit if I've already had a submission on the show? 100%! It's really lovely, actually, seeing repeated names in the inbox and recognising people's styles and interests 💖

How do you decide which letters get used? I try my best to include every submission I get sent, and have very, very rarely chosen not to. However, with the incredibly high volume of submissions I'm expecting this season (I mean, the inbox has been open for less than 24 hours and we're already well into double figures...!) I may have to be more selective. In that case, I'll generally give preference to first-time submitters.

How long will it take to hear my submission? More like months than weeks, I'm afraid, at least for letters. MA has one episode per week and two letters per episode. As I said, we're already past 10 letters for next season and S03 doesn't even start for another month! Adverts usually have a quicker turn-around as we get fewer submissions for those. Most submissions are included in the order they were received, though if you submit multiple letters then I'll usually try and have a bit of a gap between them.

Can my submission riff on previous letters? Sure! If I have any secret plans for those characters that your letter is impinging I will simply... not use your submission 😉

When will the inbox close? Totally depends on how many submissions I get and how quickly. I have 40 episodes planned for S03, and would like to keep a handful of letters for myself (either for plot reasons or just because I have a fun idea I want to do!) so there are a limited number of spaces and I'll close the inbox once those are full.

I have another question not answered here and/or I want to tell you how clever and well-dressed you are! By all means, slide into my Asks if you have any questions, comments, concerns or compliments 😎

Happy writing, friends, and I can't wait to see what you're cooking up for us!

#monstrous agonies #behind the scenes at monstrous hq #submissions open #short story submissions #writblr #writers of tumblr #podcast #horror podcast #creative writing #queer creator

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reggieblk · 1 year

Note

H E L O

hello <3 thank u so much for the ask from this game

H. How would you decribe your style?

I actually don't really know, which bodes well for the rest of this lmao. I'd say it's definitely influenced by everything I've ever read and my education - I went to school in France so there's probably some french influence in there. I'd say it's pretty simple and definitely still in the first stages of life, I hope to get much better as I keep writing!

E. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

I'm gonna assume we're talking about equals in life (partners in death) bc I don't have any other fics posted haha. If there were to be a sequel it would definitely just be an amalgamation of scenes (already seen from Harry's POV and never seen before) from Tom's POV. Realistically there is nothing else I could do with how the fic ended lol, but yes I have thought about writing a small sequel like 20k of Tom POV

L. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Uuuugghh so many dude oh my god. I am SICK of equals in life how many times did I read that fic oh my god. I would like to use this opportunity as a formal apology for the HORRIFIC dialogue punctuation in that fic btw, any time I read back bits and pieces of it it's like full body cringe like - oh, a thousand ppl have read this, great. I do love the fic though so I'll revise it later on, at a time when I've laid it to rest for a bit bc I did write that fic out of love and I do love it, I'm just sick of it atm.

But, to get to the heart of the ask: I'm in the process of shaking off the habit of obsessively reading over every single sentence I write while still writing so it makes for more editing at the end but I now get the added bonus of rediscovering bits I'd forgotten! So I'd say I read over a fic a total of three times before posting : one entire time from start to finish, and then chapter by chapter as I post and I do that twice over (but there's also the small edits I make along the way).

O. How do you begin a story - with the plot, or the characters?

I tend to always use the same characters, main characters anyway so other characters just appear as the fic goes - but I definitely start with the plot. I'll vividly like hallucinate an idea I have and be like 'this is the best thing ever' and then if I'm motivated enough I'll open a google doc and flesh ideas out, write the bits of dialogue that stick in my mind and write an outline. The characters are part of the initial hallucination so I suppose it's kind of both at the same time!

Although, I mentioned in a post I'm writing a play (original work) for one of my fics, and for that, while I had a general idea for the plot, I was forced to come up with the characters first - so I suppose it depends on what I'm writing. (sidenote: this is the fic I've been writing obsessively for the past few days, I've decided to call it If we were lovers)

#thank u for the ask !!!#this is very fun !#ask game #billie speaks #(too much perhaps)

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castle-dominion · 11 months

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I do not speak spanish but I know a little bit about it & I speak french so does anyone want to read an excerpt my crappy rough draft of a fic? No? Too bad here it is:

Esposito set the plates down on the coffee table & went to grab the pot. Ryan was sitting on the sofa already, turning on the subtitles for the movie they had decided upon. Esposito portioned out scoops of rice onto each plate, pork, peas, vegetables, & spice made an enticing aroma. Ryan sat crosslegged under a blanket & let his knee rest against Esposito.

"Really?" Ryan asked. "You make me the national dish of Puerto Rico?"

Esposito made a disapproving look, mouth long across his face & eyebrows low. He blinked. "My mother knows how to make anything. I've only got a few recipes under my belt."

Ryan chuckled & took a sip from his water glass before picking up a forkful of arroz con gandules. "How's Mami doing, by the way?"

Esposito covered his mouth politely to speak while eating, "She's good, I was going to call her this weekend but do you want to talk with her now?"

The man already had his phone out & Ryan actually felt like yeah, he did want to talk to Mami.

"Hola chico! Comme estas?" Mami's voice fuzzed through the speaker on the phone.

"Hola Mami. Kevin esta la, nous parlos ingles, por favor?"

Esposito's mom let out a coo & switched languages. "Keviiin! How are you?"

Ryan grinned at her enthusiasm. "Soy bien, Mami. Javi just made dinner & we're about to watch a movie."

"Ahhhhhh! Nothing too bad I hope!"

The boys laughed at her concern. Esposito assured her that they were being responsible & Ryan asked her, "& como estas, Mami? How is swimming going?"

The sweet woman cooed again, "Amazing! The water gives me the support I need & I love the aerobics with the chiquitas."

Esposito beamed & congratulated her. "Well, we'd better let you go, we just wanted to say hi."

Esposito's mom solemnly gave an "Ahhhh," & thanked them for calling. "Muchos bisous, Kevin, Muchos bisous, Javier!" She gave them each a kiss through the phone, the boys bid goodbye simultaneously, & they ended the call.

The boys smiled, filled with warmth from Mami's love.

I spent over four hours writing yesterday, initially as a joke trying to see if talk-to-transformer would be able to continue my fic. I just fed it smth small to see what it would say & it was funny & not right at all, but then I tried a larger chunk, & with the context it was able to write my a single sentence that I actually liked the gist of, so I changed it to actually work with my fic & started genuinely writing. I got on a roll & started writing from 22 or 23 last night, maybe even midnight, until 4.30 in the morning. Then I woke up about half past 11, had breakfast, listened to a song, got my computer set up, & started writing at around noon. I stopped writing at about 16.30.

Now here's the thing, I did a lot of copy-pasting around & so the formatting got wonky, I sometimes use initials instead of typing out someone's full name to save time & I can ctrl-h it later, there are many points when it is me talking not the character's voices, & the plot kind of got sideways. Not to mention, sometimes I leave notes to myself or parts of the plan/outline in the fic.

I could really use a beta reader. I know the story too well & would end up skimming.

I also know that I am not likely to fix things like "why did he tell beckett so easliy but hide it from castito?" & "why would I delete my casefic part? i worked hard on it!" or alternatively "Why would I finish the case part of it? This is not a casefic, it is about people & characters & relationships" I'd just leave it as-is.

Anyway here is the doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1whlOAAXQGYl7UdLW_5fiNtnw7N57MkiDuvy1oBCJjSU/edit?usp=sharing

anyone can read & use suggesting/commenting mode anywhere I have issues.

#beta reader wanted #castle fanfiction #fanfic recs #fanfic #fanfiction problems #fanfiction writer #rysposito fanfic

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power25bachmann · 2 years

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the--sound--of--rain · 2 years

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Hi!

5, 13, 19, 24, 36 for the writer's ask please! 😁

Hey Kal! 🤗 Thanks for asking 💕

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

Huge pet peeve: Characters that don't have their actual personality and are just pressed into the same roles that often repeat themselves in fanfiction. You know these posts with A and B that just get applied to every ship? Or those, "Who of your ship..." and then people say who eats chocolate and who eats strawberry ice cream and things like that – like every single ship has the same A and B and a chocolate and a strawberry ice cream person etc. But every relationship in fiction, ideally, should be unique and so should every character. And when people just apply the dynamic they applied to their last ten ships to Berlermo (or another ship), it just makes me roll my eyes and I don't read it at all anymore.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

I sometimes do, loosely, to keep track of the development of the characters in scenes. I don't think the headache would even be that bad because I actually write out what is supposed to happen in full sentences under pullet points, so if you read an outline you'd just have a good idea of the plot – of course including a few confusing nots in brackets, like: (Blood??).

19. Do you edit your fics after you write them, or do you prefer to just hit post and run (because it’s someone else’s problem now)?

Absolutely edit. I could not deal with the cringe of having posted an unedited fic – mine at least are insanely chaotic and badly written in lots of places before editing. I think if I didn't edit them, I would completely ruin the potential of the idea alltogether.

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

There isn't one. If it makes sense, I'd try to make any trope work (even though I don't really write by tropes), and I always find it interesting to hear about things!

36. Are there any fics or fandoms you’re embarrassed to have written or been part of?

I mean, my fics from when I was 12 are bad so I guess in a way it would be embarrassing if someone read them, but in another way I'm not at all embarrassed to have written them because I needed to practice somehow so they're just as valuable to me as my current fics. Fandoms no, I stand by all my obsessions.

Writer asks

#ask #natures-marvel #thank you 🥰#writer asks

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brandnewhuman · 2 years

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Also I had a thought: how would the slashers (specifically bo and Vincent) react to you shoving your face in their chest like so

I saw Osirisv (I think that’s their url) do it in art form but I’d love to see it in a written form, such as a headcanon. I feel like they would all react differently depending on which slasher you’re referring to, y’know? Anyway hope you have a good day/night lovely!

READER PLANTING

THEIR FACE ON

THE SLASHER'S

BADOONKAS

[Sinclair Twins edition]

CONTENT:

Bo Sinclair - Vincent Sinclair

Tw: head full, so many horny thoughts. NSFW, mature language

A/n: THIS REMINDED ME OF THIS ONE TIKTOK SOUND. Anyway I think I saw the post you're talking about and I THOUGHT THE EXACT SAME THING. I was like "damn...all those tiddies and no one is writing about them". But fear do not cause im here to get all of us to horny jail. I hope its okay if did only the twins, if you want other slashers I can do them in a part two!

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

BO SINCLAIR:

Every time I watch house of wax and Bo comes out in that black suit i-

They knew what they were doing when they decided to do that shit

I haven't known a single day of peace since

Onto business now

HE IS WEARING THE DAMN SUIT

He should've seen it coming, honestly.

He's going around with all of that and expects you to do nothing about it? Not today Satan

You just casually approach him as he is fixing his hair in front of the mirror

He senses your unhinged thoughts from miles away

"Goddammit y/n just do it instead already!!"

That's all you needed.

He didn't even finished the whole sentence that you're already attempting to your own life by suffocating your face in Bo's glorious chest

HEAR ME OUT. he's like really fit and he's not ripped but he has definition in his muscles right? THE TIDDIES THO

SOFT TIDDIES AND SQUEEZABLE

while you're in your personal piece of heaven he's just like contemplating his life decisions

This tall ass bitch acts all tough but as soon as your face is touching his chest he's blushing like an idiot.

His own horny bastard brain decides to match your energy and he just smirks

"You know… if you really like me so much you should really show me how grateful you are for em, don't ya think doll?" *boner alert*

I- I can't excuse myself I'm sorry

IT'S NOT MY FAULT HE'S A WHORE

moral of the story, if you do this Bo is gonna get horny and either fuck you into oblivion or just having his head full of sinful thoughts

VINCENT SINCLAIR:

I think you would genuinely kill him if you do something like this

But like "oh shy uwu boi" but more like "im restraining myself and my unholy thoughts from auto combustion"

He's always so focused on his work that most of the he doesn't even pays attention to what anyone's saying

So when you ask "can I squeeze your boobs" he just absentmindedly nods while, ironically, trying to get the perfect boots shape of one of his wax figures

He realise when is too late and you're already assaulting his chest by squeezing it and slamming your face against it

Baby boy is flabbergasted.

He awkwardly pats your head and stares into the void while his only working brain cell thinks about very naughty things

He feels so guilty about it

Babe has never experienced things like this so he feels like one wrong move could ruin the mood

Grateful for the mask covering his now red face

I have this strong feeling that Vinny's chest is less soft than Bo's. Like he's a little bit more on the just fit side than toned or muscular

He's not gonna be like bo and just be a whore on main out of the blue

But he's gonna think about how you soft hands (smaller or bigger depending on how yours are) feel against his chest, how he can feel your warm breath against his skin even if he's wearing a shirt and the you intoxicating scent invading his senses

Yeah he's gonna think about that a lot, when he's alone, preferably in the bathroom with the door locked.

#slashers #slasher community #slasher fandom #horror movies #slasher fanfiction #slasher x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax

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kirishoshego · 3 years

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Confidental Composition//Bakugo

!!!MINORS DNI!!! 18+ONLY !!!

This is the first part of my little 'Teachers Pet Series' (I will add the link once I got all parts covered and the right ideas).

Summary: A simple task fucked up late at night as you send the wrong version of a piece of homework to your English literature teacher Mister Bakugo. Of course, he would want to see you after class the next day. But not for the reasons you might think. Pairing: Docent!Bakugo x afab!student!y/n // Words: 4.2k+ Side note: Insert a friend or random name you want for X :)

TW: nsfw: slow burn (sorry), spanking with a ruler, hair pulling, being bend over a desk, calling him sir, spitting, choking, dirty talk, degrading, slight praise

„Write an essay about the worst description of a woman or coitus. In the essay, explain why it is bad and then rewrite it. At least 30 pages, max. 60 pages (sources and any other extras you please to include, excluded). Due Date: 8 weeks from now on, 35% worth of your end grade. Questions can be asked per E-Mail, or, if you must, I’m free every Wednesday afternoon for meetings strictly for this essay and this essay only.“

A sigh left your lips as you starred at the piece of paper for the tenth time today ever since he handed it out to you and your classmates. The options you had were endless, you knew so many bad pieces about both topics and could write more than 100 pages about them as well. Everyone in class you talked to had decided on their topic already, some were even further. It was X who told you to just write the topics on a piece of paper and let fate do its work.

Black ink on a badly ripped blue note decided that you were going to write about a sex scene. Just now that you thought about it, rewriting something like that for your professor to read was an awfully stupid idea, yet you decided to listen to a small piece of paper.

At first, you were going to go with Fifty Shades of Grey but you felt like the choice was chewed up and spat out. It took you three days to finally decide on a book and once you settled there was no turning back. Considering your ignited interest in this topic you weren’t surprised when you were done within the first four weeks. Knowing the editing is going to take another week, maybe even a week and a half, you decided to take a small break, just one or two days off. On your second day, you decided to visit the new coffee shop that had just opened up around the corner.

Never had you expected to see your professor near your living spot. You were about to greet him when you noticed his pissed-off expression on his face and only now did you spot the woman behind him. She grabbed his arm and made him turn on the relatively small and empty street.

„Suki you can’t be serious,“ she was angry and hurt, while he seemed to be angry and annoyed. Not much of a difference than to how you see him on the daily, to be honest. „Are you fucking stupid? Of course, I’m fucking god damn serious. It was your choice to cheat on me and now I choose to throw you on the streets where you apparently belong, go ask one of your little boy toys to take you in for all I care,“ you were frozen in place, not entirely sure what to do. Right now your eyes were glued on his chest that was clad in a tight, black pullover, rising up and down heavily as his nostrils were flared caused by his anger. „Because you gave me no choice! If you like that sort of weird, rough shit then paddle your own canoe! I need something soft and tender-,“ before she could finish her sentence he laughed. Cold and slightly maniac in a way.

„Then get some fucking chicken! If you don’t like how I’m in bed then break up with me and piss off but don’t send my best friend a nude to ask him to come over. Even a ten-year-old would see how stupid that is,“at that moment your eyes met. His eyebrows were furled together, red eyes expression furry and disgust. Blond hair usually styled like he was going to be on the cover of Vogue, like he had been before, now slightly messy. Plump lips slightly apart to let his teeth shine through slightly before wetting them with his tongue. Your eyes widened and before you knew what you were doing you waved at him, making him cock his eyebrows in confusion for a second before noticing it was you who he was looking at. Turning on your heels you walked past busy crowds of people as you walked back home, trying to understand what you had just seen and why your angry professor had turned you on more than anyone had done before.

It was a stupid idea to ditch the next teaching unit of his but you had absolutely no clue how you were going to look at him. You knew teachers had a private life themselves, but never would you have guessed that you would run into one of them in your small area. As far as you knew he lived across town according to the very, very few private stories he had shared in magazines.

„Dear Professor,

down below is my finished project as an attachment in form of a PDF. I know you request it to be printed as well and I had planned to hand it in today, but sadly I came down with the flu. I’m looking forward to attending your next unit in the following week.

Have a nice week,

Y/N Y/L/N“

Maybe he had forgotten that you were there already and you were worrying too much about it. You were his student, nothing more, nothing less. Bakugo could care less about you, right? The flu did go around a lot right now, so it wouldn’t be completely unthinkable that you were sick. Itching eyes signaled you that it was time to go to bed now, so you closed your laptop and went to bed, not knowing what the next day will hold for you.

X had waited for you at the main entrance the next day to give you all the information you might need and ask why you weren’t there, considering it was obvious that you had the flu for one day only. At first, you were hesitant to explain what you had witnessed, it was messy already and you doubt Mister Bakugo would want the fight to go viral at his workplace. „Just one of those days you know? I had my mind completely full and felt like crap,“ that was the best excuse you could come up with, a white little lie that wouldn’t harm anyone. „Glad to see you’re doing- Oh, hello Professor,“ X smiled at someone behind you. There was no need to turn around to know who it was, the scent of his very expensive and extremely beguiling perfume clouding your mind. „Hello,“ his gruff voice greeted your friend shortly as you turned around, met with his muscular chest. You didn’t expect him to be so close to you, but here you were, tilting your head slightly as you looked up to him through your lashes, feeling not just your cheeks growing hot. „Good morning Sir,“ your voice sounded a lot more confident than you were feeling. Bakugo clenched his fist around the fake leather of his bag, his red eyes starring right into your soul as you had no chance of escaping whatever was going to happen next. „Miss Y/L/N, just the person I was looking for,“ fuck. „You were?“ X and you said at the same time, but your friend decided to excuse themself after a single glare from the older man. „How may I help you, Professor?“ You asked after swallowing down the anxious feeling that threatened to rise. „I received your Mail yesterday, with the PDF,“ okay, why did he search you just to tell you he got your assignment? Was it that bad? „But I’m relatively sure that it was the wrong one, considering I doubt that you want your teacher to know that 'this shit is so bad, but I wouldn’t mind being bent over a writing desk like that' with a smirking emoji at the end,“ only when his finger pushed your chin upwards gently you noticed that it was agape, shame filling every molecule in your body as you already planned your escape out of this country. Nobody was near you to see the weirdly intimidating scene happening between you and your teacher.

„Also I know you didn’t have the flu. I don’t appreciate being lied to. Tomorrow five p.m. in my office, don’t be late or you will get in more trouble. Send me the actual version tonight so I can grade it. I won’t let something as unprofessional as this slide again, understood?“ You nodded, taking in all of the information given to you, and somewhat in all of this mess felt thankful that he was giving you a second chance. The man in front of you rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, ordering you to speak up. „Yes Sir, thank you,“ you sounded more confident than you felt inside. „Good,“ was all Bakugo said before he turned around, leaving you behind in the big hall dumbfounded and confused… And horny.

As if Chronos himself felt immense joy in your misery, minutes appeared to be hours and the panic inside of you only grew the closer you came to five in the afternoon. You tried everything, watching a show, listening to podcasts and audiobooks, reading a book you had put of for so long, went outside, cooked something, worked on another assignment, stopped yourself from destroying your hair, made the phone call you so desperately had put off and it’s still only ten p.m on the same day. How was that even possible? As you laid in bed you tossed and turned, the thought of your really hot teacher all angry, breathing heavily, his hands roaming your body. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when those thoughts turned into a very lucid dream, but when you woke up in the morning, already an hour too late to your first period, all you wanted to do was scream into your pillow.

Considering first class is canceled, you wanna go grab breakfast? X texted you.

Canceled? Checking your mails you saw your teacher had sent out a mail, excusing themselves and explaining they came down with the flu. A blessing in disguise. You let X know that you would meet up at the building and go grab something near it. Once agreed, you took a quick shower, a moment of peace given to you as water hit your body. There was no way you could do anything between your last class and the meeting with Professor Bakugo, so you tried to look your best possible for the next upcoming hours.

Suddenly time flew by and the closer you got the more you begged for a little bit more time, for him to postpone it, anything. But no, here you were, five minutes early and looking around to spot the blond man with no luck. „Miss Y/L/N. Step inside,“ you jumped slightly as his voice boomed up behind you, not expecting him to be in the office already.

Once you walked inside you were stunned about how clean everything was, no matter where you looked it was neat. His books were sorted alphabetically with marks between them to let him know when a new letter began. As far as you could tell he used cherry wood for his pieces of furniture, a big, black carpet in a corner underneath a small seating area, and some books placed on the table. Even his paperwork was stacked in order. Big glass windows allowed the evening sun to fall into the room, its warmness kissing your skin while you were seated in front of him, a big writing desk between the two of you, on it your work.

It was quiet for a short moment, before he leaned back in his chair, red eyes mustering you up and down which didn’t help at all. „What would you like to talk about first? Your assignment or the fact that you lied to me?“ Why was he so bothered by your lie? You knew plenty of students calling in sick every once in a while even though they aren’t. „I apologize for both of it. It shouldn’t have happened and I learned from my mistake,“ you were hoping that it would ease his anger a little bit but he seemed more worked up than usual. „Although I don’t understand why you are so angry at me for it? Plenty students lie-,“ „Yes, but they aren’t stupid enough to make it so obvious,“ he interrupted you. „I could care less about who’s missing my class, it’s their fault in the end if they decide learning is unnecessary. However you are one of my top students, I expected better from you. You could have excused yourself with no explanation. But you chose to add the feeble lie about being sick for what?“

You took in a deep breath, feeling as if another lie would be caught immediate, so you had no other choice but to tell him the real reason: „I heard the fight you had with the woman you were with, in the café, and I didn’t know how to react when I see you in your class,“ there was a small moment where he looked honestly confused before something clicked in his brain. „So it was you who I saw. What did you hear?“ „I can’t really rem-,“ „One more lie and I will lose my temper, don’t test me,“ shit, why was he turning you on so much right now. He’s your teacher for god’s sake and angry at you, this wasn’t the right time. „That she doesn’t agree with certain things in your private life,“ „Like?“ he knew you tried to talk around it, yet he wanted you to talk about, to see you embarrassed again, he liked that look on you. „The way you fuck,“ it was said before your brain could even comprehend the words, another apology laying at the tip of your tongue but his next question cut you off before you could say something else. „Why were you there in the first place? I’ve been there a few times and never saw you or any other student,“ he explained. „Because I live close by?“ It sounded more defiantly than you had wanted, causing your opponent to cock his eyebrow.

„I feel like you’re forgetting who’s the authority figure here,“ he walked up to his door, locking it before coming back. Now he was right in front of you, slightly sitting on his desk and the sleeves of his button-up shirt pushed up a little. „No sir, I’m sorry,“ „You see, the problem is, I don’t really believe you,“ with that he pulled you up, bodies pressed against each other, letting you feel his toned torso while the muscles in his arms flexed slightly.

„You lied to me once already, I think I have to teach you a lesson,“ everything happened so fast and you suddenly found yourself face down on his desk with his hand between your shoulder blades, the other one grabbing his wooden ruler. „If I recall correctly this is what you wanted right?“ His voice was low, slightly above a whisper as his upper body was pressed against your back while he pulled a few hair strands from your face. „Yes, but Professor I don’t think this is a good idea,“ your inner voice yelled at you, saying this was the best idea ever, angry that you possibly ruined your dreams coming true.

„Tell me to stop and I will do so immediately. Your choice. There will be no consequences if you worry about that,“ he reassured you, waiting for you to get up and run, but you didn’t and the current position allowed him to feel you clench your legs. „So?“ He asked again, the ruler in his hand basically burning with the anticipation of hitting your skin. „No, don't stop,“ you breathed, awaiting his next move.

„Good,“ with that he exposed your raised ass, your underwear the only thing between your bare skin and the wood that came down upon it, one foot raising in the air because of the sudden pain. „From now on if you say stop I won’t listen, you will tell me how you feel through colors. If it’s too much you tell me red and I will drop everything, understood?“ Another spank was delivered to the same spot.

„Yes,“ another one. You weren’t sure if he hit harder or if your skin turned more sensitive with every blow.

„It’s sir to you,“ you could feel him lunge out but shortly before the ruler came down he stoped, laughing slightly at your small jump.

„Yes sir,“ another one.

„You’re going to apologize every time my ruler paints your cute ass even redder, got it?“ You nodded your head, a moan escaping the back of your throat as he spanked you yet again.

„One more thing, be a good girl and stay quiet, wouldn’t wanna get caught now do we?“ He knew it was going to be torture for you to follow his order the more he continued and in a way he wanted you to fail. There was so much build-up inside of him and it appears that you were willing enough for him to use you as he pleased. That’s why you were his favorite. Bakugo knew what he was doing was wrong and he never expected to feel this way for one of his students but forbidden fruit tastes the best.

You stopped counting after the seventh blow, sorries, sirs and small whimpers fall from your lips as if they were your whole vocabulary. At one point you started crying, tears mixed with mascara running down your cheeks. He tried to remember something that turned him on more than the sight of your messed-up body with no luck. Everything build up inside of him, everything itching in his hands, the inner desires he had to soften for his ex, it all was going to come down on you. His thick girth twitched at the simple thought of finally being surrounded by your dripping wet cunt.

A warm soft hand rubbed over your bruised flesh while the other one found its way into your hair to pull you up to him, your back arched.

„What are you sorry for?“ Your mind was clouded with pleasure and pain, the only thought right now was the feeling of his dick print right between your sore cheeks. „I asked my little bitch a question, I expect you to fucking answer,“ this time he spanked you with his hand but it was just as intense as his ruler. „I don’t know,“ you breathed, a soft moan slipping out of you when his thumb barely circled your throbbing clit. „You’re just apologizing because you want me to use you?“ You could hear him chuckle lowly before he pushed your underwear to the side, his middle finger now playing with you. „Yes sir,“ Katsuki couldn’t hear a single ounce of shame in your voice and he wondered how long you had been thinking about him like this before.

„I never expected you to be such a dumb, cock hungry whore,“ The sound of his belt hitting the floor was dull like it was far away from you but at the same time, you felt him closer than before. Strong hands around your waist turned you around and once again he lifted your head with his finger underneath your chin, studying your ruined make-up as if he was memorizing every little detail he never wanted to forget. The blond, muscular man lifted you with ease, your behind getting a small moment of cooling as it hit his wooden desk.

Bakugo dried your tears slightly with his thumb, smearing it even more. „Only for you,“ you whispered and in that moment he couldn’t stop himself, he just had to kiss you. Not sweet and gentle, but passionately and hungry, like he was poisoned and your kiss was the antidote. The hand behind your head traveling to the front as you were laid down completely.

„If I had known before I would have fucked you so much sooner,“ with one hard thrust he was buried deep inside of you, one hand over your mouth because he knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet and the other one around your throat, squeezing shut and watching you struggle against it slightly. Your professor was thicker than what you were used to and you didn’t know how good it would feel until now. With the first few snaps of his hips, you knew you never wanted to feel something else anymore.

Your hands went to his arms and you tugged on them, causing him to let go as the blood found its way back to your brain. „Color?“ he asked, afraid you weren’t able to handle him. „Green,“ was all you could get out before another moan cut off your ability to talk.

„Good girl,“ he whispered into your ear, kissing down from your earlobe to your shoulder before sucking on a rather sensitive spot. Both of your wrists were held over your head with his left hand, with the explanation that he doesn’t appreciate being stopped while using you however he pleased. The right hand was going from between your chest after he admired your bouncing tits thoroughly, to your stomach to connect with your most sensitive bundle of nerves. Bakugo switched from circles to eights, from fast to slow, but the harshness of his hips never haltered.

„I know you wanna scream right now, but I can’t allow that. Can’t let others hear what a dirty slut you are for me right now. I promise I will fuck you in my house if you behave now. You can moan my name as much as you want. Or maybe I will gag you, watch you drool all over yourself. Maybe I will tie you up and edge you for an hour straight until you’re begging me to fuck you, you like the sound of that, huh? I can feel you squeezing around me,“ another chuckle left his plump lips as he watched you struggle to stay up on your feet.

„Maybe I will let you choke on my dick while I work on something for the next lesson. Gonna use you as my little cum dump. Let you think about it again when I talk about it in front of the whole class. Do-,“ you were so close when a sudden knock on the door startled you both, but he never once stopped what he was doing, if anything he went even harder, whispering into your ear to be quiet for him.

„Hey Kat, your ex is outside and says she wants to talk, want me to send her in?“ It was the psychologist professor Shinso, his voice as done and deep as usual. „No, I��m occupied,“ Bakugo saw your mouth open after you fought so hard against it, he couldn’t let you moan, not right now. He did the first thing he could think of, spitting into it and watching you swallow. Oh, he would definitely film you do this with his cum covering you everywhere and the thought brought him slightly closer to his release. „Still grading papers huh? I don’t get where you got all of that energy from,“ his voice was blurred out by Bakugo whispering into your ear. „Do you want me to tell you what we're doing right now? Let him know I’m fucking my little toy stupid right now?“ And while you were shaking your head no it was the last straw for you and you found yourself grabbing his hand to put over your mouth, biting your lips until you tasted blood to muffle the scream you couldn’t stop. Bakugo cursed under his breath when he could feel you throbbing around his dick and your nails digging into his arm. „Tell her to leave me the fuck alone, she’s already forgotten,“ his voice sounded strained and you knew he was close as well. „Ah, I see. Well then have fun,“ his laugh was fading away the further he went.

„Can’t believe that made you cum, you’re even more perfect than I thought, such a dirty girl, tsk,“ both his hands are on your hips and he pulled your body against him with every thrust. You were still coming down from your orgasm when you felt his thrusts turning sloppy before he stopped completely, his dick now pulsing while he was holding you tightly. Breath uneven and getting stable on his feet again he turned you around, careful so he wouldn’t hurt you.

„Next time I gonna make sure you can’t walk but right now I need you to be able to leave the building,“ he pulled his pants back up and added: „Sadly,“ before walking around his desk.

It was still hard for you to stand so you sat down, wincing as the usually soft cushion now felt like thousand of tiny spikes on your bruised ass. Before you pull your bottoms up again he grabbed your wrist and pulled you up, once again with a stern expression on his face you were so familiar with.

„I apparently really fucked you stupid if you think I let you leave like this,“ having him put cooling cream on your bare bum felt more intimate than having him be balls deep inside you. „Sorry I just thought-,“ „Well, you thought wrong. I don’t know what kind of boys you had in the past but now that you have me there are going to be changes, got that?“

863 notes · View notes

junghelioseok · 3 years

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl ��

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

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