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chrollohearttags · 5 months

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“silly boy, come find me when you’re older!” • a. artlert

synopsis: two lovers realize their relationship isn’t meant to be but that doesn’t mean they have to part ways forever..

content + themes: fem!reader (black coded), age gap (2-3 years, armin is 19, reader is 21-22) college au-ish (armin is going to nursing school + reader is a business grad), star-crossed lovers trope, angst + comfort, missionary, riding, hand holding, heavy kissing, crying (not dacryphila), accidental creampie, pet names (baby, mama, baby boy, angel), drug mentions, he gets possessive for like .2 seconds.

word count: 3.1K

📝: I have been so in love with fluff and the idea of soft smut lately (maybe it’s the holidays, maybe it’s my hormones..who knows!) but this is a part of a new au I’m starting! A new story that’ll be coming out soon and I can’t wait. For now, enjoy one of several side fics to accompany it! Also, please tell me y’all know this title reference 😭

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰───────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰────

“I really wish you wouldn’t look at me like that…”

the phrase seemed to have alluded him yet again..slipping through one ear and out the next. Almost as if only his body was present and his mind and spirit were elsewhere. It was to be expected though..

“..armie..? Aren’t you going to say something, baby? Anything?..”

you had just confided in him quite possibly the worst thing ever. In truth, his heart was breaking and there wasn’t a single thing that either of you could do to mend it. Although, you felt solely responsible..that the reason for his pain was entirely your fault. But it was a necessary confession nonetheless. One that you truly believed would benefit you both. Distance. Distance between the two of you so that he could properly pursue his education. A long sought after dream of becoming a nurse. Following directly in his mother’s footsteps and making her proud..it was all Armin ever wanted. As it stood, that was a mere concept and it was thanks to the girl lying next to him. His sweet, beloved (y/n). The (y/n) he reunited with at a house party one night and had been wildly entangled with ever since. Hooking up, drinking and smoking…what most peers your age was doing but you also had bigger aspirations for both Armin and yourself. He wanted to become a registered nurse, working with children and you were already two years deep into your collegiate journey as a business major. Laser focused and ambitious..ready to conquer your goals. You couldn’t waste your lives away in the back of his car, hotboxing and having sex. As fun as this little whirlwind romance was, you had to cut things off. At least for the foreseeable future..for both of your sakes. It wasn’t an easy decision in the slightest and you were far more torn up by the situation than what you were letting on but it had to be done. Regardless of your emotions..

“..I just don’t understand..I mean, is there someone else? Why don’t you want me anymore?…”

there it was..underneath all of those newly etched tattoos, shaggy blonde locks and suave charm lied that sweet, gentle boy. The same nerdy kid you’d first encountered whilst attending the same high school. Although two years apart, you found him to be adorable and couldn’t help but to grace the awkward brainiac with a smile every morning on his visits to the library. A beautiful goddess like you even acknowledging him? He was grateful for that alone! But it wasn’t until his senior year did the two of you reconnect. By that time, he had shed his thick, wire framed glasses for icy blue contacts to match his own..grew out his blonde bowl cut to a curly shag and had even acquired a couple of art pieces on his arm. Not to mention, gained some muscle from playing basketball. Some say you were the catalyst for his sudden change. Although this appearance was new, deep down, he was still that wide eyed genius with unbelievable intelligence. And best believe, your kindness wasn’t lost on him. So it came as no surprise, when you happened to cross paths with him at a graduation party that your younger sister, who happened to be in the same class with him, was attending..he found the courage to finally talk to you face to face. All of his newfound confidence flew out of the window when he saw you..that ethereal skin, deity like features and of course, that smile. That smile that made his heart flutter. “You haven’t changed a bit, baby boy…”

certainly his looks had, but you saw through all of that. You saw Armin for who he truly was and for that, he couldn’t allow you to slip away without confessing his true feelings. So that night, with liquor in his veins, he charmed you with sweet words and told you that he’d always had the biggest crush on you. It didn’t take long for you guys to get involved..days after that party, you began seeing one another. Both romantically and intimately. However, your relationship wasn’t exactly conventional or ideal..you were good for each other, perhaps a little too well. Because every moment that presented itself, you’d find yourself in every bed, couch, bathroom or backseat..going at it like rabid animals. The sex was insane and you couldn’t get enough of each other. It was only coupled by the sensation of the drugs coursing your veins..stimulants that sent your mind to places you didn’t need to be. Although there was never a single fight between you two, you knew the relationship wasn’t a healthy one. You encouraged each other’s worst habits. He had gotten a full ride scholarship to his dream school and you had obtained several as well for your ideal program. But you both stood to lose those if you didn’t make some changes. Ditching class to go smoke and then fucking him in every square inch of your off campus apartment. Sending him nudes and salacious messages during class, along with always being underneath each other. He’d never be able to focus and stay on track at this rate! Hence why you had to be the mature one and break things off. Even if it brought you to tears as well. So with a shaky palm, as you lay in bed next to one another, you’d bring a hand to his face and quell his doubts.

“You couldn’t possibly think that..you're the only one I want, Armin. I swear on everything..but..we can’t keep doing this. I love you so much but we’re no good for each other. At least not right now..”

but he’d attest, almost immediately. Insisting that he could buckle down and focus on his goals at hand. However, your mind was made up. That blind obsession and adoration for you would never allow him his room for growth. It wasn’t fair. Here you were only another year shy of receiving your degree and he was barely even started. You had to give him a fair shot, even if it meant removing yourself from the equation. You had even found an internship. He’d try to talk you out of it, convince you that he could juggle both college and you but regardless of how smart he was, nursing school was an entirely different beast in and of itself. It would require his full attention and dedication if he wanted to be an exceptional caregiver. No drugs, no distractions…no you. His studies deserved all of his time.

“So why can’t we make it work then? Isn’t that what couples do or was I nothing more than a joke?”

“Armin…”

in that moment, he’d tug away and roll over onto his side, giving you the proverbial cold shoulder and it stung like hell. The last thing you wanted to do was fight the man you loved. If anything, you wished things could stay like this forever. But you both had growing up to do and until that happened, it was best you parted ways.

“..I have an idea..”

But it wasn’t something that had to be permanent..for now though, there was no need to be upset with one another when you could spend your remaining time enjoying yourselves. Gently pulling him back towards you, you’d maneuver your legs until you were able to crawl on top of him. Those long acrylics scaled his freshly tattooed chest as you gently straddled his waist..at that moment, his little cheeks flushed red and you’d feel his breathing becoming slightly heavier. You’d lean down and begin peppering light kisses to his temple and all around his face..all while slowly rolling your hips against his crotch. With you, he was vulnerable..at his softest and would undoubtedly listen to whatever you said. “I’m all ears..”

that’s when you’d devise a plan that you believed that both of you could agree upon. An agreement of sorts.. “..two years..in two years, we can see each other again, just like this. We’ll work hard and reach our goals. You’ll be in your senior year, doing clinicals and I’ll be at my new job. We can find a place and finally start our lives together. Armin, I love you so much and I don’t want to see you throw your life away. Please..promise me you’ll find your way back to me when you’re ready. When we’re both in a better place..” once he spotted your tearful plea and heard the tone in your voice, he knew what had to be done. Personal feelings aside..you were absolutely right. He knew if he stood any chance of keeping you in his life, he had to blossom into a grown man that you could be proud of. One that was worthy of being called yours. Reaching up, Armin would grasp your hand and bring it to his lips for a gentle kiss, holding it close. He wanted to remember that feeling..savor it and savor you as well. God, he didn’t want you to leave, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye!..but this was the only way. The only way he could ensure that he got to have you in the long run. He wanted you two to grow old together so he’d make this temporary sacrifice to be able to share an eternity with you.

“..you have my word, angel. I promise..I promise I’ll come back to you a better man than what I’ve been..”

“Then take me…right here.”

just then, you’d feel his hand snake up your spine and tug you down towards his chest..not another word was exchanged. Just slow, tender pecks and breathy moans..immersed in the covers and in one another, you’d allow the moment to take you both. Your palms cupping his cheek and his gripping your ass, you’d tousle around underneath the sheets. It didn’t take long for the endearing moment to become rather heated but it was a true testament of the passion between you two. In a moment of haste, his nails would gently dig into the curvature of your back as you leaned up. In a matter of minutes, you’d feel his once flaccid erect growing harder underneath you. The sensation of your dripping heat making direct contact with him..and it was driving him crazy! He needed you so badly right now and you were just the same.

“Armieeee..”

calling out with a high pitched whimper as you ground yourself against him. You couldn’t stop either..almost as if you’d simply combust if you were to be pulled away from him right now. Frail cries would escape his lips as well but he’d find a semblance of control to satisfy your desires, which took precedence over everything else.

“Yes, baby? Tell me what you need..”

cooing to you in that sweet, loving tone that always managed to turn you to meet putty in his hands every time. You were still hopelessly rutting yourself against him; arousal overflowing from between your thighs that quickly. He knew what you wanted but he needed to hear you say the fateful words..give him instruction and guidance the way you had always done. “Hey, look at me, mama..” gently snatching your head forward and forcing eye contact as your chest heaved. “N-need you. Need you so bad, baby..please. Make love to me..” and with that whiny declaration, he’d make haste in fulfilling your wish. With a cocked smile, Armin would reign you in tighter, reaching for you. “Then here..take my hands, angel..” on his command, your hands would join in a gentle clasp, combining as one as you adjusted your lower half to align with his. He’d buck his hips upward and you’d lower yourself down as your bodies became one… meeting in an instant. “Fuck…” the word escaping your mouths simultaneously along with gentle moans. That seemed to be the theme for the night. A stark comparison to the wild nights you shared together previously. Perhaps.. it was the realization that this was really the last time you’d get to do this for a while. That he wouldn’t be able to feel the comfort of your body, to smell your intoxicating scent..to clash with your plump lips..to taste the sticky gloss that coated them. To stare into those gorgeous brown eyes. So as he lie underneath you, being rode to kingdom come as your tightness constricted around him once more, Armin would close his eyes and absorb every memory, every fiber of you..ensuring that he’d never forget his first and true love.

“There you go, baby. Right there..ride me—fuck!”

and he couldn’t possibly forget how you made him feel. How you set him ablaze with your overwhelming passion..still bound hand in hand, heart to heart, you’d keep going. Throwing your head to the wind and calling out your lover’s name, lifting it to the heavens as you bounced up and down. Taking him to your hilt; allowing that swollen tip to prod your most sensitive area. ��Armin, baby! Yes..oh my gosh, you feel so good.” For the first time, you didn’t just fuck him. His flesh was more than a mere vessel of pleasure..it was your soul becoming one with his own. You were experiencing true pleasure in its purest form..and neither of you wanted it to end. Finally opening his eyes, he’d be greeted by the ethereal view of your breasts swaying and your beautiful face throwed in ecstasy filled bliss. “Aw, baby..you’re so beautiful. My favorite view in the entire world.” Smiling as tears streamed generously down your cheeks. “Oh my God—I love you, Armin! I love you so much.” Confessing with all that you could muster. And that warm, gushing sensation derived from your sex wasn’t lost on Armin either. He’d find himself in a fit of heaving as your walls closed in around his cock. Squeezing him as if to never let go. “Ahh!-shit..I love you too, baby!—“

in that moment, he could no longer hold back his urges. His need to claim full dominion over you..hastily, he’d bring you to a cease before maneuvering and flipping you over onto your back. It was then that he’d mount you. Diving between your legs as he held each in place. He didn’t even take a moment to adjust. It was mere seconds before you’d find yourself filled with him yet again and he’d begin his descent into your mix. Sloshing and drumming up slick as your thighs collided in a fiery haze. The bed..the one that you’d messed around in so many times before served as the place of consummation for your devotion tonight..ricocheting and colliding with the wall as thunderous slams erupted. Your limbs entangled as your legs found home around his waist and your arms on his back. His entire frame lay bare and pressed to your own as those hips crashed into you. It felt unreal..so unbelievably unreal. But this was the present..your reality for the time being so you’d savor every last moment you got together. Drilling further into your body, his pace sped to a barrage of more steady, consistent strokes. Ones that he would accompany with sloppy tongue kisses. Filling your mouth with them as he pounded you gently. You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. Regardless of how many times you slept together, something about this moment was starkly different. “Look at me, (y/n)!…” once again, snatching your head forward to meet his gaze. “You’re mine..you’re mine and I don’t give a damn where you go. I belong to you, you hear me? Don’t forget that..” those tears that had been brimming in his eyes finally fell and you’d affirm his sentiment with a fierce nod of your head, assuring him that no amount of distance or time could ever dissipate the love you shared for one another. “Yes baby! And I’m all yours, forever. I won’t ever leave you.” Sealing your promises with one final act..

“Yeah? You mean that?” “Every word, baby. I want you to always be with me..” Vocalizing back and forth as he continually thrashed around inside of your pussy until he sensed the urge that you were close. Upholding one another’s heads in a passionate fury, you’d exchange breathy words amid your love making. Telling him you’re near your peak and him telling you to let go. “Come for me, baby. You can come all over—“ but alas, before he could grant you permission, it would seem that he’d reach his climax first; glaring with a wide eyed expression as his seed filled you to the brim..something he’d never done before! Cursing himself and apologizing as he shook violently, draining every drop of himself into you. Perhaps he took your words a bit too literal but it was far too late to turn back now and shortly after, you’d follow. Showering him with a splatter of sticky rain. Squeezing and dripping all down his shaft. You’d convulse and flail around the mattress until he was able to quell you with gentle kisses. “I’m right here, mama. Let it out, it’s okay..” but once you were back into consciousness, you still wouldn’t let go and you remained entangled like this minutes afterwards. Exchanging “I love you’s” and sweet nothings. Along with tears..shedding them not for what would be lost but the time you had together and the comfort in knowing that you’d reunite soon enough. This time as more than friends with benefits or even mere freshmen sweethearts. But as an entity, an item that could never be separated because your bond was forged on a stronger foundation than one made of pure lust. It was love that would drive you to be better versions of yourselves, to work hard and it was love..that would bring you right back to one another when the time was truly right!

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@citysweet @greenieweeniesworld @hoohoohope @c0pkiller @bey0nseh @violetxxvenom @dragonmaiden79 @fuck-your-chickenstrips-hoe @saiki-enthusiast

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byoldervine · 1 month

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Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

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im-subtextsexual · 5 days

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I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense.

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay.

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

#did i really just fanfic a whole season of Bridgerton to prove a point?#of course i did!#GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!#bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #creloise #eloise x cressida

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intricatechaosofyou · 1 year

Text

Blind Date Gone…Wrong?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: Maybe getting stood up isn’t the worst thing ever

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, language

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

You glanced down at your watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. It was 7:45, almost a full hour after you were supposed to meet your date. Convinced you needed a boyfriend, or at the very least a hookup, your best friend insisted on setting you up with one of her friends at the office. Having nothing better to do, you agreed.

Your blind date, Thomas, and you had talked, agreeing to meet up at an Italian restaurant on the beach. Putting on one of your favorite dresses that did wonders for your ass and donning a little extra makeup than usual, you had arrived at the restaurant five minutes past seven, fully expecting Thomas to be there. When you discovered he wasn’t, you shrugged it off and ordered yourself a drink while you waited.

You waited for ten minutes before texting him. You never got a response but you decided to wait a little bit longer.

Ten minutes turned into thirty.

And thirty minutes had turned into forty.

The waiter had been asking you if you were ready to order for the past twenty minutes, and yet you still insisted you needed more time, praying that Thomas would walk through the door.

You were starting to get blatant looks of pity from the patrons seated around you.

He wasn’t coming.

You were flagging down the waiter, ready to pay so you could escape the restaurant with some of your pride still intact when a man slid into the seat across from you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Darlin’. Maverick kept me late and then traffic was just awful,” he announced loudly before leaning across the table and planting a kiss on your cheek. His voice dropped in volume so only you could hear him when he whispered, “I’m Bob. Just go with it.”

You nodded slightly and tried your best to smile at the man, Bob apparently, once he pulled away from you. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I was more worried than anything.”

The waiter smiled at the two of you. Whether he was glad your date had finally showed up or glad you were finally going to order, you couldn’t tell.

Once the two of you ordered and the waiter was out of earshot, you turned back to the man seated across from you. “Thank you so much.”

He blushed and nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I appreciate it though,” you admitted. “Got stood up and I was getting all those looks of pity.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

You smiled. “So, your name’s Bob?”

He nodded. “Lt. Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob.”

“Lt. Robert Floyd?” You repeated. “You Navy?”

“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know?”

“We are in Fightertown, USA,” you mused with a grin.

“I guess you’re right,” Bob chuckled.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n),” you introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

Bob smiled and grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to leave a kiss on the back of it. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you replied, blush creeping up your face at his actions. “So is this your typical Friday night? Going around saving girls who got stood up?”

“N- no, this is the first time I’ve done this. And whoever stood you up is an idiot,” Bob replied.

You smiled at the man, head tilting slightly. The way he had said it was so genuine, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell at the comment.

“Thanks, Bob.”

“Anytime, Darlin’.”

———————

“No way!” You giggled. “I don’t believe it!

Bob shrugged, bashful smile on his face. “Yup. Punched him right in the face.”

“What happened after that?” You questioned, trying to contain your laughter so you could hear more of the story.

“Suspended for two weeks.”

“And the other kid?”

“Nothing.”

You gasped, utterly appalled. “But he was the one being a bully! You were just standing up for your friend!”

“School didn’t see it that way.”

“Well, I do. Looks like you’ve always been a hero, Bob.”

A blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyone would have done it.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t give yourself enough credit, honey.”

The blush on his cheeks deepened as the pet name rolled off your tongue. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”

“If you say so,” you said with a laugh, resting your head on your hand as you gazed at the man.

The two of you had been talking for hours, meals long gone and a crème brûlée now being shared between the two of you. The conversation flowed naturally despite never having met before. You had talked about almost everything, from why you were in Miramar, childhood memories, to your favorite ice cream flavors.

“So, what’s it like being in the Navy?” You asked, pointing your spoon at him.

“It’s fun. I’m a Weapons System Officer which means I’m in charge of all the weapons in the back of the plane. Phoenix is my pilot.”

“Phoenix?” You question, tilting your head.

“That’s her call sign. Everyone has one,” Bob explained. “There’s Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, Payback.”

“So what’s yours?”

“Uhh…Bob,” he admitted bashfully, eyes not meeting yours.

You grinned and let out a small giggle. “I like it. I think it suits you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, short and sweet.”

“Calling me short, Darlin’?” Bob joked.

“Definitely,” you replied with a wink.

———————

When the cheque came, Bob swiped it up before you could even touch it.

“To repay you for letting me crash your date,” he explained.

“‘Crash my date?’” You repeated. “Bob, you saved it.”

“Then to repay you for your company.”

You pouted and leaned back in your chair. “Fine. But you let me pay next time.”

“‘Next time?’”

Your cheeks heated up as you realized your mistake. “Not that there has to be a next time. I just had a lot of fun and thought maybe we could do this again. But that was a very bold assumption,” you rambled.

“Actually, I was gonna ask if I could see you again?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I had a really good time tonight,” Bob admitted, awkwardly shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Smiling, you reached across the table to grab his hand. “I’d like that.”

“Next Friday?” Bob suggested.

“It’s a date.”

———————

The two of you walked outside the restaurant hand in hand, giggling like a couple of high schoolers.

“Well, my car’s this way,” you mumbled, pointing behind you.

“Mine’s the other way,” Bob replied, frown making its way onto his face.

“Then I guess this is where we part,” you sighed dramatically. “But I’ll see you next Friday?”

Bob nodded. “Six o’clock.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, Bob.”

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

With a sudden burst of confidence you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips to his, relishing in the small gasp that left him. His hands came to rest on your hips as your mouths slotted together almost perfectly.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was long enough to leave Bob a mess when you pulled back. His glasses were knocked askew on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks were flushed, and a bit of your lipstick was now staining the side of his mouth.

You giggled at his appearance and patted his bicep. “You good there, Robby?”

“Better than that,” he whispered.

“I should get going.”

He nodded and pecked your lips once more before letting you go.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but spare one more glance at the man. He was walking in the opposite direction, fist pumping as he went.

You smiled to yourself. Maybe this blind date wasn’t a total disaster after all.

TAGLIST

@pono-pura-vida

#lewis pullman #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #top gun bob #top gun fanfiction #top gun movie #top gun fluff #top gun maverick #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader

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verm1c1de · 8 months

Text

Zims entire personality is completely fabricated

Let me explain.

Zim, as we know him, is just a mask made up by.. well, Zim.

Zim doesn’t exist.

Because Zim, at his most genuine, loves.

And Zim is not supposed to love.

It’s been thrown around throughout the entire course of the series that Zim is, in fact, a very intelligent individual. Moreso than irkens, renowned technology-thieves, are known to be. It’s for this fact, that it would make sense, that Zim would not be completely ignorant of how the rest of Irken society views him.

The defect, the worst irken to ever exist, et cetera.

There’s no way to be that obtuse about your own infamy, and if there is, there’s enough hints and clues in the series to allow viewers to come to the conclusion that Zim isn’t unaware of it all.

And no, this is not a “Zim is a genius and knows absolutely everything” post. He’s definitely gullible. He absolutely has the worst priorities, he doesn’t know when to quit, too stubborn and set in his own beliefs, but he does Know a lot more than he lets on.

Multiple instances of Tallest Purple nearly revealing the truth about Zim’s mission or being too careless with his words are brushed away, either spoken over by Red or ignored completely by Zim, as if he didn’t hear it at all. Similarly, Sizz-Lorr exists as tangible evidence of everything wrong with Zim’s falsified identity as an invader. He shows up for one episode and that episode introduces some of the most important building on Zim’s coding and the consequences derived from his destructive actions on Irk. And his response to this, is to flat out deny it. Because with Purple, he has the expectation to not be aware. With Sizz-Lorr, everything he’s done is laid out in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge it. He won’t.

Zim, at his most genuine, is paranoid.

Paranoid enough to fabricate an entire personality from nothing after having the entirety of Irken knowledge downloaded into his PAK, only minutes after having been freed from his tube.

Zim is a bootlicker. Zim couldn’t care less about the Tallest. Zim seeks absolution from the Tallest because he knows that he was Made Wrong and that the things he’s done are unforgivable, but he can’t help himself. Zim only goes out of his way to gain their attention because he knows that’s what the average irken desires. All of these are true.

Zim is only drawn to invading in the most superficial way possible for an irken. He enjoys the idea of invading, not because it is personally "appealing" to him in any sense of the word, but because he knows that it is for others. It's an esteemed title. An invader gets to have respect. An invader gets to be addressed directly by the Tallest.

Being an invader is the best thing. Not for him, but for his act.

He needs the act. The act will save him from his imperialistic society. The act is the worst thing to ever happen to him.

Zim is nothing without it. He’s nothing with it.

He hates the act.

(“Hey, you’re a worse flier than I am!”)

And it’s very, very likely that he hates himself because of it. Much more than anyone else could ever hate him, because their hate for him is as superficial as his allegiance to the Empire is.

Zim does not fit in on Irk because Irk doesn’t need a Zim. Irk doesn’t need an irken soldier whose sole identity is to destroy.

Which is why Zim fits in so much better on Earth as its villain. On Earth, he gets to be a part of the story, not a fool that has to force himself on stage to even have some semblance of a spotlight.

Zim was already firmly set into his role before arriving to Earth; but coming there, and meeting Dib, further instills Zim with the drive to keep it up. Dib exists to be a hero, after all! And heroes need their villains. Zim fits into that role perfectly. And of course Zim, being nothing BUT a role, is drawn to it. He'll feed into Dib's alien obsession because Dib's alien obsession fits into Zim's "character". The big bad guy that needs to be fought against.

Which makes sense.

If he's the big bad that everyone hates, he doesn't have to worry about wondering if anyone loves him, because he knows they don't.

His first words were “I love you.”

The Zim we know does not love.

The Zim we know is nothing but an elaborate, one-irken act, stuck playing the same role in the same show for as long as he draws it out for.

One which would collapse if anything ever brought attention to it.

this post would not have been made without the help of @short-and-ugly and @animatorfun. seriously. like they wrote it. they were my editors.

this is NOT a headcanon post, im for realsies. this is metatextual analysis. i genuinely believe this is what zims character is supposed to be ((even if not necessarily intentionally))

#iz #invader zim #zim #iz analysis #long post #very long post #vermi.txt #Zim Larp Theory #named soafter our google doc about it

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futterurl · 6 months

Note

Hello! I absolutely love the future man writings you’ve done and wanted to request smut for josh futturman. I can just imagine for his first time getting intimate with a partner he just gets so overly eager that he ends up overstimulating himself and his partner hehe

sry ive been gone for a bit schools been kicking my ass ! anyways yeah i got a little carried away sry if this isnt what u rlly had in mind

WARNINGS: fem!reader, titplay, oral(f!receiving), virgin!josh, p in v, creampie, super soft

- - - - - - - - -

it had been a nice day, going out and spending the day with your boyfriend, josh. you two were sat in your apartment, watching a movie, him holding you in his arms while a bowl of popcorn sat in your lap. his hand held onto your forearm, rubbing back and forth lightly with his thumb.

you loved days like this. you loved your boyfriend. he was the sweetest guy you had ever met, and boy were you glad he was yours. he would constantly try to spend time with you, and would try to teach you about the video games that he played. you always looked up to him.

and to him? lord, you were a goddess. you were this kickass woman who was one of his well respected co-workers, you had such a beautiful personality, and you were drop dead gorgeous to him. he fell in love with you all over again whenever he looked at you.

you both tool each other in with your worries and guilts. he knew that you were more shy, and he did a majority of the talking in public, and wouldn’t try to pressure you with anything. he was so kind to you, you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

while you guys were snuggled up, you started to talk over the movie, not paying it much attention. just talking about funny stories that happened in the past.

“…and she caught me. jacking off. in my room. it was the worst thing ever.” josh was telling the unfortunate story of his poor mother just trying to bring him something, but seeing that mess instead. you couldn’t help but laugh.

“god, if that kinda stuff happened to me, i swear, i’d never look anyone in the eyes again.” you laughed.

“this is a random question, and sorry if it’s intrusive, but…have you ever had…like, sex before?” he asked you, sitting up on the couch so he could look you in your eyes.

you shifted, not used to being asked this question. “i…i have. once. it was a mistake. i don’t know why i did it.”

he started to look a little worried. “did he make you do that?” hoping it wasn’t that.

“oh, no! no! don’t worry, i was fine with it.” you reassured him. “i just…regret it, was all. it wasn’t all that good, just a heat of the moment thing, wanting to do it. we fucked, he came, and that was that. nothing special.”

“did he uh…did he make you…y’know…” he tried to ask in the most not awkward way possible, which was still very awkward.

“make me cum? uh, no. it wasn’t…wasn’t really a priority, i guess. just the experience.” you started to fidget with your hands.

“that’s…yeesh, that’s kinda fucked.” he was a little irritated. was it that difficult to focus on a girl for a few minutes to make her feel good? he didn’t understand it. “i’m sorry it wasn’t good. i just don’t get how he could finish and not care that you didn’t.”

“it’s fine. i don’t really care that much.” you were still a tad bit upset over it, but he was out of your life now. you didn’t have to worry shout him, only being in your happiest relationship yet with josh.

“what about you?” you asked him, curious.

“me? oh, uh, this is kinda sad, but i…haven’t done that kinda stuff.” he started. “it just never kinda…happened. moment was never really right. but now i’m here, with you. i couldn’t be happier.” he hugged you, kissing your jaw.

you rubbed the back of his head. you loved this man more than words could describe.

“i don’t know how to ask this in a way that isn’t awkward, but i’m just gonna go ahead…would you mind if i…if i, uh, made you…you cum?” he asked, looking at you.

you looked at him. “a-are you sure? you don’t have to if you feel bad or anything like that, it’s not your obligation to-”

he cut you off, holding your hands in his. “i…i want to do this. it’s not out of sadness or anger for you…”

you gave him an inquisitive stare.

“okay, maybe it is a little bit.” he admitted. “but i really do wanna do this. i’ve wanted to do this with you…for a little bit now, but i didn’t know how to ask, or bring it up. you feeling good makes me happy.”

it was like he was trying to make you fall in love again and again.

“josh, that’s really sweet…i…i do think i may be ready to try this stuff out with you.” you started to get a little shy.

“okay…okay…great.” he tried to hype himself up, telling himself that it’s real and this was happening. “just, uh, tell me if you’re uncomfortable or anything like that, and we can stop, go back to watching the movie, no questions asked, okay?”

you smiled, knowing he was your safe place. “thank you so much.” you gave him a kiss on his lips. he went and deepened the kiss, holding your frame in his arms.

you made out, him slowly getting on top of you, laying you in the couch. his hands went from holding your body to feeling around: touching your hips, your waist, your breasts, everything. he gently caressed one of your breasts, to which you let a moan out at.

“did you like that?” he asked.

you nodded, pulling your shirt up. “please.” you yanked it off your body. he stared at you with awe, your breasts clad with a bra. you looked so beautiful to him.

“can i…can i take this off?” he asked, fingers playing with your bra. you nodded, reaching back and unclasping it.

“how the hell do you unclasp that so easily?” he discarded your bra, asking while staring at your bare breasts.

“lots of practice, i guess. you get used to it after wearing these since the ripe age of 13.” you giggled.

his hand moved towards your breasts, but hesitated. he didn’t want to squeeze them too tight, or hurt you.

“you can touch then, josh. it’s okay. please. i want you to.” you reassured him, guiding his hand to gently caress your left tit. he played with it, new to the sense of it.

“it’s so soft…” his thumb ran over your nipple, causing you to shudder. he could tell you liked that.

“do you think i could…suck on them?” he asked, testing the waters. you nodded your head slowly.

“yes, please. whatever you like.”

“this is about you, though, not me. i want this to feel good for you.” he looked at you with concern in his eyes. sure, he was getting very caught up in the moment, but he knew he ultimately wanted you to have a good takeaway from this: you were someone he loved so much, he wanted to watch and make you feel good.

“josh, i want you to do this, don’t worry.” you smiled at him. he was so careful with you, it made you feel so delicate. so special.

he leaned his head down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. his lips wrapped around it while his tongue ran over it.

you ran your fingers through his hair. you had thought he’d be a boob guy, and this for sure proved it. he loved feeling them, the texture so foreign to him.

he moved on to the other breast, suckling onto your other nipple, to which you let out a gasp at. it felt…good.

he played with your other breast in his hand, giving it gentle squeezes. you let out a hushed moan. you didn’t think it’d feel good.

his head lifted up, kissing you again. it was a deep kiss, his hand digging to play with the hem of your pants.

“please, wanna make you feel good down there.” he pleaded, looking at you for permission.

you had never been like this before. someone focusing on you felt…unbelievable. it really did.

you nodded, unzipping your pants. “please, josh, want this so bad. want you so bad.”

he lifted your hips up, helping you shimmy out of your pants and panties. you were there, completely bare in front of him. he took his shirt off, trying to make you feel more comfortable. he stared at you with awe.

he couldn’t believe you were with him. you were so beautiful, and had an even better personality. he couldn’t believe that you loved him, and that you were willing to do this with him. he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“is this okay?” he asked, lowering himself, his head in between your legs. he rubbed your thighs, trying to help you stay comfortable. he could see your slick. he wanted to get a taste so badly.

“yes, please josh. please.” you wailed.

he obliged, taking a long lick up your slit.

“oh, fuck…” you moaned. loud. you hadn’t ever felt that good before.

“you okay?” he asked, making sure he didn’t do something wrong.

“i’m great, just felt really fucking good…holy shit.” you looked down at the sight of him, in between your thighs.

he dipped in again, this time bringing his tongue to lay flat on your clit. you shuddered, feeling all sorts of sensations. he held your hips steady, running his tongue in tight circles around your clit.

you swore to god, you could hear him groaning into your cunt. he was letting out little noises in exasperation as he pleasured you, rubbing your clit with his tongue, getting into a rhythm.

“jesus christ, josh, i’ve never felt so good, fuck…” you could barely get the words out in between moans.

he licked another stripe down your slit and ran his tongue on your entrance. you tugged at his hair a big, cautious yet excited to see where this was gonna go.

his tongue slowly crept inside of you, feeling around as you scratched at his scalp, letting little whimpers out. he held tightly onto your thigh as he started to tongue fuck you.

you threw your head back in pure ecstasy. you were starting to get close.

“josh…g’na come soon…fuck…” you panted out.

“please.” he said, moving his mouth up and tasting you all over. “do it f’ me. come on my face. please. you’re so hot. fuck. come all over me.”

he moved his mouth and latched onto your clit again. from there, he just sucked. your orgasm approached.

you let out a cry as your hips started to spasm ever so slightly, your body contorting. josh continued to suckle on your clit while you rode out your orgasm.

“oh my god…” you breathed. “how are you so fucking good at that?”

he lifted his head up, mouth coated in your cum. “don’t know. just pure talent i guess.”

you lightly pushed him. “fuck you.”

“i mean, if you’d be ever so kind.”

you looked at him, starting to laugh, but understanding what he wanted: you.

you moved yourself closer to him, closing the space in between you two.

“please.” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “i..i think i’m ready for this. fuck me, josh. please.”

“fuck, i’m so fucking hard for you right now, holy shit.” he kissed you, lying you back down on the couch. he pulled his pants down, huge erection standing up in his underwear.

“do you see how crazy you make me? you’re so perfect.” he looked down as he slowly started to take off his underwear, cock standing out.

you blushed. even in situations like this, he still made you feel so special.

he got on top of you, cock springing out, almost touching your delicate folds. you shuddered.

“a-are you sure you wanna do this, josh?” you asked him. doing something like this for the first time was really important to you, so you hoped you could make it important to him.

“yes, there’s no one i’d rather do this with than you.” he kissed you softly, sliding his cock through your slit, bumping his tip to your clit. you both groaned lightly.

“i…i’m gonna put it in now…okay?” he asked for permission.

you smiled. “yes. please.”

he used one of his hands to steady himself and his other one to hold yours as he slowly pushed inside of you. he was feeling all sorts of new sensations, all good like he’d never felt before. your walls clenched around him. he let out a moan as he slowly inched himself inside you.

you held his hand, gripping it tight. it had been awhile since you’d done this. it was a big stretch, but it felt so damn good to have him inside of you.

he finally bottomed out, cupping your cheek. “you’re so tight…oh my god…i knew it’d feel good but…didn’t expect this…” he was breathing heavily, catching up with his senses. he felt like he was going to cum just from being in you.

“josh, want you t’ start moving.” you pleaded, feeling so full but desperate for friction.

he obliged, giving experimental thrusts and letting out low groans in the process. your tight walls kept sucking him in, as if they didn’t want him to pull out.

“fuck, you feel so good. i love you so much.” he started to thrust a bit faster now, hands on your hips, holding you steady. every time his hips met yours you could feel yourself groan with delight. even though this was his first time, he wanted to take care of you.

he started to thrust hard, moaning sweet nothings into the room. every word he said professed his love for you and your body.

one thrust in particular hit a certain part inside you that made you let out a really high-pitched moan. he stopped, looking at you.

“shit, you okay?” he asked.

“yeah, m’ fine, that just felt really good.” you gave him a smile.

he tried to angle his hips to hit that sensitive spot again, which he was successful with after a few harsh thrusts. he abused that sweet spot with every thrust, leaving you a moaning mess. he took your lips into his, kissing you like your lives depended on it.

“josh, close, shit.” you could barely form words with how good you felt.

“me too, gonna cum, fuck.” he started to move incredibly fast, moving like there was no tomorrow. “please, cum on my cock.”

you could feel the knot on your stomach start to snap, riding out your orgasm. you were letting out these pornographic moans that were driving him insane, leading him to cum right after you did.

but he didn’t stop.

“feel too damn good. can’t stop. shit.” he continued his quick and deep thrusts, leaving you screaming.

“josh, can’t. already came. oh my god.” you were a moaning mess, feeling his cock penetrating your tight walls right after having an earth shattering orgasm.

“please, need you to cum again. wanna make you feel better than you’ve ever felt.” he moaned, trying to hit that spot inside you with every single thrust, making himself feel overstimulated in the process.

you felt another orgasm start to bubble up inside you as he kept going. the knot snapped yet again when he led his hand to your clit, rubbing it in circles with his thumb.

“cum for me, please. cum. wanna make you feel good. please. need you to cum on my cock again. i’ll do anything.” he begged and pleaded, bot stopping his aggression to your cunt.

you were practically screaming, head thrown back and breathing like a madman. he helped you ride through your orgasm, him taking a few extra seconds to reach his own again, as well.

he eventually stopped, laying on you carefully as to not hurt you.

“sorry, got…got a little carried away.” he said in between breaths. he felt so woozy.

“no, it felt really good josh. thank you.” you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as he lay on top of you.

“was it that good?” he asked, making sure you got as much satisfaction as he did.

“i’ve never felt that good in my life. serious.” you replied. he knew how to make you feel special and really good. “you’re amazing.”

he held you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “i hope you know how much you mean to me. i love you so much, and i wanna be with you forever.”

you were practically gushing. he was so darn cute. “i love you more.”

#future man #future man smut #josh futturman #josh futturman smut #josh futturman x reader

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capslocked · 1 year

Text

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god–

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:

What kind of journalism career is this?

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.

You tilt your head, quizzical.

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.

(Albeit woefully precarious.)

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide.

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk.

Monday.

5:00 p.m. rolls around.

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again.

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.”

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss.

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum.

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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ramblingguy54 · 11 months

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Nine’s Betrayal: A Predictable Route, But Important Execution.

To no surprise, the idea of Nine becoming more antagonistic in Prime came to pass, but I’d like to breakdown why it just works so well in execution. Prime from the get go had set up Nine was a super vulnerable kid. Obviously, a kid with a high IQ in having great mechanical talent, although still a hurt and highly jaded child, nonetheless. Nine has easily been one of my favorite parts of Sonic Prime. Taking such a simple concept of reverse good guy doing something more interesting with it. He isn’t just a run of the mill polar opposite, rather one whom has been dealt a bad hand in turn lashing out at everyone and everything. Nine hasn’t ever taken chances in opening himself up after countless times being abused for his two tails. It wasn’t until Sonic arrived in his dimension, Nine began slightly letting his guard down.

This moment between them in Prime’s very first episode is extremely crucial because it sets up the real solitude of Nine’s characterization. Immediately I felt sympathy for Tails’ polar opposite, given his unfortunate circumstances. Nine had to fend for himself with no real mentor figure to guide him, other than his own experiences. Nine buried away any sense of identity, or happiness, in favor of going full on coldly detached. Hiding those two tails in shame because it made Nine feel like a freak of nature. Suddenly, a happy go lucky guy, like Sonic, comes crashing into his reality. Boldly stating they’re close companions praising his natural gifts and calling those other mechanical tails seriously amazing.

Nine has become desensitized to being seen as some disfigured individual, yet here someone is not mocking or assaulting him just because of his appearance. He didn’t know what to do in emotionally processing the fact someone is saying, “Embrace who you are! It doesn’t matter anyone else thinks!”, in a world where fears rules with an iron fist as their status quo. Perhaps, Nine reluctantly saw someone he could call a friend at long last, even if the kid didn’t want to fully admit to himself. As I had hoped, Sonic & Nine’s dynamic in Prime is a big aspect of the story getting explored. Honestly, with the way things have been handled thus far, I’d arguably say Sonic & Nine’s dysfunctional bond may pan out to be my favorite iterations Sonic & Tails iconic brotherly concept. There’s more going on underneath in their friendship.

Shadow had warned Sonic from the start about being weary of Nine, to which he severely opposes him on said notion. Sonic’s optimism of seeing the best in others completely 180′d on him in the worst fashion. Nine’s highly self-conscious, jaded nature, and intelligence brought him to the same conclusion Shadow previously reached. If he returns all the Shatter pieces to normal, then there’s a likely chance he’ll disappear in exchange for restoring Sonic’s home world. He realized this after seeing the other Tails’ counterparts. Especially looking directly at the original Tails whom started it all scoffing at him. Any affection, or respect for that matter, Nine had toward Sonic began to fade away.

“You just assumed I’d go along with you, no matter what! Did you ever consider what I wanted!?”

Nine was putting the pieces together in his mind realizing, “Sonic only likes me because he believes I’m just like his Tails. That I’ll agree to what he says and thinks.”, feeling very hurt by this revelation. He always had different intentions of what his “happy ending” was going to be. Seeing someone disregard his beliefs in favor of comparison to what is supposed to be an original counterpart did more to Nine than just sting. It felt like he been stabbed in the back after opening up his heart to someone. Something this poor kid hasn’t done in a very long time. Who’s to say Nine wasn’t questioning his place in all of this, as well?

Throughout these new batch of episodes, Nine has been trying his best to give Sonic a helping hand. Putting his life on the line, so he can get a chance to return the favor of helping Sonic. Sonic had made Nine reconsider maybe there’s more to a life than simply a preference of being just another loner in a world where everyone fends for themselves. Only to have it thrown to the way side because Nine came to that same conclusion as Shadow did before. If Green Hill is to be restored, then himself, the Shatter-verse, and all other realities must apparently cease to exist. It not only terrifies him, but also makes Nine view himself as just another small cog in the system. A means to an end.

“Look’s like I can’t ever be happy.”

“Sonic doesn’t see me for who I truly am.”

“My very existence is irrelevant.”

“I don’t matter.”

Wouldn’t surprise me if these thoughts were bubbling around in his mind before this heated confrontation happened. Nine doubles back down on his loner attitude because ultimately it has been what kept him getting hurt for so long. Getting dealt yet another hard dose of truth that Sonic stuck to his guns on Nine because he thought they would see eye to eye, like his own Tails. However, Shadow was completely right about Nine being different from who they know. Nine has been through a ton of emotional torment, even though there is still good in him. Any kindness is buried underneath a mountain of insecurities. Hence, the whole outcry of, “I AM REAL! Just not your real friend...”, is Nine hardly reaffirming his value as a person. That he isn’t defined by anything.

It’s what makes their dynamic so refreshing to watch between Sonic & Nine because he can’t just simply give an uplifting speech to make Tails feel better about himself. He’s gonna have to show some strong actions to Nine about his existence having significance. Breaking through those mental barriers of his isn’t gonna be easy after this falling out they’ve had. Nine has assumed Sonic didn’t genuinely ever care about him, despite standing up for him against Shadow earlier. To say I’m excited for Prime’s third season would be an understatement.

Prime’s central conflict being centered around Sonic & Nine’s dynamic was a terrific idea, instead of simply going against different incarnations of Eggman. This makes matters a lot more dramatically complex. It isn’t simply about Sonic fixing his serious mistakes, but having to battle someone he never wanted to hurt. Sonic is gonna have to acknowledge his major oversight in not treating Nine for who he actually is. Nine isn’t Tails. He’ll never be Miles Tails Prower. Nine is a child molded by a world that was cruelly unfair to him and told he could never been proclaimed as an equal, ever. He had to do growing up on his own.

This shot hurts to look at because you can see every ounce Nine’s remorse written all over his face thinking, “I should’ve known better than to ever put faith in someone other than myself. Why did I get my hopes up for thinking anything good would come of it?”. All the aspirations of wanting a clean slate with someone he deeply valued only to find out it was based on an empty comparison shattered Nine’s own hopes and dreams in the process.

“The only person I can ever trust is myself...”

Sonic Prime Season 2 ends with our iconic protagonist hurting someone he never intended to, turning him into the next bigger hurdle to overcome. The writers took such a basic straight forward idea on paper making into an emotionally charged story testing Sonic’s resolve in facing down a friend.

Taking well known tropes in stories should never be viewed as a bad thing. It’s what you go about doing with these ideas that truly matters. Sonic Prime is simply another reminder of that with Sonic & Nine’s contrasting personalities.

#sonic prime spoilers #hello nine is my favorite character from this show #can't ya tell by my lengthy analysis?#nine needs more than just a hug #get this fucking poor fox kid therapy #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic prime season 2 #sonic prime nine #sonic prime #sonic

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

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I’ve been fighting with this for ages when that other Cinderella ask popped up, how serendipitous that we’re all thinking about messing with fairy tales 😁 here’s my take:

Dream is what is commonly known as a fairy godfather, a matchmaker of worthy souls to create long-lasting stories. Everyone knows that a match facilitated by a fairy will supersede any objections due to class or circumstance.

His latest project involves the three-day festival being thrown to find a consort for the prince, who he plans to match with the handsome and kind but beleaguered Hob Gadling, who so dearly deserves a happily ever after.

The first night of the ball, Dream appears before Hob—who looks appropriately stunned and awed—and declares his intention to help him attend. He’s not entirely sure how he came to be personally escorting Hob to the ball soon thereafter, but as he sits in the transformed carriage next to a magically decked out Hob, who is charmingly clutching Dream’s arm in shy excitement, Dream reasons that it couldn’t hurt to be a little more hands-on this time, and give Hob the support he clearly needs to meet his Prince Charming.

Except when they arrive at the ball, the prince gave Hob one curious glance when they entered, and then proceeded to completely ignore him the rest of the night. How dare he?? When Dream specifically chose him for this treasure of a man, as the other half of one of Dream’s stories!! He’s utterly offended on both his own and Hob’s behalf. Luckily Hob doesn’t seem to have noticed, too busy staring at everything and curling himself into Dream’s arm, probably out of bashfulness, poor thing.

Well, the fairy tale romance may be a bust tonight, but at least Dream can still make sure Hob has a magical time for the rest of the festival while Dream regroups and makes new plans. So he spends the rest of the ball by Hob’s side, plying him with food and drink and attention, and whisking him off to the dance floor whenever he wishes, and plans to do so again on the second and third night. He even extends the magic on Hob’s clothes past the midnight deadline, now that there’s no more call for a dramatic and mysterious vanishing into the night to further entice that waste of space of a prince. (Dream is also vaguely keeping an eye on the rest of the attendees on the off-chance that he comes across a hidden diamond worthy of Hob’s heart and Dream’s story, though he doubts the likelihood of that considering how much of a disappointment the literal prince turned out to be. Best to keep the most of his attention on Hob’s enjoyment, and return to finding him a match worthy of a fairy tale after the festival)

—

Hob knows exactly what he’s been doing from the moment Dream appeared to him; literally everyone knows what’s meant to happen when a fairy calls themself your godparent, and had any other fairy done so, Hob probably would’ve been quite pleased to go along with it. But he fell in love at first sight with Dream, and knew then and there that no Prince Charming would supplant him from Hob’s heart.

So he manages to convince Dream to escort him, all but glues himself to his fairy patron’s side for the entire ball, and (when Dream isn’t looking) glares at anyone who appears interested in him to scare them off, especially the prince. He plans to make the most of the festival to woo and seduce Dream until the fairy understands that the best fairy tale match for Hob is Dream himself. (Worst-case scenario he’ll climb onto Dream’s lap in the carriage at the end of the last night and present his case more directly)

-🪽anon (I tried to find a place to make a “fairy god-dilf” joke but it never quite worked ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Fairy cockfather perhaps? Fairy godDADDY??

Look, Hob has had a shitty life. Everyone he's ever loved is dead, his remaining family suck, he's miserable and he wants more from life. And he is NOT about the bet all his chances on some snooty prince, when he could have a literal fairy!! Dream is everything that Hob has ever wanted, and he's not going to let this opportunity slide.

So yes, maybe he pretends to be a bit more helpless than he actually is. He blushes and flutters his lashes and keeps asking Dream to help him with little things, like lacing up his beautiful glass shoes. By the third day of the festival, he's convinced that Dream is feeling some sort of spark between them. Hob is certainly at the end of his patience. He's danced, flirted ("shyly"), talked and laughed with the most beautiful magical being in the whole world, and he is very much losing his patience. He wants to kiss Dream!! And maybe suck his dick!!! He's got a lot of feelings!!!

And as the hours pass Dream sees less and less candidates around who he deems worthy of Hob’s hand. There's always something wrong, none of them are good enough for his Hob... how could Dream even have thought that the Prince was a good match?! He's clearly nowhere near as handsome, clever or delightful as the kind of spouse that Hob deserves. All of the people around them are too boring to make a good story. Hob needs someone... unique.

And when Hob pulls him to a private balcony at midnight on the third night of the festival... and slowly guides Dream’s hands to his hips... and leans in so their lips brush together.... the light bulb moment finally happens. Its going to be a wonderful story.

(Incidentally one of Hob’s lovely shoes does get left behind. Yes, it's because they were fucking on the balcony and Hob was so cock-struck he didn't even notice his lack of shoe. No, he's not even a little bit sorry.)

#🪽anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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i4oba · 2 months

Text

cassiopeia — njm.

jaemin & fem!reader ✰ soulmate!au

genre: angst?

summary: fate has its own little games, but giving only twenty-four hours is by far the most cruel of them all. and you have to endure that in every life of yours.

warnings: mention’s of death, major character’s death, a few cuss words??, it’s a bit angsty and has some suggestive themes somewhere in the middle :) .. but ofc it was written in flowery language so it’s not that bad! also it’s not proofread, sorry :,( … although it was written like 2 and a half years ago.. eheh SORRY IM STUPIDD

word count: 5k

author’s note: i originally wrote this story in my native language, which made it harder to tell it in english as well.. english isn’t capable of capturing my metaphors!!!! i hate it here!!!!! i sound stupid in english!!!!!!!! >:(

and no matter how many times have you been staring at the night sky, even hundreds of stars weren’t able to show you the right directions. no matter how diligent you were on finding those constellations, recognizing them wasn’t enough to make you less lost in the vast world of ours. you could have done anything as you were lying down on the freshly mowed grass, looking at those stars, alligned even, which you two had always been mentioning over the time — the feeling of emptiness wouldn’t go away. as you focused on the stars and how bright they were glowing, your arms stretched out in hopes of being able to touch them: everything became even more painful. and as your fingers were dancing in the air, from one star to another, your eyes teared up and your mind was screaming only one thing: enough. it was all enough. since you hated this with your whole existence. and the cassiopeia was reminding you of this constantly;

you have never been able to decide whether remembering is worse or forgetting. you would have loved to experience both at least once, but fate gave you a different card. one, which you carefully choose from the big card house, telling you something: your curse is remembering. and as you hold that little card in your hands, glaring at the crimson coloured letters, you feel like screaming all of your bottled up anger out every time. you always feel like protesting against fate, you want to say and do otherwise but were you ever in a place to do so? you have never had the chance. thus you learnt how to bear with it, what else was there to do? getting into a fight with the fates who were so focused on directing your life, having an evil smile on their faces as they were slowly cutting the thread of that person’s life, who was the sole reason you could stay sane? would you have stolen those old and rusty scissors from their hands, putting a dot after their history of standing so tall, being placed higher in the invisible hierarchy between people and them? would you have given some more time to you two? would you have changed past, present and future?

all of it is just a wandering thought which crosses your mind frequently through your days as you live your boring life. you spend every day with planning out your dirty little revenge, and end it with the conclusion: you’re unable to do it. admitting it felt like losing a game against something you could not even see. and this uncertainity put you in a state of something close to insanity through every life you have lived as the time has passed.

through these lives, you have experienced so many things but the worst part was always those twenty-four hours, which was completed with more and more tears and pain as the centuries passed. in the first lifespan you were pretty much naive, hopeful and happy, that twenty-four hour only made you confused. you could not process what was happening. but later on, you figured it out, having to accept the misery that came with it. you could understand why all of this is such a big sacrifice. in your fourth life have you cried first and you can still feel the fingers wiping your hot tears away, the ice cold feeling of them leaving an unforgettable trace on your skin. to this day, you still vividly remember that moment and feeling how trying hard was never enough, and the bittersweet taste lingering in your mouth has slowly started to fade away. it has become meaningless. harsh and almost so cruel.

but you still didn’t know which one is worse: being the one who forgets or remembering everything so vividly.

jaemin will never be able to comprehend this. after all, he didn’t have to live those grey lives which was coordinated by the suffocating feeling of trying to reach solutions and having to give up. after all, he wasn’t the one who had to watch his loved one’s death over and over again and he wasn’t the one either who had to carry the weight of the pain this caused. since he got the card of forgetting, which was followed by one single thing since gambling with the ones from above is not that clear and easy as we all think it is.

and the price did not only made his life worse, it controlled yours as well.

the first time you have heard the definiton of a “soulmate”, you were halfway through your sixth life. back then, even saying the word felt so strange but as you said it out loud more and more, having the thought of it in your mind constantly, it made you realize something: you and jaemin are the best, exact example of those said soulmates. but inside a horrible cage you weren’t able to leave. it had the feeling of a really bad book which was written by a prestigious author who had a really evil side to their personality. you could even imagine his pen scratching the paper, completed with the blue ink which allegorically wrote the story of you two. a terrible fairy tale that people use to scare their children, saying that this is going to be their fate if they misbehave. and as one of them, you would have believed their words. you would have been terrified. you were in fact scared, that cannot be denied.

on top of that, you had to live in this story, through so many years. no matter how many times you were praying, down on your knees, waiting for it to reach its end, you did not get what you wanted. and you have always felt like it wasn’t fair. ruthlessness transcending through lives which your friends didn’t have to experience. you had hundreds of them but somehow they were lucky. you were counting down the hours, the minutes and even the seconds as if it was like a test, but they always failed. they were able to not get lost in the maze of fate that trapped you and jaemin inside. they were special, all of them.

or were you two the special ones?

you were completely sure about your answer: no. although the thought of being the “chosen ones” has crossed your mind before, as if you two were something like a transcendent, but as years passed, along with centuries and lives, you could only figure one thing: you will never be fully happy. happiness is relative anyway, something you can’t put your hands on, it’s everything around us and everything that’s not at the same time. it seems so far away from you at moments, but on other days it’s so close you could reach it easily but no one could really define what it really is. it’s different in everyone’s lives, the way it becomes the same with many different things, varying on the person. even the sound of the word was music to the ears even if they didn’t know what it is exactly. everyone gets to know it along their journey, their lifetime and they may be lucky to being able to put their fingers on it, they can feel it and they can drag it with themselves.

for you, happiness was the same as those twenty-four hours that guided you through your lives. that small amount of time that you were keen on finding as soon as possible, putting everything on the line. which meant everything and nothing at the same time. and the thought of this was always able to bring some light into your rather bitter life, where the shadows grew too huge, close to consume you completely.

just like in your present life. which, of course isn’t really that bad, it is one of the best ones, to be quite honest but the emptiness inside of you was quite like a dark hole. it made you hopeless even though you had a goal. one that was so dear to you, saint even, which you could have tried to explain to anyone, none of them would have understood it. everyone thought you’re crazy and that you need therapy. even if the last one was true, you knew you’re going to eventually find jaemin, may it be on a rainy day in a bus stop, in a diner’s silent corner or in the university you’re currently attending.

but no. none of these were correct. every time you went to these places, fate was trickier than you would have thought and this was well-known to you.

you had to face this in a newly opened museum which had the slogan, “only miracles are awaiting here”.

how true this was… a real miracle.

as you walked from rooms to the others, all alone, somehow all thoughts left your mind. as if it was the cure, the new atmosphere and the exhibition, as if running back into the past had an effect similar to a band aid. it could get its job done for a while but sooner or later, it would give up as well. just like every solution you had tried out in the past years. nothing was permanent and there was no guarantee.

while you were staring at those paintings, listening to other people’s excited conversations, all you could think of was the loneliness. shivers went down your spine, the consonants following the vowels, creating something so new and so negative. the word you hated the most. and the word that was the title of the oil painting in front of you, seemingly too perfect for the symbolic work of art. a bad feeling took over you. you paid one last look to the framed beauty, glaring at the darkness and the pitch black shadows. after that, you left the room. the heavy atmosphere and the pictures of nightmare.

that’s when you entered the smallest exhibition hall where only a piece of paper was shown. it was protected with thick glass, making you wonder why is it such a big deal. why would they keep an old, yellow paper where the words were probably blurred together in the exhibition? it is supposed to be in the archives anyway, or does it not? putting these thoughts aside, you took a few steps closer to the “artwork”, eyebrows raised as curiosty took over you.

“love letter from the eighteenth century” was written on the little description, so you bent down a little to take a better look and maybe figure out why it was so special. and staring at those two papers which turned brown in the past years, the big realisation hit you: it was your letter. you wrote it. becoming aware of this fact made you froze in an instant, only being able to read the text filled with beautifully written cursive over and over again. and then you looked up, only to meet with a pair of eyes through the glass.

the person you wrote the letter for.

looking at him with the barrier between you two, suddenly you didn’t know what to do. seeing his face, his beautiful smile, it felt like someone gave you some extra energy. before your brain could have reacted to all of this, your legs took the control, running to him. you hugged him, melting into his touch, trying to embrace his fragrance, hoping that it will linger a little longer in your nose and mind as well. you didn’t want to believe this. nor what was coming next, alongside with the reunion.

“sorry for being late” he whispered while he stroked your hair carefully, arms tight around you. as if the moment was going on forever, it made you forget about everything. it made you feel glad. your own little happiness has found you again. but it cannot stay so long.

“i could wait thousands of years for you, jaemin” you told him truthfully, eyes searching for his. you hugged him once again. you couldn’t get enough of his hugs. “there are so many things we have to discuss, i literally… don’t even know where to start” you intertwined your fingers and dragged him with you, him simply letting you do so. since he knew: you have been waiting for this moment to come for so long. this is why you were suffering for years on end. but before you could have leave the basement, he set a timer.

for twenty-four hours.

“and how was… basically everything so far?” you asked jaemin who was picking at the food in front of him, not having the courage to look at you.

“not that nice” he replied and you heard his voice being a little hesitant. “but hey, at least i don’t have to bear it anymore!” he tried to joke about the situation but your worried glance told him to stop. don’t do it. it’s not funny.

“i really have to apologize for not finding you soon enough.”

“no, please, don’t. you should never blame yourself” he reached out for your hands, stroking it with his thumbs carefully. “it’s not your fault. neither mine. it’s just a bad joke of those who think they are above us. we cannot do anything about that.”

“and neither against it…”

“look, y/n” jaemin cleared his throat before continuing. “in these rather short lives of mine, i figured out something. fate cannot be rewritten nor changed. everything’s going to happen like it was decided before. just imagine a big book that’s made by gods. our story is just one part of that great book which consists of other many tales, millions of them. we are too small and worthless to add to our story, we can’t complete it however we would love to. that’s their job to do. they are the only ones that are able to erase things and make something new out of them. they are everything we have and we are nothing more than a small piece of the big picture to them.”

“we’re only just marionettes which they can play with whenever they want to” you added mumbling quietly. jaemin was chewing on his lips while he nodded. eventhough admitting it hurts, your words meant the truth.

you two were only mere props in the endless play with the name of “the cycle of life”.

“but hey, no need to be sad!” he wiped the tears aways as soon as he spotted one crossing your face in a fast pace. “we should enjoy this day so we could annoy the gods! are you in?” he stood up, grabbing your hands carefully. and you gave in. what else would you have done? after all, you were the one stressing endlessly through your whole life, it would have been a pity to miss the chance;

on the passenger seat of jaemin’s really old toyota, so many things were running in your mind. as you were focusing on the picturesque landscape, too many thoughts were attacking you suddenly — were you even able to sort those out in the dusty storage of your mind? only the warm touch of jaemin’s hand, feeling too hot on your legs, made you go back and forth between one thing and being sane.

and as if he read your mind, he gave voice to it.

“there’s no such thing as impossible, knowing and feeling how love transcends time and space, it’s...”

your head jerked up upon hearing his words. you wanted to solve your dear lover’s expression. the way the last words fall out of his lips and how those said lips were slightly smiling while his eyes were searching for yours. everything felt so surreal. you were weak and small but the thing between you was able to make you believe the opposite: you are the strongest of them all.

which, being completely serious, is true. since enduring all those lives is something only the strongest people can do. only they are able to watch the person they were assigned to, slowly fading away between their fingers;

reaching the local park, this was all you could think about. the memories you have made with jaemin only became sharper and even him being there with you, weren’t able to heal your scars. he held your hand, smiled and told you multiple times: he loves you. everytime he repeated those three words, the slight worry always became more and more visible. no matter how strongly you were holding onto the boy, it has became more clear: you’re going to lose him either way.

but that’s the thing you should think about the least. you need to focus on enjoying every moment. the fact that you can sit comfortably on the checkered blanket with him, spending a whole day together. the fact that you can have a picnic, you can talk for hours on end, your love is not unrequited anymore. you could have hide it but the years made you sometimes too unamused.

“why aren’t we ending this already?” you asked mindlessly, and as soon as you put a grape in your mouth, you regretted your words as jaemin’s face slowly became serious.

“please, don’t say things like this, okay? enjoy this day to its fullest. i want to love you until i go crazy. at least through this damn day.”

“i’ve loved you through this whole lifetime” you told him, fighting the urge to cry. “you have no idea how hard it is to think about it every god damn day. if people think you’re insane and let you rot in your own, personal pit. you don’t know how much it hurts to get in your bed, knowing that you have to go through your lover’s… your soulmate’s death someday. the one’s death that you love the most in the whole universe.” your voice was filled with uncontrollable emotions — regret rushed over you seeing him, teary eyed and confused.

“maybe. but dying isn’t that nice either.” his reply was bitter and his intention was clear: he wanted to leave you and calm down a bit. but you didn’t let him. you reached out for his hand and pulled him closer to yourself. he stared into your eyes but you didn’t say a word. that’s why he broke the silence. “all day, all i can focus on is that we can’t have a family. i can’t have a kid and i can’t grow old with you. i cannot love you utterly and completely for a whole lifetime. they took everything from us, that’s true… but let’s do something against that. please.”

“what could we do, jaemin? even if i shout at the sky above us, nothing will change! i’ve had enough and i just…”

before you could have finished your sentence, a big dog that was previously running around in the park, came to you two, sniffing your basket and deciding on being your company. your little argue was cut off by a golden retriever who was looking at you and jaemin, big eyes filled with curiosity. and you got a kiss from the dog too!

“isn’t this what other people call… little doze of happiness?” you said quietly, peeking at jaemin while petting the dog, looking at his collar, searching for a name. “buddy! what a cute name!”

“you see, y/n? that’s what i want. rendezvous, petting dogs, joy and sunshine. why can’t we get this?”

why?

what you have learnt from your experiences is one single thing: time is money and it won’t wait. as if the hours were passing by much faster in those twenty-four hours, one can be gone in a blink of an eye. you despised this, you have always hated that it had to be like this way, that you couldn’t stop time or travel to a whole another universe, waking up in a world where you can have a happy life with your dear lover.

the night came by so quickly you didn’t even realize its presence at first. the hours were going so fast, you couldn’t process the speed of it. you could only avert your attention from it as much as you were possibly able to. and in that moment, laying in the grass and gazing at the stars, it felt like as if you wasted every precious minute. but it felt so nice, eyes focused on the starry night, stars glowing shinier than one another, hands intertwined and fingers pointing at the sky. you gave the stars names and were adamant on finding more and more constellations. stargazing was what you two loved the most.

and then you saw the cassiopeia. the one thing that could remind you of the endless loop you and jaemin were in. spotting the constellation, you stood up in the grass and looked at your lover. his moonlit figure was equivalent to the most beautiful artwork in the whole universe. you were disgustingly in love with him. and that came with pain. so much pain.

“shouldn’t we go inside?” you asked suddenly, playing with your fingers while trying to avoid his gaze.

“you want to go in, love?”

you could only nod as an answer but he did what you wanted, without asking any further questions. he wanted to make you happy, more than anything. he wanted to see an honest smile on your face which can warm his heart up. since not only you were in a panic, he was too. but he preferred to not show it.

eventhough he was a master of everything else. and he showed it to you that night.

such heavenly words left his lips, he could have made a whole essay out of it, filled with emotions he wanted to show you on that short night that was given by fate; love, care and gratitude came out of his actions as he was talking to you, the way he handled everything. the way he mumbled in your ears without stop, the magical word “love” being repeated over and over, the way he touched you, the way he kissed you and the way he hugged you. he perfectly knew everything about you, he knew about your soft spots, he knew every inch of your body and he was so eager to discover it all over again since he can never get enough of you. he loved to trace his fingers over your figure, losing control here and there with those touches, reaching places that were the most precious to him. he loved to see how you reacted, how you said his name after every, sweet kiss of his, the way your voice was so shaky with every passing minute. as if he was playing a game with you, but that wasn’t the case. he showed you his true colours and you did the same. you were an open book in front of him, waiting for a sign from him. a small stroke of a brush which indicates that he was there. the marks blooming in thousands of colours, blue and purple, looking like the galaxy from above. you were like canvas to him, his signature on the corner of the painting, as if he was the painter. the artist. which was true, after all.

and as you were holding those stars in your hands, previously seen on the sky, you felt like you entered heaven. it had a feeling of warmth, the way those bright stars were in your hands, put there by jaemin. you could finally have it and you never wanted to let go of it. you could see that kind of reflection in your dear lover’s eyes, mirroring the honest feelings, the loyalty that connected you two. it was able to warm your heart up before crushing it. breaking it into millions of pieces.

that’s how it was with him. although it should have been much different.

and the brightest stars of them all, was brought the closest to you. you held it tightly and you were so stubborn on never letting it go. you closed your eyes and all you could focus on was jaemin’s quiet murmurs next to you.

dreams took you by surprise, although you wanted to avoid sleeping. but now, somehow you didn’t care about anything anymore. you gave in and entered dreamland together. close to each other — the closest ever.

at least during the night, you could pretend to be normal people. at least for a night.

waking up, the first thing that came to mind was checking up on the remaining time but as your eyes met jaemin and how peacefully he slept, time seemed to stop for a while. for a few moments, you could only study his face, the way he seemed so relaxed and comfortable. you watched his chest moving with every breath he took. you would have loved to give him a sweet little kiss but you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. eventhough you were aware of the fact: minutes are passing by in a hurry and every blink was equal to the end of your happiness.

“since when are you looking this attentively, love?” he asked in a sleepy voice before he opened his eyes. the corner of his lips went up a little as he felt your touch on his face. plus the small peck you greeted him with made the day a hundred times better. “i won’t lie if i say that you are the best thing the universe has ever created” his mumble was almost inaudible but you could still hear caring ringig in his speech.

for a long time, this was the first morning when waking up, you could hear the birds’ music so clear. the soft kind of song which mixed with the early rays of the sun, them not being able to fully warm up the room. everything felt so idillic, like it was a fairy tale. and if it hadn’t got such depressing ending, you would have agreed it was one.

“how did you say two lives before?” jaemin smiled and squeezed your hands, looking up and down on your face. “even the sun rose up today so it can follow the last few hours of our sorrowful tragicomedy?”

“how can you remember so perfectly? i mean… i am the one who should never forget, isn’t that true?” you shook your head, your grip on his hands tightening.

“looking at you calls out the hidden memories buried in the depths of my mind, you know.”

the rest of the day was dedicated to trying to enjoy it as much as you could, even if there wasn’t that much time in your hands. you had a long walk, holding each other’s hand, you ate delicious foods and tried everything that’s considered as the “perfect date”, corny things you have only seen in romance movies. it felt like the most treasured possession you had — time. after every kiss you gave to jaemin, you tried to remind him how thankful you were, stressing out the word “treasure”, letting him analyze the word as well. letting him repeat is and define whether it’s worth everything or nothing. whether it’s equal to love or not.

in the last hour of your time that was given, you two went back to your family’s house and its large backyard. no one was home so it made it much easier to sit on the ground and look at the sky once again, following the clouds’ slow pace.

“my current mother told me once that love takes something with itself every time…” jaemin said suddenly, out of nowhere, attentively looking at one certain cloud which he identified as a ‘dog’, based on its shape.

“what do you mean by that?”

“this is what love takes from us.” he mumbled, not really sure of his words. maybe he’s saying dumb stuff and his theory isn’t actually right.

“your current mother is right, i fear” only a sigh escaped your lips but you still continued, eyes fixed on the sky. “we have to pay for being together. but why is the price so high?”

you didn’t get any answers to your question, only a hum. you knew this is what’s going to happen, you didn’t wait for anything else. after all, jaemin barely knew anything about the world, maybe half of your knowledge was there for him, perhaps even less than that. if you couldn’t find the answer, why would he suddenly get the idea? you had centuries to think about it and he always forgot everything. maybe he was the one who won. in your eyes, it seemed like that.

as time passed and the sun started to set, you felt it coming. the last kiss was shared twenty minutes ago, too weak already. but his hand… you did not let go of that. you weren’t ready to lose him. you believed you would give him strength, that you can spare his life. but no, it was not the case. as you embraced him, all you could focus on was his heavy breathing and the way he told you nonchalantly: “i don’t want to die, it hurts”. tears were falling down on his face which was so pale and full of misery. his voice lost its colour slowly and everything felt like the worst nightmare one could think of.

“y/n, i… it hurts…”

his hands were weak and cold. you stroked his face, barely touching him because of the fear: you might cause more pain. you ran your fingers through his hair and found his gaze. yours was fixed on his iris, trying to look for the solution in there — it might be hidden. the last little piece of the final formula. but you couldn’t find it. you’ve never been able to.

the last sentence you heard from him in the current lifetime of yours consisted of three words. three simple yet so heartwarming words, barely escaping his lips.

“i love you.”

and you had to witness the agony of death once again, it was the price for the day. for your everything.

everything started all over again. greyness and gloom took over your life as the last little source of light faded away slowly, vanishing completely. and before you could have thought it’s going to be different this time, you knew it’s not true.

since that’s not what the book of fate had carved into its chapters. you two were destined for something else.

“i love you too, jaemin.”

#nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream headcanons #nct #nct imagines #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct dream stories #nct dream writings #nct angst #jaemin scenarios #jaemin angst #jaemin imagines #jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin headcanons #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x reader #jaemin x y/n

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boyfhee · 1 year

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⌕ TAKE TWO ━━ 23 : leaving for good

PRECIS. while riki constantly assured you that him being an idol under a different label wouldn't be an issue in your relationship, you start getting second thoughts when fans start shipping him with his co-mc at music bank.

w : angst but r we surprised ( 2.03k )

note : haha guys enjoy !!!!

“are you breaking up with me?” riki’s words are laced with confusion and disbelief. you both were getting better, you talked— sure, a few loose ends were left untouched. there were questions yet to be answered, but nothing quite led his assumptions to this conclusion, even in the worst scenarios. “answer me, yn,”

“you asked if i could give you another chance and i did that. now, i don’t think i have any more chances to spare,” and what else were you supposed to say? that you feel guilty for hiding the truth, or that you can’t even bring yourself to give him the actual reason why you’re breaking up? the only reason why you wanted to have the first say in whatever you both were to discuss was because you didn’t trust yourself. “i think we’re better off without each other,”

because you came here to tell him everything and perhaps, make him feel less guilty about himself and his actions, but now you don’t know where all the determination went the moment riki took the lead.

“this doesn’t make sense,” you hear him murmur under his breath, a deep sigh escaping his lips. “is it because i didn’t explain things to you sooner?”

“it’s not about you,”

“we can make amends,” and it pains you to see hope in his eyes.

“riki, this isn’t about you and no, we can’t ma—”

he takes a sharp breath. “well, then tell me what it’s abo—”

“i kissed jungwon,” a pause, a short session of silence follows. you don’t quite understand the depth of your words until you’ve already said it. “i don’t know how or why it happened. we were just talking, he confessed, and i kissed him. i can’t even sort out my own feelings and this is unfair to you.” and you’re just waiting for him to say something before you lose composure.“we should break up,”

you did plan on telling him, really, in all honesty. that was the plan, the reason why you decided to meet him again, but once again, when have plans ever worked in your favour? he deserved to know the whole story, just not like this, not when you both are in the middle of a probable breakup with your relationship hanging by a string. this discussion wasn’t even planned because you thought riki wouldn’t question your decisions or the break up. in fact, you expected him to anticipate the same. you didn’t want to keep things from him, not after what happened, you just didn’t know how to put everything in words until it fell off your mouth like wind in jet streams.

but you are here either way, sitting in front of him, fiddling with your fingers, mind blank, silence stinging like poisoned darts. you’re not expecting anything, not after what you’ve done, but you want him to say something— anything. you want him to yell at you, call you a cheating lying bitch, curse you out, anything but silence. yet still, riki keeps his mouth shut. his eyes widened for a brief second, you guess that he wants to speak, but words never leave his mouth, and when they do, you feel like the ground has shifted below your feet.

“i had feelings for miya,” it takes you a second to realise that you both were finally playing the truth game, stripping each other off the facades. “it doesn’t make sense. she was annoying, she wanted to hang out all the time. she was demanding. but, i started liking those demands, y’know? it was fun, i liked having someone to hang out with while you weren’t there, made me feel less lonely, to put it straight. and then things escalated, i wanted to see her more. maybe that’s why i got mad whenever you’d bring her up. i was scared you’d find out, but now that i know the kind of person she is, i’ve lost a friend, and i’m close to losing you,”

now, the silence is on your side.

you’re not holding back any tears, your hands aren’t shaking, you’re not in disbelief or feeling utter betrayal. you’re not heartbroken to the point from where, there’s no recovery. if anything, you’ve come to terms with reality. despite the fear and insecurities, a part of you has always been aware of whatever was going on between him and miya. romantic or not, it didn’t matter. you simply knew she was one of his very first priorities, probably even before you. right now, it’s not his words that hurt you the most, but rather, they make you question the very basis of your relationship. how many times did he ignore you for her? was there a time when you weren’t his first priority?

how many times did riki say i love you to you and it was meant for someone else?

“would i have dated her if you had never found out? probably, and that makes the two of us equal,” and his words now give you the answers to your questions, sort of.

probably more than you can count on your fingers.

“no, it does not,” you argue back, voice a little louder, turning heads in your direction as you pause before speaking at a much lower amplitude. “i kissed jungwon,”

but, he never cheated on you, did he?

“it was a mistake,” riki says softly, lips pressed together between words. “you were scared, you were having a hard time, and people tend to accept every ounce of affection in hard times. you’re owing up to your mistakes, i did the same. i think we’ll be fine,” at this point, it’s not you who he’s trying to convince, but himself. his heart that is beating at an enormous rate, every pump of blood that feels like a knife twisting in his chest, every breath that threatens to collapse his lungs, he’s telling his mind that the pain will be over, that there’s still a chance.

but riki doesn’t know where he stands, where you both stand. the damage was done, he is aware of all the tears and night it had cost. your decision is probably right, breaking up would be the best. sunghoon has been telling him to take some time off, he’s exhausted, he needs a break, but is it really easy to drop your first love and pretend nothing ever happened? to ignore everything you two had, to forget all the firsts and all the promises about being each other lasts, to discard the polaroids in his dorms that take him back to the moment they were taken, is it really as simple as it sounds, or is moving on a luxury only for people in movies and novels?

“can you just get mad at me? i don’t know, curse me out, yell at me, say you never want to see me again,” you’re knee-deep in desperation. your veins are no longer carrying blood, it’s the guilt oozing out of your heart. “please, make this easy for me,”

and even at this point, even when you’re the villain in your own story, when the pain he’s feeling is probably multiple folds severe than yours, when the scars you gave him in return are much deeper than the cuts he left you, you’re still begging him for mercy, to let you go because it makes things easier for you.

“is it necessary?” his voice is tender, sadness pooling in his eyes. “we came clean. so, what’s the point of hurting ourselves, yn?”

“and if we get back together, can i count on you?” it’s not a question for him. more or less, they’re the words you’ve been asking yourself over and over again, and when you can't find the answers, you direct them to him. “what are the chances that this will not happen again? how sure are you about your feelings for me? how are you sure that what you’re feeling is for me and not for someone else? what are the chances that you will not fall for someone else while claiming to be in love with me, and what are the chances that i won’t kiss jungwon again?”

loving was never supposed to be easy. you were young, you kissed under the street lights, you held hands on your way back home, you drank from the same cup, that was love for you and riki when you started dating, where the thoughts about breakups and moving on didn’t even cross your minds. but you grow, the problems you face are no longer about not being able to text and bid a sweet goodnight, and most importantly, sometimes the solution isn’t to kiss and make up.

if you’re being honest, loving was never for you. you had your own demons, he had his own issues. ‘tell me your problems and i’ll make them mine,’ only sounds good in fiction. in real life, when you’re sitting in front of the love of your life while talking about breaking up, nothing haunts you more than what has been caving inside your mind. at that moment, every single weakness surfaces and suddenly, you no longer think about how the other person is feeling. you kissed jungwon because you were in pain, you didn’t think about the effect it would have on riki or jungwon himself. riki turned to miya because you were absent, not knowing the depths of his actions and the harm it could potentially cause.

so, at the end of the day, loving was never meant for the two of you, at least not now. the only thing written in your fates was leaving for good.

“you’re right, we could get back and pretend none of this ever happened. but, riki, i can’t even look you in the eyes,” it’s true, to some extent, yes. you’re sitting here, you’re talking, you’re still in love, not sure with whom, it isn’t any different for him either. forgetting everything that happened would be easier, but you’re not sure how long you two will last. “ask yourself again, do you want this relationship because you still love me, or do you want it because you want to save yourself from heartbreak?”

“we’re breaking up for good, aren’t we?” you notice the corner of his lips perk up, an ironic smile settling on his face, because who even breaks up for good? all those movies about leaving because you love the person and want them to be happy never made sense to riki.

what’s so happy about breakups, anyway?

“it’s the best for us,” you nod, after all, it’s the best for you two, right?

and yet, it’s not in the best interest of you two. he wants to stay, you want to leave, the ‘good’ part of breakup, he doesn’t see it. riki never understood the hypothesis behind the good breakups and the breakups that happened while two people were still in love. you don’t throw away a cake even when you’re hungry, he thinks it’s the same logic. to leave the person you love the most for ‘better’, to spend days and nights and afternoons thinking about them and torturing yourself over and over, to drown in endless yearning and the lingering memories— he’d rather have it the other way.

if you’re the sun, riki wants you to burn him, if you're the moon, he wants you to freeze him cold. love, for riki, is not something that puts him to bed but rather, it’s something that takes away his sleep every night. so, leaving for good doesn’t make sense to him, for he simply wants you back, in any way, any form. even if you return to him as a ghost, it’s fine, he wants you to haunt him forever.

a theatrical confession, he doesn’t say it out loud. it would be stupid, but you seem to know what he’s thinking, the tears brimming your eyes tell him that.

“this is probably going to sound stupid, but i want to ask you just one question,” you hold your breathe. “in future, if you find yourself in a position to fall in love again,”

“will you fall for me?”

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artist-issues · 9 months

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What Even Are Disney Princesses?

I think two things make Disney Princesses super-successful. The first thing is that they’re “One of Us.” The second thing is, they’re “Examples of Superheroic Character.” Not as in “super-power,” but as in, “strength of values.” Just like the best super-heroes (like Spidey) usually are. The difference is, Disney Princesses don’t (usually) have superpowers that show off their strength of character—so how they respond to circumstances is what shows off their strength of character, instead.

For example:

Ariel’s One of Us

It’s ironic but it’s true. She’s the modern catalyst for this idea. She’s “the girl next door.” Every single person can relate to wanting more than what you have even if what you have is wonderful; every single person who’s been a teenager can relate to wanting to be understood, and feeling this horrible tension between loving what they’ve got but feeling like what they’ve got doesn’t fit anymore as they grow up.

She’s got these sweet little moments where she doesn’t know how a fork works but she’s so excited to see one and then embarrassed when she gets funny looks for brushing her hair with it. She sobs and runs away from an argument where her dad isn’t listening to her. She laughs at herself for pretending to be engaged to Eric’s statue. And tiny changes are made so that we think of her less as a mermaid or a princess and more as one of us—nobody ever calls her “Princess” regularly, except the bad guy. AND

Ariel’s Superheroic Character

Ariel has a strength of faith that many of us can only dream of. She learns a tiny piece of truth—that humans make wonderful things—and from that, she chooses to believe that all of her culture’s history, everything her dad says, and even the fact that her own mother was killed by humans, is wrong. When she says, “I don’t see how a world that makes such wonderful things could be bad,” she’s doing what so few of us are capable of: she’s taking truth, and acting upon it, instead of going with the crowd and listening to the popular opinion.

She does the same thing when she learns that Eric is a selfless, noble, self-sacrificial human—she knows those things are true, so she chooses to love him and sacrifice for him, against all odds and hard circumstances. We’d all like to be the kind of people who can do that, so that’s why she’s a good example.

Another example!

Belle’s One of Us

We can all relate to feeling lonely, and out of place. To feeling like we want what we see in stories—adventure, big, epic lives—and then finding out that what we really want is the thing that makes those stories worthwhile: love, simple and plain. Love that sees our inner world and meets us there.

She has these tiny moments of trying to talk to people about what she’s really excited and passionate about in her stories, but people who can only see the work and day-to-day in front of their noses don’t get it. She’s charmed and excited by things that are charming, like dancing silverware. She rages to herself about annoying suitors while she does her chores. She’s afraid of things that make sense to be afraid of, like hungry wolves and horrifying beasts. And she misses her father, even when she’s living the storybook adventure she’s always dreamed of, and she isn’t afraid to show it.

AND

Belle’s Superheroic Character

Belle has this almost-unattainable, inspiring character trait of self-sacrifice. She’s read books about heroes her whole life. She’s dreamt of freedom and adventure. But she gives it all up for her father, and sacrifices her independence, her home, her only source of love, to be like the heroes in her storybooks, even though she’s done nothing deserving of that fate. And considering her relationship with Gaston, we know that what she’s really giving up is every dream and every love to live with her worst nightmare—chained to a tyrant who’s cruel and self-focused.

But she does it anyway. And she doesn’t stop there. She makes the most of her situation—not by breaking her word and trying to get free, but by being willing to see that there’s more to that self-focused tyrant than she originally thought. By believing, once he shows her that he has enough good in him to save her life, that that good can be coaxed out and strengthened, and even loved. She’s this high ideal of self-sacrifice at every decision she makes.

I could add to this post with every single Disney Princess from Snow White to Moana, but I don’t have to. You guys know what I mean! The Disney Princesses have hearts that are everything we wish we could be—and because they’re also relatable humans, they make us believe that we could one day have the same hearts, too.

It’s never about their ability to sing, or have tiny waists, or big eyes, or healing hair and freezing powers and magic mermaid voices. It’s about their strength of character.

#Disney princess #Disney princesses #character analysis #characters #analysis #meta #film analysis #earth and the beast #the little mermaid #tangled #Snow White #Cinderella #faith #sleeping beauty #Moana #princess and the frog #Disney #the real Disney

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haet-sal · 1 year

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Avenging Angel Dystopia // monster!seonghwa x reader x yunho (you cheat on yunho with non-human seonghwa)

In a barren, dictatorship-controlled nation, you lead a simple life with your boyfriend Yunho, a pianist, too oppressed to rebel. As stories of the people in high society being murdered run through the news, you come to find out who—or what—is behind these killings.

Tags: JUST SKIP TO THE SMUT IF YOU WANT you monsterfucker, yunho x reader (established, no smut), seonghwa x reader smut, cunnilingus + P in v, unprotected but hes not human

Warnings: politics tw, murder tw, seonghwa is literal man-eating monster tw, religion tw (but no prophets and jesus/god are mentioned, just seonghwa is an angel. There are scenes of praying)

w.c.: 7k

Excerpt: He knew every single thing you were feeling, and if it were something that could be shrouded, you’d cover yourself… you feel your mind was naked in front of him, every dirty thought.

Seonghwa grew agitated by your own thoughts of nakedness, dirtiness, your corrupted mind—to distract the both of your from all those thoughts, he rushes to you, catching you in a devouring kiss, so red and hot that it could light up and heat up the dark, gelid apartment.

You taste iron on his tongue, like bars in jail cells, like rusted knives, like blood. As soon as you remember the taste of blood, you pull away. Remembering he isn’t human. Remembering what he does, what he has done. His nature.

“I understand if it’s too much for you,” he says. “I understand if you find it hard to be with me this way.”

“You read my mind, you know that’s not true, you know I want you.”

A smile ghosted his lips. “Good thing I live in the in-between. Not quite angel, not quite demon, not quite human.”

You’re making sandwiches for Yunho so he can take them to his tutoring job, when your boyfriend bursts through the room, hurriedly, clutching journal paper in his hands. “Yunho,” you sighed, more afraid than anything, “those are contraband.”

“I just had to buy this month’s issue,” Yunho says as he paged through the detached pages, made with no sense of expertise. “There’s good news in them, I just had to read about it.”

“Yunho…” you sighed. “If they catch us with contraband newspapers, they’ll take everything from us. They’ll take you from me—”

“It’s alright!” He laughs. “They’re not about to storm our apartment out of the blue, don’t be silly.”

Yunho isn't you, he doesn’t know how to be afraid.

Or rather, you weren't Yunho, weren't as tall or as strong, and you had many things to be afraid of. Yunho doesn’t know what happened to you three years ago, as soldiers stormed your home, arrested your entire family, accused of being rebels—they seized every piece of property you had, every asset, froze every bank account. Yunho wasn’t there, except for your barefoot walk to his apartment, where you collapsed in tears, and he promised you that the worst was over now.

You decided to relent; he’s right, soldiers weren’t about to storm your apartment any time soon. Plus, things have… gotten better, ever since they got more control over the rebels in the city. War is freedom.

You sighed. “So… what’s the good news?”

“There’s been reports.” Yunho paged through the contraband pages hurriedly, looking for the one page that started on the whole exposè. “A couple of the general’s friends, and some family members—brutally murdered. In their own homes. They say their organs were missing. I thought the newspaper might tell us more.”

You frowned. “That’s a horrible thing to be so happy about…”

“They deserve it, though.”

It’s soon sunset, and the powerful stomps of soldiers marching filled the streets, as people rushed to close their windows, shrouding themselves from the patrol. You and Yunho included, draw the blinds in your flat and decided to have dinner.

You made the dinner, although Yunho can cook better than you—you guessed that you had to do something, just to feel like there’s still life left for you.

“I actually might play at a—” Yunho stopped midway through the conversation at the table.

You raised an eyebrow. “Play where?”

“Somewhere… grand.”

“Like a hotel ball? Wedding? Big wedding? Am I close?”

Your naive little guesses almost lightened the big man up, only the light in his eyes turned red and anxious the minute his work phone started to ring, very urgently so, almost vibrating itself off the table.

Yunho paled, as he grabbed the phone off the dinner table. “What—” you start, but he runs out of the apartment to take it, a pair of long legs taking him outside faster than you could finish the sentence.

He doesn’t talk about it for a while. You know he’s trying to gain more exposure as a pianist, he’s amazing at playing—and he even composes. The way his fingers work across the ivory keys and the black-pebble flats and sharps—you swear you’ve never met a more proficient player, never mind that he never finished music college—you didn’t either. Yunho’s income came mostly out of teaching kids how to play and getting random gigs sporadically, at acoustic nights at restaurants and whatnot.

“I’m booked for something next Saturday,” he told you in bed a week after that day. He was spooning you, head nuzzled inside the crook of your neck. The baby hairs on your nape wavering under his words.

“That’s great…”

“It’s… a strange job. I’m going to be playing at a party… you know who Seo-chee is, right?”

“The dictator’s daughter?”

“She’s throwing a ball.”

“A ball.” Yunho started to explain the concept of balls to you, as if you hadn’t watched Cinderella in your lifetime. The audacity that high-society was having a ball—when half the nation’s population was starving to death—was just pompous, if anyone heard it they’d be livid with curses. As if the dictatorship wasn’t cursed enough already—and your boyfriend was going to aid them at the party, with his music. You can’t even imagine it happening.

“You actually took the job?” you prodded.

“I… yeah. As soon as they called—they’re paying thousands. For four hours.” You went quiet. “Baby… you know we need the money.”

You turn yourself around on the bed to look at Yunho, who is just trying to appease you. He knows he shouldn’t have, what repercussions it had—he was just trying to feed the both of you.

So you guessed you couldn’t stay mad. But for a long time, you did.

“Yunho, I can’t go in there, they’ll arrest me.”

“Calm down, you’re not a rebel, and we’re pretending we’re military supporters today.” His tone was quiet, calming, which he always used whenever you started having these panics. “You look beautiful.” You were wearing some ancient ball-attendee dress you’d fished out of the depths of your closet.

The mansion wasn’t just a mansion, it was a palace. There was a long walk towards the steps into the main mansion, the pathway surrounded by a forest of trees. A soldier took you on a cart, sparing you the long walk, once Yunho mentioned he was the entertainment.

The high society was ignorant to the citizens starving in the streets, the appetizers of lobster tails and caviar served on plates as they dug in, every little debutante and their dates in their tailored suits. You didn’t take any—it didn’t seen fair to eat when your own neighbors were starving.

To you, the ball was a bore, and Yunho only played classics, and he’s always amazing but there’s just… something that wouldn’t let you enjoy it, an uncomfortableness. You wandered out into the lobby, where glass separated the columns outside from the inside, through which you could view the garden perfectly.

You notice something outside of the glass, walking, as if wandering the terrain, like a hunter stalking its prey. You don’t even understand what someone would be doing outside, not enjoying the music or appetizers, but the thing… fades further into view.

It’s a man. He had platinum white hair that waved in the wind, although not lightly, as if each strand of hair had resistance to it, and he was wearing these strange… robes, that not only seemed inappropriate for the ball, seemed out of date. Like way out of date. Like two millennia out of date.

Once he notices that you had seen him, he erects his head slowly, watching you—a lop-sided stare. Eyes seeming to move every time you did.

And then, he grins. His teeth are inhuman. Sharp, dangerous, a thousand teeth like a leviathan. You scream, but to not make a scene, you cover your mouth with your own hands.

And then the man seemed to fade away from view as quickly as he had appeared.

You rationalize what you had seen, it must have been just a man. To not seem all that crazy, you wander the mansion trying to ask someone if they saw him too. You decided to ask the men eating at a table outside the ballroom.

“Um…” you tap someone on the back, the train of your dress dragging behind you. Unfortunately once the man turns around, so does the rest of the circle at the table, and you realize this is a soldiers’ circle—they were all armed, perhaps in a way that you could say lightly, with handguns strapped to their belts.

It makes you lose your courage, the fact that they could simply… shoot you right then and there.

“What is it?” the soldier whose shoulder you tapped asks.

“Um… I just… I wanted to ask, does anyone know that man, outside?” They all looked confused. “The man,” you clarify, “with the white hair, and he’s got this… cloak on, and he’s wearing robes under it.”

The soldiers look among themselves. “I’ll check it out,” the roughest-looking one of them says. “If someone’s breached the grounds it could be dangerous—you better not be lying about this, though, kid.” He glares at you, but you’re more distracted by how he so readily unholstered his gun, as he steps outside the giant glass gates.

You’re now left in the midst of the other soldiers, who are unrestful, but they didn’t seem to be taking your claims very seriously. They started to talk among them, until other partygoers approached, wanting to know what was going on.

“This lady,” says a younger soldier, “says she saw a man outside—white hair, and a cloak. Has anyone seen…?”

The people who approached—mostly young debutante-aged maidens—shake their heads. “A man?!”

“He didn’t…” you begin, and regretted having formed that sentence, or that thought, entirely. “He didn’t look human. I mean, he had human features, but something… it felt like he had some kind of power, that wasn’t human.”

The entire congregation gathered in front of you bursts out laughing. “Miss Y/N… you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Why did the pianist’s lover get invited… ugh. Commoners are weird.”

“Probably crawled out of her rebel hideout to come here…”

Sensing you weren’t welcome, you step back–you look over your shoulder, and the soldier had returned, gun finally reholstered. “There’s nothing,” he says. “No one.”

“What’s wrong?”

You gasp. That’s the dictator’s daughter. You’ve seen her in pictures in stories covering their family, right now you were just surprised she was actually talking to you—and in front of her, she had wheeled her grandmother—the dictator’s mother—a frail old lady, past 90, ancient and barely conscious but still dressed up for the party, heavy scarlet stones weighing heavily from her neck.

“This… lady, says that she saw a man outside,” answered the young soldier. “There’s nothing there, though, so—”

Everyone turns in alarm as the old grandmother’s head tilts. Her gaze lands straight at you, and it’s not indifferent like seconds before, there was fear— “You see him too,” she speaks, although her voice was weak; it just adds to all the terror of it. “The demon. He stalks us… The harbinger.”

You step backwards as the old woman starts to shake, opening your mouth to say no, I was seeing things—but she continues: “I see him too. A head of white hair… His eyes—his eyes—!”

The people around you started to murmur, while the daughter attempted to calm her down. “No one said anything about white hair.”

You turn on your heels before anyone could say anything else, basically sprinting to the ballroom. As soon as you near the gold-encrusted gates, the sounds of Yunho’s piano calms you down, and your heart starts beating normally again.

You don’t approach him, simply watching from the door. His broad shoulders erected firm in posture, the one thing he teaches foremost to his students—a small smile started forming on your lips.

It’ll be okay. You can put this night and the ugliness and the soldiers and the guns behind you once you go to bed tonight. You hate this mansion, as grand as it is. The entire place reeked of evil, of bloodshed. So many murderers under one roof.

Yunho raises his eyes to look at the crowd, and his eyes land on you, immediately lighting up. His face was mostly covered by the lid of the grand piano, but you see the crinkle in his eyes. You waved at him, but immediately walk backwards out of the ballroom, not wanting to distract him.

The party would go on for a few more hours, and although you’re afraid of the man—the thing—you saw, you’re more afraid of the soldiers and military supporters in the building, so you decided to wander the acres of garden area that the mansion has.

There’s swarms of mosquitos, gnats, fireflies, all over the garden. You keep walking to keep them from landing on you, but those bugs were persistent… suddenly, you see something in the garden. Something glowing.

In folklore, there was a story about a princess, so beautiful with such fair complexion that she could light up an entire palace without candles. You didn’t understand what you were seeing until then—it was just skin. Skin that reflected so much moonlight.

Although you guessed it wasn’t skin, it was a guise of skin. A higher being donning makeshift-humanity.

The monster turned around, and it was only a man, although that’s just what he wanted you to think.

You couldn’t speak, so he started.

“It makes you feel bad for your prayers, doesn’t it? Actually being close to a soldier? They murder children in cold blood, but here at the party they’re offering to top up your champagne glass. It confuses you.”

He’s… human. You push aside your initial foreboding to interact with him well, maybe he’s just an addition to the guest list people forgot. And yet… something in you wasn’t settled. You knew he couldn't be normal.

“It doesn’t make me feel bad,” he continued. “I like it when you pray, Y/N. ‘Dear God, please destroy their armies’... Not an ethical wish, but something I’m used to, back when tyrants ruled the land.”

You gasp. Was he some sort of… religious fanatic? Was he— “My name…” In realization that you never once told him anything about you, you recoil, thinking of the best way to escape him. You couldn’t go around the fountain, because he’d catch you immediately. And you didn’t have the courage to run deeper into the trees.

“It shouldn’t shock you that I know you,” the man says. “I hear every single one of your prayers. Every night. And your prayers are your deepest desires, are they not? You wish for their deaths, every single day…”

There’s just something so deeply unsettling about his eyes, and the more you look at him you get this uncanny feeling. Like he’s something playing at being human.

“You’re upset I know your name,” he says. “I’ll tell you mine so you can call me by it, then—I’m Seonghwa.”

You try to calm yourself. See, Y/N? He’s just human. He has a name. A human name. There are no such things as demons—

“You think I’m a demon?”

You frown. Did you say that out loud? How did he—

“I’m far from it,” Seonghwa promises you, with a smile that’s slowly spreading across his face. Literally.

He grins.

His teeth…

You could scream. Those are not human teeth. They’re so perfectly hidden behind his perfect lips, but he’s got fangs. And not even just fanged canines, it’s… every single tooth. White, ivory fangs.

“Be not afraid.”

You could scream.

His voice at times seemed to come from inside you, as if he were a ventriloquist and he had his voice inside of your head. He didn’t even seem to be moving his mouth as he spoke, which proved that he was a trick of the light, a being more complex than you could understand.

Okay, maybe he does know your prayers. He does know what the military had done, everything he say is right. And those fangs… maybe that was the one lie, a trick of your own madness.

“You want to know who I am, what my business here is.” You nodded, you did want to know. “You must have heard about it. The… executions?”

You remembered. The things Yunho was so over the moon about. The high society people that seemed to keep dying. “You’re responsible?”

When he nods, you look away just so the fangs don’t nerve you any longer.

“I was…” he hums, looking up at the darkened sky. Now the entire conversation was merely moon-lit. “I was… scoping out my next victim. You’ve compromised me though—I don’t want you or your boyfriend caught in a crossfire, if I did something and they started suspecting you two—I guess I’ll just have to wait. I can be patient.”

You believed him. In his eyes, there was nothing but a calm patience, as if he could wait eternity to deal with his victims, almost like a sniper soldier.

“Miss Y/N!” It’s that young soldier from before, you’re glad it’s him, because between him and this demon and the other soldier, he’s the least intimidating. “What are you doing here alone?”

You gawked. Did he just… did he see through Seonghwa? Could he not see him, at all?

You stare at Seonghwa, silently begging him for an explanation, but he’s closed his lips entirely, hiding those monstrous fangs.

The soldier walks through Seonghwa, grabbing you harshly by the arm. “You shouldn’t be out here. I know it’s tempting at a boring party, but we have security to worry about.”

You looked over your shoulder as the soldier dragged you away, and Seonghwa’s still standing at the fountain, still smiling, eyes still bright and unhuman. “I’m sorry,” you apologize to the soldier, “I thought a quick walk was okay—umm, hey, young man…” You stop in your tracks, as does the soldier. You turn him towards the fountain, where Seonghwa’s still standing. “Do you… see that?”

He frowns. “Excuse me?”

“The man,” you clarify, “right there. Standing by the fountain. Do you see him?”

“Miss… please don’t scare me. You know military folk are superstitious.”

“You really don’t see—”

“Please! Don’t! You’re freaking me out.” The soldier turns to youth speech from his informal politeness. “Please, come back to the party—before your boyfriend gets snatched.”

“She’s been talking to him since before I came to get you,” says the young soldier, as he walked you back into the ballroom. “He had to put a rest to playing Clair de Lune to converse with her… oh, well, I suppose she is the most powerful woman in the nation…”

The dictator’s daughter is bent over the grand piano talking to Yunho. She’s giving him awe-inspiring heart-eyed stares, and you’re not even jealous, you’re afraid.

What if she sees you as an enemy, and somehow gets rid of you? The way her father gets rid of rebels—

But Yunho sees you from across the room, and smiles. That smile was going to get you killed.

The dictator’s daughter looks at his smile, almost mesmerized in it, believing it was for her. And then she looks behind her, to see you–the real receiver of that smile. And her gaze burned.

The nation rejoices as more of the dictator’s friends’ deaths hit the news, one by one falling like dominos. The details are always the same: attacked, ambushed, in their own homes, sometimes even in their own bedrooms. Brutally torn through with organs missing, not one trace of the attacker left behind. Maybe because he had no DNA to leave behind. You knew even the dictator, in his bomb shelter locked away from any danger, had to be afraid.

They were afraid of Seonghwa.

You don’t know if he’s real—correction, you can’t be sure if he’s real. But some part of you knew it was, that you didn’t make up this beautiful, pale angelic face—it’s beyond imagination, he has to be real.

But you just grow more afraid, knowing what you know. Knowing what was responsible. You’d discussed it with a religious older neighbor, and she’d just said—”it’s an angel. An angel is delivering comeuppance.” But you’d think Seonghwa was purely… a demon.

One night, you’re coming back from the corner store, where you’d rushed to do last-minute grocery shopping after having forgotten through your preoccupation, you dragged a heavy plastic bag of groceries back home.

Suddenly, in the alleyway right next to your flat, someone pushes you, from the dark, shoving you into the alley between two flats. You gasp, but couldn’t scream—perhaps for your own good.

“Look, we don’t—we don’t want to do this.” The masked attackers let their leader speak. “Just give us the groceries, and your money—please, some of our kids at home are starving—”

You’re shocked and didn’t know what to do, so you gape up at them until they take the bag into their own hands, only to stop in their tracks when a shadow approaches.

You don’t know what kind of thing scared them, but they dispersed quickly, screaming.

It’s a luna eclipse night. His skin still glowed, but not with the moonlight anymore.

“It’s not very nice to steal, although they were pushed to this situation—still, I’d rather you keep what you paid for.” Seonghwa’s voice rang through your senses like a breeze. So soft, so grand.

You’re more scared of what he was than you’d ever be afraid of those bandits. You scrunched your eyes shut and started to pray: “Lord have mercy. Deliver us from evil, deliverusfromevildeliverusfrom—”

“I’m not evil. If anything, those prayers would call me closer—an angel.”

Your eyes shoot open. “You’re not…”

“I am.”

You look at him, and you could believe it. He’s that handsome, almost to the point where the only reason was that he was so wonderfully made. You step further back into the alley until your back hits the wall.

“Why are you here?”

“I see most things that are happening in this country—it is my duty, after all.” Seonghwa hesitated if he should add his next words. “But I look after you especially. I am familiar with your life, your suffering.”

“That doesn’t make me feel good,” you protest. “You’ve been watching me?!”

“Everyone is watched—from birth. Let me assure you you are far from a sinner—you’re the kind of innocent soul I’d whisk away from this hell if I could.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m a harbinger, not a savior, or even a protector.”

Meaning all he does is kill. You shudder.

“You’re still shaking, and I can feel the rapidity of your heart from here.” He steps closer towards you, and you almost wish he’d step even closer, just because you feel safer under his light than in the dark.

“Let me calm you down,” Seonghwa says softly. Then, his hand wraps around the back of your head, and he presses a kiss to your warm lips, his smelling and tasting like fresh fruit, refreshing, like he’d come from somewhere green and pleasant, away from this barren landscape.

When you open your eyes, he’s gone, and your heart rate has never been calmer. And the air smelled sweet.

“You’ve been… distant,” Yunho starts with a sigh, like he didn’t want to be talking about this… “ever since I played at that military party—are you mad at me that I took the job?”

You didn’t reply, not because he was right, but because you didn’t know how to start explaining. If you told him about Seonghwa—he’d call you crazy. He’d think the loneliness and the fear had finally maddened you. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Yunho scoffed. “I know I shouldn’t be some bootlicker artist, but we needed the money, and—you know what happens to people that turn them down.”

“I’m glad you took it,” you say, insincerity apparent in how monotone you sounded. “Who knows what they could have done to us if you hadn’t?”

He sighed. “But you’re mad.”

“You’re mere entertainment to the people who took my family from me—excuse me if I’m disappointed.”

“You said it yourself—who knows what they would have done to us?!”

“Yunho,” you sighed. “I love you, and I’m disappointed. At the same time. And you know, you have a new admirer.”

“The daughter?” Yunho was aghast. “It’s… it’s not…” He couldn’t come up with a lie nor a reassurance. Everything you’d said was true.

You find out later that she had been calling his work phone, over and over again. And he always took it—who knows what she’d do?

Seonghwa visits the apartment, on his own will—he wasn’t some unholy beast that had to be invited in. Every border allowed him inside.

He watched you, poised from the window as you washed dishes—it didn’t matter if he fell, so you don’t utter any complaints.

“Why are you dressed like that?” you ask. “It’s like… haven’t you had a wardrobe change since 800BC?”

“No one can see me,” Seonghwa says, more of an excuse than anything. “It’s comfortable,” he finally answers.

“Stuck in your old ways from millenia… hmm, not a good look, demon.”

“Angel,” he insisted. “You know, if you keep calling me demon, I’m going to think you don’t think I'm too pretty.”

But he knew he was.

Sometimes you’d begin to think that maybe you were losing your mind, cooped up in a barren flat in a barren city with your anxious thoughts to accompany you, and Seonghwa was a manifestation of this madness. But the constant news of murder after murder confirmed that Seonghwa was indeed real, and indeed everything he said he was.

He didn’t call what he did ‘murders’. Murders took human, stealing life from another human. He wasn’t one. What he did was comeuppance, divine instruction, divine punishment. Heaven’s work was what he was doing.

Yunho isn’t tutoring anymore, but he has more money than ever. You know what it is, but didn’t have the heart to point it out—you didn’t want to lose him, and you knew the minute you shed light on it, the entire lie would blow up. You had no one to discuss this dishonesty to, because once they find out who he’s been cheating with on you, you both would be nothing but traitors.

Storm season is around, as the city had been built around rivers. Rising tides and cyclones kill, but the only deliverance the high society faced is Seonghwa’s doing. Military families die, and new soldiers take their positions, although they were all well-aware—they were being haunted. Still they insist it was a serial killer, nothing supernatural—you guessed they had to think that way, to believe heaven was still on their side.

Tonight, the storm hits your part of the city, and the thunder doesn’t stop. As the rainclouds block the sun totally throughout the day, there’s no solace, no light—the electricity cuts off, and Yunho hasn’t come home since the previous night.

You can pretend the blackout is just a precaution for the storm, but you know the houses on the hills—aka the high-society neighborhood—stay lit with the brightest lights. While you hunted in the dark for flashlights and candles.

“Yunho…” you cursed your boyfriend’s name, you had asked him to buy some candles for the apartment, but he never got around to it—although you guess you shouldn’t be so mad, he was always preoccupied, trying to earn money, trying to stay alive for you—

The storm wasn’t going to be that bad. You hoped. A cyclone was happening two shores over, and it carried the winds on to your city. You wished that everything was well at the shore settlements, as you went on looking for candles, and flashlights.

“Sweetheart,” comes the neighboring lady’s frail little voice, “I don’t mean to be a bother—could I have a candle, please? I know these things cost an arm and a leg these days, I just—”

“No, it’s no big deal!” you bellow so she hears you over the thunder. You bring out the little cup with its candle to her, promptly presenting it. “Here—don’t worry about it.”

When she murmurs her thanks and is gone, your sole light source was the flashlight in your hands.

The storm was starting, so you go to close the windows, not wanting dust and rain to get blown through the crevices, and you block the entire outside out, although the lightning flashes shined through the gaps every time they struck.

“My Y/n.”

You scream, a sound so shrill it cuts through, and you drop the flashlight, which shatters, bulb and the glass protection in the front. You’re still screaming, grabbing at nothing now that the flashlight had slipped away from you.

You recognize him by his clothes. Robes in the fashion of millennia ago. You finally calm down, remembering that Seonghwa couldn’t hurt you.

“Shush,” he says with celerity, approaching you and the flashlight on the floor, which still shined a dim, dying light.

You gasp. “Oh no, I broke it!”

Seonghwa wordlessly touched it, glass shards and all, and presents it back to your hands.

And it’s fixed. The broken bulb, the glass, everything.

You stare in curiosity, but he’s been so honest with you the whole time. It’s hard to believe a real living angel is in front of you, but when he shows his powers this way…

It’s still pretty damn hard to believe.

You just stare back at him, with wide eyes. Pointing the fixed light at his chest. Is that… a fleck of blood… on his skin?

“Turn it off, please?” Seonghwa requested. “I don’t like it to be so brightly lit.”

“O–of course.” Your hands stutter as you blindly reach for the switch on the flashlight, to turn it off. As soon as it’s off, you take a good look at Seonghwa, who you’ve only seen in moonlight, in dim alleys, always hidden in the shadows. Now you’re close enough to him that you can see every little thing you’d missed all the other times—how neat his clothes were, not torn at all; his features, too beautiful to be human; his perfect hair, which you still didn’t know why it chose to be platinum.

“I need a text from Yunho first,” you tell Seonghwa. “Before I can rest easy, like you told me to do.”

“He’s going to sit the storm out at her house. He’s completely roofed, and safe. You can embrace each other in the morning.”

You frown.

“Don’t be ashamed that I know he’s unfaithful—I couldn’t help but know.”

He knew every single thing you were feeling, and if it were something that could be shrouded, you’d cover yourself… you feel your mind was naked in front of him, every dirty thought.

You taste iron on his tongue, like bars in jail cells, like rusted knives, like blood. As soon as you remember the taste of blood, you pull away. Remembering he isn’t human.

Remembering what he does, what he has done. His nature.

“I understand if it’s too much for you,” he says. “I understand if you find it hard to be with me this way.”

“You read my mind, you know that’s not true, you know I want you.”

His mouth, fangs and all, sinks into the skin of your neck, although he doesn’t so cruelly bite down, so delicately feeling you with his lips, every inch of vulnerability awakening something in him. “You want me,” he concluded. “You want me, in that way.”

You nod slowly, you knew it was true. “Can you…?”

“I work very closely to human sin, remember?” the angel speaks. His voice is everywhere around you, it’s like it’s coming from your own head. “I may not… know what it’s supposed to feel like, really, but I know how enjoyable it can be, for you.” He reached out, tracing your face, when you frown, concentrating on looking at him, he tenderly caresses the creases between your eyebrows and the pout of your lips, thumb ghosting over every feature. “Every little nerve working in your body… every open mouthed moan… every pain in your core—I know you humans love it.”

And he’s so real. Like a real, warm human body. You almost forget what he really is…

“But will you feel it?” you ask. “It… it won’t be right if you don’t feel the pleasure.”

A smile ghosted his lips. “Good thing I live in the in-between. Not quite angel, not quite demon, not quite human.” He leans in close to you, it’s the closest you’ve ever had him to you, you think— “But I have a cock I can indeed derive pleasure from…”

You just stared up at him, not even remembering to swallow the saliva in your throat.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Don’t read my thoughts,” you beg.

His laugh is musical, and rings in your ears. “Aww, I was just—you’re right, that’s not fair of me. It’s just a habit, I’ll…” he puts his hands to his ears. “I’ll play deaf to all your thoughts, I promise.”

“Whatever I think, you hear it?” There’s such a sad helplessness in your words.

“Not from now on—I am at your command.” He kissed your eyes. “Every command.”

“If I do this, will you fall?” You step closer to him and kiss him, the way you kiss Yunho on fervent, feverish nights, soft lips battling with the power of corruption, although you didn’t know how much you could corrupt…

Seonghwa smiles into the kiss, and smiles even bigger when you pull away. “Fall, like from heaven?” He tuts at you with a tilted chin. “You need to try harder than that—although… it does make me farther than ever from my goal of getting wings, it’s something I can work for again.”

(The day he revealed himself to you again, and proclaimed he was an angel, you’d asked: “if you’re an angel, where are your wings?” and he answered he was working for them, just didn’t have them yet.) You knew he wanted those wings, so why would he step so many steps backwards, just for you…?

“Because you’re worth it,” he answered. Then he holds his tongue. “Oops. I’m meant to not listen in, aren’t I?”

He’s close to you again, didn’t even walk towards you—just phase-shifted to you—”I’m sorry,” he whispers, but his voice echoes in the depths of your mind again, “your thoughts are just so loud. You’re so… apparent—needy, aroused, curious... it’s almost innocent, how plain your desires are.”

You swallow air just to not breathe it out.

Seonghwa kisses you again, this time with an unyielding force, his hands go to the straps of your top and just pull them down, revealing your chest, pure skin so soft and yielding to his touch, but he doesn’t touch, only stares.

“If I coveted what was your boyfriend’s, that would make me a hypocrite, huh?” You don’t know how he’s done it, but he cuts your pants off you with a swipe of his hands, and you’re naked… for him. You reached for his robes, which came off easily with a pull of a string.

His skin is also pale, unbroken, bright, reflecting. It’s so beautiful you can’t help but be aroused, and as the slick gathers around your lips, Seonghwa carries you, only to the couch in your vicinity, big enough to lay down fully.

The fact that you’re letting a monster fuck you on the couch your boyfriend bought wasn’t lost to you. But when Seonghwa touches you again, stone-cold skin that burned you, you realize there was so much passion, that you wanted it over your own current life. Seonghwa could fix you.

You feel his tongue against your clit, so easily submitting to you, giving you pleasure, as if he weren’t a creature more than anything you ever were.

Seonghwa was aggressive, as if starved—he'd never wanted to taste anything human before, and this gave him a new kind of hunger, impossible to comprehend even in his higher brain.

His hands come up to your torso as he buries his face in your needy cunt, and you grab the hands, intertwining it in yours. He seemed to appreciate the closeness, clasping it tighter.

“Seong—Hwa—so—good!” You hadn't been brought so high, for your moans to be so pornographic, in a long time. Your toes curl up, you throw your head back.

To admit it, you and Yunho had the kind of sex where it couldn’t help either of you relax, bodies growing tenser and tenser as you considered your place in the dictator regime, your futures, how far you’d go to protect each other, when the last time you could be together was. Too many worries, too vulnerable like prey animals in the open field, to ever enjoy the sex.

With Seonghwa it was different. He opened you up. His kiss relaxes every nerve in you, lets you think clearly, lets you focus on the pleasure. You loved Yunho, but he was just a man.

Seonghwa’s long fingers roam your body, every part of it, while yours stay embedded in the skin of his shoulders and chest, just holding onto him, until he’s realer and realer with every passing second.

“Your—” you start, gesturing at his cock—so pretty, a pale, brownish beige color, pretty in every aspect. He nods. “You can feel me with it?”

You don’t see his expression anymore, as he buries his head between your head and shoulder, into the couch, as he enters you—all you hear from him is a guttural groan.

The couch drags against the flooring as he thrusts into you, standing up on the side of the couch. You praise him, telling him how good he's doing for his first time since merely watching, and his thrusts turn harder.

“you—every part of you—is amazing,” he says, maybe it was his turn to praise you.

He then wordlessly admires how you cum to your high, eyes too hazed over to even recognize him, or Yunho if he had returned.

Seonghwa’s porcelain grin flashes, lit up by the lightning around the flat, he’s looking mischievous—you reach out for him, and he’s real with his body, so close to you. “Poor baby,” he says. “You’ve never felt pleasure like this before.”

His thumb started to circle around your clit, almost too tender as if you were so precious to him, and then faster, to the point where you move away from him, just because you didn’t know how to handle that level of arousal.

Laughing, Seonghwa keeps rubbing your clit, but holds you down by the hips with his other hand. Your only option now is to moan, so loudly, you think you could start screaming. You realize you’d go unheard, through the storm, anyway, but didn’t want to risk it.

You look up at him with fluttering eyelashes, almost pleadingly. You’re exhausted already, just from everything you’ve done—Yunho, even in all his stature, had never tired you out this way before.

When you’re tightening around nothing—he wasn’t even generous enough to put his finger in so you could feel something—and spasming around his palm, Seonghwa smiles, head disappearing between your legs to lick the rest of the slick off, although he wiped his dirty hands on your bare stomach. Then he faces you again.

“I think—” Seonghwa breathed out a laugh, “I think this is depravity, you feel it too, don’t you? My corruption—”

He’s not even half exhausted, when you’re so fucked out you don’t think you can take anything anymore.

“You—bring—” You gasped, as he, with gritted teeth and tense nerves, enters you again, determined to get you both onto the same kind of high. “—me—so far… from heaven.”

You’re losing all senses, and when you arch your back, Seonghwa’s hands are there to support you, eyes rolled back and not making sense of the world anymore. Through the window, lightning flashes every two seconds, the outside world too stormy even for the soldiers to patrol.

Seonghwa disappears after he’d tended to your sore body, wiping the sweat of your brow and then kissing the very same place. And then he swore that he would come back. And then, he looks back at you—

“Yunho,” he says, “I’m glad he can protect you, but he can’t go that far. Right now, he’s not being honest—and you know it, too.”

Yunho doesn’t come back in the morning, and you wish on Seonghwa again. Even when he didn’t appear, you knew he was looking out for you—no matter how much he swore he wasn’t a protector, for you he was.

~~~~~~~~

THE END IDK IF I CAN WRITE A PART TWO

THE RAW IDEA IS THAT, THE DICTATOR’S DAUGHTER GETS JEALOUS AND ARRESTS YOU FOR NO REASON. SEONGHWA RESCUES YOU FROM THERE, FINALLY GETTING HIS WINGS, AND HE WHISKS YOU AWAY! Unfortunately that is too much action and yours truly

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader smut #ateez fanfic #seonghwa fic #seonghwa fanfic #ateez

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