#I CAN NEVER READ THIS DIGITALLY BECAUSE I USED TO CARESS THE PAGES OF THE PAPERBACK | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hhjs · 4 years

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summary ➝ "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigating the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

"Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath. Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart.

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

word count ➝ 16.6k words.

alternatively➝ university premise.

genre ➝ angst, romance??? comedy??? a smidge of drama??? idk

pairings➝ han jisung. x fem reader.

warnings ➝ recreational drinking, use of profanity, suggestive.

note➝ i suspect that i have a vague emotional attachment to this. Please note that it used to be a jeonghan fic originally but is now rewritten. i've been toying around with my writing style, idk if this has met what's expected :c but... this piece is a proper example of the idiots to lovers trope.

a huge thanks to @emhpathy for beta-reading.

also i felt indolent and didn’t edit. :(

loosely based on the Coldplay song in question, ‘A Message’.

After.

The air smells like seasalt. Like having a foamy blanket of waves draped over your face until you let go, slowly, let all the air leave your lungs.

In the distant rhythm of the rattling wind, you can barely hear the ring of childish laughter. It's an old bicycle Minho last rode when he was 13. Jisung's driving too fast. But you don't care, you don't care because you feel just so alive. You can feel your heart on your tongue. Under your fingertips. Inside your chest.

You can't believe it's true. Can't believe this is your life. Can't believe you're real.

The city is a haze of blue and yellow and red. Jisung slows down by the sidewalk, leaning into the wash of colours and it stains the side of his face a little. The breeze is caressing his hair. Patting stubborn gelled strands out. His shoulders rise and fall with every little movement, upwards and downwards. When he breathes in and when he breathes out. Everything seems to slow down. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute like an hour.

Then suddenly- and it surprises you a little - Jisung pauses, cranes his neck back to smile at you. It's lopsided, toothy. He looks so much younger. Suddenly, so utterly boyish. You commit the sight to memory, the sliver of his teeth, the glint in his eyes, the curl of his mouth -

You hope you never forget this.

Because this is how you know. This is how you've always known.

You wouldn't change anything. Even if you could go back.

Not for a second. Not when it hurt. Not when it was hard.

Not even once.

...

Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor.

You're in your bedroom, you can hear the music in your head, the crescendos and diminuendos, the feather light piano, the strum of a guitar and the gargling of a trumpet, fingers buzzing with an intense desire to write it all down. But then the sound of an organ rips through the air, the curtains pull apart. Your bedroom floor gives away from under your feet. There is a stage, there is an audience impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say.

So you run, run, run home.

You remember standing in front of your mum's bedroom. Knocking. When she lets you crawl back under the covers and she runs a caressing hand down your back, you say nothing. (There seems to be a gaping hole in your chest. And you don't understand it. Like something's missing.) . When she traces the shape of your jaw and says trouble sleeping? you say nothing. Then the rain pelts the windows, the curtains are pulled; suddenly it's so much darker, so much colder, you place a hand over your heart and then look up at her, up to her large, concerned eyes and say, "It hurts."

But it's okay. It's okay. You'll forget all about it by tomorrow morning. Because your mum smells like home, like the earth after it rains. It's okay because the world is less scary when you're a kid. When you don't understand.

Then you're on a train, it skids against its tracks and your hand hurts from holding onto the handle for too long. You hold your draft against your ribs.There are too many people. Shoulders. Heads. Standing. Sitting. Their lives are different. Even when they're together.

From here, you can make out a woman stroking her toddler's cheek, a teenager with a copy of A Tale Of Two Cities in hand, a tall man, with his head hung low. He is smiling down at his lover. His fingers splay against her throat. She is looking at him. They say nothing.

She stands on her toes and kisses him. And something inside you suddenly comes alive, an absence, tries to gnaw its way out of your ribcage. Tries to tell you I've never left.

The train finds itself in the belly of a tunnel. Outside, it's so much darker. So much colder. There's a blinking streetlight ahead. Yellow and lime green. It must have been raining. You don't know your stop.

All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. This is a stage.

The passengers are impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say. You can't run this time.

(You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. This city. Something is missing. Something is wrong. You need to get away.)

Now you wait for a room. A door. A bed. And miss your mother with an intensity that's akin to taking a punch to the gut. You don't remember what the earth smells like anymore. Everything in the city is platform and concrete. And soot rising from tall chimneys.

Suddenly, you can't believe childhood is over.

Spurts of light found themselves against the hallway ceiling, you wondered how long you'd been thinking about that nightmare for it to take so much of your attention. A mic involuntarily roars to life, reminding you that you were still at the varsity and you had to find Jisung.

Which sounds easy, had it not been for your history with him. Avoiding him was getting progressively hard a task to maintain because you were in the same department, sharing minor courses that prompts you to think that nothing much had changed and you'd be lying if you said you mind. He is a stubborn page which keened on flipping over in the youthful chapters of your life, refusing to be left behind and some part of you is too scared to know what would happen if you had.

You sigh, looking at the clock nailed to one of the pale yellow pillars and then close your eyes to try to ease the tension in your shoulders. Breathing in. Breathing out. This morning, you put on a thin cotton dress but the humidity had somehow prompted it to appear somewhat translucent.

Summer brushes up against the back of your neck, you rub your eyes vigorously, placing your sweaty palms on them, dapples of light settled atop the lids. Coating the little twists of purplish veins pink and white, becoming brighter and brighter and brighter. Any minute now and you would muster up the courage to face him.

You push the field door open.

Football players for the born-again team are loitering about in the heavily populated room, expectants look on most of their faces. You begin to feel twice as much nervous than you did before.

See, the possibility of stuttering nonsensical sentences and potentially embarrassing yourself in front of Jisung and nameless strangers, again, wasn't the most thrilling idea for you but if you don't make the deadline this time on this group assignment, you'll fail your linguistics course, so it would be tough to bounce back from for the both of you.

The coach, who is a lanky man, with an alarmingly ruddy face and tufts of snow white hair spiralling out of his head, experienced a lot of difficulty blowing it away from his line of sight. With the door held back, pressing a curious looking opaque board to his chest, he scans the entirety of the team with an owlish stare, when he was satisfied with the number of persons attending, he stepped in.

"Game starts in 10 minutes." he pauses, allowing the candidates to settle in. A feet away from you, Changbin produces a series of garbled profanities before going back greedily guzzling down the rest of his gatorade.

Once the coach clears his throat, his beady eyes travelling from one curious face to another, flitting between each person, it finds you briefly then it darts curiously across the scenery behind you, as though an explanation for your presence is out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

You hold the assignment packet against your chest, feeling the weight of gel blue letters under the rough pad and then slowly fold it open.

Han jisung. You tell him, that's who I'm looking for.

It takes you awhile to navigate your gaze to the owner of the name amidst the maze of students huffing and puffing about schedules and missing lectures and deadlines, some shouldering their way out in bored frowns, some smiling excited smiles, rushing to grab a suitable seat. Like a blur of faces you catch on the subway and eventually forget, the little snippets of another person's life. Glimpses of them from car windows pressed together in traffic, just a few seconds before the light turns green. One minute you think you know them, put yourself in their shoes and imagine their life for them and the next, you go back to being strangers.

To you, Jisung's face is an unmistakable, unforgettable kind of face.

Taunting you from posters of his many swim team accomplishments, under which his name stood in big bold yellow letters, plastered on the noticeboards, on the walls where the paint was starting to crack. The search didn't prove to be very difficult even though he didn't stick out like a sore thumb without his signature bleached blonde hair.

A varsity jacket is discarded on his body. Under the blue and yellow fabric, Jisung's chest rises and falls with every breath, his lanky legs perched up on the bleachers. You wonder how he managed to doze off in the face of all this tension about getting clocked in face with a football.

Aside from by accident, you were positive he hadn't tried to speak to you ever since your previous, unspeakably embarrassing encounter.

That was a long time ago.

It was certain that had it not been for this assignment, things between you would remain that way. In spite of this, you've gathered, because people never stop fawning over this prominent character, that not much has changed since you were in school.

Jisung managed to secure an attention drawing position wherever he went and upperclassmen wanted to be his friend even though he mostly indulged only in his own company.

His head rests on folded arms, his foot is propped up on his knee, which he keeps shaking. Sunlight crawls up the expanse of his exposed cheek, allowing burnt orange to bathe half of his face, ribbons of liquid light tapering to smudges down the side of his jaw and disappearing.

Jisung has a boyish face, his eyes are big and kiddish, paired with a sharp nose and a convenient, small, pinkish mouth inherently pouted out to accentuate his puffy squirrel like cheeks but slimming down around his jaw. His raven hair falls in sleek, wet tufts clinging to his forehead and grazing his rosy cheeks, giving him a strange resemblance to a cherub loitering around in the real world.

Come to think of it, Jisung looks, like he invariably does, just slightly out of place.

You drop your bag on the grass. The action makes an unexpected thump. His eyes stir faster behind closed eyelids, as though he were stirring awake from an ardently produced dream, like a newborn baby, divorced from the worries of the world. Jisung opens one of his eyes, then another, glaring confusedly, his lips pursed in unspoken surprise.

What's the big deal, right? At best, he'll start cooperating with you. At worst, you imagine, he'll toss you across the field for disrupting his sleep.

Of course, no one in their right minds would opt for the latter option, the rational part of you reasons - but you show him the packet, just for safety measures.

"I thought we ought to go over how we're going to work around this assignment and you weren't in class so..." You explain. When Jisung just blinks up at you in a curious fashion, you consider that he might not recognise you at all, that, for some reason, bothers you. "You probably don't remember me I-"

"I remember." He interjects firmly, acknowledging you with a fluent utterance of your name that gives you enough evidence of his claim, followed by a watchful, stoic gaze, he motions for you to take a seat beside him.

You hesitantly sit at the end of the row, keeping a calculated distance between your bodies. You find that even after all this time looking him in the eye was just as unnerving as it had been the first time they shyly flickered back to yours from across a thick spined A levels Calculus textbook. There's still an intimidating air about him, something that seeks to be constantly impressed without asking to.

Jisung sits up straighter, setting both his legs on either side of the bench, he keeps his gaze trained on your face, not looking away once. "Go on." He suggests, his voice low, "What do we have to do?"

You perk up at this, taking the contents out of the packet. Setting them down before you, you reiterate the instructions rendered in class, trying to include every important detail which contributes to the making of the project.

"We have to attach a PowerPoint part too." You paused, "Let's do that bit today."

Jisung listens intently, never cutting you off, he nods occasionally, making suggestions when you were trying to look for suitable loops in your schedules to work on the scheme, you recommended several premises, ranging from cafés to parks to libraries to food courts, even your place because it's the closest from Jisung's flat and he refuses go beyond the distance on a Sunday morning. You casually let in the fact that your flatmate would be there in order to insinuate that you hadn't made the offer because of your previous feelings for him.

You sigh, taking a minute to stretch back and take a deep breath. The bench is cool under your thighs, soft caresses of a warm summer breeze brushing the hair from your face away, pale yellow pours from the canopies, staining the grass, football players prepping in the distance, their zealous partners egging them on with excited smiles, shouting encouragements from the other end of the court. You imagine lying down on the grass, spreading your arms out and not having a care about anything.

"You still wear that bracelet."

"What?" You yawn, brows furrowed in confusion. You look at him from the corner of your eyes, finding that his brown orbs motion to the source of comment, they dart from your cheek to your wrist, where surely the platinum accessory is tied to its loosest hoop, it used to be your go-to add-on in school.

Surprised, you touch the item briefly, before retracting your hand slowly. All you can think is he remembers, he really remembers, "...Yeah."

...

Instead of running about playgrounds with a mouthful of kiddish laughter and building cartoonishly architectured sandcastles, you remember spending most of your childhood with your nose dug deep inside a fairytale, splurging much time on committing the glide of milky pages to memory, eyes widening, face twisting with each vicissitudes of emotions that would come over you with each stage of exploring a story. It was your own little world, a catharsis for all that you were holding inside, a window you could crack open and when the real world felt stuffy.

Fancying Jisung was, your younger self imagined, fantastical, like something out of those fairytales.

You don't know when you started liking him, maybe it was the first time you saw him. It was your last year in school and Jisung's unfamiliar face was a new sight against the fuzzy background of sleepy students pouring into the hallway, it was the kind that demanded to be noticed, even though he simply looked bored with an enormous pair of headphones looped around his thin neck.

Jisung was born to go through life being the embodiment of an all rounder, now that you think about it, there's not a thing he wasn't good at, always having a proclivity to outshine others.

He was a transfer student with stellar grades in spite of mostly routing his interest towards composing obscure music you'd found floating about the net. In all honesty, he truly was the master of all trades and the jack of none and every room was a keeper of attention, enveloped in an intangible but unanimous, wordless veil of interest towards the new character.

But maybe it wasn't as theatrical as you remembered; maybe it was the love at first sight nonsense, maybe it wasn't something you realised overnight, out of the blue, maybe it all happened at a slow, infuriating pace, maybe you started liking him for the small, stupid and unimportant things, like when you dropped your pen, the thin stick rolling away between your desks and he picked it up, flicking it between his fingers curiously, carefully curling his fingers around the metal, observing it before putting it back on your desk, maybe it was in class, when he zoned out in class, not bothering to look apart until he realised it had caught your attention, he then blinked away, the rosy hue of his cheeks more prominent with each passing second, maybe it was when you were sure you were about to flunk the history pop quiz and Jisung whispered the names of warriors and poets and the fallen while keeping his gaze firmly poised on his paper.

You were so shy, cloistered, intensely egregious and he kept seeking you out in some new manner, causing you to be an element of mild interest not only amongst your peers but also people who actively seeked his romantic interest. Although, conversations on your part never stretched beyond differentiation and stealing cautious glances at one another, (which wasn't a shocker because you didn't know how to compute a chat with him and Jisung was unusually timid for someone who acquainted himself with well known rambunctious personalities), you genuinely enjoyed his company.

So you obliged. Even though it was utterly improper and you were sure he liked someone on the cheer squad. It was just that you were a kid and you wanted to wear your heart on your sleeve just once before tucking it away forever.

He poked his head out from the water, wordlessly upon hearing his name, looking at you with a cocked brow and you were quick to say it, like you had to before you ended up changing your mind, it took a lot of courage to mutter a simple confession after all, in spite of the fact you didn't at all picture him reciprocating, whisking you off of your feet with a wide grin, in a grand affirmation of all the rubbish pop culture has spoon fed you.

It was a stereotypical teeth rotting, sweet crush that bound you to want to be around Jisung in a way he didn't, something lodged deep inside of you, the same thing that was childish and clung onto its fairy tales for dear life, hoped that he would share the same feelings, in spite of knowing it was undoubtedly unrequited.

Jisung had an indecipherable look on his face, he parted his mouth to say something but paused as if looking for the right words. He simply settled with a sigh, before lowering his body down into the pool. You replayed the scene over and over again for the rest of senior year, until it drove you to a point of absolute insanity. You even considered googling what a sigh was supposed to convey, if fishing through dictionaries wasn't going to tell.

That was notably the last time you spoke in school.

But your strained relationship stayed with you like an embarrassing tattoo and in trying desperately to conceal it, afraid someone would see too much, know too much, you would only make it more apparent.

You had to push him away to the farthest corner of your mind so you didn't have to wonder anymore, didn't have to interpret every action like your life depended on it - because love to you was so immense that it was overwhelming. You've wanted love to rescue you in some way, looked for it in the soft murmur of pages, in the chilling words to a song you can't seem to forget, you've waited for love like an impatient eagle anticipating its opportunity to leap in and swoop up its shot at satisfying its undying hunger. You needed to uproot those budding feelings before they took abode inside your chest, grew stronger, into something massive, unignorable, something like love.

Avoiding Jisung in hallways, in class and really everywhere was some form of a habit you were developing - but that didn't stop him from entangling himself with your ponderings; you thought of all the things he did without paying much attention to the act, like his petulant whining when he wanted something he wasn't getting, you thought of the way he tapped his pen against the wooden desk, silently eyeing chalky math problems on the board before uttering the answer with an ease only he could carry, you thought of his petulant front during arguments and how he always ended up winning, you just missed being around him without the added tension - which was funny because you're the one to blame for it.

To your knowledge, Jisung didn't know to speak in puzzles, even when he didn't want to say something, he always found an agreeable way to deliver it, often unknowingly wording them as they were, he didn't understand the complexities with which people conversed, needing everything to be black and white, as clear as the summer sky, so everyday felt like he owed you an example of his unintentional transparency, a explanation even though you knew he didn't.

Maybe that's it, you thought, maybe that's all.

(Sometimes you would sense his gaze searing into the side of your face, as if he was on the verge of uttering a greeting.

But graduation came along. And you never heard anything from him.)

You began to understand that all those tear jerking, unhappy endings were inevitable, like not being able to take your eyes off the stage during Giacomo Puccini's Sono Andati, like being exposed to Mimi's excruciating death, losing something you can't put a finger on - and suddenly, the plays, the window, the catharsis wasn't enough, the child in you wanted to scream and kick and throw, the child in you wanted to forge her own ending, the one that made sense, the one you could anticipate.

Running his palms along the cool glass, Jisung pauses from time to time to look at you, as if expecting you to address the elephant in the room, the same elephant that followed you all the way from campus, to his car, to the café downtown. It wasn't until the waiter went away in the pursuit of getting your order did he pose the inquiry.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head slowly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips.

"What's there to talk about? It was a long time ago and I'm over it."

Saying it out loud like this feels weird, it feels so real and disappointing and embarrassing, you feel reduced to a child coming clean about that one time they tipped over a vase and dusted the debris under the rug he is about to step about on, hoping he wouldn't notice.

The statement makes you feel guilty, like you're lying. You don't want to know if you really are.

"Well, does that mean we can be friends?" Mutters Jisung against the opening of his straw, sipping miserly as though not wanting to finish the rest of his Americano. He opens his mouth to say something but stops, looking blatantly confused, like that was the only explanation he had for your fallout. "I don't understand."

Not having thought that far, you stop typing, the click clack of keys muting, Jisung's thick rimmed glasses rest atop the jut of his nose and he's peering over them to look right at you with big wide eyes, genuinely interested in being supplied an answer. The sixteen year old you would be overwhelmed with bouts of fluster right now. But you stopped being that person a long time ago, in fact, that person is to you a bleary recollection of a mere stranger who you thought you saw somewhere but couldn't put a finger on the location.

Shrugging, unsure, the question comes after a lengthy pause, "I guess it does?"

You sit in temporary silence after the short conversation ends, never going off topic again and giving into irrelevant chats even though Jisung is actively trying to initiate conversation about things which had nothing to do with work. You wonder why, wordlessly admitting that it was getting harder to resist the urge to talk to him with every passing second.

His car was parked a few lanes away from the café so you were obliged to walk after getting through the first portion of the assignment.

"So." Jisung starts, biting the side of his cheek, "What have you been upto lately?"

Talking to Jisung isn't as difficult as your younger self made it to be, he could hold a conversation well, jumping from serious topics to lighter ones to keep the balance, making witty comments here and there that had you laughing without really meaning to and every time, you'd catch a look of satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

The pair of you walk by an ice-cream parlour where a short bald man with a perpetually happy face is handing out samples. A mint green board is attached to the appendage of a stall, outstretching from the original store, it says La Petite Glacière.

You raise your brows, literal nomenclature.

"Journalism could suit you." The comment is off-handed, a product of you thinking out loud, imagining Jisung running around with a recorder, with his big, friendly eyes, queries posed with an an easy jovial attitude; it's so befitting, you just couldn't help but notify him. Even if it was an involuntary notification. You left out the part where you always pegged his love for composing would eventually materialise instead, this was unexpected to say the least. But Jisung described music as a getaway, something he was willing to do out of passion and not duty.

It was to his credit that he didn't laugh in your face when you said you wanted to be a playwright, specialising solely in the field of fiction. That's one thing he doesn't have in common with your parents. (Who didn't hesitate to point out that it was an obsolete branch of writing.)

"Yeah?" Jisung grins archly, glancing at you, as insinuating the memory of you playing Iago when you were expecting to land Desdemona is still impressed on him. "I could say the same for you."

You only wave him off, rolling your eyes. Some things are better left forgotten.

It's hot and you're really thirsty. You're knee deep in lengthy conversations engineered to catch up with one another, which consisted of ping-ponging inquiries about everything and anything, like how it was moving away from your family and new hobbies and pet peeves and casual strolls down memory lane but then the tension would settle and you would grow awfully quiet, like you're doing something you aren't supposed to, like you're walking into the inviting mouth a ginormous tiger whilst convincing yourself that it won't gobble you up.

"Okay. I have one." you start, he's nodding in encouragement, "Have you been dating a lot?"

Jisung laughs at your obvious curiosity, wiping his sweaty forehead with a spare napkin, strolling really fast, long legs promoting his speedy gait, you have to jog from time to time to keep up.

"Why?"

He tilts his head to you, the teasing spark in his eyes glinting knowingly, he becomes shorter and grows taller walking up and down the slopes of the bumpy road.

Your eyes widen. You were curious! You haven't spoken to him for a long time and you're just catching up. Exactly, you tell yourself, that's believable, that, you think, makes sense. The other explanation, the one you're deigning to not look in the eye, that a part of you would be disappointed if he had said yes doesn't.

You flounder for a response, something, just a word or even an awkward noise, anything to formulate a proper retort. When that proves to be delayed and difficult, heat begins to pool into your cheeks, shooting up to the back of your ears and budding under the skin of your neck.

"Just asking."

He hums, ghosting his fingers along the small of your back, careful not to touch you as he shoulders his way to your side without bumping you off of your feet, the gesture prompts something inside your gut to twist and twist and twist. "Well...yeah, but it's never been serious."

You're waiting for the red light so you can cross the road to the parking area. Jisung is towering over a sea of the heads, he's not much taller than the average person, hands tucked in his pockets. The wind is messing his hair up to the side, he keeps running his fingers through the stubborn strand to get it to sit right but when the endeavour proves to be futile so he just scoffs, as if berating the strand whilst stubbornly repeating the action.

Looking at him like this, you imagine falling in love with Jisung is easy. Like gliding a hot knife through butter. It must feel just right, even if it doesn't last long, like holding fire in between your palms and pretending you own it, feeling the warmth kissing your skin before it nips and burns, like speeding across comets, stars and the moon, waging wars in the name of romance and producing litanies about love and then - finally, inevitably, unwillingly - letting go, like you always knew you would.

You imagine the aged memories of blurry faces behind cobwebs of raindrops and curtains of mist, the faces of people who he could've loved but hadn't.

And it scares you for some unknown reason.

There's something inexplicably lovable about Jisung, his babyish features have always possessed the tendency to catch you off guard, even though you've known him for a long time; it's gobsmacking and too winning to be real, like something out of a dream, the milky planes of an acrylic face. The smooth buttery texture of his skin, the subtle, narrow jut of his nose, the pouted shape of his mouth and pearly teeth. You think he doesn't know this, doesn't see himself the way you do even when he pretends to be confident with his boastful jokes, they are just jokes after all. Only further evidence of how he doesn't want to believe any compliment rendered his way.

"What about you?" He poses, looking over from the hood of his car while unlocking it from the driver side, "Dating anyone?"

The truth is, you've tried the atrocities of blind dating and online dating and casual dating but they all have been deficient and you're too tired to go through the never ending cycle of being on disappointing dates again: your expectations are too high, some might even say, for the way you seek familiarity with absolute strangers; you're stubborn, awkward and sometimes, simply unapproachable, but for the sake of not deflating your ego, you decide that Jisung doesn't need to know this.

You shake your head, failing to understand why Jisung is grinning through the cracked window, whilst you're pulling the door open and plopping down on the passenger seat.

"Why are you smiling?" You furrow your brows, watching as the lopsided grin grows bigger.

"Because." He shrugs, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"Because?" You look at him expectantly, but he just looks back at you without expanding the brief explanation. You're so close that you can make out the thin layer of mist collecting on his eyelashes, his arched cupid's bow, his eyes have so much brown in them. You'd liken the colour to that of a muddy lake, like the bare earth, they catch sunlight and turn golden, just for a second, for just one second, it looks like what magic must be like. Realising that you have been staring at him for quite long, you tear your abashed gaze away. Piloting it to shift from the buskers to the other cars, buses, pedestrians, traffic lights, looking for a sight distracting enough.

"I'm not telling you!" Jisung mocks your tone like a child with a violent shake of his head, putting his keys in ignition. The engine roars to life, wheezing like a kettle. Why he drives a Comet Convertible when he could've gotten any other alternative is a wonder; not that you mind, you like it, it’s like sitting inside a giant jewelry box, the inside is smooth red leather, velvety smooth black paint on the outside.

"Why not?" You frown.

Jisung rolls the steering wheel with one hand, keeping his eyes trained to the approaching traffic while turning lanes, he giggles, "Because."

...

You'll have to admit that it's quite... challenging coming to terms with being friends with Jisung. Not because he's practically everywhere but just since Jisung tends to demand your attention when he realises he's not getting it.

When you try to dodge him on mornings after he cheats at UNO, scurrying away behind swathes of sleep deprived university students, hoping you don't catch his eye, he calls your name in that loud, clear and intentional way that he does, dragging a heavy arm around your shoulder to squeeze it against the back of your neck before tousling your hair or some other action to effectively ruin your get up. When you zone out in class, musing absently about something that has nothing to do with scale efficiency and accidentally catch his gaze, he winks at you, snapping you right back into attention.

Your friendship is, to say the least, interesting, for everyone around you. It's like everyone is always on the edge of their seats, waiting for a chance to poke fun at your apparent chemistry. It means nothing, you're just friends, you remind yourself over and over again, defensively, succumbing to the urge to grow closer and closer to him without paying mind to the annoying voice in your head.

Jisung texts you in the middle of the night, when he's parked out front, to meet him for a midnight drive out that you're sure no one knows about and you tell yourself you're getting away with it - only to be confronted by a smirking Sunwoo in the morning, likening the situation to a teenager caught red handed sneaking in through the window after a clandestine night of partying.

But you're not spared the teasing even out in the open. Though while you squirm awkwardly, sink into your seat and refute offendedly, Jisung doesn't have a lick of such knowledge or care, he easily slumps against you, resting his head on your shoulder in class and dozing off, indifferent to the multiple pairs of eyes zeroing in on you.

Even though the bartenders smile their coquettish smiles, offering drinks on the house and people laughed a little more than necessary, twirling their hair around their fingers at anything and everything he said, thence offering proper chances to ditch you completely, he remains close to you at pubs, putting his long fingers on your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, shooting some creepy guy who just wouldn't stop insisting on buying you a drink a look that said he wouldn't mind taking a stronger stance, had the creep not backed off. It was what anyone would have done, you tell yourself, ignoring the underlying pang of a gut feeling that begged to differ.

You envy the obvious charm Jisung holds over everyone, easing his way out of the jokes to do whatever he wants, you wonder what he would do if someone asked him if you were just friends, if he would dismiss them with a wave or provide a positive response, if it would hurt, if it would matter.

"Hey!"

You jump at the tone. It's breezy, light and followed by a scoff at the end, you recognise it, sighing once the initial surprise oozes out of you to be replaced with familiarity, Renjun is halfway through a complaint about acrylic paint, his mouth half open while his eyes travel over your head, where you're certain the owner of the voice is jogging up to the pair of you.

"I'll er...catch you later." Renjun purses his lips, while you turn your gaze back to Jisung, he's coming from practice, so his hair is wet, cheeks flushed red, he looks younger like this, completely barefaced. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and light wash jeans, even in such an ordinary attire, a few bypassers' attention latch solely onto him.

The sun has long laid on a cotton soft sheet of clouds, letting a blue evening straighten its back against the dark firmament, the crowd at campus is reducing dramatically, you were walking to the metro, deciding to rest by the park bench as he mimics the pose, sliding from the opposite end when you try to keep a distance.

Jisung nudges you with his shoulder. "We’re having a party at our new place. You should come."

It wasn't willingness that took you to loud premises. You aren't exactly a party animal, far from it, maybe an animal that blends into the background, wordlessly observing masses of sweaty people who will wake up with horrible hangovers the next morning, wishing the night before had never happened. If such an animal exists.

But you're genuinely curious about meeting Minho, who seems to have assumed the position of one of Jisung's best friends while you were absent from his life. You found yourself wondering if he was different from Bang Chan, who in spite of being the former's friend, is someone you could deem yourself more similar to than he is to Jisung; shaking your heads and groaning into your palms, Chan would pinch the bridge of his nose and cautiously glance at you as though to convey You get me, right? while Jisung showered the karaoke bar manager with grandiloquent blandishments into giving extra minutes for a lower price.

Despite this, it is the undeniable but sheer adoration for your fun-loving mutual friend that binds you two together the best, the shared looks of appreciation when Jisung scolds you for neglecting your health, when he surprisingly remembers a minor detail about you or when he indulges in appreciative chats about crayon drawings with loquacious kids who would come running to display their paintings when you were looking to take an indolent walk in the local park, he would listen attentively, moving to a sitting position, nodding his head like he understood what the kiddish gibberish meant; one thing is certain - there was certainly more to Jisung than people pegged and if anything, those undiscovered traits only made him more endearing.

"Okay….but make sure we don't end up playing strip poker or something." You shudder at that thought, grimacing exaggeratedly to make your point.

"Why?" He raises his brows, a small simper playing on his lips to give away that he was only teasing you, "I like that game."

But under all that banter, it was well received that Jisung would never put you to the obligation of doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just play along, narrowing your eyes, "That's because you're a pervert." You say, stifling a laugh whilst his grin dissolves to drop to a blank face.

Jisung glares at you, nudging you with his knee, effectively putting you on the verge of falling.

"Hey!" You scoff, repeating the action but Jisung doesn't roll across the grass like you wanted, he doesn't even budge. Instead, he laughs at your frustration, shaking his head and glancing back at you with an entertained look in his eyes.

(Something inside your chest is growing, like an epiphany, its vines pushing up against your lungs, your heart, its thornes prickling, injuring the flesh, something that tells you this is so much more to you than you'd admit, you press it down, ignore it; just a little longer, you think, just a little longer before you start to see this for what it is. )

"Why are you staring at me?" Jisung questions, you can't help but notice how he tilts his head, moving his curious face closer to yours, inspecting, like just before he makes his final move and mutters Checkmate but he doesn't actually know what he's doing, doesn't realise the weight of his actions. "Do I have something on my face?" He tilts his cheek to you, as though offering you to examine it and then, immediately his mouth lowers down to form a deep set frown. Is he really that goddamned clueless? Doesn't this affect him at all?

"No." You clear your throat and lean back, moving your weight on your palms, "It's getting late. We should get going."

...

The earliest memory you have is from when you were five, your parents had taken you to the beach and that day, while the sun shone brightly and the sand was warm, like home under your feet, with big curious eyes, you gazed off into the brilliant blue water.

It was just so beautiful.

And you so badly, wanted to wade into the welcoming foamy arms of the sea. If only the immensity of the water hadn't scared you as much as it did, you thought. It was like a blue giant that was reaching to steal the sun off of the sky and if you dared to test the waters, the liquid Goliath could whisk you right off of your tiny feet and drag you into its mouth.

That, you think, is what you're really afraid of, that deep down inside , you never really stopped holding back. That you'll never muster up the courage to do anything you really want.

In the midst of the chaos of an alcohol induced party, your head feels like it's about to explode.

It stopped raining. And you haven't had the luxury of running into Jisung ever since he went off to get a drink for himself.

The windows are open. Though there's not a flutter of a cool breeze or anything. But there are assortments of crisps, juices and other suspicious looking snacks. The cool curve of the stair railing pressing up against your side. It's unspeakably loud. The frat house, as typical as it sounds, welcomes an obnoxiously large crowd, it isn't surprising, considering people here have a reputation for social adeptness, the house being big enough to capacitate a crowd twice as big as its guests is just a plus point.

Once the majority of the crowd had long thinned out to participate in a curious sounding game of beer pong, the aftermath is that everything smells like sweat, vomit or both. You're tipsy, tired and alone. It's been an hour since you arrived. Your patience is wearing thin.

You down the remainder of the watered down scotch, even though the liquid could secure a horrible case of nausea if you couldn't hold your liquor well tonight.

In the mess of too many heads, too many hands and too many bodies, pushing, pulling, dancing and kissing with shocking hostility, suddenly, the view starts to shift, from left to right, from upwards and downwards, like you're on a rollercoaster but without the lap bar. It's certainly a symptom of the splitting migraine you're sporting. It's too loud downstairs for you to summon anyone and besides, the search for a familiar face seems futile.

You fish out your phone, wondering if you should send Jisung a text, squinting at the glaring blue screen but decide against it - hoping to God that you don't walk in on anyone shagging while looking for one of the rooms to crash in.

Now, that...would put them in an awkward position. You mentally high five yourself for the joke.

Though the amusement is mostly transient, soon replaced by a rapid jerk of pain. Wincing in an attempt to stand with little control over balance, you try to ease the pain from your briefly twisted foot.

When you've made it to your desired destination, an inconspicuous looking room at the end of the long hall, you kick off the death traps for heels off of your feet and all but fling yourself on the mattress.

Stacks of comics are carefully placed on the top most shelf of the bookshelf pushed against the wall, their polished spines sticking out.

The rest are overflowing with vinyls, set in alphabetical order. You can tell because each row has a tag taped over its head.

Everything is surprisingly clean, the walls are crisp white, there's a single black wall on which a large painting sits. A night light glows dimly, perched up on the bedside table. Whoever's bedroom this is, has the blandest taste in interior design. Or a lack of it since they moved in not long ago as Jisung informed.

You stare owlishly at the blue ceiling, following the undulating spines of bricks, stacked in. Upwards and downwards. Like a map. Like a staircase to nowhere. Then you close your eyes.

Imagining that you're staring up at the sky at dawn, when it's a swirl of milk tea. Golden. Buttery white. Autumnal Yellow. And pumpkin spice. Brown curls against the background of a milky white firmament and if one bothered to look closer, they'd catch stars peeking from behind slowly darkening clouds, waiting to come out.

When you were a child, you liked to stick a curious index into filled tea cups, as if to study the khaki liquid , not quite grasping the connoisseurship of hot beverages just yet. The experience would always end with a mouthful of biscuits and your grandmum's tickles engendering your stomach to ache a good kind of ache.

Now, the memory prompts you to raise a finger to the air, as if you were dipping your digits into the whirlpool of maroon. For a moment, you feel as if you're still that little girl stuck in someone else's body, like you hadn't grown up at all.

But in the hurtful manner that reality often made itself known, yanking you right back from your dreams, the door creaks noisily and then closes.

Out of the corner of your eye, the character looks more like a funny sketch on a chalkboard than he does a person. All blurry and messy. Like someone tried to rub him out.

The flash of light radiating from his phone, a sliver of neon, silver, you recognise his face, you've seen the same expression right before he's about to choose between his favourite ice cream flavour; eyebrows knitted in concentration, lips pursed, emerging from the shadows. He's typing really fast. You blink, adjusting your vision. The unobstructed sight of his face broadens. "Jisung?"

He looks at you, positioning his phone towards your face to get a good in the barely there light.

"Yeah?"

You furrow your brows in confusion, "What are you doing here?"

"That's a good question." He snorts. "Indeed, what business might I have in my room?"

You jump, sitting straighter, then stand up. Just in case he thinks you're a fucking creep. He probably doesn't even want to be friends with you anymore and you understand, you wouldn't want to be friends with you either. "I...I didn't know."

Jisung laughs loudly at your fluster, rolling his eyes, he plops down, the mattress dipping under his weight, groaning noisily. He pats the spot beside him. "Relax..."

You wear a doubtful look, under the impression that he'd break into a laughing fit with a quip about you caving in so easily. You narrow your eyes even though you're quite tempted to take his offer.

He tuts, yanking you by the arm so you sink down beside him.

"I just saw you coming upstairs, wanted to make sure some asshole wasn't picking on you." He explains, his face contorting to momentary peevishness just at the fleeting thought.

A crappy pop song is buzzing in the background, you can hear it, you can smell the salted popcorn in the air. His fringe is brushed forward, cheeks smoothed over, moisturised, in this intimidating proximity, you pick up that Jisung always smells really good. Like aftershave and something strong, woody, earthy — but just the right amount, not overpowering.

"Have you considered trying something more...erm... colourful?" You scan his room, deciding to change the subject, attempting to dodge the heavy feeling of fluster in your chest; you guess it was showing on your face because the corners of Jisung's mouth begin to quirk upwards. If there’s anyone more awkward than Jisung, it /s definitely you. "This isn't really you."

With his mouth lopsided, his nose scrunching upwards, his teeth showing, his eyes turning to crescents, Jisung chuckles, as if perceiving your attempt to digress but choosing to let it slide.

"Then what is?" He raises a brow.

"I don't know." You pause, trying to picture a suitable tint, "Something bright."

Someone starts blasting Ed Sheeran outside, putting the volume all the way. It creates a proper distraction from the conversation to go beyond simple suggestions, it was a sudden reminder of just how badly you wanted the party to be over.

"You know the more I think about it, the more I come to acknowledge that this is really not my scene." You confess absentmindedly, backing up on the mattress so your feet dangle, your headache kicks back, beating inside your ears, knocking against your skull. You lie back on the mattress, curiously blinking up at Jisung's frowning face.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" He says, a pinch in his brows pushing the shape up in utter concern.

"Because I wanted to come." You say honestly, prompting Jisung to heave a deep sigh, relief gradually washing over his rigid features, "I don't know, maybe I'm just not fun enough."

"Yeah. That's probably it." He jokes, grinning from ear to ear. But the shape drops immediately when you jut your lip out instead of mirroring the mirthful action. "You really think so?"

He blinks at you, not expecting the forwardness, "No." He says, and you note that this is the most serious Jisung has ever sounded around you.

Your face is growing increasingly hot as the weight of his remark started to kick in. It’s so unfair, isn't it? He has no idea how every little thing he said to you meant so much more than it ought. It hurt when you found yourself automatically deducing his trivial actions, all the while knowing it hadn't meant anything to him. To him, you're just a friend. And you aren't going to let your emotions ruin that, not again.

"What's the party for anyway?"

You furrow your eyebrows in genuine curiosity when the silence has become unbearable. Constantly needing to be disrupted.

"It's a stupid frat house tradition, they do it every time we move."

“Sounds like a cult activity to me."

You hear him hum, as if feigning contemplation, then open your eyes.

"Well, that...That's because it is."

It's very typical of Jisung to try to make jokes whilst trying to keep a straight face. In most cases, he doesn't fool anyone. His voice rises to a cartoonish volume, his mouth pouted out when he speaks as though to hold back a laugh, it’s his eyes, widened, twinkling with a notorious spark in them that ultimately gave it away. In rare instances, however, they deluded strangers into thinking he was being serious when he really wasn't; like that time he told Chan the pool was pre-heated just for the latter, who trustingly dove into the water, to swim up with clattering teeth and ice cold skin to the surface finding that Jisung was grinning deviously. It was an obvious payback for the time the older male hogged Jisung's share of cheesecake as a daring attempt at pranking.

Maybe, you guess, you just knew him too well.

"Interesting." you raise your brows, playing along, "I'm surprised there isn't any nude dancing involved."

"Wow...you sound so disappointed.”

Jisung laughs, his chest heaving upwards and downwards with every laboured breath. It's a pleasant sight, knowing you get to have this moment to yourself. For reasons you'd like to ignore, something inside your chest begins to ache, thrumming against your ribs. It isn't until you put your hands over your face in an attempt to get rid of a thin layer of sweat, do you realise that you were smiling.

When he calms down, he keeps looking at you. "I take that you made the submission?" He presses, knowing well that you were intending to put off the matter from the dodgy look in your eyes. "Right?"

Before, Jisung stubbornly pressed on the matter, it was unheard of for you to allow your writings to be read by anyone other than yourself; it was only fiction, your little secret, you reason, even though you knew the underlying cause of your unwillingness was that you simply cannot take rejection well, it is truly terrifying but an automatic reaction to think that your work is boring and somehow unworthy of praise every time you are on the verge of sharing it. Your parents never showed any particular interest in it and you assumed that was a universal desire.

But Jisung is incredibly obdurate when he wants to be.

Sometimes, you think he's the only person in your life who's truly honest with you, he doesn't shower you in false accolades, not hesitating to rip the band-aid, to point out the less likable bits from the likable ones even if he knew it would make you unhappy. It was interesting prying your wounds open around him, he wouldn't suppress his thoughts and blurt euphemisms like it's going to be okay, he would grimace and gag and then he'd clean them, he would sit patiently with them and try to dress them up for better - and somewhere along the way, while you may have cared about other people's opinions, your concern for what he thinks of you is starting to become far more significant. And it petrifies you. "No."

Jisung shoots you a look of annoyance, staring at you like he's awaiting an explanation. You can sense the lengthy talk coming from the back of his throat, something which surpassed the regular limits of you should do this and you shouldn't do this, he relentlessly pushed you towards your career which you claimed you were passionate about but needed his stern berating often when you would stagger back in indolence and you'd be lying if you said it isn't effective - albeit, the scoldings sometimes led to the two of you bickering back and forth, giving each other the silent treatment until one of you would cave - whatever it was, you know you could never turn down Jisung, even if he was bruising your ego to ask you to get your shit together. "Why not?"

"It's just a stupid draft, Sungie..." You laugh nervously but he doesn't give into the fit like you imagined, instead, he just dons a solemn look on his face, something that seems to show that he'd been peeved by your response.

"No it’s not." He shakes his head slowly and there's sort of a firmness in his retort that surprises you, far from how he usually jokes on about, that tells you there's no room for argument, "It's not stupid at all."

Jisung tears his gaze away, his expression softening once he notes the worried look on your face, it's as though he had suddenly changed his mind about the lecture he was surely planning to give you,

"Look I don’t want to fight.” He sighs, “You’re always talking about how much this means to you and if it’s something that you really want, don't put it off. I'm your friend, I can only encourage you — but at the end of the day, it's your job to pull yourself up. Goes without saying that it’ll be a complete waste if you don’t pursue play writing because you - and I don't care if you don't agree with me - really do have a lot of potential.”

You blink in wonder, ”You think so?"

"I know so."

You don't remember the last time someone said something like that to you, if at all. Tearing your gaze away from him, you’re met with the inability to shake the feeling of craving something you don't want to understand, mired in your own musings and for no particular reason but to avoid the desperation of confessing to yourself of the warm tight feeling inside your belly - you give into the temptation of placing your palm over the nightlight, watching the light turn from bright yellow to muted blue, it stings slightly.

Too cheesy, you would groan out under any other circumstance where you hadn’t been so fazed.

Instead, you just gulp, eyes wide at his forward comment, his praise is the equivalent of being splashed with ice cold water when one is half asleep, now you're all wide eyed and incognisant of what's real and what isn't, it prompts a jolting sensation to traverse all throughout your body, "Thanks."

This scene was no exception, Jisung tips his head back against his palms when he's thinking about something, while keeping his calm gaze posed on you, he smiles, rolling his eyes. “You’re too hard on yourself, loosen up just a little. I'm not always gonna be around.”

You muse that your mum said the exact same thing when you moved away for university but chose not to mention it, it's not true though, you want to say. Because Jisung is always there for you.

See, the universe exists on this dreadful thread of balance and you've been hanging on by your last finger for as long as you remember, taking every step on the basis of a fear of tumbling off to be greeted by the gasps and complaints of an imaginary audience, for the longest time, picturing your play to be dissected like a lab rat, for a delirious critic to point their scalpel and announce, the misshapen heart is here, that's the pudgy head.

But nowadays and you'll never tell him this, when Jisung talks about you like that, you almost believe it, believe in yourself and don't think he understands what it means to you, how grand that is - to imagine seeing your play come to life, something severely intimidating about watching it, spotlight gingerly kissing up the actors' newborn faces as the audience spews quiet comments, critics' expressions morphing with nuanced understanding, the anticipation is tangible, the walls closing in by the second, tension squeezing the air out of their lungs - until the curtains part and a story draws them into another world. Then everything falls into a formidable silence.The inexplicable feeling of being one wrapping its limbs around everyone and cradling them to its chest like a loving mother, awestruck strangers listening in on the heart wrenching dialogues, the belter of a riveting tragedy prompting their hearts to lurch forward and sit on their tongues, then they'll look around, spot bits of you in your characters and think I'm not alone. I never was. (The people you've both never known but known your entire life.)

It's better to slip, to put everything on the line for the sake of making way to what you want on a feeling rooted deep inside your gut than to cower behind the fear of disapproval and have nothing at all. Being brave enough to tell your story is not the absence of that fear which keeps you, but it is telling the tale despite, toppling that fear.

There's something relieving about that theory.

"I want to lie down..." You mewl, in spite of already lying down. It's a sign of how the constant toiling through exams was finally taking a toll on you, the sleepiness coupled with hours long lethargy from the party seemed to be weighing your body down, making your eyelids heavier by the second. He moves your hand, leaning into the light. A wash of colour is spreading across his face for a brief moment, exposing the skin to scrutiny, all veins, curves and crinkles around his eyes. Jisung smiles at you. Your eyes dart all over his face, resting on the curve of his mouth briefly, then his eyes, you catch the yellow flickering in them , the brown turning to dark copper.

Your heart drops to your stomach when he blinks away slowly, the disappointment assuaged by something foreign, dumb and utterly clichéd stirs in the pit of your stomach as his thumb briefly swipes across your knuckles, "You don't say, sleepy girl!" Jisung scoffs, bringing his arm under his head.

Unconsciously, entertaining the thought of staying alone in his room, you find yourself feeling safer because of his presence instead, divorced from prying eyes, "Thanks for staying." You say, wanting to talk to him more and more, contemplating fashions to contribute to the conversation again and again just to cut the silence.

"Well, you had a lot to drink."

He reminds, as if the reason for his staying is that obvious; worry laced in his voice and you understood why - even though you aren't completely doused in a state of inebriation, you kept swaying all the way upstairs.

"But you missed out on.." you drag the consonant unintentionally, "all the fun, though."

"Do I look like I care?" Jisung snorts, staring up at the ceiling, leaning back on his hands and dropping down against the bed, he laces his fingers together over his chest, digging into his pocket and fishing out his phone. It isn’t a question.

His wallpaper is of a kid gazing up from the water, he peers up at the camera, grinning ear to ear. This is definitely Jisung. Because even with his front teeth missing, his smile is all too familiar. His cheeks were chubbier back then, face rounder, softer around the edges. Subconsciously, you rose a finger to poke at his cheek, as if to examine it. Jisung shoots you a glare.

"You were cute."

You coo, leaning onto his shoulder, the closeness should not intimidate you, given the amount of time you spend like this. But it does anyway.

"What do you mean were?” Jisung scoffs, “Nu-uh, still am. I'm the resident cutie pie, if you will." He sings, narrowing his eyes briefly, thereon chuckling at the look of sheer disgust on your face.

You wrinkle your nose, "I can't believe you just said that..."

The rest of the night is spent in a comfortable quietude, except for the times when either of you perk up to initiate conversation and Jisung gives you aspirin for the throbbing migraine.

Your shoulders are touching. Jisung breathes. Slowly. Then fast. Then slow. And then he tucks an earphone into your ear, it was an unspoken ritual you two practised when you were alone, oft in a different venue, sitting languidly about campus, while you read and he winked through the glaring sun to get a distant view of the landscape.

Jisung yawns, the grapple on his speech loosening and loosening.

You remain quiet, closing your eyes again. Words feel liquid in your mouth, letters wobbling on your tongue until you feel like you've lost complete control over what you're thinking of saying.

You can see the scene unfolding inside your head, can feel the earth under your skin, can hear birds chirping, can feel the dusty orange, morning glow kissing your faces. As if you're the only two people there. "Coldplay, right?"

"Uh-huh..." Jisung replies, he sounds unsurprised by your aligned tastes. You look at him and find that he's mirroring you. His long lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks, eyes clamped shut.

"It's beautiful..." You murmur, dropping your head back against the mattress, you think Jisung hums in response but you can't be too sure. It's like you're slowly, slowly and slowly drifting far, far away. Letting slumber wrap its welcoming arms around you.

For a second, you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten, you imagine that you're soaring, soaring, soaring, like you could look down and see the rivers and seas and lakes pulsing against the Earth's body, as though they were a bundle of nerves belonging to a round, green vessel of a body, and somehow - then immediately, you're being pulled to your feet, at great speed, you're falling, falling, falling - so fast that you feel like there's a fire budding inside your lungs, budding under your fingertips, inside your heart.

Then it begins. This must be a dream, this must be a dream, this must be a dream. The soft murmur of scripted words. Parted curtains, an open window allowing you to stare in wonder, dusk stretching across the entirety of the landscape, blue, then pink. You think of the big sapphire sea, the warm sand and someone waiting for you before it. You think, this is it. This is it. This is it. And run, run, run. Sprinting to the broadening view. You recognise the back of his head, the curve of his neck, tufts of raven hair fluttering about, his white cuffed shirt, his footsteps like a trail of breadcrumbs, feet dipped in frothy water, You call his name, surprised but think I knew it, I knew it, I knew it all along. He looks back and smiles at you, offering you his hand. (You're not over him. You don't think you ever were. And this is what you want, you want it so bad, after all this time, are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back?)

Just for a moment, in the split of a second, just now, just once, you aren't afraid.

You jolt awake, the earphone straining against the sudden movement, "Hey." You whisper, looking up at him. His Adam's apple drops with a slow gulp, the rosy colour of his parted lips. The slope of his nose. You don't know when you nuzzled your face into his chest, his long arm is draped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. Your heart is beating noisily in your ears, on your tongue.

To your surprise, Jisung hums in response, eyes still clamped shut. You're so close, just so close, he brushes his slender fingers against the back of your neck, the touch feather light, as though reminding you that he had heard you. Your breath hitches inaudibly.

"Let's..." You say, with your tongue starting to limp inside your mouth, "go to the beach sometime."

...

A shower is running, loud, water gushing down and thumping against the tiles, the sound echoing and growing thinner by the second.

You sit up on the empty bed, the recollection of last night lodged deep inside your head like a butcher knife.

The realisation that you aren't at home isn't startling as you momentarily grow distracted in examining the room, the photos, the turntable, the white paint, the portraits, a light adjusted above, bits and pieces of a person scattered around.

Jisung's t-shirt is discarded carelessly on his reading table, your eyes widen when you acknowledge the occupant in the shower to be him, leaping up with a haste, everything comes back to you with a force equivalent of pulling the butcher knife out and slamming it right back into your skull.

"It's you!" You gasp, partially because the cheerful exclamation sends pangs of pain to your head, having made all the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to find Minho whipping up pancake batter in a bowl. As opposed to his old Instagram photos, with the new complementing pink hair, his feline like features are even more staggering, eyes narrowed to amused slits, behind which beady black orbs stare you down in absolute curiosity.

"Right, we met last night." He reminds you, uttering your name quickly, finding that you already recognise him. He holds the spatula up, paused in surprise as if he really wasn't expecting to see you right now, the position only eases when you wave your hands dismissively and say it's not what you think.

He smiles, there's a strange disappointed quality to the demand."Sit down, let's have breakfast."

It's awkward, Minho spares you a few interrogating stares while you silently dig at your meal, the sound of cutlery and ceramic sounding through the open kitchen. You wish Jisung would come down already if the floor beneath your feet isn't going to open up and swallow you whole to save you from this discomfiture.

"They're really good." You nod, shoveling more of the unevenly cut portions of the pancake into your mouth.

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

You choke, coughing on the gigantic bite, patting your chest as you slowly as you begin to regain your composure. Minho's eyebrows are weaved upwards, hinting that he expected an answer despite offering you water. God, he cut right to the chase, you aren't used to people as blunt as that. When you don't say anything, he blinks at you, tilting his head to examine the evasive expression on your face.

"He talks about you a lot..." He notifies, as though it was an explanation for something. Minho's arms are crossed over his chest, proudly before announcing, "I think I practically know everything about you."

Funny, you could say the exact same thing about him. Jisung likes to babble on about people he cares about, which albeit is a handful, you are just as special as any of them. And that reminder as a consequence of his constant prodding makes you a little angry.

"Look, he doesn't like me if that's what you're trying to say." You blurt out, you don't want to get your hopes up. It's weird saying something so grave to someone you only recently came to know. Having already accepted your one sided feelings even though you struggle to try to suppress them and the hopeful part of you reasons that Jisung probably didn’t initiate a kiss because you weren’t exactly sober — but the real reason, and you know this, is that his withdrawal last night was just cherry on top of the big fat I-don't-feel-the-same-way cake.

You made the mistake of ruining your friendship because of a stupid confession in the past and you aren't going to make it again, not when you're closer than ever now.

"That's not what I asked." Minho comments. He is pretty great at appearing intimidating. Or rather, he sees right through you. You can't tell. But he's practically cornered you with his witty questions whilst his perceptive eyes keep an intent watch on you. Minho had a curious quality to him when he looked at things, he seemed to notice everything.

You laugh nervously, rubbing your nape when his gaze is practically unblinking in anticipating a reaction.

"How was your Gimpo trip?" You digress.

Minho's ears perk up, his eyes blown to big, happy circles, he nods his head excitedly, properly distracted from pressing the previous topic further.

The conversation fizzles away in a haze, Minho rambles on in a cheerful tone, his eyes glossed over in enthusiasm. He speaks of his three cats and asks you to commit their names to memory with a dead serious face, moving onto ramble on about his childhood, an entanglement of being the only child who dreamed laboriously of pursuing a career in ballet and succeeded. You listen attentively, not breaking your focus even when he gets up to do the dishes.

By the time Jisung lazily drapes a towel around his neck, all the while hopping down the stairs, you feel like you've overstayed, digging your feet into the heels from last night while Minho holds the door open for you.

"Need a ride?" Jisung asks, standing on his toe to look at you from behind Minho.

You shake your head, suggesting that you were to take the subway instead, keeping your eyes fixated on your sore feet as a reminder that you're opting for the alternative not by choice but because you don't have the energy to render Sunwoo an explanation of where you'd spent the night at with his constant teasing, Tightening the strap around your leg, while balancing yourself with the free arm, Jisung's long fingers quickly grab onto the underside of your arm, letting you balance your weight whilst posing the question, "You’re coming tomorrow for the group study, right?" You ask.

It was an uncharacteristic gesture, outright surprising, because of his renowned proficiency in that class, when Jisung suggested that he didn’t understand the volume of topics you were going over.

Jisung glances cautiously at his best friend, who has a stupid smirk on his face for some reason, like he knows something you don't, “Yeah, yeah...” He says, reaching out to pinch your cheek despite your complaint.

“Are you an alligator?” he calls out, prompting you to shoot a confused look over your shoulder. "What?"

It's just one of those things Jisung says instinctively, his eccentric humour getting the best of him in silences and you, well, you walked right into this one.

"You know...cause I'll see you later!"

In your peripheral vision, you spot Minho pinching the bridge of his nose at the quip, muttering a quick Jesus Christ.

...

During the day, the portrait is much more confusing.

It's carefully placed on the paper covered floor, the room smells like fresh paint and sweat. Jisung suggested that you go paint shopping in the pursuit of looking for a suitable colour to liven up his walls and the end of the semester meant you had enough time to put the purchased product to use.

There is a blob of red on Jisung's jaw and the colour gets smudged all the way to his cheekbone when he makes an unsuccessful attempt to itch the skin with the back of his palm. You don't tell him this.

"I bought it from the local display." He breathes out exasperatedly, the paint roller is placed on the paper, "The artist said it was about an unlikely romance or something like that. Looked pretty dope to me too and—"

"I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigate the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. Or anything that bears semblance to it, you never did have a good eye for art, "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

...

"Why do you have that dumb look on your face?"

Sunwoo speaks, chewing through his snack, his fringe is glued to his forehead in a thick layer of sweat. You aren't surprised. The humidity is skyrocketing. A cut in your salaries have made you compromise the use of your obsolete air conditioner. It's a terribly humid Sunday morning and you're getting ready for a trip to Minho's beach house.

It wasn't hard to convince you. Such was possible because Minho's offer was reiterated through a number of ways and people over the span of last week. Even from Sunwoo.

He and the rest of the boys have started to get along pretty well, so well that you often end up acting as an amused spectator, simply watching the boys cosying up to one another while you're effectively camouflaging in the background of utter silence. Your friends teamed up to produce quips here and there, stopping to chuckle into their napkins, cheeks rubicund like ripe apples whenever you went out for dinner. It was becoming a regular occurrence, at this point. Not that you minded; you genuinely enjoy the time you spend together.

As a final move, Jisung reminded you of your slurred request of wanting to go to the beach, beating the purpose of you claiming you wanted to stay home doing nothing when really you were just looking to avoid encouraging how you felt for him. You constantly found yourself suppressing the desire to want more and the last few weeks had been the toughest because you had trouble ignoring how you felt although you were careful not to show it. Jisung was spending more time with you than usual since you were on summer break and were relieved of your studies for a short while. You couldn't forget that night at his place, the memory made your gut wrench in a desire you couldn't fulfill.

But while it was hard being around him, you just knew you couldn't help it.

The trip was, nonetheless, a reminder of how Jisung always gets what he wants, even if it is as easy as snagging his favourite items off of the super store shelf or something which demands more patience to be possessed, something that needs to be drawn out with unwavering persistence.

Come to think of it, you never really understood what it means to live like that.

"What dumb look?" You ask, averting your gaze from your phone, twiddling your thumbs for a response to Jisung's text notifying that they were taking the lead on the journey by setting off earlier than you to set up the place.

It won't take them as long as it will for you because it's a familiar premise for them. Your arm is starting to hurt from holding up your suitcase.

Sunwoo mimics a grin, stretching the corners of his lips awkwardly and flattening his lips like that of a frog, a string of dried milk sits on his chin to finish off the impression. He points to his face, "This one."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes, "Hurry up. Jisung messaged me the location."

Sunwoo nods, then pauses, then his eyes widen, a teasing grin making its way on his face, insinuating that he finally understood why you packed chocolate cake last minute in spite of you not having a particular preference for the item. "Does he know you have a big puppy crush on him?"

Sunwoo makes up for your social ineptness, amongst other things, and there are times when you don't understand what you'd do without him, times when you're relieved he's your friend even though you're essentially opposites - now is, certainly, not one of those times, now you wish he wasn't so close to you to have access to this information without telling.

"Are you hearing yourself? I don't have a crush on him." You lie, glaring at him, when your flatmate ducks his head to display that he didn't quite agree, you groan,

"I don't!"

…

"Do you take me for an idiot?"

Sunwoo pulls his sunglasses down to pretend to study you, his big brown eyes scrutinising you from head to toe. The strong stink of diesel is still emanating in the air in spite of the image of the gas station being wiped out long ago in your peripheral vision. You kind of like it, it contributes to boosting the anticipation of what was to happen when you reach your destination .

"Oh absolutely..." Sunwoo says, driving in the direction of the beach house the GPS pilots him to, Lauv hums faintly from the dusty speakers, the familiar lyrics filling the air whilst you unconsciously bobbed your head. The vague distraction allowed Sunwoo to buy time to gather his thoughts,

"You need to tell him how you feel before someone else does. You need to tell him how you feel, period."

“I'm not doing that again.” you warn him, he speeds down the highway, your beach hat threatening to fly about under the weight of your hands at the sudden gush of wind. "Need I remind you how it went last time?"

"Last time was different."

"How?"

"You barely even spoke to each other!" He exclaims frustratedly, pointing out the obvious, "Now you're good friends and he seems to feel the same way considering he always puts up with you...like...voluntarily." Sunwoo mocks, looking at the corner of his eye to note that you're rolling your eyes in annoyance, "Maybe Jisung's out of his mind."

"I'm not that bad!" You defend, quieting down once again when the memory of your admission flashes before your eyes in vivid details - the years of distance and silence that stretched between you because of it was hard - if that were to repeat itself now, when you're more used to him that you were before, you don't think you could bear it. Or maybe you could but you don't want to.

It's enough to just have Jisung around and not be yours than to lose him by admitting.

"I'm not putting us in that position again just because of how I feel. It's kinda selfish, don't you think?" Your statement has a touch of finality to it that shuts Sunwoo right up, he wordlessly pulls up in front of the huge beach house, another jeep and the Comet Convertible is parked; before which far off near the shore, you couldn't help but notice the two unfamiliar figures by the boys, one of them is wearing a bikini, standing incredibly close to Minho, who's setting up their small grill, the other (and it makes your stomach turn) is talking animatedly to Jisung, he nods and smiles in that way that makes you think you'll never quite stop loving him. Chan is holding up his phone to take a picture.

Sunwoo honks loudly, pulling you out of your trance. You can hear the I told you so sitting on the tip of his tongue when he shoots you a look of pity. You don't like it. The way that makes you feel like a toddler who can't keep herself from sticking her fingers into electric sockets in spite of being precisely instructed not to. Now, you think, the ‘I told you’ so would've been much more agreeable to your pathetic but injured emotions.

Jisung snaps his head around fast, raising his lithe digits to the air, waving at you languidly. The girl spectates the exchange in an engrossed fashion, slowly routing her inquiring gaze to yours in thought. Not all that seemed black and white is black and white between you.

"Are you coming?" Jisung screams over the noise and distance, away from the spot you're completely frozen in.

(A pang in your chest tightens. Tightens. Tightens. And you don't want it to mean something. But it does. It does and it always will.)

...

Minho once learned to set up tepee fires in scout camp, with twigs, a small heap of leaves, wood shavings and loosely screwed newspaper in the centre. Now, he only prides his younger self for setting up the fire once in their backyard and decides roasting marshmallows on the grill demands less of the expertise that he's lost overtime.

"I've actually heard a lot about you before we met." Sunwoo garbles out, clearing his throat.

You've been ignoring Jisung ever since you arrived. Now the group is sat down on the sand, in a misshapen circle, the two girls, now you know their names and the root of their invitation - Junhee and Shoshanna are merely bypassers the boys met when they arrived this morning. They're on a weekend trip like you and their visiting resident is a few houses away from yours. You wanted to act on your peevishness and groan out a loud What are they still doing here? everytime Shoshanna took the seat beside Jisung or asked him to set her marshmallows but that would, amongst other things, make you look like a crazy jealous idiot who has no right to step into a situation of that sort, even though Jisung seemed hesitant, cautiously looking at you every now and then.

Jisung's brows rise and fall, gaze darting between you and your flatmate, surprised, "Is that right?"

Sunwoo laughs, "Yeah." He chews carefully, trying not to choke, as if the source of his knowledge doesn't need to be pointed out.

"Only good things I hope."

Skeptical, Jisung glances at you with a cocked brow, in case you oppose but you avoid his gaze, glaring down at charred marshmallow on the tip of the stick and thinking of ways to strangle Sunwoo, who chuckles at the former's apparent doubt, furrowing his eyebrows in bemusement, "Only good things."

"You're on the varsity swim team, right?"

With a mouthful of food, Sunwoo poses the question, the grin only widens when Jisung replies with an equally enthusiastic nod.

"Did you know that this one can't swim?" He points his marshmallow stick at you, keeping his eyes trained on Jisung's surprised face. "I tried to provide assistance." Sunwoo insists, "But when someone is really bad around water, like screaming at the top of their lungs-I'm going to drown in a kid's pool- bad, it's quite a challenging task."

Minho produces an animalistic laugh at this, patting his thigh like he's rendered a vivid image of your embarrassing experience while Chan shoots you a concerned look, as if sensing an underlying tension in the air that the others can't. You don’t know which one you dislike more.

"I can hear you, you know!" You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Suddenly having lost your appetite.

Sunwoo widens his eyes, with a hand atop his chest, mocking you, "Really?"

You open your mouth to continue bickering with him because it was the only way you could hold yourself back from jumping across the sand and grabbing him by his collar in case that should stop him from further embarrassing you, but Jisung interjects, blinking inquisitively at you.

Jisung pouts. "It isn't that bad, you'll see, we can go for a swim anytime. That's what's the pool for anyway."

"Sungie, I could use a swim now. Can we go, please?" Shoshanna piped up jutting her lip in a way that made her more attractive, she hooked her arm with Jisung, pulling him to her side and he simply blinked at her, surprised by the gesture. Only you called him that — when did she pick that up? Why doesn't Jisung seem to mind at all? Are you seriously seeing what you are definitely seeing?

Without meaning to, you imagine them floating about in the water, while she curled her arms around his neck to keep balance and him leaning down to grin invitingly. And it feels like you're losing something.

You feel yourself jumping up to your feet. The sudden movement gains the attention of all your friends except Sunwoo, who keens on sparing you the smug grin which insinuates that he sparked the entire conversation intentionally. You hope the universe would miraculously render you telepathic powers so he'd start to choke on the stupid marshmallow.

"Uh...I mean...I gotta." You gulp, "I'm going to go grab a beer."

"Wait."

Jisung frees his arm to get to his feet, powdery sand dusted off of his sweats.

"I'll come with you."

You walk in silence, wrapping your arms around yourself. In your peripheral, you catch the sight of his pockets swelled around the area he stuck his fingers in, you don't think Jisung's ever been that quiet. It makes you feel guilty. You're acting out because you simply can't get a grip and it seems to have taken a toll on him. You want to punch yourself in the face.

It's not like you desire to stand in the way of his merry-making, it had to happen eventually, right? Jisung is free to get involved with whoever he pleases. He doesn't know how you feel and even if he did, you don't think he would reciprocate.

And despite everything, your heart still aches for him.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jisung tells you. There's a sadness to his voice that supplies that you can't escape this conversation because you simply cannot stand it when something prevents him from being his happy-go-lucky self. But you can delay it.

You pull the fridge open slowly, scanning the items, alcohol, milk and a few other things that are necessary to spend the weekend. They definitely were newly bought.

Jisung pushes the fridge door wider, sighing, he pulls a can and hands it to you. "If this is about the girls, I'm not-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Sungi—I mean, Jisung." You stare down at the perspiration collecting between your fingers and the can, then set it down immediately in fear of it slipping out of your hands. Jisung stiffens at the transition, a faint look of pain flashing in his eyes. What did he do that is so wrong?

You feel horrible for making him feel bad, aren't you supposed to be an adult? Aren't you supposed to have a strong grapple on your emotions? This isn't good for the two of you, you don't want to hurt him because of how you feel, Jisung needs you to be his friend and you can't accept, even after so long, that that's all you are to him.

"I don't think we should be friends anymore."

"What?" He purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why?" He provides, raking a frustrated hand through his hair when your mouth parted instead of giving him an answer. "Did I do something? You could have just talked to me about it but..." He muttered shakily, repeating, "Why...this?"

Jisung glares at you, he looks so clueless, angry, blatantly hurt and it's such a selfish thing to ask of him, the least you can do is be honest with him, though you couldn't fight the annoyance from seeping into your tone because he apparently had not a clue.

"God, don't you see it?!" You placed a warm hand against your forehead, "I'm...in love with you...I love you, okay?"

You start to panic when the tense expression melts into his features, replaced by something you couldn't put a finger on, "Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you to reciprocate or anything. It's stupid, I thought I was over you but I'm…I'm not. And I can't...I can't watch you get on with someone who isn't me, especially when…" you trail, preparing to admit the truth to yourself once and for all, "...you don't already love me back. I can't...It'll hurt too much…"

"So...I think...it's better for the two of us to not continue this friendship anymore." You gulp, your palms shaking by your sides, those words have been taking refuge inside you for too long and saying them makes you feel empty, like you've lost something that keeps you grounded and you'd be aimlessly floating about for the rest of your life.

"I know I'm asking for too much…"

Jisung interrupts you with a wry laugh, the sound startling you. He never spoke to you that way, not even when you argued before.

"Yeah, you're right, you are."

"Well, I'm sorry." You breath out.

He leans closer so your hip presses against the cool counter. He drags his fingers from the exposed skin of your collarbone to your neck, tilting your chin up with his thumb while the remaining digits splay against your throat, "Sorry doesn't cut it."

The kiss sends a chill down your spine, prompting you to straighten up from your slumped position. Your knees feel like jelly, like they could collapse any minute. Jisung deepens the kiss, grazing his teeth along your bottom lip, he props you up on the counter and you sense yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, tugging on to his hair to draw out a groan from him; touching him feels so surreal, even though it's a reminder of just how real everything that's happening is.

"I…" he breathes heavily, "I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't know what to do with how I felt and seeing you again...it just made me realise that I couldn't ignore it anymore. There were times when I couldn't help myself, I felt like I needed to see you when I couldn't, so I did, even if it meant I had to lie. I love taking care of you. I love our dumb inside jokes and I love the way we can't go long without talking. Hell, I love everything we do together." He chuckles, "But I didn't say anything because you told me you were over it. I... just assumed you were only interested in being friends with me." You don't think you've properly registered the sentences, maybe it's the suddenness of it all, maybe it's because you've never actually pictured this. You told yourself, this is how it's supposed to be, that Jisung was never supposed to feel the same. Just with that alone, you had axed your own foot, screwed yourself over more than anyone else did.

Jisung's face breaks into a sudden grin, he pecks your pouted mouth. "But I'm glad I was wrong."

"Did you just kiss me?" You joke, touching his face, tracing your fingers against his cheeks, the skin glossy and pinkish under the touch, his pupils are blown to large black circles, the brown in them barely visible.

"I don't know, did I?" Jisung deadpans, narrowing his eyes jovially.

He eases into the embrace when you slump against him in a tight hug. The chuckle comes out all muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Hmmm, can't be too sure."

You wrap your arms around his neck, it's like you just can't stop smiling. When you think about it, that's what being around Jisung was like, really. Your digits traverse from the side of his jaw to cup his cheeks, eyes peering into his. You watch as he blinks incredulously, there's something impatient about the way you look at him. Then you tilt your head and kiss him, gathering a faint taste of chapstick whilst your tongue prodded at his bottom lip.

A low moan thrums against his chest, his mind failing to produce a single coherent thought. Because, God, he knows exactly what you're doing.

This time the gesture is needy, desperate, as though to convey a strong desire to be completely consumed by him, to be ruined by him. You raise your hips to brush against his lower abdomen, eliciting a low groan from his throat.

"Baby not here." He breathes out, gauging your intention whilst resting his forehead atop yours. His palm traces the skin of your thighs, travelling up your sides, a free hand which rests at your neck coming to rest at your jaw. His delicate thumb journeys upwards, tugging your bottom lip out and then slowly retracting the digit. Somehow, the gesture makes his eyes darken even more, if that's possible. "Let's go upstairs."

You're so breathless and shocked and have your head stuck way so far up up in the clouds that the statement sounds imperceivable. "What?" You blink dumbly, with your hands on his shoulders.

A husky laugh made reverberates inside his chest, "We can’t...here."

As if on cue, you whimper needily at the weight of the implication. The thought of what is to unfold upstairs making your throat close up. You understood the purpose of his statement, the rest of the boys would soon gather into the beach house because it was getting dark soon, the sky was gargling its throat in the distance too, it would rain and neither of you were keen on PDA.

Jisung's teeth graze along your throat, his fingers around it to keep your head pressed to the door while your thighs are snuggly bracketed around his lithe waist. His need is apparent when he grinds up into your body. You're all but putty under his touch.

It's dark. But you can still make out how absent the room's paraphernalia is, just a bed which is stripped to the bare essentials of a white blanket and scratchy sheet, giving away the fact that visits aren't made too often. You don't care about all that though, Jisung pushes you back against the mattress, pulling his shirt over his head before resuming his position on top of you.

You can't understand how you kept away from him for so long.

...

Between your short, bitten and misshapen fingernails, the word Premiere reads on the tickets in bold red slanted letters.

You can't believe what was once a figment of your imagination, a rubbish script you wrote whimsically on too much caffeine and too little sleep was going to unfold right before your eyes.

It's crowded inside the subway, you stare at the heads, faces, shirts, jackets, arms and legs and your heart is beating too loud, like you ran a marathon or drove a sports car way past its speed limit, rammed it into a tree and flipped it over.

All the world's a stage and all men and women merely players.

(You should be scared, you should be scared, you should be scared.)

Delicate, lithe fingers quickly travel down your palm to squeeze the tense digits at the end, his free hand is rubbing circles on the back of your neck; you stare into those brown eyes and without really thinking, press a quick kiss to his pouting lips, it's difficult, he keeps grinning against your mouth but you pay little attention to those things now.

"That was a good move, champ." Jisung winks briefly, tracing his thumb along your cheek as he nuzzles his nose against yours, "You always kiss people on the subway?"

You grin, with a slow shake of your head, "Just the hot ones."

(This is a stage. And the passengers are waiting. The Tale Of Two Cities. The couple. The mother. Like that nightmare you used to have.

But, you think, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter anymore.

Because you've got your silver lining.)

507 notes · View notes

omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

Text

😡🤬ANGER MANAGEMENT (PART 2)🤬😡

Prompt: Y/N has the life she’s always dreamed of: a good house, a nice car, a fat paycheck, her dream job and some loving friends. Her life feels like a fairytale...but just like every fairytale she’s not safe from the villain, the problem with that? He’s not only an incredibly hot Scotsman but also a fucking pain in the ass!

Word count: Long bitch, just long 😩

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader

Warnings: +18 smut, dom x sub dynamic, public sex (work place environment), rough sex, oral sex(female and male receiving), masturbation(female and male receiving), dirty talk (because you can never have too much of that 😏), marking kink(biting/ female), branding kink (marking by ejaculation), breath play/ asphyxiation kink(choking/ female) and some good old trichophilia (hair kink/ pulling)

Notes: Forgive us father, for we are about to sin 🔥. I can’t thank you all enough for all of your positive feedbacks, they gave the strength I needed to commit this handsome Scottish sin.

I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart my fellow beloved beautiful souls: @new-zealand-chic, @nightlummer, @drew-is-boo, @tomandbuckyfan1, @akiko-tanaka, @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan and @beckyann6879 for not only taking some time off of your day to read it but to also leave nothing but kind words to this girl right here 💕😘 I know that technically only two of you asked to be tagged but I blame it on my excessive need to please people ok? Sorry 👉👈 Alright, and now I’m rambling...so y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

My mind was in a pure excitement haze, which made me think for second if I had heard him correctly.

“Drew...are you serious?” I asked hesitantly

He carefully approached me, placed his hands on the sides of my cheeks, making me look up to him

“Does it look like I’m joking to you Y/N?” He asked firmly

“It’s just..” I liked my lips “For a moment I thought that you were-“

“I’ve been wanting this every since I laid my eyes on you,lass” One of his hands leaned down, securing my wrist on his firm grip, pulling my hand towards his pelvic bone so I could grab a handful of his erection through the jeans.

“Do you feel this?”

I nodded

“This is the result of 5 painful years of foreplay princess” His hand cupped mine,making my grip become tighter “I’ve tried everything you can imagine to get rid of this fucking teenage boy boner I get every time I think of you... I’ve tried porn, endless sessions of jacking off and everywhere: hotel room; shower; locker room; arena bathroom; car even your office whenever you were not around! Fucking other women while I thought about you...you name it and I have tried, but nothing shakes off my cock’s need of you. Your pussy, your ass, your mouth, your hands...he wants all of you and JUST you”

I don’t know what lustful force took ahold of me but the only thing I could do while his words filled my ears was shove his jeans and underwear down so my hand could slide up and down his full length...skin to skin..

“Oh fuck yes” He growled as he moves his hips to meet my hand. Drew’s hands reach up my pants pulling it down. I hear a tearing sound as I look down to see that he had ripped my panties off leaving me as exposed to him as he is to me.

Soon after, one of his thick fingers slides through my folds lubing it up, before carefully entering me

“Oh lass, this is going to be heaven on earth... I’ve always imagined how tight you were, but fuck me, my finger can’t barely move! This is going to be fun” He makes a noise that was a mixture between a grunt and a laugh. “Let’s see how you can handle two fingers” He muttered to himself as he stops my action on his dick by taking me on his arms and sitting me on the massage table.

“I need all of this off” He says as he grabs my t-shirt and bra.

Once I’m at my full naked glory I lay down on the table and he stops to admire me

“You’re so perfect, do you know that?” As his hands caresses every inch of my exposed skin. “Your skin is so soft...so delicate” He leans down to place several feather light kisses all over my neck, breasts, belly and thighs making my arousal become more evident in between my legs.

“Drew” I whisper “As much as I love this, I really need you to fuck me senseless right now. We can do the softer things later tonight but right now I just need you in me” I panted

He confidently smirks before saying “So you haven’t even tasted my cock but you still want some more later huh?”

“Shut up you prick” I answer slightly annoyed at his teasing

“Oh c’mon now Y/N, if you want it so badly why don’t you ask for it nicely, love?”

“I don’t gotta ask you for shit McIntyre! Fuck you” I was feeling the anger starting to rise to the surface again

“Oh princess, I would keep that attitude down if I were you” He warned me

“Fuck off” I huffed

He lightly slaps my face, grab my cheeks and whispered

“We’ll have to work on that potty mouth of yours, princess... I guess I will have to keep your mouth full so you don’t have time to talk shit huh?”

He releases my cheeks “Kneel in all fours on the table” His voice has a ‘I wouldn’t test me if I were you’ tone to it, so I just did as he said.

Due to his incredible height, my face in this position, gets on the same level as his cock. He looks impressively intimidating when I look up to meet his gaze.

“Open your mouth” He says and I obey “Now, since you like to trash talk so much princess, let’s see if this clever pretty mouth can do some proper sucking as well”

I reached out to grab his length with one of my hands(to help me out since he’s so large) but he lightly slapped my hand before it could touch him.

“I said that I want your pretty lips around my cock. You don’t need your hand for that darling”

I decided to be up front about it and said “Drew, you’re too big, I can’t fit-“ A warning hair pull made me look up to meet Drew’s beautiful (now cold) blue gaze

“First of all, it’s Sir to you, don’t make me repeat myself again about that. And secondly, I thought you were the one who liked to talk back at me, so if those sweet lips of yours are good enough to disrespect me they’re also going to be good enough to make my cock feel good, even if you have to gag and drool all over it. Get it?”

The combination of Drew’s beauty, his enormous body and his dominating words made me speechless.

He pulled my hair harder to get my attention back to him and asked

“Do. You. Get. It. Y/N? Use your words”

“Yes...Sir”

He smiles approvingly of my response “So what are you waiting for princess?” He playfully smiled

His grip on my hair loosen, but he kept his hand on my head as a way to ensure me that he was in charge.

I debated with myself whether I should lick all of his length first or if I should just swallow him all in at once(at least til where I could reach it)..My decision was to leave the conventional and predictable first option behind, betting all of my cards in the latter one.

I sunk my mouth all the way down his cock making him gasp in surprise, feeling every inch of his length stretch my jaw. His animalistic growls made me feel confident so I decided to go up a notch and made him hit all the way back in my throat making my mouth produce extra saliva easing him down further more every time I bobbed my head. The deeper he got the sloppiest it would get, I had drool dripping from my chin to the massage table.

“Oh fuck me Y/N! You sure know how to give head baby” He said while staring down at me in awe “You’re so raw princess, is beautiful” He stokes my hair gently “Look at you, all messy around my cock, do you like that cock baby?”

A thick string of spit still connected my mouth to his cock as I release it to say “Yes, sir” I answered sheepishly as I return to my previous action of sucking him off.

That’s when I felt it..two of his thick calloused fingers in between my slick folds, finding my clit and massaging it.

I moaned around his cock, the vibration making his length throb inside of my mouth. I couldn’t handle anymore of the teasing.

“Sir, please” I gasp as I released him “Please I need...something inside” I look at him desperately “Please” I whisper

His fingers actions on my clit stopped and he looked down at me

“Did I told you to stop?”

I just shake my head ‘no’

“So why did you?” He raised his eyebrows

As soon as he finished the question I opened my mouth again for him to slide in it and he did it moaning , while he began to circle my clit again.

“Look at me” He said panting “You’re going to suck me til I cum and in the meantime we’ll see how hard can this pretty little pussy cum” He smirks “Then once I’m done claiming that smart ass mouth of yours I will clame this pussy as mine too” With that, his two digits entered me, stretching my walls, moving at a merciless pace. “Hmmmm, MY pussy feels so good, so wet around my fingers” He hummed in pleasure “This pussy is all mine isn’t it my little pet? It belongs only to me doesn’t it?”

I could only nod in response and could already tell he was close to cumming as he turned up the pace of his fingers and changed our position so he could reach my clit with the hand that was previously on my hair while the other one mercilessly fucked me.

The sudden chance of positions made his whole back curve on top of mine, making him go even roughly further down. As he brutally fucked me with his fingers, his hips start to bulk forward, fucking my mouth as well.

I could already feel my release was about to burst out at any minute now

“Go on lass, cum for me princess” His words along with all of his moves made me cum as hard as I’ve ever had! Soon after my mouth was filled with Drew’s thick seed that I happily swallowed.

“Let me see” He soothingly said as he places his now licked clean fingers underneath my chin, tilting my head up.

“Open your mouth, love”

He hummed in appreciation when he saw I had already swallowed all of his cum

“What a good well trained pet you are princess” He smiles fondly “You didn’t miss not even one drop. You’re so beautiful” He leans in to capture my lips in a famished kiss.

“I think is only fair now for you to give me the pleasure to really taste you princess. Would you like that love? Would you let me eat MY sweet pussy?” He asks as he stroked my cheek softly.

The simple thought of seeing that beautiful Scottish face in between my legs, made me turned on all over again.

“I would love that, sir”

I can see the satisfaction on his eyes as he says “Stand up on the table, love” as he smirks deviously

*What is he planning?* I thought as I stand up as he said

I didn’t even had to think too much about what that meant as for his thick arms slid in between my knees to lift me up, so I could straddle his face with my hips as I sit on his shoulders. The surprise action made my hands grip for dear life on his long black strands for balance. He gave me no time to adjust, he just simply began to perform the best pussy eating I’ve ever had in my whole life.

I was quite a big fan of oral sex(performing and receiving it), most guys they don’t really care about doing it properly, they just want to do it so you’ll give them head back. It would take a real man to eat a pussy properly and I was more than happy to say that Drew McIntyre was a fucking real man. He knew what he was doing and you could tell by his moans that he was enjoying it as well! Everything was perfect, the pace, the pressure, the tongue movements, the sucking and even the right amount of spit. I was sure by now that he had ruined me for any other man but him.

He grips my hips tightly to both help me keep balanced and keep my hips from moving away from his lips

“Oh my fucking...” I gasped as my eyes rolled to the back of my head

My grip on his hair tightened so I was full on pulling his hair HARD.

He grunts at my action, causing a sweet vibration against my clit making me moan a little too loud.

Drew moves his body away from the massage table going to the wall that was closer to his reach, supporting my back on it. The contact of the cold cement against my heated skin made me moan loudly once more, therefore he stopped his assault on me, to look up.

I don’t know if it was the vision of his dark beard glistening with my wetness, the smug smirk he had placed on his face or his incredibly lustful blue grayish eyes that were glued to my face..whatever it was made me squeal pitifully.

Drew cackled “I know I said that we should make this whole company hear us, but if you keep it that loud, I’m afraid we might get fired, love” He winked

“Sorry, I didn’t-“

“You don’t need to apologize princess, I love hearing your moans, it makes my dick rock hard. Just not here, even though I can’t say that the thought of somebody walking in on us doesn’t sound very tempting to me” He smiles as he kisses my thighs, trailing up, back to his previous place.

I made a mental note on keeping it down, but that went down the drain when that delicious Scotsman began his attack again. Noticing I was having a hard time keeping it shut, Drew roamed one hand up, covering my lips forcefully to muffle my noises. This thoughtful yet dominant act along with his incredible tongue ability to turn any woman into a pitiful moaning mess had me cumming once more, all over his face.

He licked me clean and lay me down on the table.

“Princess, are you still with me, love?”

I could feel my mind drift to a very familiar and quiet place

“Y/N, I’m talking to you baby” His voice is still soothing but a little more firm now

“Yes, sir” I murmured

“Open your eyes, darling”

My eyes opened to meet a blue grayish pair, starting at me with both amusement and affection

“You still gonna fuck me right?” I pleaded

He laughed saying “If you still want it of course, love”

“Can you fuck me from behind?” I whispered

“Is that how you want it princess?”

“Yes” I say sheepishly

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir”

“Okay. Then turn around baby”

I spread my legs further apart and knelt down on the table with my back turned to him and my core out at his disposal, placing all of my weight on my arms who were pressed down between my legs against the table.

“Look at you princess” He squeezes my ass cheeks “I’ve always loved your ass baby...so fucking thick” He slaps each cheek vigorously “I can’t wait to see it bounce on my cock” Another slap “You have no idea how many times I almost fought some idiot of this roster, because they couldn’t stop talking about this sweet ass if yours” He leans down and bites each cheek “But now it’s just mine, isn’t it love?”

“Yes, sir”

“Yes it is” He says in awe “And I’ll fuck this sexy as too, when the time is right” He slaps each cheek one last time

“Have you been with anyone lately Y/N?”

I look over my shoulder and hear a faint fuck leave his lips

“No sir, I haven’t” It was true

“Good. Me neither, the last time I had intercourse was three months ago and my tests are clean, I can show you if you want”

“There’s no need for that, sir. I trust you” Which I weirdly did, also if he had something he would be suspended by now.

He sincerely smiled before asking “Do you use contraceptives?”

“Depo injections, sir”

“That’s good love, because I want to fuck you raw, are you ok with that?” He asks as he strokes my hair.

Just the thought of feeling each and every vein of his cock had my pussy clenching.

“Yes, sir” I whined

“Would you let me cum inside of you?”

“Yes, sir. Please I-“ I couldn’t even finish my sentence since he pushed his length in slowly.

I was going to turn my head to face the wall, but he grabbed my hair, keeping my head in place and our gaze locked.

“Keep your eyes on me Y/N, I want to see your face as you take every inch of my cock, do you understand princess?”

“Y-yes, sir” I stuttered

“We’ll take this slow, I don’t want to hurt you. If at anytime you want to change the position you tell me ok?” He said and I just nodded

I already knew he was a generous size which now made me regret choosing this position for our first time. Damn you Y/N and your incapacity to think while horny!

Drew was moving at a very slow pace, being careful to give me some time to adjust every time he went further in.

It was a mixture between heaven and hell, and my mind started to overthink...fuck that’s not good!

“Don’t overthink princess” Drew said “I can feel you’re getting tighter because of that” He press his chest against my back and one of his hands roams around my waist so his fingers can play with my clit.

A muffled moan left my lips and I could feel my walls begin to loosen up from his stimulation on my bundle of nerves.

He kiss my lips passionately as he sinks the rest of his length in my core.

“Fuck you feel so good, sir”

He nibs my neck and shoulder

“I can already tell my cock will never, ever want other pussy but yours, princess” He whispered in my ear, giving me goosebumps all over my body.

“Sir, you can move if you want”

Drew started with a soft and sweet pace that grows into a very hard and rough one after 10 minutes. But I still need more...

“Sir, please, fuck me harder” I beg

“My sweet angel likes it rough huh?”

“I love it, sir”

He chuckled and turned his pace up, now mercilessly pounding me. A loud moan threatened to leave my lips so I covered my mouth with one of my hands in an attempt to muffle it but that wasn’t enough.

Soon after, I feel one of Drew’s big hands closing around my throat, pressuring the sides of my neck, making it hard for me to breath or speak but not enough to make me pass out.

The chocking made my walls clench around his cock, earning me a low growl from him.

The unstoppable pounding had my mouth hung open in an silent ‘O’ shape.

Drew let go of my neck and grabbed a fistful of my hair, tilting my head up to look into his eyes

“Tell me princess, has anyone ever fucked this pussy, this good?”

“No, sir” I panted

“Will you want any other man to fuck your pussy after today?”

“No, sir” I whine

He licks my ear lightly before whispering “That’s good baby, because now that you’ve got me addicted to this pussy, you’re stuck with me princess” He softly chuckled

This man has a devilish way with his words...“Sir, I’m gonna-“

“Cum baby, let me feel you milk my cock real nice princess”

My orgasm exploded making my vision blurry. Soon after I hear Drew cursing and feel his warm seed fill me up.

We are trying to regain the normal pace of our breaths when he says

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing Y/N but I also can’t do the friends with benefits arrangement”

“What do you mean then, Drew?” I faintly ask

“I mean that I want us to be together, you know, officially”

“Like...” I vaguely say

“Like a couple” He blushes lightly

“So, you want to do the whole boyfriend/ girlfriend thing?”

“If you want it, yeah. I would love to”

“Are you sure?” I ask, still insecure

“Y/N” he cupped my cheek and pecks my lips “I’ve been wanting this for 5 fucking years lass” He chuckled

I smile before saying “We should hurry up then, because we have a lot of time to compensate for, Gastón” I wink and he laughs while leaning in to kiss me again.

Who would’ve thought that my villain was in fact the perfect Scottish version of a Prince Charming...

Oh my Lord, I know this is long as fuck! Sorry I got carried away(can you blame me tho?!) Please let me know if it was worth the wait, if I fulfilled your expectations, that sort of stuff 😘

#drew mcintyre smut #drew mcintyre fanfic #drew mcintyre x oc #drew mcintyre x reader #drew mcintyre one shot #drew mcintyre #drew galloway #wwe smut #wwe imagine #drew mcintyre imagine #wwe one shot #wwe fanfiction #masochist writes

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solar-bear · 3 years

Text

Baby number 4

Ok so here's the finished smut I was talking about, this is the full version, so if the reader insert version seems a little off it's because it's missing the intro lol I know people probably aren't going to read this version but I wrote it for me. The reader insert version should be up on my main blog soon.

I think y'all know I've been kind of obsessed with DILF!Bi-Han lately so under the cut is 6 pages about Bi-Han convincing me to have another baby. There's smut, lots of it, so hopefully, you lovelies enjoy it!

I tuck Shìxuě into his bed, pulling the sheets up over his chest knowing full well we would squirm out of them before morning. “Goodnight my little pumpkin, sleep well,” I lean over and press a kiss to my seven-year-old’s chilly forehead. The only reply I receive is a large yawn and very sleepily slurred, “night mama.” Within moments the young cryomancer is sleeping soundly, cuddled up with his stuffed polar bear. I smile softly at the scene and brush some of the hair out of his face, I adjust the covers one more time and shiver involuntarily as the temperature in the room dips. I look over toward the door where Bi-Han is leaning against the frame with an unusual look on his face, reluctantly I leave Shìxuě‘s side and making my way towards the door. “What?” I ask, pushing him out of the way and securing the door behind me, “what’s that look for.” Bi-Han crinkles his nose, “what look?” His deep voice queries, trying his best to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “The weird half-smile you’re giving me,” he doesn’t give me more time to prod as his cold, strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me close against his cold body, forcing another shiver from me. “It’s nothing, it’s just, you’re so good with our boys, especially Shìxuě, so loving, so doting, it stirs something primal in me.” He rumbles softly as his large hand carcasses my flat stomach, “it makes me want more, I want another child with you, Sol. I want to have a little girl, beautiful and delicate but strong-willed and sassy, just like her mother.” His cold lips fall to my neck as he accentuates his words with chilled kisses, making me shudder. “B-Bi-Han, we already have three children, it’s kind of a lot already, you can’t be serious about wanting a fourth,” I try and reason with him, melting into his soft touches. “The twins are 11 now and can do so much for themselves, they could even help feed and care for their baby sister and Shìxuě doesn’t need much help anymore. He sleeps the whole night through, he can feed himself, hell he even does his homework without being told. Come on Sol, let’s have another baby,” he practically purrs as his cold hands sneak under my shirt to press lightly against my stomach as he kisses his way along my jaw, making his way to my full lips. I whimper softly finding it so hard to deny Bi-Han, “b-but I’m 37 already Bàixiòng, I’m no spring chicken anymore! I-it’s not always a good idea to have a child this late in life,” I sigh loudly as sudden and unwelcome thoughts of my Mother invade my brain, I know full well she was my age when she had me. “Sol you’re in great health, you’ve always been so mindful of yourself when you’ve been pregnant in the past, you’ll be just as careful this time. What’s really bothering you qīn?” He asks, his expression falls from a happy, lustful one to one of concern and something harder to read, the look of a man who knows you better than yourself. I pull him down the hall to our room, not wanting to keep Shìxuě up, I sigh as I sit down on our bed, “my mother had me at 37, almost 38 aì rén, I’m worried that if we have another baby, especially a girl, history will repeat itself.” I bite my lip hard, trying to stifle a cry and I fight to blink back tears. Bi-Han is next to me in an instant, his strong cold arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his burly chest. “You are a wonderful mother Sol, you’re not an alcoholic, narcissistic monster like she is. You won’t raise your older children and then decide you’ve been a Mother long enough and just ignore your youngest, leaving her to raise herself,” I can hear the disgust in his words as he soothes me. “I see the way you are with our boys, how much you love and adore them, how much you dote on them. There is not a shred of that woman in you, you love others more than you love yourself, there is no way another child would be anything other than another blessing for us,” Bi-Han kisses my temple and cradles me in his strong arms, rocking me back and forth. “You sure this isn’t just a bad pick-up attempt? We are married you know, you don’t have to

come up with elaborate rouses to get into my panties,” I laugh and bury my face in between Bi-Han’s massive pecs trying to change the subject and lighten the mood. I don’t want to dwell on my Mother or the past any longer, not when I have my own wonderful little family to give me the love and support I never had. “Tch. I know that. I just want to put a baby in you, I want to hold you down and pump you full of my cum until you’re sobbing and panting for mercy,” he growls lustfully his hands moving to fondle my large breasts. “Not to mention see these bad boys get even bigger, and your belly all swollen with my kid, that’s what I want qīn. If I just wanted to fuck you, I would, I want to claim you,” his lips pull back into his trademark smirk before they descend on mine. I moan into his mouth as my fingers tangle in his hair, how could I possibly deny him when he put it like that. I titter softly against his icy lips, breaking the kiss for a moment, “fine Bi-Han, you win, let’s have a little girl.” He leans me back as his huge body clambers over mine as he pulls his shirt up and off, his muscles bulging and flexing with all of his well-muscled glory. He’s practically beaming, grinning ear to ear before he tries to regain his cool facade, “that’s my good girl,” he licks his lips in anticipation as he leans forward closing the gap between us, our lips moving in a practiced dance. I moan softly as I allow his tongue entrance into my mouth, it’s so cold against mine, but I’m used to it, even without the cold though the way Bi-Han is kissing me would make me tremble with more than just desire. I tilt my head sideways and open my mouth a bit wider as his cold tongue curls and snakes around mine, teasing and luring me into his chilled mouth as my nails rake lightly at the base of his hairline. I suck provocatively on his tongue, earning a guttural groan from the cryomancer, his large hands squeeze my hips as he lays his body flush with mine to roll his hips against my clothed sex. I lose our battle as I gasp and break the kiss, pressing my hips up against the delicious bulge in his pants, “fuck,” I whisper tugging my shirt off hastily. “I mean we kind of have to unless you know another way to make a baby qīn,” he chuckles in a low voice and I can’t help but feel arousal pooling in my lower stomach upon hearing those words. I try and reply with something witty but the words die in my mouth as he rocks his clothed cock against me again and his cold lips find my right breast, the temperature difference causing my nipple to harden and pebble immediately. I inhale sharply as his teeth graze the hard bud as he works one of his hands easily into my loose-fitting sweatpants, his sweatpants; he sucks my breast into his cold mouth causing me to arch my back. Bi-Han’s skilled fingers slip under my panties and teasingly skim over my soaked folds, I curse softly as I feel him spreading the moisture across my hot sex, it’s ridiculous how easily he can get me worked up. “Ngh, Bi-Han,” I moan softly, trying to keep my voice low as to not wake up the boys, I bite my lip as one cold digit pushes inside my hot, tight hole. “Mmm, you’re so wet already qīn, you just love the idea of me putting another baby in you don’t you? You being at my mercy, using you however I want, filling you over and over again with my seed until your tight little pussy can’t hold anymore,” he groans against my ample chest as he presses another finger inside me, he doesn’t hold back as he immediately crooks his fingers finding my sweet spot with practiced precision. “As much fun as it is to try to conceive our daughter I can’t wait to see your swollen belly, knowing it’s my baby and only mine, growing inside you,” he growls as he pumps his fingers in and out, finding a steady rhythm. I can’t help but buck up against his fingers, his words making me wetter and wetter, “of course it’s your baby, who else would knock me up,” I tease him as I tense up around him as his fingers caress my sweet spot with sweet, gentle strokes. Bi-Han pulls away from my tit as his cold

lips graze my collar bone before sinking his sharp teeth into the sensitive skin, causing me to cry out loudly as his fingers thrust harder and deeper inside me and I can feel my walls fluttering with intense desire. He groans as he laps at the angry crescent-shaped wound almost apologetically as he laps lazily at the blood trickling down my breasts. The action forces me to cling tighter to the strong cryomancer, the brief, intense pain heightening my pleasure to a level that makes it impossible to think about anything but Bi-Han and his thick fingers pumping in and out of my dripping, mess of a cunt. “F-fuck, P-polar Bear,” I curse quietly as my desire continues to mount as more delicious heat pools in my core as the cryomancer switches back to curling his fingers inside me, stroking my sweet spot again with firm, rapid movements. He smirks at me and suddenly ceases his movements, “oh I don’t know, maybe you know some hot dilfs from the PTA you’re seeing on the side or something.” The cryomancer pulls his fingers from my aching pussy and holds them up for me to see, “but I doubt it, not with how wet you are for me,” he slowly brings each digit to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfying smack of his lips. I flush deeply and let out a low whine, “fuuuuuck, come on Bi-Han, stop teasing me,” I beg him, knowing he loves hearing nothing more than the sound of my desperate voice pleading him. “Aww come on qīn you can do better than that,” he coos while pulling my pants and panties off with one easy tug. I puff my cheeks out at him and huff childishly, “you’re the one who wants another baby! Why am I the one having to do the begging? Shouldn’t you be begging me for a chance?

I’m the one who has to do everything! You just make it!” Bi-Han gives me a sheepish grin as he rids himself of his pants, his hard cock jutting out from a neatly trimmed patch of black hair. His icy blue eyes flutter close for a moment as he drags his hand along his impressive length, smearing glistening pre-cum all over his lust darkened head. “You’re right Sol, you are the one who has to carry it, but you already told me earlier we could have a little girl,” he rubs his icy cock along my velveteen, wet folds, teasing my hole with the thick head of his cold cock. “So please qīn, let me fill you up,” he pauses to slip inside me, his cold hand caressing my cheek, “let me paint that pretty little womb of yours with my cold cum,” he breathes out a low groan as he finishes sinking all the way inside my hot pussy. I throw my head back and arch my back as I feel my cryomancer’s huge cock opening me up, rearranging my insides to make room for him and fuck does it feel good, he always feels good, so perfect. I can’t help but cling to him as his throaty words echo in my mind, “oh Bi-Han,” I sigh lovingly unable to deny him what he wants, “more please,” I give in and go back to begging him. His dick feels even bigger and thicker than usual as my walls stretch and burn slightly trying to accommodate his length. I can’t help but feel almost drunk from arousal already as I gasp and whine his name while I feel the cryomancer’s thick cock filling me inch by delicious inch. I can feel him trembling with restraint as he struggles to retain control of his desires, not wanting to hurt or overwhelm me too quickly. He pants softly atop me as he finally buries his cock to the hilt inside my welcoming pussy. It feels good, so good, better than usual even, everything about Bi-Han right now makes me feel like every nerve is alight with desire, the knowledge of how much he wants me, how much he wants to have another child with me making my emotions feel like they’re spiraling out of control. I sigh blissfully as I squeeze my walls around him loving the feeling of him filling me so entirely, “let’s make another little one,” I whisper in a soft, sweet invitation. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to, every time I see you with the boys it’s all I can think of,” he groans as his cold hands ghost over my stomach while he pulls his cock out and presses it back in slowly. He rocks his hips driving his cock deep inside my tight walls, teasing and testing my limits as he fucks me slowly, passionately, it’s a rare moment, but I can actually call the act lovemaking. My breath comes out in visible pants as his lengthy torso drapes over my body, pinning me to our bed, my nails rake down his back as his cock fills me over and over again. I cry out as he begins to thrust slowly and deeply in and out of me as my walls hug and squeeze his cock with each stroke, pressure building up inside me. I whine and whimper his name softly as I try and pull him deeper inside my trembling cunt, each stroke of his cock brushing up against my cervix, so deep. Bi-Han’s lips curl into a pleasured snarl as he thrusts in and out of my wetness, his hands never leaving my stomach as he grunts in time with his actions. “Fuck qīn, you feel so good,” he praises, voice thick with lust. His words pull a loud moan from me and I immediately throw my hand over my mouth to stifle my noise, I screw my eyes shut as my pussy clamps down around his huge cock. I buck my hips up against his thrusts, pushing the cryomancer even deeper inside my wanting cunt, my thighs shake with effort and I know I’m not going to make it much longer. I pull Bi-Han’s head down to mine, frantically crashing my lips against his cold ones in an attempt to quiet myself as he keeps thrusting into me steadily. Each one of his thrusts hitting my sweet spot over and over again, I moan and cry into his mouth, each sound swallowed up by the cryomancer as his tongue dominates my mouth and his teeth tug at my bottom lip. I feel completely blissed out and oblivious to anything other than the cryomancer as

his thick cock makes it nearly impossible to think about anything but how perfect his length feels inside me, but some part of my brain still remembers to try not to wake the boys. My nails bite into the hard flesh of his perfectly muscled back, I gasp into his mouth as blood bubbles up from underneath my fingers as I tremble and shake with my impending orgasm. Bi-Han groans loudly against my mouth as I tighten around him, he breaks the kiss to whisper filthily in my ear, “you ready qīn, I’m about to breed you like the perfect little sow you are.” I bite my lip hard at his words, face flushing deep red as he refers to me as what you call a female polar bear, no doubt a nod to my nickname for him. I bite my fist hard to stifle my cry as his cock continues its onslaught of my pussy, my hips rocking in time as my mind goes blank, I feel my eyes rolling back into my skull as I clamp down hard around his thick cock. He’s so deep inside me I can’t hold back any longer as I give into my desires and cum hard around Bi-Han’s length, my body shudders and shakes hard as my greedy pussy tries to suck the cryomancer’s dick in as deep as possible. Blotchy stars dance before my eyes as I groggily try and force them open to look up at Bi-Han’s handsome face, his brows knitted in concentration as his grip on me tightens and he knows he no longer has to hold back. “That’s it qīn, you’re such a good girl for me, your perfect little pussy’s doing its best to pull my cock in deeper, it knows you’re ready to bare another of my heirs,” he growls against my ear before biting down lightly. His thrusts become shallow and so deep that I feel like he’s opening me up in impossible ways, he’s so determined to cum as deep inside me as possible. “Fuck, I’m going to paint that pretty little womb of yours snow-white, and you’re going to be a good girl and drink up every drop of my seed,” he snarls as his hips snap forward sharply, his cold, heavy body caging mine against the mattress as it creaks and groans under his efforts. I can’t even form coherent sentences as I hear his words, all I can do is whimper and whine pitifully as the cryomancer uses my body, “please, oh please Bi-Han.” My back arches off the bed as his cold fingers find the sensitive nub at the apex of my pussy as he rubs it quickly in time with his animalistic thrusts. Bi-Han lets out a deep, guttural growl as his hips finally still, burying his cock as deep inside me as possible, I whimper as I see his perfect abs contracting with his impending release. Frost spreads from under his fingers across my hips and stomach as his sharp teeth bite into the supple juncture of my shoulder as he quiets his roar of satisfaction. I press my hand against my mouth as my back arches off the bed, I cry his name into my hand until my voice is hoarse and tears prick at my eyes. I shake with exertion as Bi-Han’s final onslaught and release brings me to completion once more. I can’t help but give in to my baser instincts and desires as my walls squeeze and massage his huge cock desperate to milk every drop of cum from the cryomancer as my vision goes white. My eyes roll further back into my skull as my head slumps against the pillow, a combination of my tears and saliva soaking the pillowcase where it lies against my cheek. My body is wracked with great shudders of my blissful aftermath as my legs jerk and toes curl as I ride out the last waves of pleasure. It feels like Bi-Han won’t ever stop filling my spent cunt full of thick, viscous cum and I don’t ever want him to, it feels too good, too perfect. Bi-Han doesn’t pull out right away, I know he’s enjoying my warmth more than he’ll ever admit, he just groans with satisfaction and flops on top of me. “Ya know qīn, it might take a couple attempts to get you pregnant,” he pauses to skim his hands along my belly, “but I think I’m up to the challenge of it.” I don’t have the energy to push my behemoth of a husband off me as I just lay there, feeling his cock softening inside me as I lazily stroke his hair, “I think you’re counting on it taking

more than one attempt.” I laugh softly and shiver slightly, the cold rolling off his perfect body finally starting to get to me now that we’re no longer in the throes of passion. “For now though I’m going to bed,” I start, “I have a parent-teacher conference with the twins in the morning.” Bi-Han just grunts in acknowledgment before finally rolling off and getting comfortable next to me, “those little shits better not be in trouble again.” “Not this time,” I laugh, “though they do take after their father,” I tease wiggling my eyebrows at the now sated cryomancer. “It’s just the routine one they have every semester, and yes I’ve been checking their report cards, no problems there, thank god they don’t need help with math,” I laugh knowing I’m useless to help in that aspect of their education. Bi-Han yawns and pulls me against his body, tucking his head in the crook of my neck, “I’m looking forward to giving them a little sister to look out for, I think it will be good for them.” “Hmm, I think you might be right,” I cradle Bi-Han’s head close and curl up against him as I drift into a very pleasant and satisfying sleep.

#bi han #sub zero #mortal kombat #bi han x reader #bi han x f!reader #sub zero x reader

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beanieman · 3 years

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Shinalice Tattoo And Flowershop AU: Shin Gets A Tattoo

(Their designs in this are from by the wonderful art @yttdie made that inspired me to write this fic. You should go check their art out, it’s so good!)

Shin lingers outside the door to the tattoo parlor, clutching a bouquet to his chest. He's really going to do it. He's going to get his first tattoo. He's not sure if he's shaking from excitement or nerves as he enters the small parlor. It's the first one Shin's ever been inside. It's not at all the shady place movies depict them as. Abstract art lines, black walls, and Alice's colorful flowers are placed in a vase on the front desk. Next to the vase is a small bell with a sticky note reading "Ring Me!" attached. Shin takes notice that Alice's handwriting is surprisingly neat as he rings the bell.

"Coming!!!"

Alice pops his head out from a small room in the back, giving a wave and genuine grin when they lock eyes. It makes a heat rush to his face that Shin wasn't expecting. Today was an awful day to use a headband to push the hair away from his face. Now all his crimson blushes are on display for all to see. But Alice doesn't seem to notice as his eyes glint with recognition.

"Shin! Did you finally come to take me up on your offer? I remember it vividly! You gifted me flowers for free, and I'll repay my debt by giving you a discount on a tattoo!"

"So you remembered...I want to cash in on our deal. I brought more flowers for your shop. I was thinking they'd be a good reference for my tattoo."

He hands over the bright blue bouquet he was carrying while avoiding eye contact. Handing off flowers may be his job, but most of his clients aren't handsome tattoo artists.

He notices how tenderly Alice takes them like they could be made of glass. For a man who looks so intimidating, he's much more gentle than he looks.

"What are these called?"

"Forget me not's. Ahaha, I was thinking getting a cluster on the back of my hand would look cool..."

"We'll match in that case!"

Alice holds his hand out, showing again the daffodil-covered skull on the back of his hand. It was a big inspiration for him. He loved the way the tattoo looked under the cool blue lights of the flower shop. But for Alice to point it out so bluntly like that....it makes him a little flustered. It doesn't help when Alice puts his hand on his back to guide him over to a chair in the corner.

For a second, he gets so caught up in the euphoria of having an attractive man caress him that he forgets he's about to get a needle shoved into his skin.

But then Alice brings out the ink.

And reality hits.

This is going to be painful.

Looking around, he tries to find anything to distract him as the needle begins to buzz. His eyes land on Alice's muscular arms covered in tattoos. He has a sleeve with multiple sections. At the very top is ink with a deer's head laying on top of a flower bed. In the middle of his arm are chains surrounded by a wall of blue. And at the very bottom, a lone X that looks like it marks a treasure on a map. If nothing else, it's the perfect conversation starter.

"Do your tattoos have meaning?"

The needle is already touching his skin before Alice can respond. Bright colors explode under the tip as the flower begins to form. It's painful, but he tries to focus on Alice, whose eyes are narrowed steadily in unbreakable concentration.

"A few! The chains you see are to recall my time in a band of legends!! As a symbol of the end, I had the letter X tattooed when I departed from that very same band."

"And the deer?"

"They're majestic! Not every tattoo has to have meaning."

Alice's hand works with a speed Shin has never seen. He's grateful for it. His only goal going into this was to not pass out by the end. Which seems more reachable with how fast Alice works.

"What about your tattoo? Do these forget me not's have a meaning to you?"

"N-Not really. I just like flowers."

He gesture's to the tiny daisies plastered around his pale blue shirt as proof, but his words aren't entirely true. Forget me nots symbolize true love and respect. They're a promise that you'll never forget the receiver because of how deep your affection runs. The idea of someone caring that much for him one day... it's a nice thought. But to admit all that to an acquaintance? Not happening.

They banter back and forth for another hour. What he learns about Alice is he can make a conversation out of anything. Even seeing birds soaring out the window gets them on the topic of air travel. His charisma is admirable, but not more than his tattoo skills.

His pen flows quickly and steadily, producing thin lines that pop under the blue coloring. His bedside manner isn't bad either. Even with such an intense pain that pierces his hand, Alice keeps him distracted, making it easier to ignore. He makes it so easy to ignore, in fact, that when Alice proudly proclaims

"It's done!"

Shin can hardly believe his ears. He looks down at the ink that's now stained into his skin. He didn't get his hopes up for the final product, but...he loves it. It's everything he wanted it to be and more. Alice looks satisfied with the final product as well. He beams with pride at Shin's look of awe. He must see that look ten times a day, and yet he still looks thrilled at Shin's joy.

"Are you impressed, Shin? It's some of my finest work! Be proud to be adorned with my talent, mwahaha."

"Heh...looks really good, Alice. The flowers were a good trade….so about paying."

Alice looks down to Shin's newly tattooed hand and back to his face. He glances away and shrugs his shoulders casually.

"Consider it repayment for the flowers. You don't have to pay anything at all! Just leave a good review on our establishment page, please, and thank you."

"Eh?! Well, if you say so...Are you expecting more flowers to make up for the price?"

"W-Well, no, not at all. But perhaps we could get a coffee sometime? To make up for the difference. If you don't want to, don't worry yourself-"

For the second time today, he can't believe his ears. It almost sounds like...Alice is asking him out on a date. Surely he means as friends. Yea, that's all it is. Their places of business are side by side. Why wouldn't they want to get to know each other more? Not that he's opposed to treating it as a date...but no need to make assumptions.

"Uh, yeah-that sounds good! Ahaha, really good! Er...I should get your number…."

They exchange numbers with shaky hands. Both of them trying to look cool as they put the digits into their phone. Shin can feel how crimson his face is. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid, "I need to get back to my shop. Flowers won't sell themselves. I'll text you later."

"Good luck on your ventures! I'll be searching for the best possible spot to find coffee in the meantime."

Shin turns to wave goodbye, only for the door to stop him as he runs face-first into the glass. A thumping sound echoes through the small shop as he stumbles back.

"Are you okay??"

"Yes!!"

He doesn't look back to see Alice's confused face as he darts to from the shop and back to his own. He's in such a hurry; he doesn't even see a woman dressed in black enter the parlor behind him.

But she distracts Alice's attention from his blunder, as she's a face he knows well.

"The hell? Was that the flower shop guy you wouldn't shut up about?" Alice feels heat rushing to his face at the call out. Okay, he might have a crush on the cute flower man next door. Sue him.

"Yes! Yes, it was."

#YTTD #Your Turn To Die #Alishin #Shinalice #Flowershop And Tattoo Artist AU #Shin Tsukimi #alice yabusame

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starsescape · 3 years

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Looking over her shoulder Jill caught Juno’s eyes. Their gaze move low and then at the bottle she held. They look tired, but they gave her an encouraging smile as if to say what are you waiting for.. Jill twist the top off with a flick and held it out for Juno.

[Jill lost the bottle of brandy]

They smirk and took it. Without a word Juno brought it up to her lips and drank from it, heavily too. “Fuck.. I needed that.” Juno reach out to give the bottle back to Jill while giving a nod to invite her to take a seat next to her. “Thanks.”

With the bottle in hand Jill walk up to Juno and took a seat near them on the floor. Jill rest her back against the desk Juno was seated on and chuckle. “Assumed we could use a drink.” Jill drink slower than the other woman, but she took a hefty amount. The brandy was strong enough to force a groan out of her. God, that’s strong. Jill rarely drank anything stronger than beer or wine. “Deserved a break too.” Jill lean on Juno’s leg to brush it with her shoulder for a playful nudge.

The silence fell after a laugh as the bottle exchange hands again. A minute pass, maybe a minute or a half. “So..” Juno let the word drag and linger. “What do you do with your free time?” The question made it feel like they were on a blind speed date, trying desperately to learn the most of each other before the time runs out. Well, it would have felt just like a blind date alone if not knowing the situation they were in and how they were wasting time.

Jill raise her arm to signal that she want a sip. “Jogging..” She felt somewhat embarrassed for giving that answer. The police work didn’t leave much free time and her hobby wasn’t that interesting. “Jogging and drinking.” She add. “Ever been to Bar Jack?” Jill took another gulp.

“Wow, you are boring.” Juno chuckle and grin as they look down on Jill. They took the bottle from her and drink up. “Visit there once, not really my kind of place. I prefer Jack’s bar.”

What.. “Right, that’s what I said? Bar Jack.” Jill turn to look up at Juno who was in the middle of taking a gulp. They didn’t stop drinking, but gave Jill a confused side-eye. With a loud groan Juno gave up on trying to down the whole bottle alone. She gave it back to Jill who now sit on the floor facing Juno and leaning back on her arms.

“Yeah? I said I prefer Jack’s bar.” With the bottle out of her hands Juno didn’t really know what to do with them so she simply lean forward and rest them on her thighs. Juno’s gaze was fixed on her eyes, but it start to move lower until Jill spoke up again after she was done drinking.

“What are you talking about? I’m a regular there and I have never seen you before.” Jill finish what she had to say just before it click with her. She took a deep breath and let it out. I made a fool of myself.. That thought was only made stronger by the smirk Juno had. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Jill laugh and felt her cheeks burn. “Right, Jack’s bar... At the edge of the town, not the Bar Jack in uptown.” People often confused the two places with the similar names, but Jill hadn’t done that mistake in years. She was already feeling the effects of the booze. Embarrassed over her mistake Jill seek comfort from the bottle before giving it back to Juno again. “So what do you do when you aren’t drinking?”

Juno kept quiet for a while, now their eyes linger on Jill’s body. “Computer coding mainly.” Her gaze had Jill move her feet in a way that cause her to lift her skirt just slightly. “When I’m not sweating at the construction site that is..” Juno trail off for a bit flexing just subtly enough for it not to feel like showing off, but after realizing she was staring Juno went for what she had propably been thinking for a while now “You know, you are kinda hot for a cop.”

Biting her lip Jill look away and chuckle. “Right..” She took one last gulp from the bottle and gave it back for Juno to finish. Jill shook her head and still avoid their gaze not able to say it while watching the other in the eye. “I’m not a cop anymore.” Jill confess, the guilt sting in her heart for leading Juno on to believe she was still part of the force. “You don’t read the news much, do you?” It had been on the front page when the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members had been suspended and ridiculed in August with the exception of Brad who kept his head down and mouth shut unlike the rest of them after the mansion incident.

“Not really.” The answer was given with a sly grin before Juno brought the bottle up to her lips once more. She sway the bottle in her hand while giving it a quick glance before looking back at Jill. Her grin went wide “Pretty shitty of you to pretend to be a cop if you ain’t one, Jill.” Juno raise her leg and press her boot gently against Jill’s shoulder, but she add strength as she talk. “Did you do it to feel high and mighty, bossing me around like that?”

Jill lean back under the pressure. “No..” She breath out as she was forced lower towards the ground. “I did it because I need your help.” Jill tried to reason for giving a half truth. “I’m sorry, I should have told you the tru-” Her apology end midway as she felt Juno’s boot slide lower. It press hard against her chest and cause Jill to gasp and look up at Juno in shock. They move it low and then brought it back to flick at her nipple with the toe of her boot. It had Jill bite her lip to swallow the moan that tried to get out despite the teasing being done through the cloth of her top. Humiliating.. The overwhelming shame wash over her like a warm wave. It feels good. Jill felt like she deserve to be slapped for lying to Juno. “I’m sorry, Juno.” She tried to apologize. This isn’t enough.

Juno grinned as she continued to tease the other woman with her boot, stealing one last drink from the bottle before setting it aside. "I wouldn't blame you if you did..." The toe of her boot flicked across the covered nipple once more as she leaned back on the desk, sneaking a peek down towards the others skirt. "But if you're really shorry... Maybe we can come to an agreement for your apology."

Jill continued to bite her lip, holding back the loudness of her moan as she was teased through her top. It feels rough... She closed her eyes and attempted to focus on her breathing to calm herself down enough to answer the tease sitting over her. "Let me guess... We have a bit of fun with you bossin' me around?"

The smile on the mechanic’s face grew as she gave a quick upward flick with her boot against the others breast, nodding once as she readjusted her feet and brought them away from the former officer, keeping them spread as they hit the floor again, presenting herself to Jill. "That's a good guess! I promise I'll be far nicer than the other cops if they caught you snooping around here dressed like that." She picked up the bottle and passed it back over to Jill as she shook her head, muttering under her breath as Jill took it from her. "Should have seen it coming though... You're dressed more like a hooker than a cop with that tube top and miniskirt."

Jill shrugged and took a final drink before setting the mostly empty bottle down between them. There wasn't much left, but those last few drops of liquor on her tongue were enough. She shifted slightly, her skirt rising more now as she glanced around the room. It was safe here... We have time.

"You know... The hookers that dress like you tend to flash their cunts just by breathing." Juno chuckled as she tried to sneak a peek under the skirt once more. "You do that lately, or just wear it for a quick fuck at Bar Jack?"

Jill rolled her eyes and laughed despite herself. "Maybe I have. Not a cop any more, but it's not like you've got room to talk." She reached up and pinch the obvious nipple poking through Juno’s top. "White tank top, no bra, daisy duke style denim shorts? How did you keep their hands off you when you walked through the door?" Jill thought that the most of the police were good people, but she knew the ones Juno dealt with weren’t one of them.

Now it was Juno's turn to bite her lip as she barely contained a moan. "E-easy.... I leveraged my skills to buy time. Knew the station needed work and told 'em it wasn't coming... Heh... coming..." She laughed as she leaned in closer to Jill, letting her hand cup her breast through her top. "Help wouldn't be coming any time soon, and if they tried anything, I'd fry the places circuits in a heartbeat." She winked as she eased herself down from the desk, practically crawling between Jill's legs as one hand caressed her thigh, easing its way up to her crotch, while the other rested on her shoulder, their faces coming within inches of each other, smelling the booze coming from both of them with each breath.

The already quite dark room seemed to grow eerily quieter as Juno inched closer, mashing her lips against Jill’s in the same moment her fingertips found Jill's crotch, tracing the outline of her sex with some eagerness before sliding the first digit in. "No panties, huh? Bold choice.”

“N-Not by choice..” Jill’s ragged breath came out with a stuttering moan. Seeing Juno’s questioning look she realized that they were wondering if it had been because of the less respectable survivors or the infected. To prevent that trail of thought going forward Jill kiss Juno again, eagerly and passionately. Their erratic breathing fill the silence and their breasts heave against each other with each heavy breath. The finger sink deep, there was no denying how wet Jill had become from all of this. Their nipples brush and tease the others through their clothes as they lost themselves in the kiss.

After a heated moment Juno shove Jill flat against the ground by her shoulder while straddling them. “Fhuck.. You are amazing.” The drunken compliment had the woman underneath look to the side embarrassed, yet the way Jill grind their hips to get more of the finger inside of them spoke louder than the avoidance. Juno couldn’t help but to add another. “I always wanted to fuck a cop, you know?” They confess as they start to move their fingers slowly and lean over Jill, but not to focus on her but instead try to reach for something from their tool box with their free hand. “Something about taking an authority down a peg just gets me off.”

“R-Really?” Jill chuckle before biting her lip to keep her voice down. She was starting to be too eager and to avoid further humiliation Jill tried to resist her urge to submit fully or the very least not to give the full satisfaction of taming her just yet. “Gh.. Guess you aren’t the only one.” She imagine it to be a common fantasy and in a way it was a shared one, though right now Jill fill the role of the one who was taken down.

“Give me your hands.” The request was said as Juno took a grip of Jill’s arm. They had a black Electrical tape which would soon bound Jill by her wrists if she allowed it. The sensible side of her did every argument why this was a bad idea. How she couldn’t trust a stranger she had met only a moment before, how the alcohol cloud her judgement and how defenseless she would be, but Jill didn’t listen to any of it. When Jill offer her hands to be taped Juno grin. “You are such a slut.” As Juno pull her fingers out to have Jill gasp when the tape was wrapped around her wrists to secure them together. “Now be a good girl, alright?” Juno guide Jill to stretch her arms above her head.

This is so wrong... “S-Shit.. Wait a moment.” Jill rarely curse, but seeing how Juno pull out a crescent spanner and press it against her cheek to slowly slide it toward her lips warrant her to do so. Why I humiliate myself so easily? That question linger in her mind as the end of the spanner push past her lips. She suck on it and lick it, staining it with her saliva and then even gag on it as Juno push it just slightly too deep down her throat before pulling it away. Jill was left panting with a trail of drool connecting her open lips with the spanner Juno still held just inches away from her face. “What are you gonna do with that?”

“Cops always have a stick up their ass, Jill.” Juno lean down to kiss Jill’s neck before whispering. “Seem you drop yours so I have to give it back.” It was a perverse way of complimenting Jill. It imply that Juno thought Jill to be friendlier than the other cops, one Juno didn’t detest.

Jill tried to catch Juno’s lips when they were still leaning over her, but they sit back up too fast for her to kiss them again. Stop teasing me.. It frustrate her to no end. Humiliated and without control of anything Jill felt more vulnerable, yet the drunken lust that had took over both women gave her comfort. “Please.. D-Do it slowly.” Her voice broke just slightly upon feeling anxious as Juno press the lubed end of the spanner against her ass. They did it slowly. Slowly enough for Jill to feel every inch of the cold steel sink into her anal. It was impossible to stay still even with Juno on top of her. So hard.. And long. Oh god.

“You okay?” There was a pause. The spanner was half way inside when Juno ask the question. They got a barely audible “Y-Yeah.” as an answer as it was overshadowed by Jill’s panting breaths. Her chest heave up and down along with the erratic rhythm of it. The confirmation and the way Jill seem to enjoy having it up her ass was enough for Juno to continue to press the spanner deeper inside. Juno got to enjoy the sight of the policewoman squirm underneath her. “You are so hot like this.” It was too much for her not to touch herself. As Juno push the spanner deeper she grope her breasts, then struggle to unbutton her shorts and finally finger herself desperately on top of Jill. Only when just the crescent end of the spanner was poking out of Jill did Juno notice how Jill’s feet were already trembling with a stream of her juices staining her thighs. “Holy fuck. You loved it that much, huh?”

Stick up my ass... Cumming... The orgasm had hit Jill so suddenly that she hadn’t even reacted to it by moaning. A silent orgasm ripple through her body as she felt the whole world whirl around her, the druken haze had Juno’s figure become somewhat foggy in her gaze until they lean down to kiss her again. “Shorry..” How could she come so easily? Was it the humiliation that got her off so hard that she came from it alone or had something else change? Those questions linger her mind for a moment, but Jill eagerly push them aside to focus on what mattered to her more. “Let me please you.” Jill whispered and as an invitation left her lips parted.

“Ah.. N-Not yet.” Juno’s hand still hold on to the spanner, gently rotating it to have its full length scrape Jill’s anal, while her other hand was busy in her shorts. “I want more and I bet you do too.” Saying that had Juno moan as her fingers dig deeper into her cunt, even through the cloth Jill could hear the squelching sound of Juno’s fingering. “Stay down.. Just like that.” For a long time Juno stay on top of Jill, just pleasuring herself and getting off to the sight of the cop underneath her as she straddle them. Sometimes there was a need to shove Jill back down whenever she tried to push off the floor either to kiss or try to reach for Juno with her taped hands. After a few minutes Juno let go off the spanner leaving it stuck in Jill’s ass in favor of sliding both her hands in her shorts. Juno grind herself against Jill’s waist and lower stomach with growing intensity until she made herself cum. Juno threw her head back to let out a strained string of moans with her shorts stuffed with both of her hands and fingers deep in her pussy.

Jill tremble as she felt the weight of the eggs shift in her stomach. Her mouth twist from unnatural sensation as she bit her lower lip to stiffle a moan while drool leak from the corner her mouth. Juno grind herself against the eggs, too drunk and lost to pleasure to notice them within Jill’s stomach. “Grhk..” Jill groan and came once more, this time moaning in unison with her partner. The silence fell once more. Only their heavy breathing was heard. “You.. You are gorgeous.” Still panting Jill spoke her mind staring up at Juno who slowly regain their composure after the climax.

“Fhuck..” Cursing Juno let her head drop back down. She caught Jill’s eyes and she laughed. “Flattery won’t save you.” It sound like a threat, but it was one that left a smile one Jill’s lips. When Juno got up on her feet she first stumble and fell to her knees beside Jill, but the second attempt gave her enough time to take off her shorts. She lack panties, the same as Jill.

The eggs in Jill’s stomach settle down when Juno’s weight wasn’t pressing nor actively grinding against them. Felt strange a-and good... She had to resort to flattery trying to focus on something else than what grew inside of her. Jill chose to ignore what had cause her to cum for the second time. She willfully move on to whatever pleasures wait her next in the humiliating care of her dominating partner. The drunken lust was just too easy to slip into and Jill let it take her. She surrender to Juno to let go and forget everything. It felt comforting.

“You better serve me well, cop.” Juno went on all fours to whisper into Jill’s ear before turning around to face the other way. Juno back up to sit on Jill’s face, pressing her dripping cunt tightly against her mouth. She could hear and most of all feel Jill mumble something, maybe it was a protest or a praise, but Juno couldn’t make it out as she was too busy enjoying the sensation of Jill’s tongue and lips brushing against her pussy. That mumbling died down in favor of active servitude that had Juno bite her lip hard. She immediately start to grind herself against Jill’s face while letting out a moaning laughter. “Yh- You have the right to remain silent, but I doubt you will.”

Barely able to see anything from underneath Jill slip into a drunken trance. She lap at Juno’s pussy to drink up while trying to hold her breath. The back of Jill’s head got constantly slid across and hit the floor with what little movement the position allowed. “MGHh..?!” Jill’s squealing was loud only to her as it was muffled by Juno pressing hard down on her. The spanner was pulled on and it almost slip out of her ass before its full length was shoved back in. Then the motion repeat again and again with a furious speed. While Jill desperately eat Juno out they fuck their ass with the spanner. It slid in and out, twist and turn, ravaging her ass with erratic movements that had her squirm and her feet kick around aimlessly. The struggle to escape it only had Jill exhaust herself and with her arms taped together there was no chance of a success. All she could do was to lick that pussy.

Giving a tired laugh Juno fully flip Jill’s skirt out of the way and then lean down to lick Jill. Her hand got tired from fucking the cop’s ass with the spanner so she tried to compensate the loss of speed by fingering her and eating Jill out. In 69 the two women moan endlessly. Shuddering from the pleasure given by the other’s tongue, though only the one underneath truly tremble from the ordeal. Juno close her eyes and groan “D-Don’th dare to stop..” She had made Jill cum at least twice by fucking their ass and licking their pussy before the ever more tired efforts of Jill manage to bring Juno to the edge. “C-Cumming..!!” Her grip at the crescent of the spanner tighten until her knuckles became white and Juno was unable to keep pleasing Jill as her mouth was now too occupied releasing erratic breaths and moans that announce her orgasm.

What Juno didn’t do was to stop grinding her cunt against Jill’s face as they ride out their orgasm. Their juices stained Jill’s chin and lips, even drip down her cheeks and coat her nose. Juno’s scent and taste was all Jill could think about. It intoxicated her more than the drink they had shared. The taste of arousal was what soothe Jill to give in to her exhaustion. Her tongue stop licking them, it felt almost sore after doing it for so long. Her eyelids felt heavy. As she start to slip into darkness Jill felt Juno’s weight slid off from top of her to lay on their side beside her being just as exhausted as Jill was. Still Juno’s hand rest on Jill’s stomach, caressing her gently until both women drift into a dreamless sleep.

[Vote which items Jill left in the item box]

#sorry for the long wait #I had a 2 week vacation and this was a collab effort with the nexus of sin #starsescape #main story #scenario 3 #7 people vote!#results can be found on the scenario story page

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 4 years

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Opulence - erasermic fanfic

Title: Opulence

Pairing: erasermic

Rating: Explicit

WC: 9k+

Summary:

When they’re done, when Hizashi is finally, finally laid bare and beautiful across their sheets, still shimmering and sparkling and flushed a delicious pink, the blond is breathing heavily, sweat drops gathering along his hairline and in the ridges of his collarbones.

He looks absolutely filthy in the best kind of way.

Notes: An incredibly late birthday gift for my friend, @rootistabootus(it has been 4 months girl I am so sorry), who can always make me smile any day, any time, who sends me the best memes, who supports my love for characters she doesn’t even know, who is quite possibly one of the bubbliest, most positive people I have ever met. Who makes me feel like I can do anything, who inspires me to create and take risks and stop letting fear dictate my life. She’s selfless and one of the hardest workers I have ever met. Her optimism is fierce and strong and makes me think that anything is possible. Thank you for always being there for me and making my life that much brighter. You are an actual piece of sunshine fallen down to Earth and I am happy to have the opportunity to bask in your endless warmth. I love you!

Read full fic here on AO3

Opulence

It was a normal occurrence, something that happened probably once a month at least.

Hizashi would come home, door swinging open and caught just before smacking into the opposing wall, the telltale clack of expensive heels giving away that this wasn’t a post-patrol late night entrance. His costume boots sounded the way all heroes’ did: like nothing at all.

Underground or not, every hero needed to be capable of stealth when the situation called for it.

With villains who had guns for fingers and steel wire hair, the situation often called for it.

Hizashi rarely dressed up for the studio either, unless he had a celebrity guest joining him on air. Shouta still remembers the glittery gold suit pants Hizashi wore when his favorite DJ was in town. It was hard to forget, with the way they threw speckles of rainbow light across every surface in their bedroom each time Hizashi opened the closet on the rare nights when Shouta forgot to pull the blinds shut.

Modeling was something that came with any popular hero’s list of duties, along with interviews, commercials, cameos in movies or TV shows, presentations at hero schools, the list went on.

The more public you were, the more the public wanted you.

Hizashi hadn’t gone the way of selling albums or cologne in magazines. Instead, he’d used his agency’s desire to sell his body in print and pixels to gain himself a spot in the fashion industry, a passion he’d had for as long as Shouta had known him. He once saw the young hero-in-training cutting out swatches of colors and patterns and pasting them inside his notebook, erasing any useful study material beneath.

Not like Hizashi ever needed to study.

Shouta didn’t quite understand the difference between couture and editorial, but he liked the way Hizashi’s smile looked when he ran his fingers over a sequined body suit or a faux fur shrug.

He never paid it much mind when his husband came home from a photoshoot, knowing the first place Hizashi would go was the bathroom to wash off any lingering glue and makeup, working gel and temporary dyes out of his hair. He’d spare a glance, curious to see what the other man had been zipped into that night, Hizashi somehow convincing designers to gift him the outfits more often than not, but that was about it.

Here and there he’d make a comment, a low whistle if it was particularly sexy, something more snide, like, that is not staying here for more than a week, if it was something they both knew Hizashi would never wear outside the house again. Shouta can still remember the great purge of spiked leotards and pointed shoulder jackets they’d been forced to endure last year when they’d run out of room in the closet for their actual clothes.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, as Shouta casts his eyes over his shoulder from where he is spread out on the couch, half-finished book in his hands, he is unable to turn away.

The smirk on Hizashi’s face, as he tilts his head up from where he’s bent down, unlacing the long, knee high black stiletto boots hugging his calves, said he hadn’t expected anything less.

Shouta’s eyes can’t pick one thing to focus on, generously grazing over every curve and dip in Hizashi’s body, all deliciously on display.

Hizashi’s shimmering, gold nails release their hold on the metallic painted laces, his hands running lightly over his knees, and then his fishnet covered thighs, before settling on his hips as the blond straightens into a standing position. He leans back a bit, the way he always did when he was feeling confident and hungry for attention, cocking a hip seductively.

That grin, accented by glimmering, glitter dusted lips, stays in place.

Shouta’s gaze is ravaging his husband.

Tonight, they’d put him in a long sleeved leotard, something Shouta was pretty used to seeing. This time, though, the material was all a shiny, smooth faux leather, with a delectably deep plunge from Hizashi’s collarbones down to just below his navel, his belly button piercing shiny and vibrant like all the other accent pieces to the outfit. Shouta is pretty sure they must have the suit taped over Hizashi’s nipples because there was no way it would be staying in place otherwise.

He also knows for a fact that they didn’t have Hizashi take out his nipple piercings, as the little ball studs were just as prominently on display as the perky flesh they were slipped through.

The whole suit looks like it was engineered to be one size too small, hugging Hizashi’s lean frame like a second skin, accentuating the angles of his hips and the deep V between them, the curve of his biceps as he shifts his arms, even his ass, never particularly all that large, looked plump and delicious with the hall light falling over the tight fabric. It left nothing, absolutely nothing, painstakingly nothing, to the imagination.

Shouta knows before his eyes dare to fall on the space between his husband’s legs that the bulge will be there, but he doesn’t expect Hizashi’s manicured fingers to wind up in his view as well, casually caressing the growing mound as Shouta continues to stare.

As if this wasn’t enough, as if the thought of his husband walking from their apartment’s parking lot and through the lobby in this incredibly sexual outfit wasn’t already getting Shouta’s throat to dry up, whoever designed this shoot had decided to take it a step further.

Hizashi had a natural beauty that was impossible to deny, and a sinful ability to turn on the heat when needed.

So why they’d decided he needed to be slicked up in a shimmery, glittering body oil was beyond Shouta.

As he finally rips his eyes away from the blond’s fingertips, still stroking over his erection as it pulls against the taute fabric, he sees Hizashi’s chest looking dewy in the same way it did in the moments before orgasm. A fierce, unrelenting heat begins pooling quickly in Shouta’s lower belly.

“Like what you-”

“Yes,” Shouta cuts off Hizashi’s teasing words, clichéd and useless. Of course he liked what he saw. Who wouldn’t? The whole point of dressing Hizashi up like this was to make any witless fool who picked up the magazine have to resort to using it to cover themselves up.

Hizashi exhales softly through his nose, one arm coming up, hand moving toward his face, and it all feels like it has slowed down, like each miniscule movement takes one whole rotation of the little hand around the analog clock hanging on the wall next to the kitchen entryway. Shouta watches the way the fabric relentlessly constricts around Hizashi’s body, as his hand runs through his hair, disrupting all those flawlessly smooth locks. They hadn’t styled it in any way tonight, letting it all fly free over the man’s broad shoulders. The golden shine of Hizashi’s hair broke up the predominantly dark outfit nicely. Shouta could see why they’d made the decision, but it certainly isn’t helping the uncomfortable way his jeans are getting tighter by the second. Hizashi lets his hand fall carelessly to his side when he’s done running his fingers through his hair, a few strands getting caught on his lip gloss and his long, fake lashes. Hizashi blinks slowly, eyes downcast, and Shouta doesn’t think it’s possible to get to the bedroom fast enough.

Judging by the way Hizashi’s next breath brings forth a small shudder as he releases it, he’s feeling the exact same way.

Shouta isn’t one to rush anything, though.

He closes his book in one hand, his middle finger still stuck between the pages, and slowly, slowly, leans forward, never breaking eye contact with Hizashi, to set it on the coffee table in front of him. Still bent over, he extracts his finger just as languidly, licking his bottom lip as the digit slips out. Hizashi swallows loud enough for Shouta to hear it from across the room.

“Are you going to take those boots off anytime soon?” Shouta asks, falling back against the couch, sinking lower into the cushions and lazily letting his legs spread wide. He lets one of his hands fall into his lap, just close enough to his crotch to stroke one finger lazily over his growing erection. He rests his head against the cushioned back and tilts it toward Hizashi, wearing a smirk of his own now.

Hizashi might have got him going with his outfit, but Shouta knew exactly how to get the other man just as riled up.

Hizashi hated waiting, and more than that, hated when his pleas for attention went ignored.

Shouta watches as the corner of his husband’s perfectly painted lips twitches. The blond flips his hair over his shoulder, brushing away the pieces that had stuck to his gloss, before sliding his legs and feet out of the high boots. The fishnet stockings go all the way to his toes, as does the body oil, despite never being in the photographs.

Hizashi steps up out of the entrance way, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, and begins sauntering across the hardwood floors like he’s gliding across a runway at fashion week. Each and every step pulls at the tight clothing, the light catching every curve, every dip as he moves, one foot in front of the other, bare thighs rubbing against one another, his hardon pressing up against the leotard, his slicked chest rising and falling with heavy, hot breaths.

The hand not stroking himself through Shouta’s pants is now curled into a fist beside him. Shouta clenches his jaw to stop himself from jumping off the couch as Hizashi finally stops in front of him. The blond’s last step is a powerful stomp that leaves his legs spread wide in a triangle, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, the other comes up to run over his own chest, fingers impossibly sliding beneath the bodysuit. Shouta watches with interest as Hizashi’s fingers make their way to the small bump of his nipple, everything so easily visible despite the fabric. Hizashi’s eyelids slip closed, long lashes caressing his upper cheeks. He throws his head back, letting his mouth pop open, as he pinches and rubs at the sensitive bud. Hizashi lets out a moan that Shouta knows is only half real, is entirely constructed just to get Shouta even more bothered than he already is, but it doesn’t matter.

His mind doesn’t care if Hizashi’s putting on an act.

His mind is hardly there anymore, all the blood gone rushing down to Shouta’s crotch the moment his husband had passed through the door.

So when Hizashi finishes gasping and tilts his head back up to stare down at Shouta, he stops playing games.

Shouta’s hands latch onto that deep plunged neckline and pull.

Hizashi comes all too easily, as if he’d planned the whole thing, as if he knew full well he’d end up straddling Shouta’s lap, their clothed cocks rubbing against each other with each and every panting breath they took.

He probably did.

Shouta doesn’t particularly care if it’s all going to Hizashi’s plan. He’s too busy fastening his mouth to the blond’s throat, kissing and licking over his adam’s apple, his collar bones, his jawline.

An annoying little voice in the back of his mind thinks I hope this oil is edible, but it doesn’t stop him from enjoying the soft, supple feeling of Hizashi’s skin beneath his lips.

It’s made all the more better when one of Hizashi’s hands comes to his chin, pulling his face away from the other man’s collar bone and toward his mouth. He knows when they part he’ll have that glittery lipstick all over his mouth, that they’ll be laughing about it tomorrow morning, still tangled together beneath their sheets. Shouta’s stomach jumps in the same way it does each time he looks outside the school’s windows and across the courtyard to the other side of U.A.’s towering building, where Hizashi and he cross paths during third period, separated by far too many walls and windows and trees, but the other man never failed to send him a large, shining Present Mic grin.

It was the little things that got Shouta’s heart skipping, which brought a light pink flush to the tips of his ears.

Right now, though, his whole body was warm, as Hizashi’s tongue drags him back to the present.

The blond’s thighs tighten around Shouta’s, and Hizashi shifts positions, bringing his chest closer, pressing into Shouta’s, so he can settle his ass over Shouta’s achingly hard cock. He starts grinding on Shouta’s lap, bringing a gasp from his lips. Hizashi hums into their kiss as Shouta’s hands move from the blond’s hips to those two plump cheeks, digging his nails in just hard enough to get a rouse from the other man, but not enough to leave a mark. He never liked bruising Hizashi, though the blond sometimes seemed to enjoy rougher treatment. Shouta didn’t think it was good to have any tender spots on your body when you were a hero, no matter how many times Hizashi insisted no villain was ever going to get close enough to his ass for that to be a problem.

Hizashi’s hands make their way into his hair, curling around Shouta’s wavy, unruly strands. He pulls, just enough to get Shouta moving back, their lips separating, both gasping, panting for air. Hizashi stares down at him, his hips stilling as he catches his breath.

“Y-” Hizashi tries to start, but clearly needs another second. He swallows, takes another breath and says, “You ready to cut me out of this thing?”

Shouta raises an eyebrow, a smirk coming to his lips.

“Are you saying you can’t get out of that yourself?”

Hizashi rolls his eyes, “I’m trying to be sexy, Sho!”

Shouta doesn’t give in.

“I think it would be sexy if you did a little strip tease,” he says, squeezing his hands around Hizashi’s ass cheeks, making the other man jump.

“F-fine,” Hizashi says, an additional blush rising to his face atop the lovely glow that had already formed during their kissing. “I don’t know how they packed me in here and I don’t know how to get out.”

Shouta snorts as Hizashi’s eyes dart away, his lips coming dangerously close to a pout, and Shouta’s heart skips.

Hizashi could come home bare naked and he’d never be more attractive than like this, natural, guard down, no personas or masks or other personalities fighting for attention, just pure Hizashi.

Shouta releases his grip a bit, bringing a hand up Hizashi’s back, rubbing soothingly across the smooth faux-leather. Hizashi’s eyes and mouth soften at the touch, before he leans back in for a less hungry kiss.

This one feels like it lasts too little, but the message it leaves is far more than just lingering, it’s persistent, unending.

I love you.

Hizashi smiles as he pulls back, head titled just enough to the side to make Shouta see him in another time, japanese maple trees framing him, the orange autumn glow shining through their leaves and cascading over Hizashi’s shoulders.

Hizashi’s thumbs brush along Shouta’s scruff covered jaw.

“Bedroom?” Shouta asks on the tail end of a breath he’d been holding for far too long, bringing his hand to Hizashi’s front, finally dipping into the space left bare by the deep plunge neckline, casually playing with the longest jewel that hangs from Hizashi’s belly button piercing. He turns it over between his thumb and forefinger, watching how the lamp light beside the couch plays in all the little rivets of the small stone.

“Please,” Hizashi begs, his hands dropping down to Shouta’s shoulders, squeezing at the same time as he jerks his hips forward just enough to get some friction on his aching cock. They let out matching hums of pleasure and the heat in Shouta’s belly becomes more insistent.

“Then let’s go,” Shouta says, his voice deep.

For how weak his legs feel right now, he still manages to wrap his arms around Hizashi’s back and lift them both out of the chair, the other man quickly crossing his long legs around Shouta’s waist. Even this feels like too much, too similar to all the times Hizashi and he had pressed one another up against one of the many walls of their home, too distracted by the others’ body to make it anywhere near a horizontal surface. Hizashi had always joked it was a double workout, could be counted as training, but the hungry look the blond gave him each time he slipped his thigh between Shouta’s, rubbing up against his crotch before hoisting Shouta up the wall, said keeping in shape was the last thing on Hizashi’s mind.

Admittedly, Shouta gives a couple glances toward the smooth, sturdy surfaces framing their hastened walk as he carries Hizashi down the hall. The other man doesn’t help, doesn’t seem to care at all that Shouta’s hands are digging further and further into that faux leather as Hizashi sucks harshly under his jaw and along his collar where his shirt has been pulled down by Hizashi’s weight.

Read the rest here...

#erasermic #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #erasermic fanfiction

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

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The Words upon the Window Pane | Chanyeol

Genre: Smut, Angst (only a wee bit), PwP

Pairing: Auhor!Chanyeol x Reader

Warnings: Top!/Dom!Chanyeol, fingering, unprotected wall sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses!), subtle dom/sub themes, swearing/cussing, dirty talk, love bites

Summary: The relation between Logic and Passion is often difficult for artists and certainly so when the involved parties dabble in words. Because language has the power to conceal the truth, to say what otherwise might not be said.

The words upon the window pane.

However, one night, a mouth is brave enough to at last utter them.

And to bring about unexpected consequences.

Author’s Note: The title is derived from the play of the same name by W.B. Yeats, who is, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite poets and greatest inspirations as of late. Furthermore, this is the first EXO smut piece to be written by this wee birdy, which hopefully shall not disappoint more experienced EXO-Ls.

All in all, I hope you enjoy the work of a feather.

Making a living as an author is not easy, especially when starting out and having only a single book to one’s name. However, Voice is not merely a literary tool to use in order to be heard, since it can also realistically become audible when speaking. All in all, it remains a fluent phenomenon and so it is of great benefit to storytellers to have mastery over it. To provide experiences that ignite vivid imagery thanks to simply creating an ambience with sound when not craftily doing the same on the page. Such is the talent of the author rapidly grown popular online due to a deep voice and funny personality, thousands of women drooling over the tailored experiences provided to them on multiple platforms.

But none of them has ever gotten the real deal, their sensual emotions remaining one-sided whereas those of a newbie novelist are answered.

Sometimes.

The relationship started after the romance department of the same publishing house contracting the famous erotic writer took a bold chance by offering a contract to an unknown name having just completed a manuscript about an innocent coffee shop romance. During the meeting with the assigned editor, icy pale locks wandered into the modern cafeteria and toward the table where a conversation about the next steps towards actual publishing took place, sitting down wordlessly and merely observing. Withal, basalt irises blatantly ignored rapidly flushing rosy cheeks on the adjacent seat, focused intently on the ones across the table that tried to maintain a steady composure.

Yet it crumbled bit by bit as genuine interest was shown during a spontaneous proposal to drink coffee together sometime after the editor held a brief round of introductions at the end of the important chat, which had gained an unintentional third participant. Piece by stiff piece got chipped away over warm beverages thereafter, talking about upcoming manuscripts and the professional giving a newbie a couple of tips to not stumble and, perhaps, fall without hopes of getting up.

And were entirely smoothed out among the sheets after the daring kiss when goodbye came on the first proper dinner date, Chanyeol leaning in without hesitance to rapidly turn a chaste caress of the cheek into sin once having been escorted safely to the front door of one’s own roof.

To make a heart fall for one which is unbound, according to the rumours spoken by the female tongues which all supposedly possess a sensual experience of sorts concerning the novelist. Notwithstanding, one can talk but not say anything, let alone the truth. Withal, the gossip has expanded while being in a strange type of relationship, always being the first to propose something to do and bleached smooth strands simply agreeing if the busy schedule allows it, of course. Spontaneous proposals for a movie night or trying out a new café are one-sided, the first time drinking coffee together being the sole occasion on which it came from the distant beloved. However, during the opportunities to be together, it never fails to feel genuine.

Sincere in spite of the mouths believing it is merely about sex, warning to get out now before it is too late.

The logical ship has left the safe haven.

It is too late.

Regardless of bravely sailing in an individual sea, the doubt can never be kept at bay since it lurks as a kraken in the darker waters coming up on the journey every now and again. After all, the fans of the deep voice catering supposedly “exclusive” experiences for them would loathe the fact their imaginary lover actually has a girlfriend. Moreover, the serpents roaming the office keep telling tales that steadily grow arms and legs, each limb stemming from the period in which minds were apart.

Those spans of time increase in frequency.

Lunch grows lonelier.

Days are spent in isolation.

Reassuring words do not hold significance on the floor of the publishing house nor on those of one of our apartments on a lucky night.

No acknowledgement.

All there is, is vagueness.

Just something.

Something.

Undefinable.

Certainly not pretty or comforting.

Empty. Yes, that is the best way to describe it.

Hollow, lonely, one-sided.

Unrequited.

And it takes away the hunger at the dinner table beneath the luxurious roof, the expensive wine and home-cooked meal using high-quality ingredients holding as much inherent value as a shilling in the gutter. So the fork is put down, the bite laboriously swallowed and focus averted from the porcelain plate presenting little yet seeming too stacked.

‘Baby, are you alright?’ Head cocked to the side in wonder, Chanyeol stops mid-bite, sensing something is off.

Something.

Always something is off.

Right now, it finds a voice in a lowly muttered remark as disappointed fingers shove the still full plate and cutlery away as far as possible. The stomach can live with the stone in it, like the heart slowly freezing itself thanks to the vicious tales of betrayal can continue to exist in ice. After all, even this week’s audio consisting of ‘’sexy’’ unboxing ramblings and testing out toys sent by mistresses somewhere else is but a mere drop in the overflowing bucket. ‘I’m not hungry.’

The limit has been reached.

End of the line.

Of this.

Us.

If there even ever has been a happy chronicling couple.

‘You’ve barely eaten.’ The unsuspecting fork picks up a perfectly grilled asparagus, endeavouring the feed a soul starved of happiness. A perfectly useless attempt at making things right for the culprit knows very well what goes on behind the scenes that are enacted every time at the workplace, the little faked though credible moments of two youngsters being solely friends but perhaps a bit more. No one knows for sure, but they do assume. Gossip has a way of being heard, even when feigning to ignore it in favour of personal fantasies. ‘At least have a few more vegetables.’

‘Did it...’ A wry smile carves itself on a face which is on the edge of tears, remembering every word said at the collective coffee machine in the cafeteria alongside the lovesick comments on every digital upload and equally sensual reaction to a novel novel. How can the detailed storyteller not notice the burning water droplets searing their way to the lash line?

Begging.

Begging to fall.

To be noticed.

Because they have had to hide so bloody long in loneliness.

Denied.

A significant detail.

‘Did it mean anything?’ God forbid that the words spilt between the sheets, on dates and in secrecy in the coffee corner did not hold any meaning. Withal, knowing how writers are for the craft is part of one’s own personality, there are no better tricksters. Words can be made pretty, cunningly serving to conceal the ugly truth.

‘What? Did what mean anything? Babe, what are you on about?’ The uncomprehending gravely worried furrowed brows relax, raven irises softening as they discover the tale of the Ice Queen’s heart and damnably igniting the thawing process. Looks can kill, as is the word on the street, and the big pale wolf knows it judging by the gentle smile only reserved for his foolish mistress. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip again. Look, I’ll say it again and I still mean it. I love you, Y/N. Only you. You ought to know that by now.’

The supposedly well-meaning palm resting between the abandoned dishes is not lovingly covered, digits remaining apart instead of entwining in blissful union. Instead, the chair is pushed back as the napkin that formerly rested on the lap is viciously thrown onto the table surface. Voice is barely controlled, dangerously close to cracking yet forced to maintain steady fury. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me! I know this means nothing.’

‘Means nothing? This means nothing?’ The actions are fiercely mimicked, the pleading tone in speech overruling the fabricated calm demeanour. ‘It does, babe. It really does.’

‘Yeah, right. As if you haven’t said that to one of those horny dolls who gladly listen to their fantasy boyfriend or read about all the wonderful things you’d do to them. What did you call them again? Your honeys?’ There is no stopping the jeering guided by the incomparable ache rendering every nerve paralyzed, an alternative ego who feels betrayed rising with every second of the outburst.

In the end, she, too, is one of many.

I am nothing.

‘Babe, please-’ Agonizingly following footsteps attempt to reason, begging to stay for a proper vis-á-vis to resolve this “problem” while making their way to the hallway.

Evidently without success. ‘Oh, piss off. I’m sure you had others in the time I was gone.’ The searing tears on lashes in the wee hall finally stream down the cheeks, lost in bittersweet memories of a time ruled by naivety. When every touch was so certain of love, felt protective and was believed to be sincere.

Notwithstanding, that was then.

This is now.

‘It really meant something to me, you know? I fucking gave myself to you because I stupidly trusted you, Chan! You were my first.’ A shake of the head brings about enough steadiness to remain coherent in speech, to at least keep a total breakdown at bay a little longer. The battle is almost won, a little bit more perseverance needs to be put in before all might become actually well. ‘But I could’ve, no, should’ve known better. So fuck off and leave me alone.’

Just as a hand reaches towards the knob of the front door, a firm palm wraps painfully around the left wrist. Once that power was loved, but now it is just that: hurt.

And it wants… needs to be left behind.

To make it pay for the solitude.

The agony needs to face the consequences.

‘No.’

The pain in the shape of the man who was believed to make up the world.

Stupid.

We both only have our stories to speak honestly in because they are the sole place where it is possible to be true.

Funny how a broken heart ignites a sense of creativity to exploit and there is a sudden haste to make use of it. Or so the mind wants this to be the reason behind the futile struggle for freedom for the real reason is the simple need to get away before breaking the character of the hard-headed sneering Ice Queen and leave oneself in fragments on the battlefield. ‘Let. Me. Go.’

A vicious tug makes feet stumble away from the entryway and slam into the wall opposite the stairs, Chanyeol’s face mere inches away and obsidian irises burning with sorrowful rage that has grown from incomprehension. All acting halts at once, alarmed breath coming out ragged as the powerful gentleman is sought frantically on a quietly raging beautiful expression. ‘I won’t. Not until you finally listen to me and know who you belong to, young lady.’

Slender digits clad in a chic ink-black jacket roughly push aside underwear, unapologetically disappearing beneath the skirt to exert sexual dominance as lips powerfully nullify all chances at protest. ‘This is mine. Only mine. All I can think about these days, so much so I can’t even write without giving you a role in my novel.’

The possessive growling fuels the heat below, slowly reducing the hurtful stretch, as all vocabulary is lost in the marks left behind on the throat by stark white teeth. Miraculously, the ability to resist the temptation remains although it falters and starts to stutter in the strong secure warmth of a familiar palm at the end of the spine. ‘I- I don’t be- believe you.’

‘Who do you think is more credible?’ A rough mind-boggling thrust goes paired with the branding being interrupted to snarl against a slightly open mouth, dominant despite oddly affectionately resting foreheads against one another and chuckling as haphazard fluttery palms rest on broad shoulders. ‘The man who loves you or some women you don’t even know?’

In spite of being barely able to respond, a piece of hateful Logic remains and is capable of jeering and mocking the question that should have served to set things right. ‘But y- you could’ve fucked.’

‘I didn’t. Listen to me, young lady.’ The hand that formerly rested on the small of the lower back rises to envelop the throat, forcing a lock of gazes while enchantingly cutting off access to air. ‘Ever since we met, I’ve been yours. I’d never give anyone else a role in my novels because nobody inspires me like you do.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ There is too much deliria to persist in protesting, each movement beneath fabric erasing the thought of resisting the platinum wolf as soon as it arises. Instead, it gives rise to memories of beautiful naive nights that make up the horror and delight of an insane mistress of letters, both inside the pages and outside.

Throwing the heart back into bittersweet love.

‘Ah, there she is. There’s the helpless little slut I know.’ With an ashamedly wet noise, slim fingers undo the bodily connection that had been greedily gone along with, leading to an inevitable displeased whine that evokes a lovely dark chuckle.

A nudge of the nose asks to follow the focus of the seemingly only sane mind, see what the writer wants to be noticed without resorting to loathsome spoon-feeding. It is all in the details, that is where the heart of the tale lies. ‘See that?’

Lashes flutter innocently as gaze wanders lower and lower to restricting dusk-shaded denim, wordlessly remarking on the considerable outlined shape that the idiotic heart and persona meant to have walked out the door greatly want to exploit. ‘Only you do that to me, Y/N.’ An almost sweet peck on the forehead turns attention upward briefly before receiving another on the lips, after which a command makes hands act in too enthusiastic desirable greed. ‘Undo the zipper.’

It takes little time nor effort to force down sturdy and elastic fabric to bare burning desire to the chill air in the hallway. And it takes even less than that very same moment to be pinned against the wall once again, thighs supported by iron hands promising to never let go, and directly connect in body and soul.

Willingly.

Beautifully.

‘Fuck, every time is like the first. I remember our, grm, hrm, first night. How you begged me to go harder-’ the speed accelerates, snarls growing more and more savage with every advance as behaviour, too, becomes wonderfully harsher, ‘rough you up. All the while acting like an innocent doe, turning me on. Mewling, pinned to the bed, forced to take me. God, I love it when you’re like that. Helpless. Powerless. Submissive.’

Every word is accentuated by an animalistic thrust, a sweet kiss on the side of the neck contrasting with the teeth leaving behind plum marks of possession at equal intervals. A low rumble of delight at platinum locks being pulled on vibrates in the buff chest lovingly keeping the spine against the wall, rejoicing in the flowing waterfall of mere meek noises.

Exactly as we were during the first night.

Loving now as we had before.

Honestly.

Snarling sweet nothings against skin while erasing every thought in the chase for the satisfaction of primal desire. When tears of analyzed sadness turned into those of unadulterated pleasure. ‘Crying as you take my cock deep inside that dripping little pussy.’

‘Cha- Chanyeol-’ There are no words to break through the haze of bittersweet nostalgia, leaving the sentence unfinished. It does not matter for all focus is turned towards reaching temporary enlightenment as fast as possible in the most savage manner.

‘Cum on that cock, baby. Cream that fucking cock.’

Any sense of resistance that somehow managed to linger, loathing Logic deeming the act wrong in every aspect and begging for liberation, is erased in an instant as the command is pressed onto firm lips.

It is wonderful.

Incredibly gorgeous.

Having Chanyeol wrap his storytelling palm around the throat once more as the other presses bodies together until there cannot possibly be any distance left. Wolfish grunts fall from cushiony lips, chanting maddening “mine, mine, mine”s, while sprinting during the final bit of the primitive race, soon reaching the white light found between shivering thighs.

Who are crying silently in a paradoxical mixture that cannot be kept alive consisting of sensual delight, heartbroken self-hatred and rage directed towards loved pale locks.

Tears to, fortunately, be noticed once reason returns enough to no longer be under the influence of the desirable beast beneath the skin. Henceforth, it is the incredible author who affectionately wipes away the droplets running over the cheeks as onyx irises soften in comprehension of pain. ‘Hey, don’t cry, Y/N. Remember what I promised you?’

A head shake shows ignorance because there have been a great number of promises until now, which is acknowledged by the low chuckle that never fails to allow the usual guard to be let down and now disrupts the quiet panting betraying a sliver of glad exhaustion. The simple sound never fails to make the chest puff a little in pride and veins to bask in a loving warmth, even after being frozen in place without hopes of crumbling thanks to the vivid rumours floating around the office. ‘I know I have promised you a lot, but one thing is that I’d never make you cry because I’d never dare to break your heart. I genuinely love you, seriously am head over heels for you. Can you believe me when I say that?’

It is hard to respond negatively when bodies are still one and foolishly trusted palms envelop the cheeks, resulting in wavering speech on the verge of cracking. Withal, a little bit of strength is gathered from the tight grip on defined biceps engraved with ink. ‘I wa- want to, but... the gossip...’

‘Listen.’ A long tender kiss muffles the sobs aching to be released alongside the gasp at the sudden hollow feeling when the physical spell is lifted. Another one asks for focus on talking things over instead of paying attention on the faint sound of liquid dripping onto the hallway tiles. ‘You crying makes me want to cry because it hurts me to see you like this. It really does, babe. And people will always talk, but, perhaps, it might help if we go public? I have an interview soon.’

‘People will think I’m only dating you for your money.’ No matter if a statement will be made, the way of thought lies outside the influence of words. Authors know this first and foremost for each sentence that is penned down fails to fully convey what might be going on in vivid imagination and thus fails to be entirely understood.

A bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of the mouth as messy snow white locks fall obscure the sight of lips drawn into a stern line speaking melancholically, mocking oneself. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you’d do.’

With more fierceness than expected, an answer to the rhetorical assumption bursts from a panicked mouth uncensored, clutching the soft fabric of clothes as if not doing so will induce an unbridgeable abyss. ‘But I don’t!’

‘I know that, Y/N. I know.’ Thumbs start to caress the sides of the face, somberly smoothing the anxious sorrow in self-reflection. ‘You know I hate losing, be it games or bets, but- but I- I-‘ Breaths grow short as tears start to brim in the corner of beautiful almond-shaped eyes. Hands fall away from the cheeks to wrap around the middle, the waist caught in a sturdy grip. Foreheads rest against each other and the arms of a claimed mistress wrap around the neck, fingertips playing with the pale strands at the back. ‘I would scorn myself if I’d lose you.’

‘You’ll lose readers if we go public.’ After all, not everyone enjoys a real life romance and certainly not those imagining one individual as their partner while he is, in truth, already faithfully bonded to another woman.

‘Doesn’t matter, I don’t care. If they’re true fans, they’ll be happy for us.’ Chanyeol’s voice has renovated its ocean deep steadiness, tiny lights appearing out of nowhere to illuminate a sudden bright cheery idea in a nightly gaze creating a bit of distance. ‘You know what? I’ll buy you a ring and a matching one for myself so everyone can see you’re mine.’ A palm shows itself from behind the small of the back to grab the left wrist and trace over the second-to-last digit. ‘To wear on this finger.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Yes.’ The breathless chuckle is strangely melancholic yet delighted, the curious combination taking over demeanour entirely. ‘Yes, of course. Anything to keep you with me.’ The mere embrace suddenly turns into an inescapable hug, broad shoulders blocking out the world that wants to be temporarily forgotten. ‘I want you with me, only you. Please, stay with me. Here.’ The nose often kissed in the morning or cheekily out of sight of the publishing house staff nuzzles the side of the neck, whispering against the warm skin. ‘I want you to move in.’

‘Is that a wish or a command? I’m my own person, you know?’ The weak attempt at humour is seemingly appreciated, Chan tangibly chuckling before sighing in relief when being kissed on the top of the head.

‘There she is, there’s my good clever girl.’ Foreheads come to rest against each other once more in the air scented by whatever remains of dinner, perspiration and our perfumes combined, creating a weird musky howbeit fruity undertone. The chin is lifted by a curled finger after calmly being put to rest against the wall instead of being fully at the mercy of the writer’s engraved arms. ‘But you know very well what I mean, young lady.’

‘I do,’ fingertips bashfully run over the side of the storyteller’s neck, leaving behind a growling trail of anticipating goosebumps before rising to comb through pale strands, ‘sir.’

‘Don’t.’

A peck.

‘Tease.’

A kiss.

‘Me like that.’

Lip caught between teeth.

And freed once having clearly asserted dominance. ‘I’m yours.’ Although the inquiring peck on the cheek does not partake in the sensual teasing but is severe in character. ‘And you’re mine?’

Catching on to the need for credibility, the erotic novelist acknowledges it while sweetly yet sincerely murmuring. ‘Entirely yours. Not just in stories or audios, in real life as well. As long as possible, until we no longer breathe. This I promise.’

And thus this part of our tale ends, the fragment of the middle part leading to the end.

Of that which ink cannot fully capture on paper, in sounds or on skin.

Withal, it is not necessary because we have each other for inspiration and retellings.

Musing.

In love.

In medias res.

#ksmutclub #EXO #EXO smut #EXO x Reader #Chanyeol #Park Chanyeol #LOEY

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jae-canikeepyou · 5 years

Text

| drunken | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x reader genre: fluff+ college au a/n: another scenario for y’all~ enjoy reading!

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he looked at your figure, all tired from the party his best friend had organised tonight. he had to bring you to his place since your apartment was far. actually, minhye convinced him to do that because johnny was too drunk to drive you both home; and minhye was not confident in driving despite receiving her license.

“can you bring her home?” minhye’s voice lingered in jaehyun’s head. “i’ll take a cab home with johnny.” she brought your drunken body over to him.

with you in his arms, he could still smell the perfume you wore. it was just as he remembered when he first laid eyes on you. correction; when you accidentally fell from a ladder and onto him whilst fixing decorations for an event at school. luckily enough you weren’t hurt. he did kind of save you back then. this time, he never thought he’d save you again.

jaehyun had always been a good drinker. his friends discovered when he had around three bottles of soju, and still sober. they used him for that advantage, and he ended up being their driver club after club. at least they wouldn’t do anything stupid that might lead them to the station.

he placed you onto the seat next to him where he could keep an eye on you. he wouldn’t want someone to puke onto his new car his parents got him for graduation. being a gentleman was an instinct. you wore a dress that he never expected you to wear. he took off his blazer to cover you.

“you could’ve worn something less revealing.” he cleared his throat as his tinted ears slowly reddened. you slightly moved but still knocked out.

he started the engine and began driving home. the night wasn’t getting younger anyway.

jaehyun then pulled over onto his front yard, slowly carrying you into his apartment. once he done that, he placed you onto the sofa. his chest beated fast as if his heart wanted to come out.

crap.. my crush is in my house.. she’s in my house.. y/n’s in my house!

panicking as if his heart was about to burst out, he took out his phone to dial taeyong. he bit his inner lips as the other line continued to ring. “c’mon pick up dude..” he trailed off. a few rings more until his friend answered.

“hey man! what’s up?” taeyong’s voice was jolly even at this hour.

“what do you do when your crush is at your house?” jaehyun yet again bit his lips.

“y/n’s in your house?” he asked the dimpled boy.

“y-yeah she is.” jaehyun looked at your unconscious figure. “she got drunk. minhye told me to care for her.”

“pffft.” taeyong cackled. “c’mon man it’s not the first time you’ve dealt with drunk people. i mean you took care of us idiots, hahaha.”

“ugh fine.” jaehyun rubbed his temples. “i’m hanging up.”

he saw you moved to a comfortable position; you hugged one of his pillows. it was something he also had as a habit too. he loved looking at the sight of you despite being drunk. the long eyelashes, the curls of your hair and he found your mannerism; you pouted.

“you’re cute y/n.” jaehyun caressed your cheeks as he brought a strand of hair behind your ears.

he was about to fetch you a glass of water and a tiny bottle for hangover, but he felt breaths by his arms. he jolted at your figure next to him. “oh my g- you’re awake.” he didn’t get an answer. instead you cried and gave small whines as you clung onto him. jaehyun didn’t know what to do.

“minhye-ah! i think *hiccup* i’m in love with hyunjaeee.”

who the heck is hyunjae?..

“hyunjae’s my crushhhh you know the guy with dimpppleeessss, tall and handsomeee!” you pointed at your cheeks.

oh.. she meant me..?

“hah? who’re youuuu? *hiccup* well you look like hyunjae’s frriiiennnd. can you tell him that he’s really cute when he smiless?”

jaehyun cracked up at the sudden misrecognition toward him. if you hadn’t been drunk he would’ve hugged you on the spot. however since you were, he chose not to as you wouldn’t remember anyway. “yes, i’m hyunjae’s friend. i’ll tell him that.”

“i think i’m gonna throw up.” he saw you wobbled as you tried to look for the toilet. jaehyun trailed from behind.

“it’s gonna be a long morning.” he checked his watch.

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jaehyun was in queue at the coffee place when yuta came over to him. he nudged the guy after they had the last hour of the lecture. he drank his americano before sitting down. “something’s on your mind, i can tell.”

“nah dude, it’s nothing.” jaehyun wiped the wet surface.

“a person’s mind is always occupied. but yours is about her.” yuta poked the guy’s chest.

jaehyun’s eyes trailed off onto someone who had just walked past them with minhye. you rubbed your temples as your friend laughed, lining at the queue when it slowly moved forward.

yuta decided to tease the younger lad, whom he’d been observing for the past minutes. “ooh the girl in white blouse sure is a hottie.” he looked at jaehyun, who glared at him for a while before looking back at you. yuta chuckled to himself. “so it is y/n, hm?”

“y-yeah.” jaehyun cleared his throat. “um, hyung. she said something when she was at my house.”

“oh? what’d she say?” doyoung soon came over by the two and sat. the older boys anticipated jaehyun’s next words.

jaehyun has his lips agape, about to say something before he decided not to. “never mind. probably a drunken statement.”

“really? but that’s when the truth starts to reveal.” doyoung said. “can’t be a mistake, can it?

“i don’t know man.”

“my guess? she confessed.” yuta tapped the guy’s shoulders as he left. “later dude.”

not a little while after, minhye had left you for work and you spotted jaehyun alone at one table of the coffee place. you knew that you stayed at his place two nights ago but never really got the chance to thank him. all courage you have mustered up went away when jaehyun stood up to leave.

you panicked a little when you had no idea when you would see him last. though he was at the same minor subject as you, the odds to meet him was not really.. in your favour. “jaehyun!” you called out.

he looked back to the voice who called him, his eyes squinting at far distances and then he looked at you. shockingly though, he rushed over. “y/n? what’s up?”

your hands fiddled endlessly, not a word said. jaehyun chuckled as he noticed your hands. “if you’re gonna thank me for helping your drunken self, it’s okay.” his dimples showed.

“well, yeap.” you popped your lips. “is there anything i can do to return the favour?” you giggled in embarrassment.

“can i take you out for dinner?” his ears quickly went red as his eyes trailed off.

“that’d be nice.” you smiled, only to be smiling more when his hands held yours.

he was someone you had your eyes on for a while. you took an interest on him as he was pushed to sing at the stage of a little restaurant downtown. at the time you didn’t really know him, not until minhye invited you to a party who somehow was jaehyun’s best friend. and that was a year ago. maybe things could change now. just maybe.

jaehyun brought you to the same restaurant you had seen him for the first time. the atmosphere brought nostalgia, where minhye pointed to the guy with dimples, shipping you already even if you hadn’t been introduced to each other.

a chair was pulled out for you to sit, with jaehyun opposite from you. “so uh, anything you want?” he flipped through the pages of the menu.

i kinda want your number..

he brought out his palms, gesturing you to hand your phone.

“ah shucks, i spoke out my thoughts.” you bit your lips, your hands reached for your bag and gave him the phone.

he only smiled, which made you worried about how he thought of you. “it’s alright. i like surprises. kinda how someone sends a wrong message and it makes your day.” he took your phone and dialed digits. “here you go.”

“this is embarrassing.” you mumbled. “anyway, thanks for uh.. you know, helping my drunken self haha.”

“no worries y/n. you don’t remember anything from that night?” he asked.

“nah, completely blurred out jaehyun.” you rested your chin into your palms.

“i got a video if you’re curious.” he laughed.

“nonono. i don’t wanna see it.” you waved your hands.

“really? you were cute though.” he scrolled to look for the video, only to be stopped when your hands held his. “okay okay. i’m kidding. but you did say something that i won’t forget.”

“tell me it isn’t something crazy.” you sighed.

“you did confess you were crazy for someone.” he teased. “‘hyunjae’s my crush you know the guy with dimples, tall and handsome.’”

you felt heat spread across your face, fanning yourself as if it would help you cool down. whether he was telling the truth or not, it was enough proof that your feelings for him was revealed that night.

jaehyun laughed at your state. his hands held yours, intertwining to get your attention. “but hey, it gets crazier.”

“what?” you asked.

“i’m crazy for you too.”

#jung jaehyun #nct 127 #jung yoonoh #nct #nct jaehyun #jaehyun nct #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun au #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun college au #jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios

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secretstanner · 4 years

Text

hold me in your arms, take the pain away

Chapter one Pairing: Dan Howell/ Phil Lester

Rating: Not yet rated

Tags: AU Circus, Strangers to Lovers, Impiled Character Death, Angst With Happy Ending, Slow Burn. Character death is NOT main character. Summary: Phil Lester is stuck working for his father’s newspaper, when given an assignment; He must write an article about the first circus to return to Manchester in over 10 years.

He arrives at the circus expecting to be reminded of childhood memories. It turns out to be so much more than that when he meets Dan Howell.

I posted the first and only chapter to this back in late 2018 but my mental health stopped me from posting. I really think this can be better than the idea I had over a year ago. Chapter two will be posted next week

Word count: 3k

AO3

He was sat at his typewriter, staring blankly at the keys beneath his fingertips. What was he writing about again? He couldn't remember, and he certainly did not care. His foot tapped impatiently as he thought about how he came to be stuck in this unwanted job. It was all because of one person. His father.

Phil was shaken out of his thoughts when a pair of legs appeared, standing in front of his desk. They belonged to his boss, Mr Johnson. He was a short, fat man, balding with prominent wrinkles adorning his face, caused by stress at the age of fifty-three. The buttons of his crinkled white shirt strained against the incredible amounts of fat around his once slim belly.

Phil didn’t even have time to greet him before a hand came slamming down on top of his hardwood desk. There, in his cigarette stained fingers, was a large poster screwed up in a tight fist, digits curled around the paper with such a forceful grip that made it look like the paper would tear at any moment. It was way too damaged to go back to its original form, as the sheet was ruined and almost void of any colour it once had. It was now ripped and curled in on itself because of rain and intense sunlight.

He strained his eyes harshly to properly read what the poster once said. The Wonder Requiem Cirque. A circus? Why was Mr Johnson bringing him this poster?

He still remembered the first time he stepped foot in a circus. It was better than his imagination could have ever led him to believe. An enormous red and gold striped tent fixed to the once muddy field, now brought to life with twinkling light and unique performers, greeting young children as they ran inside.

That was the first and last time he had ever been to one. He couldn’t remember much of that afternoon, but he held on to any broken memories that he had yet to fully piece together. It was one of the best days of his young life. He never did much other than attend school and his father's workplace, so something as magical as a circus coming to the city was more than his young brain could fathom.

Circus performers were given a bad reputation after the incident that happened 12 years ago. It shocked most of the city and left the performers cast away; some even branded them as freaks. Whispers were heard every now and again of them being in nearby towns but none had dared to come back to Manchester.

Even with that being over 10 years ago, he couldn’t help but still feel like that same little boy who once thought how incredible it would be to travel all round the world in a circus. Not that he had talent good enough that people would pay to see him. No, he was way too clumsy for anything that would need to gain attraction.

No matter how old he grew, it would always be a distant dream that stayed in the back of his mind. He often wrote fiction about traveling to places like The United States. But that was only fiction, never to become a reality.

Realising he hadn’t spoken yet, he cleared his throat and said, “A circus, sir?”

With his heart beating at a fast pace, he tried to hide his excitement. Mr Johnson moved his face, so it was merely inches away from Phil’s until he was leaning

across the desk. His heavy stature caused the table to creak when he placed both of his hands on the hardwood, as it struggled to hold his weight.

“Yes, Philip, the circus freaks are back!”

‘Freaks’? Why did that word sting like someone took a lit cigarette and pressed it to his bare flesh? Was it because he felt that word applied to him?

As a child, he would write stories about running away to the circus and almost did at one point in his life. He didn’t want what his father planned for him; to get a job at his father’s newspaper company, marry a beautiful young woman, and start a family. Even at 9 years old, Phil knew he couldn’t let that happen, well, not yet at least. He wanted to explore and as a boy, running away was the only solution his mind could conjure. Now at the age 24, he knew the best he could do was put off marrying as long as possible and if that meant doing what he was told, Phil would do it.

How could Phil respond to Mr Johnson’s words? What did he need from him? Phil just stared at him, trying to not indicate that those words affected him.

Mr Johnson finally spoke once again. “Do you know how much attention this will bring to the city, Philip? It’s been years, and we are the first to know about this. I looked all around town and didn’t find a single flier. We need to contact them before any of the other local news outlets get a hold of this.”

All Mr Johnson cared about was money and being the first to write an article about this would be the talk of Manchester.

He knew he had to ask. “What exactly do you want to contact them about? To give an interview?” Mr Johnson shrugged. Phil let out a small sigh “Who are you going to get to write about it, sir?”

Phil didn’t think for a second that he would be given this assignment. He was never the one given the interesting topics; he would always be given the pages towards the back of the newspaper, only ever given mundane activities to write about. Phil was sure no one cared to ever read it - except for his mother, of course.

“You will. Roger doesn’t have the—the same way with people like you do. You could get as much behind-the-scenes information as possible. People trust you, Philip. You’re odd, people take trust in that. They won’t be worried about what they tell you.”

He was right. Phil was so odd that no one would have ever seen Phil as a threat. He was tall and slim, with shaggy black hair he slicked back with gel and small round frames that sat at the bridge of his slightly beaked nose. No one would ever find him intimidating. He was good with people and very well liked at university. He knew people found him credible.

“What is it that you need me to report on?”

Mr Johnson smiled, yellow stained teeth showing as he spoke, “I want you to find out about the death of the performer. See if they knew anything about the circus it happened in, where are the people who worked there? I’m sure they heard about it, their kind must have been aware for none to have come here, until now that is.”

“What makes you think they would even tell us any information? They won’t agree to talking to a newspaper.”

“Like I said Philip, they trust you. Make friends with the carnies if you have to. We’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse. No one says no to free publicity.”

Phil really didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to trick these performers into giving information and then have to write about It. He knew he had to do this. If Mr Johnson spoke to his father, Phil knew that it would only cause trouble. Phil really did the bare minimum, only being employed because his father had a say in him being there. He didn’t want to cause his father any trouble.

Phil straightened up directing his body to face Mr Johnson. He had to pretend he wanted to write this article. Phil let out an unsure breath and said, “When do I start?”

————————————————————————

Dan felt a warm breeze caressing his bare arms. As he made his way outside, he noticed a torn envelope by the trailer door that hovered over the freshly cut lawn.

“What you got there, Dan?” He looked up to see the petite figure of a young female standing a foot away. He held up his hand trying to block out the sunlight beams that blocked his vision.

The girl was beautiful; she possessed intense coffee coloured eyes, heart-shaped lips and thick waves of chocolate hair. It was Hazel, his best friend he’d known since he was barely 5 years old. Her hair was pulled into a neat ponytail tied with a light red ribbon, matching the rouge on her cheeks. However, a few of her locks escaped their confinements and lay sprawled across her forehead. She looked just like Dan, people would often mistake them for twins when they were younger and at the time, they played up to the deceiving act.

“Hey, Hazy. I don’t know, I found it just outside my door. Vincent must have left it there. It was opened when I found it.”

Hazel moved closer to Dan and sat next to him, blocking the entrance to his trailer. “Why don’t you read it?” She questioned, her eyes flicking from Dan to the ripped envelope.

Dan quickly bumped shoulders with her. “I was just about to, you know, right before you came and distracted me.” He said with a playful grin.

Hazel swatted Dan’s arm. “Just open it, Stupid bugger!”

Dan let out a howl of laughter. “Oh, is there really any need for name-calling?” Hazel just gave him an unimpressed look. “Fine, fine, I’m opening it now.”

100 York road,

Manchester,

MA1 4HH

Vincent. P. James, The Wonder Requiem Cirque

I’m writing from Manchester’s local newspaper, The Lester Standard. We heard news of your arrival to Manchester and thought it would be interesting to interview some of your circus folk for an article. As you are probably aware, there has not been such an attraction in the city for many years. Our establishment could gain you a lot of publicity, that is, if you allowed it, as we are one of the top news outlets.

I will send Mr. Lester, son of the founder of The Lester Standard and our best writer. We can assure you that this young man will be nothing but well-behaved. I would have him shadow and interview your performers to get a behind the scenes look at how carnie folk live. I have left the address for The Lester Standard if you wish to reply.

We look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Mr Johnson

Hazel turned to meet Dan’s eyes. “What do you think?”

Dan didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want someone to demand questions about their way of life.

“I--I think if this is what Vincent wants, then we should do as he pleases. I’m sure he is aware of all the things that may go wrong. But this Mr Johnson from the letter is right. Publicity, free publicity is what we need now more than before. We have barely gotten by for the past few years, we need this.”

Hazel shot him a sympathetic smile. “Are you going to go find him?”

Dan placed the sheet of paper back in the envelope. “Yes, I need to know what he needs from me. There must be something if he left this at my door.”

She stood to move away, but not before turning back to Dan. “Come find me later?”

He gave her a reassuring nod and Hazel bashfully placed her petite hand on Dan’s cheek, giving a quick peck to his lips before she hurried away.

Dan set out on finding Vincent, who had known him since the day he was born. Vincent was younger then, his head full of tawny locks was now left with sparse silver specks that no longer covered his scalp. The once gorgeous showman was now replaced with the 60-year-old man old enough to be a grandfather. He was exactly that for many runaways he housed over the years, asking for nothing, not even a penny and giving everything he could. Maybe that’s why everything they had was falling apart. It was the reason they had ended up in Manchester.

Dan soon stood in the small dining tent. It was close to noon, maybe he would have luck finding him. As he was searching, he spotted Dorothy. She looked a lot like Hazel, being her mother and all, but she didn’t hold the same youthful appearance as her daughter did. He spoke as he made his way over to her. “Dee! Have you seen Vincent?”

“Sweetie,” She took Dan’s face in her hands, small fingers running across his stained pink cheeks. She kissed his forehead gently and answered his question when she saw the impatient look on his face. “Yes, not so long ago I saw him next to his trailer. Is there something you need, Mon Cher?”

“I found a letter he left me this morning, I just wanted to ask him about it.”

“Ah well you better find him, he said he was heading into town, so go quick before he’s gone.”

Dan thanked her by kissing her hand and ran towards Vincent’s trailer.

In the distance he saw Vincent, dressed in his best day clothes–definitely not something he’d wear everyday working around the tents. They didn’t dress up unless they had a show. His blazer and trousers made from dark brown wool that looked like it would scratch the naked skin underneath, causing minor grazes. The clothes were a little outdated - they looked as if they were about to burst trying to stretch across his oversized frame.

“Vincent,” Dan yelled, hoping that he was heard from across the field. He was in luck when he saw him turn to see Dan running towards him. Dan gasped from running at such a rapid speed. Once he was a few feet away from Vincent, he huffed a laugh while bending over to catch himself from collapsing.

Vincent chuckled, eyes forming deep creases above his cheeks. “Don’t go killing yourself, Dan.”

Dan stood up straight once he was sure he would not faint. “Are you heading out?” He remembered Dorothy said he was going into town, he assumed it was to give Mr Johnson an answer.

“I was, did you by any chance read the letter I left for you?”

“I did. Why did you need me to read it?” He assumed it was because he needed to be interviewed. Dan wasn’t a performer anymore, but he knew a lot about how everything worked around here; he had a lot of information that Mr Lester would need.

“Well, they’re sending Mr Lester over to write a report and I need someone to help him. As you know, once everyone finds out about him being here to write for a newspaper, they won’t be very forthcoming with him.” He paused to clear his throat. Dan could see the stress taking over his body: it aged him prematurely. “We need this, Dan. I don’t know how much longer we can last; this article can bring in crowds of unimaginable amounts of people. Ones we haven’t ever had or at least since before…”

Dan remembered they once had the most popular circus that was known by all towns and cities around. People would flock for miles just to see one performer in particular. They needed something to help them before it was too late.

“I’ll do it for you—I’ll do it for us.”

Vincent’s shoulders dropped dramatically like every ounce of stress had flowed from his body out into the hot air. “Thank you, Dan. Your parents would be so proud of you, you know that, don’t you?”

Dan knew that, and it was the only thing that kept him going, kept him here with this makeshift family they all created together. He couldn’t help but smile, no matter what had happened in his past. At 19 years of age his life was only just beginning.

“Yeah, I know, how could they not be? I mean, look at me.” He gestured to himself, stood wearing the darkest pair of slacks he could find, brown coloured braces and a white tee.

“I’m the gorgeous piece of arse that brings the crowds flocking in.” Dan couldn’t help a smirk at the sarcasm that dripped from his tongue. He was rarely seen by any of the audience. He preferred to stay in the background these days, helping the acts get ready for the show and bringing them water once they finished performing.

Vincent’s face had turned red from holding his breath. He finally released a snort of laughter that he was holding in. “Yes, Dan, what would any of us do without—your arse? And really, it seems like Hazel is the only person you can get to flock to you.”

Dan let out a nervous laugh before sighing. He reached up to smooth the back of his neck. “Ha, yes, you aren't wrong there.”

Vincent rolled his eyes at Dan’s uneasiness. “Oh now, a beautiful girl that’s been falling for you since you weren’t even teens, sounds just the worst there, Dan.”

“Sorry, I’m just having an off day, think the sun’s getting to me.”

Dan looked up to see Vincent’s grin, giving him a knowing look. He was a kind and gentle person, Dan knew he meant nothing by it. “Yes, I know. I will actually head off now. I want to get there and back before dark. Do you think you could tell some of them? I don’t want to leave it too long before Mr Writer Man is here.” He said as he puffed out his chest to imitate what this reporter might be like.

“I’ll go find Hazel, I promised I’d meet her as soon as I finished talking to you.”

Vincent took Dan in a warm embrace before turning away and opened his car door. It was about an hour drive to the city, so he needed to leave now.

#phanfic #phanfiction #hold me in your arms #my fic

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indomitablemegnolia · 4 years

Text

Well until I return... I will leave you all with some tenderness

I tilted my head, watching him, every motion, his gentle thumb rubbing softly at the edges of the pages, the coaxing enticement of the way his eyelashes undulated in the air as his eyes moved over the words. I stood and scampered over, I will never know it if was to just be closer to him, or to get a closer look at how he was, who he was, and what he said without words. I settled in the chair, leaning hard on my forearms, he pulled the cranberry orange muffin from the box and slid it gently towards me, reaching I pinched off the edge of the muffin top, munched on it quietly. It felt like I was sitting there for hours at an interview that would make or break my life; though I loved to watch the play of emotion across his face. I nibbled dissecting my bit of muffin, my stomach clenching as it seemed hours passed; I watched this rather galled look quickly cross his face, my heart hit my feet, I wanted to run; he looked up at me through his lashes, then quickly away.

“What?? God, what? You find something just deplorable?” he didn’t answer, he didn’t look up, I just flared my eyes, my temper suddenly on fire; I began smashing the dissected my piece of muffin top, separating the cranberries, pulverizing the muffin.

He chuckled, letting his eyes slowly glide up to meet mine from that paltry pulp of paper. My hands freeze mid-motion devil’s grin reaches his eyes, "Why do you do that? Get so nervous, so doubting, so quickly? What is with the muffin dissection?" My hand stopped, my hands trying to hide the mess, I shrugged. He laughed, slowly that smile stretched, crimping and crinkling the corners of those wide, glorious eyes, giving them a delicious mischievous tilt upwards; those eyes rimmed with long lashes take on a shining bright green light infusing those delighted blue-green depths, as if he had just come up with some marvellously naughty idea.

If I was nervous before, this ratcheted it up to 11; I shrugged, my nail slipping sending a cranberry flying his direction. He caught it and tossed it back in the box. The muscles in his beautiful cheekbones curling the corners of those lush, but not quite full, chiselled lips into an upturned cocky grin; showing those straight teeth all the way to their healthy pink arching at the gum line. His right lateral incisor deliciously, thoughtfully bites onto that plump bottom lip, making my stomach flip flop. The smile pulling until a fantastic dimple appears in his lower left cheek.

"It was not horrible, it was not deplorable, it was just a kiss you wrote with such passion, I could feel it."

I take a shuddering breath, “You know, this is like reading someone’s diary while they are forced to watch. I am certain that I am not the only human that would be 'nervous', you now have me at a total disadvantage.” I whined.

I almost felt his tongue as it snakes out licking delectably at his bottom lip. I was as fascinated by his mouth with its slow graceful movement that tongue, almost as taken as I am with the tintinnabulation of his voice. “Oh, no,” he purred, “I am sorry, I do not mean to put you through the anguish, but these works, these are you. To me, you are like a magnificent drug that has addicted me; it is you, your words that have cast a wicked spell on me; I can not stop now, I really don't want to stop, delving into your heart, your soul, your mind; I want to know your life. By the way, I would never use the word deplorable. I will go with the safe word of…” He let it hang in the air for a moment and I took another tidbit of muffin, I tilted my head smiling hopefully; “Interesting.” Unsatisfied I smirched my lips, tsking, wrinkling my nose, “not good enough?" He asked with a degree of incredulity.

I let out a little snort, "In what universe has 'interesting'" I did air quotes, "ever been an apt description, one step away from, 'wow, you spent that much wasted time on this?'"

"Fine, these are things of beauty and imagination." His laugh, that god damned thing of beauty, tamped my ire back down. "The range of styles, the appeal of each, separate, different and evocative; each has me waiting atiptoe for what might be next; this one in particular is a thing of beauty," he took a breath and began to read "I mean, really, first I read your soft sweet kisses," he flips to a different page, reading, "He leans in, over my head pressed into the pillow, I can feel his breath, on my neck aching whispers, something in me tells me, it is just a dream; a dream that kisses my lips, ran his fingers down my cheek; la di da," he smiled his fingers flipped the pages breathing in long sighs, "soft, sweet, gentle, I had read a few others in the same feeling, gorgeous, but then... but then..."

He trailed his hand softly down the page, took a deep breath and read, summoning a racy voice; "At a hoity-toity dinner party, I can’t even remember who invited me or even why I came, but now, I sit pretending to nibble at some overwrought pretentious fluffy dessert staring, knowing that I had responded to the invitation specifically for this. There was just something so magnetic about him, I toyed with my food between long glances through my lashes; his lush dark eyes catching me watching him eat; the grace of his hands, the motion of his soft, full bottom lip, the scrape of his beautiful white teeth over his fork; truthfully he had caught you staring at him from across the table. Repeatedly. Mostly because I couldn’t look away, it seemed he knew as he stretched out his enjoyment of that dessert, keeping my attention, my gaze and my breath captive the entire time.”

“Finishing his dessert, he started with his thumb. Licking meringue from his fingers, then sucking, his eyes never left mine; his tongue cradling the digit, teeth scraping; he deliberately asks the hostess for a second dessert knowing that once she disappears, the two of you will be alone."

"The second he caught my gaze he refused to relinquish it; I nervously stood, walking slowly away, I felt like the prey as a wolf stalked; he smiled as he sat foreword running his tongue along his full bottom lip; softly, sensually; dark eyes devouring me; despite the ten feet that separated our bodies, I felt his breath on my face, his damp fingertips on my skin, that tongue along my sensitive neck; goosebumps gathered, I could feel his warmth, my eyes soaked him in; that second slice appeared I was drowning in those fathomless deep abyss in his eyes. He dragged his index through the dessert, loading it up, he smiled deliciously as he stood and walked towards me; his swagger salacious, his intention was clear."

"He licked lightly at that heavenly fluff on his finger, cocking his left hip towards me colliding with my own; he tightly grips the back of my neck, tipping my head back startling a gasp from my lungs, he pops the finger quick into his mouth the pulls it out clean, pressing his lips hard to my own dipping his sweet creme laden tongue deep into my mouth." I rolled my eyes, looking away. "Seriously, you cannot show me that kind of attitude, this... this is some sexy writing." Rolling my eyes again, not accepting his words; he turned earnest.

His hand ghosted my face, "His damp finger ran along my cheek, his tongue playing merry hob in my mouth," his dry, warm, fingertips lightly whisper along my lips, "coaxing me, I surrender, returning the kiss, my breath now coming billowing pants, he frames my face with his hands." He pantomimed every action described; standing he began to pace as he read, "The hip that had cocked toward mine pressed delightfully as it came to meet mine dominating, rocking lightly; a knee nudges slyly between mine making the long velvet of my skirt wrap tightly around my thighs. I bite his full bottom lip playfully, his hands glide down the sides of my neck tickling, he nips me back, my hands we gathering his suit jacket tight in my fists; I slide my body along his, rising on my tip toes, flicking my tongue along the roof of his mouth; the clean sweetness of dessert and his flavour making such a heady delicious cocktail."

He took my hand gingerly, pulling me to my feet, "My hands loose themselves, hunting for more of him; caressing along his jaw; his fingers finding their way beneath the edge of my blouse, flitting along my waistband; my hands pushing into his curls, they wrap around my digits, I fist my hands pulling lightly; bending me slowly backward, his kiss deepens, air and breathing become superfluous. He growls, fingers now gripping, pulling, demanding; I let out a breathless whimper. He slows." He sighs, dropping his chin to his chest, he walks with intent of his own toward me, “now, that was good, but this... this gets," he drums his fingers on his lips thoughtfully, "this gets luscious."

He continued, back in that secreted voice, he gathers up on mis toes, knees bent, ready to pounce, "God do I want him… I want him so badly; I try to clamp my legs together until the wanting passes, but I find his knee there, keeping me from relieving pressure; in fact, he added to it." He takes a step toward me, I take one backwards, unable to look away, "He grips both my wrists swinging them above my head; I am lost in feeling watching his hands, those fingers, feeling his determination;" he takes three more steps, as do I; my back making contact with the wall, he chuckles letting it rumble deep in his chest, "he backs me up against the wall; I let out an abrupt gasping moan as the cool touches my overly warmed skin; the thrill of his gasping breath dancing across my face with the delicious sweet libation haunting his scent exhilarating, intoxicating me. I watch a surge of electric passion wash over his features like an ocean wave, intention evident in his every motion;" there was, it did, I am, but he does not touch, just ghost of caresses, breaths as kisses, only sighs making contact, "he slowly presses into me, holding me securely in place;" he stood close, but not touching, dominating with just presence, "using that delectable knee pressed between my own; he pressed it higher adding even more libidinous pressure to my need; my slim fit long skirt worked like hobbles holding my thighs in place for his teasing; his posture holding me lightly suspended secured, but freely dangling in his grasp pressed against the wall for his rapacious perusal; he raised that knee higher, eliciting a shiver from me and a full smile from him, all locking us into place, using his muscled thigh pressed deep between mine coaxing, caressing, keeping me bent to his will." My breath escaped as a ragged sigh, my heart hammering in my chest, "I feel my pulse surge," no kidding, I was a rabbit being toyed with, "he dips his head, his lips and tongue dancing along my neck as my blood thrums along the column of my throat under his lips, my body reacts as I try to regain control, but I simply am left to move against him."

His voice shivered, his hands shook: I, myself, shook like a leaf, "His breath was shaky as he went on, caressing the place where neck meets shoulder. God it’s hard to admit this, but the feeling of him holding my wrists above my head with one hand, trailing the other lithe fingered, free hand flowing down the inside of my arm, tracing my moderate neckline with a single sticky finger. Lifting my chin with reverent fingertips, tilting my head back. Gently, pushing my hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear, letting his hand slowly softly caress down my neck. Finally, I look up into his wide exotic deep dark soul-searching eyes, he peers down into mine… into my soul, his holding a particularly delicious intensity that changed his from a tranquil, reflective, mirrored abyss to a raging blackhole pulling me in. As those fiery orbs, searing with the desire I am sure matched the one burning deep in mine. I barely stop myself from devouring him whole. "

"He leans in close letting his shaking, raspy breath tickles my face, caress my ear. He almost inaudibly whispers his wanting wish so close and so low, it may as well have been coming from my soul except for it came from the delicious rumble of his rolling thunder voices adding to the evocative monologue. I feel him shiver as I become boneless in his hands. His long-lashed lids flutter closed as he finally leans into me, his hand softly finishing the descent to my hip. Then, only then does he softly brush my lips with is sweetly supple soft lips, I feel him sigh, warm against my lips. I kiss him slowly, intently, but playfully, it will be a dance, a dance of caress, a give and take, a feel and respond. I never would be the first to break that kiss. My hands strain against his hold, but he never lets loose. Not even when the passion notches up quickly in that kiss." He chuckled nervously, "Is that too much to want? How can you ask, is that too much to want? Wow, I will tell you that just reading this was absolutely titillating."

He looked doubtful, he walked away his back to me, I nearly collapsed, "How can you be so self-conscious, nervous about this darlin', how? how, honey? That was vivid , sexy, I am sorry, I thought you would know how lovely these are; though, you said you never showed these to anyone..." he trailed off looking at the page he was just perusing, "these are a beautiful peeks into such a mind." He sighed. "How are these? Delicious, delectable, evocative, heart-rending." He took a deep breath, his fingers toying with his lips as he was apt to do while thinking, I scooted back to my chair before I dropped to my knees, "Though, some of this does beg, questioning. I was just trying to figure a way around a few of the rules.”

Trying for nonchalant, I smiled wide, “Well, honey, look at you, trying to break the rules already? There are not that many; it's not like federal tax code, there are only two rules anyway. You know the rules. Proceed…” I lifted my single eyebrow, smiling with the opposite half of my lips, how the hell am I supposed to go on like normal after he just made love to me using my own words? “if you dare.” Jesus how lame, just say, I am too turned on by that to keep playing, sleep with me please...I closed my eyes nearly mortified in my distracting internal monologue that also knew that was the worst impersonation of flirting ever to be heard by human ears.

His laugh, sweet rumbling sound tempted my eyes open, “Oh, darlin, that is adorable, and oh,” he sucked air between his teeth. “I dare.” Leaving his mouth slightly ajar, that tongue of his bobbing and swirling as he thought, “I don’t quite know… I’m not exactly sure though how I would answer some of these questions.”

I shrugged, nodding my head, shake it off dummy, shake it off, “Oh, I could think of something.” I drummed my fingers thinking, "Since, I know they will be very personal, if you can't answer in kind... how about..." I sniffed, "a confession, any old thing you want to tell." Jesus girl its not like he is just going to say what it is that you want him to, but it is good that you are trying, it means you are not dead yet.

His head fell back as he laughed, “Well, fine, agreed, I have been needing to go to confession for a while now. Hmm, now, let me see.” He pulled that gorgeous bottom lip in and bit it. "I know selfish stupid question, this guy, this lucky guy who got this kiss, his he... this guy your boyfriend?"

I laughed, “Good God no," I fluttered my hands to banish the thought, I flittered my hands in the air, I chuckled, just stop stupid he is going to think you have a spastic problem that might hit him, I folded my hands in my lap. "Pizza, no, that has never happened... I mean really happened... to me, err or anything" I looked any direction away from his face, "no, that was just a want, a wish, things like that don't happen to people like me."

"Wow, they really should, but that is some wish," he looked uncomfortable thinking of a confession, "to confess the truth you had me wishing that wish too." He looked away quick, I stopped cold, did he just… no, it was just what I wanted to hear echoing in my skull. "OK, I see that you do both prose, although your prose has a cadence, and poetry, both vivid, really, and your prose are poems that are linked contiguously; though the thing that grabs at the heart is your passion… Where does this passion come from?”

I sighed, gripping the edge of the table in a stranglehold, possibly it was the only thing holding me upright, “Wow, so you're Catholic?"

"Not really, not anymore anyway. Why? What's the matter? Don't you like Catholics? Or are you trying to avoid this question?"

"I love Catholics; I am half, Momma was catholic; Da Pentecostal, I'm not either, well, really neither are they, now how much not catholic are you... not? How long ago have you quit?"

"I was enough of a catholic to know that I would always have to do the stations of the cross for my birthday; midnight mass every Christmas eve, most of which is saved for masochists. I never found faith, I hated every tie choked moment; wait, how are you neither?"

"So, an Aries, Mum too, Mum was kicked out when her mother divorced her father because he used them as punching bags; Da never believed in much, hated the judgemental nature, but he knows the chapters in the bible by heart. They let us decide if religion was for us; I, being the overachiever, I read as many of the religious texts as possible. I noticed all said the same thing, don't lie, don't cheat, don't steal, don't envy, don't murder, just don't be a dick; weird thing though they all say the one true god thing; I believe it's a fine-tuning lost in translation, it's a trick question; they are all god, none are god; even in polytheism there is the Zeus, Odin, the other gods equivalent to seraphim and others... I never liked any of them enough to join, they are all too judgy, and they missed the point. I saw that science is more my thing, it proves they are all right and all wrong; it proves there is a soul and an afterlife."

"How does science prove what is a question in religion?"

"Easy, with physics and anatomy; the thing that makes hearts beat, synapses fire, basically the things that make you who you are; small electric impulses. They are constant and all slightly different charge... soul." He smiles so sweet, and not a bit patronizing, "those impulses keep this worthless shell functioning. Then that knowledge leads to the first law of thermodynamics, no energy is ever created or destroyed; it simply transitions; that spark, to fire, to explosion to kinetic energy, to heat, afterlife."

His laugh echoed. "In years of asking priests I never got a straight answer; their answer always in line of that is the nature of faith, but now I am convinced; in two sentences you convinced me." His eyes raked over me, "I had been a Catholic until a year ago I never believed any of it; I suppose I was catholic enough to know how full of shit they are. You supplant faith with fact and use alternatives as reasons, but it fits; I noticed you are still really trying to avoid."

"I heard something about a bottle of something or other, this is not a conversation that should be had stone cold sober.”

He let that laugh tinkle in the air as he walked to the little refrigerator, "So, I take that as a yes; okay, here they are, hmmm;" extracting two bottles, inspecting both labels, nodding, taking the necks of both bottles in one hand, as he passed the low dresser with four glasses on it. He takes two glasses, flipping them, adding ice to both, then gripping in the lips with the tips of his extended fingers walks back to the table.

The grace is amazing, I shook my head. “How are you so graceful, is it just something that comes along with the great looks?” I gave a nervous giggle, growling running my hands over my face, “God, listen to me, maybe liquor isn’t a good idea.”

He put one of the glasses before me, “Oh, darlin, on the contrary, I think it’s a wonderful idea, it will keep me on my best be behaviour it will maybe loosen that of yours tongue, even more, cracking open your mind." He smiled at me, "So, pick your poison, we have a very fine whiskey and a really good vodka.” I tilted my head thoughtfully. “If you need, there is an orange juice and a cranberry juice in the minibar.”

I licked my lips, “I’ll have whatever it is you are having;” That laugh echoed in the large room, “and do you suppose there might be some music?”

He laughed to himself, "So, you really are avoiding that one."

He poured about two fingers of whiskey in both glasses, turning to grab a Canada Dry from the minibar he slid it across the table to me; grabbing the can; I fidgeted with it, making the tab tap loudly; I watched his motions. "The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude." I rattled off to myself, his motions like water, "like the graceful wave of your hands on the air, sending imagination reeling." My mouth letting loose my unravelling thoughts.

"Ah, James Joyce, nice;" he noticed that I was feeling off, he smiled; "I find it beautiful the way some names flow from the lips; I am truly drowning in curiosity at the possibility of your imagination conjuring my conjuring, possibly not on air; I wonder..." He trailed off, his face fabulously drawn taught, he pulled his head back moving off that track, "If that question is jumping too quickly into the deep end;" I nodded emphatically; "okay, we can make a new rule;” his smile was saying so much, I nodded vigorously; “OK then, you can skip that one for now, but we will come back to it and you will answer it, agreed?”

"Yes, agreed, I just really do not have an answer to that one."

Spinning on that heel again he placed his phone in a glass in the middle of the table, softly, oh so softly, Marvin Gaye started playing; the soft purple of the standby screen was marvellous mood lighting. With “Trouble Man” playing he walked back to the little table, sliding the glass in front of me, the frost from the ice artfully streaked where his fingers just pulled away. “Agreed.” I watched his motions, they were like a silent ballet, graceful, beautiful, delicious.

He held his glass aloft, I stop myself from literally shaking my head that I literally placed my fingers exactly where his once were, how dopy; instead clinked my glass lightly against his.

He smiled tipping his head back slowly, putting the glass to his lips as his eyes closed, taking a sip; my eyes lingered on him, I watch his lips massage the rim of the glass softly, his dark lashes casting a dark fan on his high cheekbones; his Adam’s apple bobbing lightly as he swallowed. Pulling the glass away he lets loose a soft sigh, his Adam's apple working as the warm tendrils of warm liquor lick at his senses. God in heaven, he is beautiful, my hands itched to reach out and caress his cheek, he seemed so innocent, almost childlike. I began to reach.

His long lashes swept up and his dancing green eyes were on me; I jumped like a child caught stealing a cookie, taking a very long drink, nearly draining the glass. I slowed my self in the swallowing; catching the gloriously honeyed flavour on my tongue; a smile pulled at my cheeks, I held it at bay waiting for a bitter aftertaste; I held the flavour, savouring it, revelling in it. Tilting my head back and forth, closing my eyes, deliberately drawing out the enjoyment of the flavour, it burned and tingled on my tongue. Letting small amounts just slide coolly down my throat; where it became a deliciously fiery elixir; the sweeping tendrils of the alcohol doing its work, licking at my senses dulling the rough edges; though, not quite silencing them. I let the smile pull gently at my lips; the warmth cuddling my senses my warming my belly; cuddling my shoulder up to my ears, I hugged my left arm to my right shoulder, running my hand slowly down across my torso. I slowly open my eyes, now the lids feeling much heavier, they would not quite open all the way; I hoped it was more of a Lauren Bacall look and not so much Herbie the bong eyed duck; there waiting were those lipid pools, bright and undaunted, dancing in the purple light.

He sucked in a breath between his teeth, then let out a low whistle; clearing his throat, he shifted his position, "So, I guess you approve?" He chuckled; I smiled softly and nodded, a giggle escaping; He cleared his throat, sighed wistfully, he scratched the back of his neck, half standing, then sitting; laying his hands palms down on the table; flexing in a slow fist then releasing; sighing again, he looked to be an art piece in discomfort ;"wowzah, that was quite a performance you put on there;" he sounded almost pained when he finally spoke, "I have never seen a person enjoy a single drink so much, so absolutely sensually; as if you tasted it with every nerve in your body;" The easy delicate rumble of his voice danced, my eyes closed again for just a moment as I leaned to appreciate the sound-sex of his words, my hands running along the velvet cut-out on my thighs. "Jesus, you have this maddening, low-key latent sensuality, actually sexuality, it is so innocently evident in so many of your subconscious actions; watching you just eat a sandwich is almost body thrilling." I blushed, letting out a quiet giggle, and toyed with my shirt sleeve, "It makes me wonder what else you might enjoy...just so much." He looked at my now empty glass, he poured more into the glass; “oh, no, you are not telling me you are a Hemingway, that your passion comes from a bottle.”

Laughing, shaking my head, I held my glass up watching the colours shift, “Oh no, generally, I don’t mix drink with… well, thought...Or ... well... really anything.”

He threw his head back and laughed a truly joyous laugh, slapping a hand to his chest, “Well, that might pose a tiny problem for you in the future, honey.”

Nodding vigorously pulling a face, “God, I know, right?" I took an adjusting, sighing breath, "I have to admit this, all a this, is so far, just so far out of my sphere that I have just let it go, like riding a tide, letting this take me where it will." I leaned my chin into my hand, “Then I begin to wonder, why... Or if I might be... mmm god, nevermind."

"Why? Hmmm or maybe... What?" He leaned in close, his voice almost a whisper, "what, seems so much more interesting question that pulls at my interest." He continued reading through my journal; “So, what else do you enjoy as sensually as that drink?"

"What? What what? What do you mean?"

"What, what, what?" That sexy voice dropped nearly an octave, "Oh, let's not be coy my sweet, you laid this trap; now, I am very interested; what else makes your eyes drift closed," his fingers traced the corner of my eye, coo rumble of his voice rolling over my skin; "what makes your head to fall back, softly," leaning into the table, "what makes your eyes sag closed only to open softly, slowly, playful, foggy, maybe just a little flirty," he looked straight into my eyes, "your lips even now still begging to be kissed? Almost daring me to do it."

I lick my lips giggling, rolling my eyes, "Daring you to? Well, then maybe you should, why should anyone pass on a good dare? Oh, but sir I have never been a flirt, I am atrocious whenever I have tried; and if I were I am nowhere close to your skill; I could never be as good as you, flirt, flinging your delicious sexuality into the universe; then snipping at me." I accused, taking another sip, "I don't know what I did or how you found it flirty," I slowed my speech, trying to figure out where I was heading; "I didn't know I did that for even the drink, but it is delicious a light honey flavour." I licked my lips. "You know, before the guard interrupted us, I was about to ask you... dare you to... I almost got to ask you, what if I don't want you to be tha..."

"Why are you avoiding another question asked," he leaned in close scattering my thoughts; "come on, please, just answer the question, what else has that power over your senses?"

"I am trying to answer the question.” I fiddled with my fingers, "I seriously don't know, because I had never seen some of the odd things I do. Though, I suppose I could just list what I enjoy."

He poured just a little more into my glass, “That might be a start, but for the record, I never said it was odd."

"Well, for the record, you are the one avoiding the question; I suppose my answer should be, tough rocks." I sighed taking a sip, "I am sure this will sound generic," I sloshed the ice around in my glass enjoying the colours refracted from the light shining through, "I love music, good food, words, great conversation, ice cream, your laugh," I took a breath, why not be horribly honest, but in a way he won't understand, using a phrase from my early childhood to describe carnal acts; "oh mmm... Eating apples and autumn nights," I watched the last two knocked his cocky attitude askew; belatedly I remembered I had written about both, mentally I shrugged and sighed looking into his eyes.

He chuckled, his eyes locked on mine, "Nothing generic, not at all, but I now wonder even more, what music, which foods? Which words are the magic words?" He rolled that quarter, flipping absently at my pages, his eyes suddenly levelled on mine, "and how do you eat an apple? Slowly, peeled in a single strip?"

My stomach dropped out; so, he had already read the entry about the apple; I shrugged; he did ask for honesty; well he got it; I smiled to myself; the apple just a simple piece; confessing in my own lexicon 'eating apples' was a term my brother and I used when talking about romantic parts of books or movies, or mom and das being intimate; it became, in my little world, became the only word for it; in the piece told the story of what I thought would be perfect delicious sharing of an apple I described exactly the feeling, the taste, the texture, the kiss, god, the idea of the delicious thought, I made evident my want for the literal act of love and the show of how love to consume apples, but more the erotic figurative of how I long to feel loving. Oh, now I know he knows, go, how about heaping it on, nice and thick, literally, he had asked for it? He was still looking straight into my eyes, daring me.; he keeps thinking he has me on a baited hook; hmm, turnabout is fair play; it is time to show him how to take up a dare, because I have never been one to pass on a dare; I tilted my chin to my chest; leisurely I roll my eyes back up to new his.

"All, except bluegrass," my breath shook, as I thought of all of his skin under my hands; gah, where was this coming from; "most, I have to try every thing twice to make sure I like it;" my tongue snaked out sliding along my bottom lip, longing to taste him; "oh, only the most sincere," I rolled my eyes closed, dropping my eyes, fluttering them open; sliding slowly, audaciously over his frame to stare deeply into his eyes, "and slow," my breath shivered, "oh, so very slowly," I let the word slide, almost slither from my tongue; "dear god, oh, so, very slowly," I take a slow deep breath, "so slowly, that time almost stops" I press my chest out, swirling the ice in my glass, "where you know there is no rush to count time observed;" I run my free hand up my arm pushing my sleeve exposing my skin, "reaching that place where every nerve is alive;" my skin reacted, goosebumps rising, "the fruit, juicy and sweet;" I let out a low slow giggle; "where every motion made is with delicious intention," I pulled that hand gradually over my shoulder, across my chest, intentionally letting my fingers dip between my breasts; "life dangles in that intention;" my hand dropped to the table, I met his eyes levelly, returning the dare; "answers in that order."

"Christ, look at you; and you accuse me of being a flirt, but flirts use innuendo and that was gaudy, blatant, risqué, daring." He tisked his tongue, "God, look at you, I have seen strip teases that didn't show as much; and the only skin you showed is this;" he ran his hand over my bare arm, my skin reacting, welling up in goosebumps, he chuckled in appreciation; through the chastising tone I heard a bit of intrigued pride; his delicious tongue darting out wetting his lips; interest gleaming in his eyes; his taunting hand never moving from that skin, his thumb thoughtlessly rubbing softly.

I shook my head slowly, "Oh no, you can't blame me, it was you who played with inside information; as I said you were reading my diary in front of me; yes, I do quite love eating apples, watching them slowly, painstakingly peeled; I carry over my longing for care and effort to shared carnal endeavours, with or without fruit. I do love the feel cool autumn breeze kissing my skin and I feel excited; the feeling as if a lover had tucked his hands under my shirt, under my skirt, caressing deep hidden libidinous places." He pushed my sleeve up higher, my shiver, wracked my body; "So, despite my disadvantage, I told the absolute, unvarnished truth; I didn't blink when you called me on it." He laughed, having the charm to look shamefaced. "I actually couldn't hide thrilling emotions." I reached a foot over to caress his sock-covered foot. Let down to feel the confines of my boot, I pulled away totally; "I made this what it is, you call it game, but I find it much more for keeps;" I sighed at his disappointed face; "this game became weighted on one side, but I accept it, actually right this moment I feel as if you knowing is liberating, but time to right the scales. Now you... what do you enjoy?"

@pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose @keeper0fthestars @anastasiaoftheironwood @sweetfairy1

@littletesla not witcher, but you might like

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