#of all the stupid embarrassing things i do it had to be the cringe barbie edit that gets me caught | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 4 years

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( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn’t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

blurred lines | dave hodgman

word count; 9237

summary; a few miscommunications almost ruin something that could be phenomenal.

notes; I had this idea, and I really liked it, so i just rolled with it. this is the dave insert for my birthday week celebration/7k follower milestone.

warnings; smut, public sex, car sex.

There weren’t many people that were more popular than Jane and her group of friends. They were like high school elites, and yet there was always that even more exclusive tier, those who were for all intents and purposes, teen royalty.

As he was saying, there weren’t many people more popular than the likes of Jane, Stanwyck and Brianna. However, Dave could without a doubt say that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was.

She had more likes on just one of her Instagram posts than that of all of Dave’s posts combined. If he added the combined sum of Big C’s and Simon’s, they’d probably still fall short, even collectively. There wasn’t a student or teacher that disliked her. She was well known not only in his own school, but in others too. Even Aubrey knew of her and liked her, and that was saying something, because Aubrey had a twisted sense of importance and political standing in every view of it.

That was why Dave couldn’t quite understand exactly how he’d gotten himself into this position.

Well, that’s a lie. He knew exactly how he got himself into this dreadfully embarrassing position, that would likely ruin not only the remaining months of his senior social life, but was so colossal that it may well actually follow him to college, too.

See, it had all started three days ago, a Monday lunch-time just like any other, as he sat pouting into his basket of curly fries as Simon once again scrolled through Aubrey’s latest uploaded pictures on Instagram with her new boyfriend and shaming him in an attempt to feel better. Dave was fine, he’d moved on, truly, but Simon clearly hadn’t, and needed his own closure on the situation.

It soon followed with “so David, which of all the lovely ladies in this school are you going to take to the dance, because you have two tickets, a dashing suit, and I refuse to let you waste them,” which had prompted Dave to snort a laugh, and make a joke about asking the heartbreaker (Y/N) (Y/L/N) dance, since he had nothing else to lose.

Apparently, he’d still had a shred of dignity, which was curling up and dying with every second that passes him by, but back to how this all came to be;

Unfortunately for him, his ‘good friend’ Jane had passed by at exactly that moment, and had been just thrilled at the prospect of him finally asking out the girl he’d “been pining over so long I thought you were going to turn into Ryan Gosling and rebuild he a house out in the country after hanging from a Ferris wheel”, which still left a bitter taste in his mouth, because how had the girl picked up in his pining for you, but never once picked up on the feelings he’d once held for her?

Despite that, a collection of kids Dave wasn’t confident in the names of but often followed Jane around had seated themselves at their table, and Jane - in all her innocence and confusion - was excitedly telling them about how Dave was finally going to ask out his crush.

That was exactly how he found himself here, almost two days later, feeling all pairs the eyes in the more-crowded-than-usual corridors as he leaned against your locker and tried to look as casual as possible as he waited for you, as though it wasn’t scaring him shitless and making him sweat like a sinner in church. He pulled at the collar of his shirt with one finger, trying to distract himself from all the people watching and whispering, waiting to see if Dave Hodgman could, in fact, score (Y/N) (Y/L/N), or if more likely, he was going to be rejected in a pile of flaming shame and the crumbling of what shredded remains he had left of his dignity.

“Hey, Dave.”

He felt like a moron. A moron that had been looking the wrong way down the corridor and now you were standing behind him, leaning back with a small laugh to avoid being hit when he spun around to face you with such speeds that his own head was spinning. “Hey! Hi! Hello!”

He cringed visibly at his ridiculous greeting, the confidence he’d held was slipping from him with every passing second, and you did a better job of avoiding the lingering gazes in the halls than he was, you barely seemed to notice them as you allowed him to step out of the way of your locker so that you could swap out your books, but he supposed you were used to it. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you, there are some rumours flying around.”

He wished he could hate the way you were teasing him, but he couldn't. It was playful, not mocking, and you were offering him such a friendly smile and making him feel comfortable once again, and he just couldn't find it within himself to dislike any part of you. “Yeah, I had a question for you..”

“You had a question for me?”

“I suspect you already know what it is” His shoulders sagged, he felt himself giving up, the stress and pressure were just too much, but he at least wanted to be able to walk away with dignity after his inevitable rejection, he didn’t want to be seen running through the halls in order to escape your soft voice trying to let him down gently.

“Will you say it anyway?”

He fixed you with a studious gaze, unsure as to what your angle was, but gave you a stiff nod anyway, and hooked his thumbs through the straps of his backpack as he stood tall. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the ‘Night In Vegas’ dance with me? As my date. Y’know.. um.. yeah.”

“I’d love to.”

He gaped at you - blinking once, twice, three times - before his face was splitting in a grin, and he cleared his throat. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Woah.” You seemed to find amusement in his reaction, and you pulled his hand up to you and plucked a pen out of your bag, uncapping the lid with your teeth and moving the nib towards his skin, beginning to write down your number. “God, I was so nervous, and now I feel stupid. Nobody thought I would get you, not even me, and all these people are here an-”

“Get me?” Your pen had stilled on his skin, and he looked back at you, shrugging his shoulders as your face seemed to take on a neutral expression, unreadable as you watched him.

“Yeah. You’re like.. really popular, and pretty, and just way out of my league. Nobody really thought you’d go for me because it’s normally the other guys you want. Guess I’m proving everyone wrong.” Your expression flickered with something he couldn’t quite understand, but you were soon offering him a polite smile and finishing your number, dropping his hand again and tucking your pen back into your bag.

You stepped back from him, letting out a small sigh and glancing around everybody that was gathered around you, not-so-subtly listening in on the conversation. “Okay, well, text me. We can sort out details. I have to go, but we’ll chat soon?”

He nodded his head moving before he could control it, and he watched you walk away with a small grin on your lips. “For sure! I’ll text, soon! See you later!”

“See’ya, Dave.”

The weeks between the day he’d asked you and going to the dance had been filled with texts at night and flirty smiles in the corridors, and Dave couldn't be more excited as he pulled on his suit. It was odd, he thought he’d clicked with Aubrey more than he’d ever click with anyone, and yet even from the simple things he’d managed to learn about you during your conversations, he felt more of a bond with you than he ever had with anyone else.

You were like an enigma, you were a little bit confusing and you often ran him in circles, but he liked trying to work you out, as if knowing you was the prize at the end of a challenging puzzle. He told you as much as he could about himself, wanting to share everything he could with you. He had felt awkward and slightly robotic in the way he went about his conversations with you, to begin with, simple texts to ask you how your day was and what you were up to, but soon enough it had resorted to one of you starting a conversation with you about anything. The jokes on the back of biscuit wrappers, something that had happened in his day, movies on the TV or even just to complain.

The two of you would sometimes even be found talking in the corridors, sharing laughs and jokes, and he found himself falling for you a little more with each passing day. He was all but buzzing with both nerves and excitement, brushing his open palms down and over his tux jacket, Stella tugging on his pants as she whined for attention, but he was too nervous and too busy to play barbies with her right now, and she just wanted him to do the deeper voices of the only male one she owned when he made his rare appearance at ‘the dreamhouse’.

A flower in a box sat on the shelf under his mirror, his fingertips still a little sticky with the gel he’d used to style his hair, and so he didn’t want to touch the corsage yet and smear it with the substance. He’d planned or get ready early, his plan to pick you up at eight was not going to be ruined because he lost track of time in the shower and ended up being late. He had one chance, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. Now, though, it seemed he was ready a little too early, because he was stuck with a good thirty-minute wait before the earliest acceptable time to come and get you would roll around, and he had nothing else to fill his time with.

He was dressed, and ready. Clean and freshly styled and just enough of his special occasion aftershave spritzed on his skin to be alluring but no overwhelming.

Okay, maybe he had a little bit of time to play barbie dolls with Stella.

With fingers tapping on the steering wheel, he peered up at the driveway to your house, watching as the clock ticked over onto 7 PM, and he let out the breath he was holding, letting the smile that had been pulling on his features finally come free, as he slipped his phone out of his pocket, a finger under his collar to tug it loose for a second as he pulled up the string of messages the two of you had been exchanging.

hey cutie. i’m outside.

The little speech bubble at the bottom of the screen danced for a few minutes, the nail of his thumb caught between his teeth as he waited for you to respond, but soon it just disappeared. He waited, and waited, and soon five minutes had passed and he was beginning to worry for what was happening, the thoughts that this all may just be an elaborate joke was slipping into his mind when your front door opened, closing only a second later as you came walking down the driveway with a smile on your face.

He hurried from his seat, rushing up to meet you with the corsage in his hands, and you paused upon seeing it, before your eyes were finding his, wide and wondering as you closed the gap between you until you were standing right in front of him.

“Is that for me?”

“Yeah! Yeah.. you said you were wearing a gold dress, and I couldn't find a gold flower, so I got a white one, but it does have a cute little tassel on it that matches the fringe-tassel thing you have going on and-” He cut himself off with a series of stutters and breath sighs when you kissed his cheek, your thumb coming up a second later to clear away the red lipstick print you’d left on his skin from the freshly applied coat that was still a little wet. “I could have come up and met you, at the door. Do you want me to meet your parents, o-”

“It’s good, Dave, really. Let’s just go have fun, okay?”

He swallowed, glancing between your gaze and the front door, before giving it up and nodding, cracking the box open to present you with the flower to put on your wrist. “Sure, I can’t wait.”

He held the door for you, held your hand as you stepped into the car, and made sure you were settled before he got in on his own side. He was determined to be the perfect gentleman. This was his one shot to prove to you how good the two of you could be together, and he wasn’t willing to mess it up. When he got into his own seat and clipped his safety belt in, you were fiddling with the dials on the dashboard and tinkering with the radio channels, switching over to the CD he had in, and his cheeks flared a little as you looked over the back of the CD case at the songs. “You mind if I pick the music?”

“Knock yourself out, babe, whatever you want.”

You nodded offering him a wide grin as he set the car off into motion, and he peeled away from the sidewalk outside your house to head toward the school. It was a short drive, but he couldn’t help but notice every little thing you did that only made you seem more like a regular person to him, and not like someone who was miles and miles out of his league, it made him feel calmer, like this wasn’t all just some big and elaborate prank that was the punchline of, but instead like he was here with a pretty date to have a great evening.

Your fingers tapped along on your leg in time with the tune, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you, and before he knew it, he was pulling up in the back of the somewhat crowded parking lot, trying to find a space that wasn’t too close to the crowds gathering around the doors, and you were brushing your dress down and stepping out the car, grinning as you looked between him and doors.

Shooting a quick text to Simon and Big-C to let them know that he was here, he tucked the device into his pocket, offering his arm to you and grinning when you accepted it. His friends met the pair of you at the door, and this was the nervous moment he’d been waiting for.

Simon was quiet for all of two seconds, before he was smirking widely and holding his hand out to introduce himself, the slew of comments neither of you would be able to avoid all night beginning to pour from him without hesitation; “Simon Daldry. You look absolutely ravishing tonight, far better than Aubrey ever did, you really traded up, Davie-boy.”

“Don’t call me that, and don’t talk about Aubrey.”

“No, Davie-boy, do spill. Who’s Aubrey?” You turned to him, a teasing look on your face and he sighed, raising his eyebrows at him, his eyes flicking down to your hands when he felt your fingers slide down his arm and lace with his, squeezing encouragingly. You were telling him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to share if he didn’t want to, but you were staring at him intently and still giving him that look that was giving him the confidence to be by your side all night, and so he caved.

Instead of voicing his history himself, though, he turned to give Simon a pointed look, and Big-C clapped him on the shoulder as the shortest boy all but vibrated with glee at the chance to tell you the story.

“Aubrey is our dear boy’s ex-girlfriend. She wasn’t very nice, we didn’t like her very much.” Dave dropped his head back with a groan as his friend took the chance to throw some insults into the conversation and he squeezed his hand around ours to draw back your attention, cutting Simon off as the boy took a breath to start off on yet another rant;

‘How about we go and get our picture taken, yeah? I’ve seen some of the photos on Snapchat already, and they're pretty good. They really went all out; neon signs, props like the strip attractions, there’s even a red carpet.”

“A red carpet? Well, how could we resist?”

He guided you along, your heels carrying you at closer to his height and your strides wider as you expertly balanced in the shoes, thanking him when he held the door open, your jaw dropping form the second you stepped inside with the small group. The bass was beating through the floors and the music was loud, even from the main entrance, the hall holding the dance still a small walk away, and anticipation filled his body.

He may or may not be a sucker for school dances.

The room was decorated with dice, cards, flashing banners and shiny decorations with bright lights. Black, red and white hung from all of the walls, and everything screamed Sin City extravagance, but had been toned down to high school appropriate. The usual red solo cups that were always brought in for the punch and drinks had been swapped out for plastic champagne and martini glasses, which definitely looked funny being filled with the non-alcoholic and red fruit-punch, but it was a fun thought nonetheless, and he was impressed by how quickly it had all come together, being that none of it had been up when they’d been ins school earlier that day.

The flashes of the camera set up in the corner snapped him out from his wonder, and he looked over to find you in much the same way, and he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as you looked around. “Wanna’ take pictures?”

You nodded vehemently, the two of you making your way over to the setup, and bursting out with laughter at what you saw. Big-C was accompanying Simon, who had clearly manoeuvred him into a slightly less than formal dance photo pose. The pair of them were recreating the famous Titanic pose, the one of Jack and Rose at the front of the ship as she insisted that she was flying, and neither of you could contain your laughter as you watched on.

“Simon looks like he’s having the time of your life, but your other friend looks like he’d rather actually be on the ship as it sank.”

“Simon is insane, and I’m really not sure how Big-C put’s up with him.” He shrugged, allowing you to drag him into the queue for photos taken, the words you were running a mile a minute about different poses you could do were going in one ear and out of the other, because he didn’t care what pose you dragged him into, however formal or informal, because he was shocked by how seamlessly you were fitting into his friendship group, and how his friends had known you for less than ten minutes but already seemed to like you ten times more than they ever did his ex.

By the time your turn to take photos had come around, he hadn't heard a single one of your ideas for pictures to take, and simply let himself be guided by the photographer. He found himself standing behind you, hands sitting on your stomach as his arms wrapped around your waist, your own fingers lacing through his own. The first one was a formal shot, the sort of one his mother would have taken of the two of you had she met you, and he knew she’d love it when he presented it to her. In fact, she might actually frame it. He did look good tonight.

The second was a little more playful, his head was tipped up and chin balanced on the top of your head as he beamed at the camera, holding you a little tighter and pinching at your side, prompting your face to screw up and a laugh to bubble up from you as he did, and the final one featured him leaning around you, the tip of his nose brushing your skin as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. It was more you than him, his face was mostly obscured by his position and all that could be seen was his arms, legs and the top of his head, but he knew it would be his favourite simply based on the was your cheeks had been tinted red and your eyes glistening when he looked at you after hearing the ‘click’ of the camera taking the photo.

“They’re going to be cute photos.”

The pair of you were hurried off of the platform, and took your hand in his once again, the four of you walking along the halls, following the music as it got louder and louder, and he twisted his head to face you, a smirk on his lips and his eyes dragging along you, head to toe. “That’s because there’s a cute girl in them.”

“Dave, that was shocking. Appalling, actually. How the fuck did you get someone as out of you league as her to go out with you when you have lines like that?”

He felt his face blank into boredom as he looked over at Simon, but you simply laughed, pulling him through the open doors and telling him not to mind it, because you thought it was sweet, and your reassurance was enough to give him confidence on his statement one again. Bodies filled the room, some on the dance floor, some milling around the food tables, others sitting at tables and filling the seats.

Lifting your joined hands up, he spun you in a twirl, a surprised sound leaving you before you were giggling, his brows wiggling suggestively as he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Let’s start with a dance, yeah?”

You had danced, the two of you swirling around on the dance floor until your legs were aching and you were gasping for a drink. Some songs were upbeat, and these were the songs that the two of you busted out your best moves for, limbs flying in all directions as you cracked up with laughter upon watching the other move, and your hair flew around, pink coating both of your cheeks as the blood rushed underneath, heat flashing around you until you were slumped against one another and holding yourselves up, using your intertwined body for support as you gasped for breath and tried to calm your hearts as tears pushed at your eyes from laughing so much.

Then there were the slower songs, your cheek pressed to his shoulder, or your temple resting just below his as you leaned into him. His arms were around your waist, or his hands in yours, and your own fingers were looped around his shoulders, fingers in the shorter hair at the base of his neck and your nails scratching at the skin softly, lulling him into a feeling of peace so serene that his eyes were fluttering shut, his breathing levelling out, and he realised he could definitely get used to it. He liked being able to hold you so close, and being able to feel you pressed up to his chest, your lips almost brushing on the times you'd look up to talk to him and let your forehead press to his own as you mumbled quiet words of calm chatter between you both.

There were also the more sensual songs, the ones that had too much bass and sliding notes to be a slow song, and it was with those songs that Dave found himself suffering the most, his eyes closing and jaw dropping open, hands gripping your body tightly. Your body would roll into his, your ass pressed to him when you turned in his arms and your body swaying with his own, never stopping him when he dragged his hands over your body, never too much for the public eye but more than enough to get the two of you worked up, and you never flinched away when he began to pepper the bare skin of your shoulder with light kisses and the occasional flick of his tongue against your skin.

By the time the two of you had collapsed in your seats, you had thanked him with a kiss on his cheek when he brought you punch, and you’d pulled your chair up so close to his that your thighs were pressed together, your body facing his and elbow sitting on the back of his chair, fingers once again in his hair and playing with that sweet pattern that made his whole body sag with relaxation.

He’d leaned into you, barely getting a chance to enjoy the feeling of the quiet and intimate moment, the two of you feeling more like a couple than he had ever felt when he was with Aubrey. You simply enjoyed his presence, and you made him feel calm. He wasn’t nervous and sweaty and on edge when he was with you, the way she had made him feel was so entirely different that he couldn't even compare the two of you, because you were unique, nothing like anyone he’d ever met before.

Simon had soon interrupted you both, a deck of cards in his hands as he insisted that you played him in poker, and he pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand as you turned away to face him as he dealt up. The two of you were teamed up, and you had ended up in his lap, balanced across one of his legs as his chin popped on your shoulder, arms tightly around your waist to hold your back to his chest as you held the cards.

Not only had you won the game, but you’d done the whole thing while never once caving to Simon’s trash talk, meeting him with it and raising the stakes until him and Big-C were simply watching on as the two of you playfully slated one another, goading the other to break their poker face as you played, and Simon had even offered you a shake of his hand upon winning, and it was the most sportsmanly thing he’d ever seen his friend do. He was normally such a sore loser, but maybe that’s just because it was you that he’d lost to.

The feeling that he was waiting for the ball to drop, that there was something coming around the corner or a big joke waiting to be unveiled was gone, because you were so clearly enjoying yourself that it wasn’t possible to be able to fake that kind of joy. He was having one of the nights of his life, the flickering of the lights, the beat of the music in the floor, the taste of the fruit-punch hanging on his lips and the feel of you in his arms. You had managed to convince him into taking pictures, the two of you wandering around the room to take selfies with all the fun props and displays, wanting to truly capture the Vegas theme in all its flashy entirety.

His favourite one had to be the picture of you posing under a replication of the famous sign. ‘Welcome to the Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada’ was sparkling above your head as you looked up at it, your hands held out on either side in a way that made it look like you were holding up the sign, in the same way that tourists took pictures that made it look like they were leaning on the Eiffel Tower or holding up the tower of Pisa. It was cheesy, and he loved it, because you were so carefree and happy in the shot.

Being with you made his social anxiety melt away, your own carefree attitude washed over him and it sunk into him, taking it on himself. The lingering gazes and whispers never bothered him, or made him wonder. He managed to let it all go, because his only focus was you.

As the night went on, the pair of you were getting warmer and warmer, fanning yourselves with your hands as the sweaty bodies in the room rose the heat up, and you had only hesitated for a moment when he offered you a walk outside, sighing with what he assumed to be relief, before nodding and lacing your fingers with his as he guided you back out into the cool night, the sky dark now and the stars twinkling overhead.

There were far fewer people now, a few boys lingering on the other side of the field, clouds of smoke rising up around them with no surprise as to what they were doing, but the car park was empty, and your hands swung between you both as you walked along in comfortable silence around the outskirts of the cars. It was halfway around when he finally pulled you to a stop, pushing down the butterflies that were going wild in his stomach, and raising a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing over your skin delicately.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You’re absolutely stunning.” his words were breathed out on a sigh, and your lips flicked up at the corners.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Hodgman.” He tilted your chin up a little more, watching the way your eyes darkened, and his jaw dropped when he felt your fingers hook into his belt loops, and tug his body towards your own, hips pressing together. Swallowing thickly, he dragged his eyes back up to yours, taking a quick inhale of breath as his eyes got stuck on the way your plump lower lip was caught between your teeth, seductive in ways he couldn't even fathom. “Are you going to do what you’ve been wanting to do all night, or not?”

“Fuck, yeah, I am.” With that, his mouth was descending onto your own, heavy and wet as his wet lips meshed with your own. He could taste the lipstick you wore, and the slightly sticky fruit punch residue in your mouth, the flavour of which only increased when your lips parted for him and your tongue dipped out to find his own.

It was needy and hot, and raw in a way that made his head spin, and one of his hands came up to lace in your hair as he backed you up into the streetlamp only a few feet away, your back arching into him as your skin met the cold metal, and the sound you made in your shock went straight to his groin. It was sweet and low, a little groan that was crossed with a whimper, and your hips were rolling up into his.

His other hand slipped down and around your waist, past your lower back until he was taking a handful of your ass in his palm, squeezing roughly at the flesh and this time, you both let out moans at the feeling. Your bodies were flush now, the heat from inside was back, like a raging fire between your bodies as you rutted against one another, pulling back for gasping breaths before diving back into one another’s mouths once again. Your lipstick was smeared around your mouth and his own, your hair was messy from the pretty style it had been in at the beginning of the night, and you were a picture-perfect mess, the sort of sight he wanted or wake up to, or fall asleep by after a long night of holding you close to him and showing you how much you meant to him.

It wasn’t love, far from it, but the spark that he thought could turn into so much more had never been brighter, it had never felt this good, and he found himself sinking into your bliss with every rock of your bodies and every drag of your lips over his, every sweet noise to meet his ears or every moan he made that you muffled with your own mouth. It was getting heavy, and you showed no signs of stopping and he didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want to get caught with your legs around his waist as he fucked you against a metal pole, because the way you were now grinding down onto his thigh was very clear, and he was only seconds away from pulling down the spaghetti straps of your dress to see whether or not you actually had a bra on underneath your clothing.

“We should.. um.. move. Car? I think we should go to the car.” He barely managed to get his words out, but you were pushing him away from the post, hands tight in the collar of his suit jacket as you tore your lips from his, looking around for the vehicle, and his mouth descended to your neck, licking and kissing along your skin. You seemed to find it, because only a moment later you were pushing him in that direction, his feet moving underneath him and your hand rifling through his pockets for the keys, before his back was meeting cold metal this time, and he hissed out at the feeling.

He forced himself to remove his hand from your ass, fumbling for the handle when he heard the car sound it’s unlocking, and when he finally managed to wrench it open, he was quickly being pushed into the driver's seat, the keys tossed carelessly onto the dashboard and his hands reaching to push the chair back as far as it could go as your own reached for the lever to flatten the seat back.

Suddenly, he was laying down, the door slamming as you straddled him in the vehicle, hair framing his face as your lips met yours once again, and now he was able to get both hands on your ass, and had his mouth not been so deliciously otherwise occupied, he would have been smirking as he groped at the fleshy mounds in bliss. The windows were fogging up, the tent in his pants pressing to your clit each time he thrust his hips up to meet your movements, and his cock twitching in his pants with every squeaky moan you let out, and every breathy moan of his name that sounded out.

Pulling away for only a second, his lips were still pouted, but his jaw soon dropped open when you pushed away the straps of your dress, the flimsy material falling away to pool at your waist, you breasts on full display to him, bouncing as you rocked down into him, and nipples perky and pointed out for him, skin showing a thin layer of goosebumps with your arousal showing clearly.

His question had been answered; you were not wearing a bra. He fucking knew it.

Dragging his palms up and over your smooth skin, he cupped your tits in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs teasing over your nipples, and an entirely new sound left you, one that had his gut twisting with desire, and a primal urge raring up within him. You pushed your chest up into his hands, your head falling back and your own hands finding his wrists, holding his touch on your body as you rode yourself down onto him, the two of you nearing you peaks, even with the layers of clothing between you, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to still your hips atop him.

“Baby, as much as I love what you’re doing, if you keep it up then I’ll cum and the fun will be over.” His voice was hoarse, even to himself, and you took a steady breath of your own, leaning down to place a softer and gentler kiss to his lips, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth when you shifted away from him.

“Better put the condom on and put that cock to use then, huh?”

His eyes widened, spluttering falling from him, before he shut himself up by snapping his jaw shut and nodding quickly, sitting up with you in his lap and searching for his wallet in his jacket pocket. While he was up, he took the opportunity to shove the material down his shoulders, discarding the blazer to the back seat and popping the button on the front of the leather pouch, rifling through and praying against all known gods that he had replaced the condom in his wallet, only barely managing to contain the cheer of joy he wanted to let out when he found it.

The cards and that note were of no concern to him, instead, he was dropping that to focus on the silver packet he was holding in his hands, a low groan slipping from him as he watched your own fingers dip under the black panties he was only now catching sight of, the digits disappearing from his vision. Your head fell forward a split second later, your foreheads pressing together as you whined his name under your breath, fucking yourself down onto your fingers to the thought of him, and he’d never gotten his belt and pants undone faster.

The car was steamy and hot, windows fogged over to block any sights from outside, and now it was just the two of you, in a bubble of your own making as you barrelled quickly towards the very activities that Dave had been dreaming about since he’d first caught sight of you in Freshman year.

Finally dragging his cock free from its confines, he grinned happily to himself, pumping his already hard cock a few times, before using his teeth to help him tear open the wrapper and roll the rubber down over his shaft.

“Holy fuck, you’re amazing. So fucking hot.”

You flashed your teeth at him in a wicked grin, your hand coming over to take control of his, your fingers slick with your own juices, and he hadn't realised just how wet you were, but now as you were pulling your panties to the side and lining him up with your core, he could feel the heat of your entrance as the tip of his covered cock dragged through your folds. He felt as though he was panting like a dog, drooling and clenching his fingers beside his body, before he was lifting them up to sit on your hips, taking control as you erased him by pulling you down in one swift movement.

You sunk all the way along him, both of your eyes rolling in your head and your body shaking above him as he became fully sheathed in your warmth, and he worried that he was gripping you so tightly it may bruise you. His thighs were clenched and his head was pressing back into the cushions of the reclined seat, letting out a shuddering breath as he tried not to explode just from the feeling of being buried in your dripping cunt.

“Oh my God, Dave!”

“I know.” His words were wheezed out, a playful look on your face as the two of you took your second to adjust, but that seemed to shatter as the look you shared darkened, and only a moment later you were rolling your hips down into him. It started out slow, a series of simple and steady movements that were almost mechanic, the rise and fall of your hips as you moved up and down along his cock, slowly as you grew used to the position and the movements you could make within the car.

Once you had grown comfortable, you were spicing up your actions, slamming yourself down onto him with quick and rapid movements, and then slowing it down to tease him, rolling the muscles in your stomach and clenching yourself so tightly around him that he almost choked on his own tongue, his eyes crossing and hips bucking up into you desperately. He couldn't take it, the way you would drag him to the edge only to let him come back down, but he loved it, because you were with him, riding him in his car after having an amazing night, and he couldn't get enough of the way it felt to be completely and utterly surrounded by you.

You were taking over his every sense, everything he has was given over in surrender, because he was barely holding on at all.

Your lips brushed his, and your movements became weaker, less coordinated and more frantic as you chased your own high as well as his. Taking one of his hands in your own shakily, you folded his fingers away until only two remained, and he watched through hooded eyes and you sucked his long fingers into your mouth with swollen lips, warm and wet just like your pussy, your cheeks tightening around his digits as you soaked them with your spit. Your tongue lapped around his fingers, dipping and weaving between the digits and dips with precision that would be haunting his mind and filling his wet dreams for weeks, as well as the permanently burned-in feeling of your warmth around his cock.

Dragging the slick digits down your body, you lifted up the edge of your skirt and pushed the pads of his fingers up to your swollen and neglected clit, and he took the hint, taking control of his limb again and picking up the pace. Pushing down roughly on the button, he traced his name in jerky and needy movements, a possessive act that he took pride in, rubbing his name on the nub and only making it as far as the ‘O’ on his last name before you were exploding around him.

Your eyes were rolling back in your head, nails digging into his chest through the dress shirt covering his chest, and he arched up into the touch, your orgasm spurring on his own. Your mouth pressed to his, lips working slowly and tongue seven slower, simply dragging over the top of one another’s and tangled together in sloppy patterns as you muffled the cried of each other’s names and moaned out curses, prolonging one another’s orgasms until it was all too much to handle.

When you finally peeled yourself off of his cock and collapsed down into the seat beside him, you had a lazy smile on your face, your body slumping into the passenger seat, and he forced his seat back up into a sitting position Peeling the condom off of his cock and tying it off, hiding it in a handful of tissues that were left on his dash, he placed it in the cupholder to dispose of later, and tucked himself back into his pants, his mind still spinning from the events and his thoughts still swimming with only you, in his post-orgasmic bliss.

He undid the tie around his neck, popping a few buttons on his shirt to allow himself to breathe, and once he knew you’d adjusted your dress and cover yourself back up again, he rolled down the windows to air out the heat in the car.

“So, you can just drop me off at home now, then.”

His head whipped around to look at you, only you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at yourself in the mirror and wiping at the lipstick around your mouth, cleaning your skin up and removing any trace of the kisses he’d left on you, and the sight of you doing so made him rub at his own mouth the back of his hand, wiping away the red smudges on his skin. “What are you talking about?”

“Now that we’re done, y’know? You got me, you got your notch on your belt or whatever, and this night really has been an absolute blast, but I would love nothing more than a nice hot bath and some pasta, now.” He was speechless, he really didn’t know what to say, because right now there was a bitter taste taking over his mouth as he thought about the night, storm clouds coming in as your words settled over him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He knew he had all but spat the words at you, and he was angered by the audacity on your face to look shocked by the anger in his tone when you finally let your eyes meet his, a light shrug on your shoulders, before you picked up the keys and handed them to him, and he didn’t even look down at his palm as the cold metal met his skin. “Hey, don’t worry. I wanted to be here, I said yes to the dance and I initiated this. A lot of guys try it, want to sleep with me for the popularity boost or cool guy badge or whatever, and I think it’s dumb but you seemed so sad and nervous in the halls, and I figured, why not? You’re really cute, I like you.”

Rage swelled within him and he felt tears sting at his eyes as he let out a breathless laugh, before starting up the car and shaking his head, peeling out of the parking lot in silence. It wasn’t until the two of you had hit the main roads that he spoke over the dull playing of the radio once again. “What, so I was just a pity-fuck for you? Some kind of project, the whole night was a lie?”

“What? No!” Your hand landed on his bicep, but he shrugged you off, never even looking over at you as he flicked his way through the roads, nearing your house as he drove as quickly as the speed limits would possibly allow him to, not wanting to draw out the journey any longer than it needed to be. “I had fun tonight, I told you that!”

“You had fun on a date that I thought was real, and you thought was just something to fill the time with while you were bored?”

“I never said that!”

“Sure.” He sighed, flicking on his indicators as the two of you entered at the top end of your neighbourhood, and he heard you make a distressed little sound beside him, and even though it made his own body fill with sadness and regret, he was still angry, too angry to even consider letting those secondary emotions take over.

“Why don’t we just talk about this, I think mayb-”

“No. Why don’t we just finish this journey in silence, yeah?” He let his gaze flicker over to you for only a second, before he was looking back at the road, swallowing thickly to push down the way seeing you upset expression had made him feel. You did as he requested, and the rest of the ride was filled with tense and awkward silence, and neither of you spoke again until the car was coming to a halt outside of your house.

This time, he didn’t try to be a gentleman. He didn’t get out of his seat and open the door for you, and the evening routine he’d planned of walking you up to the door and hoping against all odds that maybe you’d kiss him was completely dashed, his newly fog-cleared mind full of regret for how fast things had advanced between the two of you, disappointment filling every nook and pore in his body.

You opened your own door, climbing from the car and walking away, the quiet click of your heels on the tiles was all that was heard, and he watched you go, eyes scanning up over you as you stopped in your place, turning and taking a breath as you prepared yourself to speak, but he cut you off before you got a chance; “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about tonight. Despite the impression you seem to have of me, I just wanted to go to a dance.”

Your face seemed to crumple in on yourself, your arms wrapping around your body, and he squeezed his hands on the steering wheel tighter, resisting the urge to rush from the car and pull you in close to him. “I-I..” Your voice cracked, like you were going to cry, and he felt his resolve crumbling, his fingers reaching for the handle of his door as you continued on, cleaning your throat. “I was just going to say thank you, I had a really great time with you, at the dance.”

He didn’t get a chance to speak, to ask you what had happened or why you’d ever thought of him like that, before you were turning on your heel, a near-run as you carried yourself up the driveway, slipping into your house and slamming the door shut. He didn’t have time to think about it or dwell on the thought because soon he was on the road, completely confused and a little bit heartbroken, and just wanting to curl up in his own bed.

Dave was walking at his locker, swapping out the books for his next class and keeping his head low, ignoring all the congratulatory pats on the back and hoots or hollers he had been receiving. It seemed that being with you had been a real boost for his popularity, because guys that have always believed themselves to be too good to talk to him were now stopping him in the corridors to start up conversations, and girls who had never looked in his direction were now batting their eyelashes and waving their fingers flirtily.

He didn’t care for any of it, but Simon was eating it all up as you went along.

He had barely gotten his fingers out of the way of the door when it slammed shut, his body jumping backwards and eyes widening, before he was turning to look at you, his shoulders slumping even further and he removed his bag from his shoulders, distracting himself with packing his bag, waiting for you to shot, or yell, or publicly tear him down. Whatever it was that you needed.

“You said it wrong. You are terrible with words.”

“Excuse me?” A flicker of anger shot through him, and he zipped up his bag with more force than was needed, swinging it up onto one arm and letting it hang there, wiping a hand over his face to calm his feelings before he turned back to you. “I was never anything but polite to you.”

“I know. But when you first asked me out, you said nobody thought you could ‘get me’. You made me sound like a prize to be won, like a notch on your belt. Do you have any idea how many guys try to ‘get me’ just to prove that they can?”

He shuffled from foot to foot, glancing around at the few pairs of eyes that had landed on you all, before a sigh on his lips helped him from his next words. “I didn’t want that, I never did. I just wanted to go to the dance with you.”

“Do you like me?”

“What?”

“Do you like me? In a real way, not a popularity-boost, make it a game, prove to people who looked down on your way.” You were vulnerable as you looked up at him, eyes wide and expression flickering every so often as you tried to appear strong, and his head tipped to the side before he could stop it, a small smile on his lips as he let his eyes scan over you, before he was looping a couple of his fingers loosely with your own.

“I really do, for a while now, actually.” Heat crawled up his cheeks at the confession, but you were giving him a grin wider than the sun, holding onto his hand a little more tightly, weaving your fingers through his until your palms were pressed tightly to one another.

“Do you want to go on a date, then? A real date. Like, to a restaurant or mini-golf, or something.”

He used his other hands to tuck some loose hair behind your ear, risking taking a step closer to you, until you were forced or look up at him as he stepped into your space, only having to whisper as he spoke to you now, the conversation only for the two of you to hear. “I would love that.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Cool.” His own smile finally matched your own, feeling his heartbeat steadily in his chest as you seemed to relax before him, your defensive stance slipping away, and for a second, you weren’t the popular girl that had always seemed out of his league and too scary to talk to, but right now you were just the pretty girl that he had a connection with like no other. “Can I kiss you in front of other people?”

“I’d really like it if you did.”

His other hand settled itself over your cheek, pulling your lips up to meet his so that he could press his mouth to yours in a sweet connection. It was nothing like the previous night had been. Last night was rushed and sloppy and just a preemptive action towards what the night had become. There was no ulterior motive or further action to be taken now, though. Instead, it was simply a brush of lips, it was the only thing either of you needed, it was an act of reassurance in order to make sure the spark between you wasn’t being ignored.

Your other hand threaded into his hair, your body pressing to his as you pushed up on your tiptoes, being sure he wasn’t pulling away or moving from you, and he let his arm drop to wrap around your waist to support you, to keep your body pressed flush to his your thumbs played together and smoothed over one another’s knuckles with the hands that were still connected. Your lips teased his, the occasional flick of a tongue through the smiles but never enough to go any further, and you were refusing to pull away, until the burn for oxygen was just too much to ignore.

Your forehead pressed or his, a satisfied and happy noise sounding in the back of your throat as you bumped your nose against his, and he let out a breathless laugh, bumping his nose against yours in return, a grin forming on your lips at the gesture. When you finally sunk back down to your height and were no longer balancing on your tiptoes, he was able to press a kiss to your forehead, before your hand was pulling from his to loop around his waist, letting you snuggle into his chest and rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“I really like you, Dave Hodgman.’

“I really like you, too.”

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obxparadise · 4 years

Text

Last Friday Night

JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 5,548

~A fic in which JJ helps you recount the memories of your wild Friday night~

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, weed, and implied sex.

A/N: This is my longest fic yet!! It’s a combination of a story and flashbacks. Flashbacks are in italics! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Leave a comment and reblog if you liked it :) I also recommend listening to Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night” while reading :)

*Picture was found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

~~~

There’s a stranger in my bed

There’s a pounding in my head

Glitter all over the room

Pink flamingos in the pool

I smell like a mini bar

DJ’s passed out in the yard

Barbie’s on the barbeque

This a hickey or a bruise?

Sunlight shines through the window curtains, brightening up what was once a dim room. Tired eyes squint against the light as you attempt to roll on your back, groaning as an unimaginable wave of discomfort shoots across your skull. Hands find their way to your head, kneading your temples to try and ease the pain of a growing headache. The heavy weight of your hangover keeps you from moving, although you desperately need a water and aspirin. Maybe something greasy too.

As your eyes flutter open slowly, they readjust to the light in the room. Heavy breaths leave your mouth, tongue darting out to wet your awfully dry lips. The rancid taste of liquor is still on your breath, and you decide the first thing you need before medicine is a toothbrush.

Movement beside you urges you to freeze in bed, heart beating quickly. Turning slowly to the side, your eyes meet with a pair of tired, baby blue eyes and a mop of messy blonde hair, sticking up in every which way. The image of the boy doesn’t register quickly enough in your head as you shriek, heaving him off the side of the bed, cringing when he lands on the hardwood floor with a thud. Whoops.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

Crawling to the other side, your heart stops when you realize who had been your bed mate. “JJ? What the fuck?”

Out of all the boys who could have been lying beside you, JJ Maybank was the very last one on the list of people you would have expected. Luckily for you, JJ was no stranger. Sure, he was more of your sister Sarah’s friend, as Sarah’s boyfriend John B was JJ’s best friend, so you didn’t mind him, but over the last week or so, you’d grown closer to the group, JJ especially. He was chill, funny, unpredictable. Extremely handsome, too.

“What the fuck me?” He asks incredulously, rubbing his now sore elbow. A tiny laugh escapes as you watch his brows furrow in confusion. “What the fuck you! Why did you push me?”

“JJ, what the hell were you doing in my bed?”

He stretches, bare, tanned abdomen exposed for your viewing pleasure. Well, you definitely could’ve been stuck with someone a lot worse. No complaints, though.

“Well, I was sleeping peacefully,” he grumbles, grabbing onto the end of the bed to pull himself up. Pink sparkles litter his body, and you watch in amusement as he vigorously attempts to brush them off. Eyes scanning the room, they land on a confetti cannon. And if you had to guess, Sarah replaced the confetti with glitter. Great. “Oh, and by the way, you steal all the blankets in your sleep. I was freezing my balls off trying to wrestle them from you last night.”

Running a hand through your hair, which is somewhat damp and undoubtedly tangled thanks to alcohol, you try to connect the dots as JJ glances at you, lips curved, delight on his face. “What happened last night?”

How much did you have to drink that you couldn’t remember a single detail? To be completely hungover and forgetful the next morning is extremely unlike you, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were truly embarrassed.

“Only the best fucking night ever,” JJ grins, happily slapping your leg, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell ya, you and Sarah sure know how to throw a party. Best Friday night I’ve had in weeks.”

And that’s when it hits you. Your parents are out of town, your brother Rafe is away at a three-day golf tournament, and little sister Wheezie had spent the night with a friend.

Jumping out of bed, you run to the window and peel back the curtains. Your mouth drops in horror as you absorb the sight of your nearly destroyed backyard. Flamingo pool floats are crowding the pool, some full of air, and well, some had seen better days. Pong tables and plastic lawn chairs are flipped and broken. Red solo cups litter the patio, many still filled, others crushed and empty. Rubbing your temples, you cannot imagine how it could get any worse, but a dark figure between the bushes has you pressing your face against the screen, squinting to get a clearer look. For the love of God, the DJ is passed out in the grass. Is he dead? Shit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

JJ appears beside you, looking over your shoulder. His eyes widen as he takes in the catastrophe that is your backyard. “Whew,” he whistles. “What a night.”

You elbow his ribs before stepping back, sucking in a breath as you realize how much cleaning you’ll have to do. Peeling off your clothes, you quickly change into a fresh pair of sweats and a cropped half tee shirt, making sure to throw on a few layers of deodorant after JJ’s teasing comment.

You catch him staring as you fix yourself in the mirror, smirking at a spot on your abdomen. Glancing back to the mirror, your mouth drops as your fingers brush over a deep red mark. “What is this? Where did this bruise come from?”

You jump at JJ’s cool touch against your warm skin, and he smirks before pulling back. “That’s a hickey, Y/N.”

“A what?” Open palms slap against your forehead in disbelief. “From who?!”

The only thing JJ offers is narrowed eyes and a slight close-lipped smile.

“It was you!” The realization hits you like a freight train. “Oh my god. We fucking slept together didn’t we?”

JJ’s body shakes with laughter as you frantically search your body for more marks, exasperated sighs leaving your lips as you find a few more dotting your neck. Thank God you had just bought a new concealer because you were going to need it. “We spent the entire night together, Y/N. Do you really not remember anything?” He’s pouting, and his voice comes out almost…offended.

“Okay, you know what?” Throwing your hands in the air, you turn back to JJ, whose hands are clasped together in front of him. “I need to remember what happened last night. No more surprises.”

JJ cocks his head to the side. He considers you for a moment before hopping back into bed, patting the place next to him. Hesitantly, you join him in bed, unsure if you’re ready to recount one of the craziest nights of your life. “Where do you want to start?”

Pictures of last night

Ended up online

I’m screwed

Oh well

“Kiara Carrera!”

Squeezing your way through the various partygoers, a relieved sigh leaves your chest as you spot the feisty brunette sitting by the pool, legs dangling in the water as she listens to Pope ramble on about the season finale of The Walking Dead while simultaneously spinning in a pool float.

“What’s up?” Kie says, grinning as you bend down to hug her around the neck.

“Any chance I could borrow your Polaroid?” Right away, you see the hesitation in her brown eyes. She’s not stupid. Giving a drunk girl a camera probably wouldn’t be the best idea, but you’ve been known to be quite persuasive. “Aw, please Kie? I’ll take really good care of it, I promise.”

Sarah may have had problems with Kiara in the past, but there was never any bad blood between the two of you. Frankly, you’d been pissed when Sarah pushed Kie away. Her insecurities ruined a great friendship. Kiara had always been a good friend to your sister. It was nice to see them finally getting along again, now that Sarah and John B were officially together. I guess they really didn’t have a choice, but you knew them. Time would pass, and they would be thick as thieves again.

Kiara reaches into her bag and pulls out a light blue Polaroid camera, holding it out for you. Squealing, you eagerly take the camera, excited to document a night of memories. “Be careful with that thing. It’s brand new.”

Kiara rolls her eyes as you cradle the camera to your chest, rocking it like a child. The alcohol is finally settling in your system, so you squeeze the camera tight to your chest, saluting her before holding the camera to your eyes. “Pope, come in closer.”

He rests his arms on Kiara’s thighs, and they both flash a smile your way. Collecting the picture, you wait for it to appear on the printed film, smiling at the two happy faces. Hm. They’d make a pretty cute couple.

“Alright, I’ll be back!”

Kie and Pope send you off with a final wave as you begin snapping photos of people dancing, people drinking, people swimming. Sometimes memories fade, but with pictures, you could relive them, bring yourself back to that very moment.

Teenager years are the most important. It’s a time filled with adventure, embarrassment, growth, love, friendships. After high school, everyone goes their separate ways. It’s a part of life. Not everyone stays together. But the pictures would remind you of simpler times. Times when you were happy and carefree without a worry in the world. Times where you were surrounded by old friends. Times that would only be relived through photos.

The pictures are spread in front of you on the kitchen counter. Chin resting in your palm, you smile down at the photos, fingers delicately tracing the outline of the film as your body drunkenly sways to whatever song the DJ is playing in the yard. In one picture, Kiara is throwing up the peace sign while Sarah leans her elbow on Kie’s shoulder. Another shows Pope and John B, both curled in a cannon ball as they launch themselves into the pool. JJ and John B throw up the middle fingers in a third picture, and Sarah and Pope laugh at a drenched Kiara, who had alcohol spilled on her moments prior.

“Well these are pretty cool,” a voice slurs beside you. A ringed hand reaches out to touch the pictures, and you recognize the rough, bruised knuckles right away. “But there’s something missing.”

Hand on your waist, you stare up at JJ, brows raised. He leans his hip against the counter, hazy eyes trained on you as he lifts a beer to his lips, tongue slightly darting out to collect the excess. You don’t even want to know how much he’s already had to drink. “And what’s that?”

“You’re not in any of them,” He notes, motioning to the pictures. You follow his fingers as they point to each photo, and sure enough, you’re nowhere in sight.

“Huh. I guess I was so busy taking pictures of everyone else I forgot to include myself. Well then,” Grabbing the Polaroid from the counter, you hold it out in front of you. JJ watches you curiously until you nod your head toward the camera. “What are you waiting for? Get in the picture.”

He leans in close to you, his cheek centimeters from yours, hand resting gently on your hip. You smile brightly while JJ opts for a half smirk, his trademark.

“Do something silly,” You tell him, plucking the first photo from the camera. “Make me laugh.”

You joke with JJ the most out of all of Sarah’s friends. JJ’s sense of humor is unmatched, even when he’s not trying. He thinks for a moment, only briefly, before you feel his tongue flat against your cheek. It startles you but you laugh, a real, genuine laugh, just as your finger presses the shutter button.

The picture is perfect as you lie it alongside the others, gazing down at what would soon become mere memories. Head tilting to the side, you examine the photos as does JJ, and he speaks up, “We should date them.”

It’s as if he read your mind. Rummaging through the cabinets in your kitchen, you locate a black sharpie, pulling the cap off with your mouth before scribbling the date in the bottom left corner of each photo.

You smile triumphantly until JJ plucks the marker from your fingers, scrawling more words on the pictures of you and him. Grabbing the photo of JJ licking your cheek, which oddly enough was super attractive, you roll your eyes as you read the hashtag. “TGIF? Really, JJ? How old are you?”

“Thank god it’s Friday,” his smile is lazy and all you can do is shake your head and return the grin. “Come on,” JJ offers you his hand and you take it as he leads you through a swarm of people before you eventually find yourselves back in your yard. “Let’s get someone to take a group picture.”

You nod in agreement, clutching the camera to your chest, scanning the yard for the remainder of your friends. You spot them on the other side of the pool, Sarah and Kiara cheering loudly for John B and Pope, who are engaged in an intense game of one-on-one flip cup.

“Hold up, J, let me get a picture of this.” Glancing through the viewfinder, you shake your head as you find yourself to be too far away. Keeping the camera to your eye, you pace forward a few steps, oblivious to the circular pool float just inches from your feet.

“Y/N, watch out!” But Kie’s voice falls on deaf ears as you trip over the float, toppling into the water with her pristine Polaroid.

Resurfacing with a deep gasp, you rub the water from your eyes, blushing a deep red as laughter bubbles around you, but the only one with a sour expression on her face who is indeed not laughing, is Kiara.

Chuckling nervously, you hold up the drenched camera before shrugging. “Oops?”

“Oops?” You stare at JJ in astonishment, almost as if you don’t believe a word he’s saying. “I said oops?!”

You groan as JJ nods, burying your face in your palms. Kiara’s brand new, one-hundred-dollar camera and you just had to fall into the pool.

“God, how mad was she?”

JJ shrugs. “Eh, she was pissed for about ten minutes. But hey, she got her payback, though.” He wiggles his brows and you shrink back into the bed. “Do I even want to know how?”

“You didn’t see the Instagram pictures? Kie took them on her phone since you know, you killed her camera.” Heart hammering in your chest, you snatch JJ’s phone from his hand, mouth falling open as you scroll through and find Kiara’s Instagram, her latest post an assortment of pictures from the night before.

“Oh. My. God.”

Each picture of yourself made you squirm more than the previous as you scroll through, cringing in embarrassment. There were pictures of you with your tongue out, looking drunk and ridiculous. Pictures of you and JJ dancing on tables, flailing your arms dramatically, also made the post. Pictures of you puking in the grass and slumped over the toilet made the cut as well. And when you read the caption of the pictures, the bile rose to your throat.

“Thanks for ruining my Polaroid. #Revenge.”

Scrolling through the comments wasn’t the brightest idea either, as your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets at the first two comments.

@rafecam19: So, this is what my sister does when no one’s home.

@wheeziebee: Wait, Sarah and Y/N had a party without me? Well, I know where these pictures are going. #momanddadsnewfavoritechild

“I am so screwed,” Your head hangs in shame, already picturing in your brain the tongue lashing from your parents when they find out. Grabbing JJ’s phone once more, you scroll to the picture of you two on top of the dining room table. Your back is pressed against his chest while his crotch is dangerously close to your ass, palm gripping your hip. Cheeks heating, you turn the phone around, holding it out for JJ to see. “Okay, what the hell are we doing here?”

Last Friday Night

Yeah we danced on tabletops

And we took too many shots

Think we kissed but I forgot

“Y/N, you’re going to fall! Get down!” Sarah yells over the music, a beer in one hand while her other hand is firmly planted on her hip. Sarah, Pope, and JJ watch from below as you expertly climb onto the dining room table, careful not to spill the two shots in your hand.

Flashing your paranoid sister a smile, your body begins to sway to the music. Cheers are aimed your way, egging you on even more. “Oh, lighten up, Sar. Come up here and join me.”

“You’re insane,” Pope says, flashing Sarah a nervous look. “And very drunk, might I add.”

“Not drunk enough,” You answer, throwing back one of the shots. As soon as the liquid hits your tongue, you’re filled with a rush of energy.

“JJ, do something,” Sarah urges, shaking his shoulder to pull his attention from your body. You’d changed out of your wet clothes after the pool incident, and your body was now clad in tight jean shorts and a black off the shoulder shirt. The more he stared, the more he didn’t want to tear his eyes away. “Talk some sense into her.”

He watches you with a playful smirk before peering back at your sister. “I have a better idea.” Much to Sarah’s dismay, JJ gathers three more shots in his hands before heaving himself up onto the table, placing one of the shots in your hand. “For you, beautiful.” JJ winks and you gladly accept the shot, toning out your sister’s pleas. The shot glasses clink together before you and JJ down the liquid. JJ finishes the last two before chucking them to Pope, who has difficulty catching them, as he’s not the most coordinated of the bunch. Too much time on the math team does that to a man.

The music changes from rap to throwbacks, and the crowd of teenagers flooding your house erupt into loud cheers as they recognize some of the songs from their childhood. “Last Friday Night” blasts through the DJ’s speakers, and even Sarah, originally annoyed with your shenanigans, eases up and pulls Kiara and Pope away to dance.

You’re left alone with JJ who is trying his damn hardest to dance smoothly and not make a fool of himself. You laugh heartily at his amateur dance moves before moving closer to him, gripping his wrists to steady yourself. You turn yourself in his arms, jumping slightly as his hands grip your hips, lightly squeezing. He’s gentle with you now as your bodies tangle together, his lips calmly brushing your neck, and it’s a different side of him. While most of the time he’s calm, you haven’t been around JJ enough to see him let loose. The alcohol definitely helps.

His lips brush against your ear, sending a slight quiver through your body. “Is this okay?”

The feel of his front side against your backside, his hands on your body, rubbing, squeezing, and his lips dusting against your neck, jaw, ears, it’s exquisite. Blood rushes throughout your body, down your legs, up your arms, through your cheeks, in your head, and the sound of it pumping blocks out the surrounding noise. You’re the only two people in the room. At least, it feels that way.

Before your brain has time to process your body’s actions, you face JJ in his arms, hands on either side of his neck. His lips are parted slightly, breathing even, and his eyes are calculated, focused, scanning your face.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?”

The air around you is thick, almost restricting your breaths, but JJ remains collected, eyes steady on your face. One hand situates on your hip while the other rests easily on your back. “Fuck no,” he breathes. “I only see you, baby.”

“Thank God.”

You lean in the same time JJ pushes forward, lips finally connecting in a soft but urgent kiss. Does time stop? It feels like it. And there’s no way this is your imagination, either. Weak knees, fluttering heartbeat, small gasps for air, rosy cheeks. All products of a real, sensual kiss.

JJ controls the kiss. He captivates you, and you go along with the feel of his lips, letting him guide you. The light strokes of his fingers on your back are a reassurance. Reassurance that the kiss is genuine. Reassurance that you’re safe with him. Reassurance that he wants this just as much as you do.

The adrenaline pulses within your veins.

His tongue brushes against yours.

Your head spins.

It feels like you’re floating.

You want it to last forever.

A low whistle breaks the kiss and you’re reluctant to pull away. “Shit, bro,” The voice belongs to John B who stands below you, staring with upstretched eyebrows. You’re still perched in JJ’s arms, steadying your breathing, coming down from the high. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Get out of here, man,” JJ bends down, hand slapping the backside of JB’s head. John B flinches, careful not to spill the two solo cups in his hands, before sending a wink your way. “Get a room.”

You blink rapidly, almost as if you can’t believe the story JJ is telling you. He watches your puzzled expression, waving his hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N. You okay?”

“I’m…yeah,” you breathe out quickly, fidgeting with your fingers. Your eyes scan JJ’s face, eventually falling on his mouth, and your own lips tingle. You can almost feel his lips on yours.

“So that’s how we ended up having sex,” You finally begin to connect the pieces of the puzzle, blushing deeply when JJ howls with laughter. “No, not exactly. Well, I mean, we did fuck, but not until later. Twice, might I add.”

“Twice?!” It comes out as a screech. Dragging a hand through your hair, your eyes dart to the floor, unable to look JJ in the eye. “When was the first time?”

Last Friday Night

We went streaking in the park

Skinny dipping in the dark

“Aw, not this fucking game,” JJ whines, pulling up a chair beside Pope, blunt hanging from the corner of his mouth. The party has settled down a bit, but many drunk teens are still going, laughing, dancing, and chatting up a storm. Off to the side in the lawn, your friends are gathered in chairs, each with a unique smile on their faces. After three hours, they’re all either drunk, high, or both.

You grab a chair for yourself, but JJ’s voice catches you off guard, halting your movements. “Uh uh, princess,” When he rubs his thighs, John B hollers with laughter. “You can sit right here.”

His tone is raspy, almost as if he’s challenging you, waiting to see how you react. The electricity between you is crackling strong, and it pulls you toward him until you’re comfortably settled in his lap.

Kiara clears her throat. “Okay so I don’t know what that is,” her finger points in your direction and your body tenses up from the feeling of numerous sets of eyes on you and JJ, “But don’t let it distract you from the fact that Pope still hasn’t told us when his first kiss was.”

You silently thank Kie for bringing the attention back to the game. Pope whines childishly, taking another sip of beer for courage. “Fine, fine, if I must.” He glances around the circle sheepishly, sighing, “My first kiss was the end of sophomore year.”

“No way.”

“Shut up!

“That late?”

“Pfft. Prude.”

“Alright, alright, relax,” Pope’s hands fly up in defense. “John B, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Dare.”

Pope thinks hard for a moment, and then the lightbulb goes off. “I dare you to go streaking around the yard.”

You stifle your laugh as John B’s face scrunches together. “Aw, come on man! Have some respect, my girlfriend’s here. I don’t want anyone else seeing my balls.”

“Hold ‘em,” JJ pipes up. “They’re small anyway, wouldn’t be covering much.”

John B flips off JJ before quietly cursing Pope to hell. Placing his beer on the ground, JB sheds his clothes, cheeks reddening as he shields himself from wandering eyes.

Your yard is big, spacious, and it takes JB a full two minutes to run around the backyard, weaving in and out of trees and bushes. Some are recording, like JJ and Kiara, while others like you, Pope and Sarah, try (and fail) to contain your laughter.

John B’s cheeks are flushed red as he stumbles back over to your group, and you desperately try to hide your laughter as JJ replays the video.

“Think that was funny, Y/N?” John B asks, pulling his clothes back on. He settles back into his chair and takes a long swig of beer. “No worries. I have one for you. Truth or dare?”

Normally you’d opt for truth, but tonight is different. You’re feeling bold. “Dare.”

He doesn’t even need to think. “You still have that hot tub on the deck, right?”

You nod, curious as to where he’s going with this.

“I dare you to go skinny dipping in the hot tub.”

“That’s it?” You ask, shocked your dare wasn’t anything raunchy. “I mean, that’s a pretty easy dar-“

“With JJ.”

You freeze.

And suddenly, you feel sober, although your BAC levels suggest otherwise.

“Damn you got her good,” Sarah mutters, supplying her boyfriend with a high five. “She won’t do it, though.”

“Oh, no shot,” Kie agrees with a nod.

JJ shifts underneath you, hand brushing your hair from your ears as he leans in to whisper, “What do you say, baby girl?”

That fuels you. Determined, you stand in front of the group, fingers going to the hem of your top, pulling it over your head, and tossing it to the ground.

Left in only your bra and the tiny shorts that barely cover your ass, you direct your eyes to JJ, smirking at the shit eating grin plastered on his face. “You coming?”

You danced with him. No problem.

You drank with him. No problem.

You kissed him. No problem.

Getting naked with him? Problem.

The lights on the deck are dim, hiding the bright color on your cheeks. The jets in the hot tub whirl beside you, taunting you, screaming at you to complete the dare.

Opposite you on the other side of the hot tub, JJ stands coolly, eyes drooping, lazy smile, taking long drags of his blunt. You watch as his lips form an ‘o’, blowing the smoke into the air. He’s calm, and you want that same tranquility.

He smirks as you pluck the blunt from his fingers, taking a long drag yourself. You feel dizzy, lightheaded, and cough out a puff of smoke.

“Easy, princess,” He cocks a brow, studying you. “Nervous?”

It’s amazing how quickly alcohol fucks with your emotions. One minute, you’re having the time of your life, dancing and kissing a boy way out of your league. And then a minute later, you can barely look at him. “Little bit.”

JJ takes another pull. “Tell you what. You turn around and I’ll change first. Then when I’m in the tub, I’ll turn around so you can change.”

You agree and turn your back to him, providing him with privacy although your head is screaming at you to sneak a peek. A splash in the tub has you turning around, swallowing as JJ rests his arms on the outside, blunt hanging from his smile. He’s effortlessly sexy, and you’ll make sure to thank JB later for the dare.

He winks before turning around slightly, awarding you with the same privacy you supplied him. Your shorts go first, then your thong, followed by your bra. Breathing deeply, you cross your arms over your breasts, thankful that JJ couldn’t see.

But unbeknownst to you, JJ had turned back around. “Sweet ass.”

Yelping, you struggle to cover yourself as JJ chuckles, holding up his arms to block the water as you tumble your way into the hot tub, letting the water shield your body. “Shit, JJ. You weren’t supposed to turn around!”

“And you thought I’d listen, why?”

Rolling your eyes, you settle deeper into the steaming water, moaning slightly as the jets massage your back. Across from you, JJ observes you with a smile. “You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. We’re friends, after all.”

“I’m not shy.”

JJ snickers. “Please. You don’t think I notice how your body tenses up whenever I’m close to you? You think I don’t see when your cheeks get that little pink color when I look at you?” His head hangs, tilted to the side, blunt held between his thumb and forefinger., lowering his voice. “You think I don’t know how much you wanted to kiss me tonight?”

There’s no way he can read you that easily, so you play it off. “Alcohol changes a person.”

His grin irritates you. He doesn’t believe you. Why doesn’t he believe you?

Drawing in a breath, you decide to go for it. You swim over to him, watching as his eyes widen, now alert, and climb into his lap, palms flat against his tanned chest. One hand goes to your hip, holding you in place. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not shy,” you repeat, brushing your lips over his. JJ’s chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and for a second, you believe you misread the signals. He takes a quick pull of the blunt and you cover his mouth with your own, dragging the smoke back into your mouth, titling your head back, releasing it into the air.

“Fuck, that was hot.”

The blunt, now finished, falls from JJ’s fingers as his hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you in, kissing you hard. Your mouths mesh together, igniting a fire in your bones. Fingertips dig into his flesh, marking him. JJ’s hand on your waist pushes you further against him, impossibly close to his skin.

The sound of your heart is loud in your ears as you try to focus on moving your lips in sync. JJ’s hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, the curve of your ass. His fingers dance over your neck, your throat, and down the center of your breasts.

The tip of his dick rubs against the inside of your thigh, causing your mouth to open slightly. JJ takes advantage of the opportunity, slipping his tongue in your mouth, exploring, claiming.

You find yourself not wanting to stop. All of the nerves leave your body with each kiss JJ presses to your swollen lips. He’s hungry for more and so are you, but for something different.

He freezes when your hand disappears beneath the water, gripping his length in your palm. His wrist flies to your hand, stopping you, as his other hand runs through his hair, considering. “Listen, princess, as much as I really want to do this, I don’t think--.”

A finger to his mouth cuts him off, a sly smile playing on your lips as you shake his hand from yours. You reposition yourself over him, breasts peeking out from the water, as you slowly sink yourself down onto him.

With every groan that leaves his lips, and with each new swirl of your hips, you feel waves of confidence wash over your body. You’re drunk, he’s high, and you both feel alive.

This Friday night

Do it all again

The ceiling in your room distracts you from JJ’s face, which, if you know anything about him, has a wide grin on it. Heat bubbles in your chest as you replay the story in your head, ignoring JJ’s teasing comments about the color rising in your cheeks.

Sitting up abruptly, you turn to face him. He’s leaned back on your pillows, arms behind his head. “After that, we fucked right here,” JJ pats the bed proudly. “And that, baby girl, was your Friday night.”

Well, it could have gone much worse.

“Sounds like I embarrassed the ever-loving fuck out of myself.”

JJ laughs, holding out his arms. You send him a look before complying, hooking your leg over his waist, resting your head against his bare chest. His one arm lazily wraps around you, the free hand skimming over the skin on your thigh.

“I am never having another party ever again.”

JJ cringes. “Yeah, about that…you might want to check your phone.”

You snatch it from the night stand, crossing an arm over your chest as you read messages from a very large group chat. “JJ…why’s everyone talking about a party?”

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as you scroll to the very top, phone falling between your legs as you read the message you drunkenly sent before you passed out at three in the morning.

Party at our house this Friday night! Let’s do it again, bitches.

You stare at JJ, palms flat against your head as he falls off the bed in laughter.

Fuck.

251 notes · View notes

oreosmama · 4 years

Text

The Bigger the Hoop (Terushima x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Terushima’s got your heart held in his hands. And your earrings stuck in his ears.

A/N: It was soft and cracky at first, but then it grew serious, so idk. I kinda like it, and I hope y’all do too! Btw, thank you so much for the support recently, it makes me happier every single day!

Word count: 1812

“Yuuji, I’m back!” You shut the door to your house and kick off your shoes, ready to relax the night away with a fun movie and a hot boyfriend by your side. His response to you is unsettling, however.

“You’re not supposed to be home yet!” What? Your brows furrow at the words and you set down the DVD you had bought for the night.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t answer. The rest of the house is dim and the only visible light is coming from under your door, so you follow it. Ever so curious, you sneak your way up the stairs, cringing at every creak that occurs.

“Get out of me!” You can hear Terushima’s panicked whispers from inside your room. “Get out, get out, get out!” Oh god, was he cheating on you or something? In your own house? What a jerk!

“Terushima?! What are you doing?” You feel betrayed, but you needed proof before you could smack the shit out of him. He used to always flirt with other girls before he chose you. I should have known.

“I’m busy! Don’t come in!” Anger flooded through you. Now he didn’t even want you in your own room. You’re crossing the line, mister.

“What are you doing, Terushima?” Your shout echoes throughout the house and you slam open your bedroom door. And there, not here, there, he sits. Your blond, erratic boyfriend is slumped in the center of your bed, looking winded and terrified all at the same time. That wasn’t what caught your attention. It was his ears.

“Umm… nothing?” He nervously smiles at you before looking away, lowering his hands from the hoop earrings currently stuck in his pierced lobes.

“Pshh, damn baby you look good!” You burst out in laughter, watching the blush on your boyfriend’s face grow.

“Shut up!” He’s embarrassed, and that’s a new look for the playboy. Instinctively his hands slink back up to the hoops caught in his ears, hiding them from sight. Your giggles grow into breathless squeaks at this point, no different from the mating call of a desperate hyena.

“Ohhh my God, you are the cutest hoe on this side of the block! How much?” You collapse onto the bed next to him and he doesn’t hesitate to vengefully poke you in the side. You yelp at the tickle it causes.

“Sixty-nine bucks. Plus tips,” he miserably quips, standing up to look in the mirror on your wall. “Now help me get these stupid things out of me.”

“Hey wait a minute, hold on now. If it’s Barbie dress-up time, we gotta get the whole garb together-”

“Hush it.” He glares at you playfully before pulling at the silver circles with twitching fingers. You chuckle and hop off your mattress, coming to his rescue.

“I’m just saying I have some heels in my closet too if you wanna-”

“Shut up!” You snicker before swatting his hands away, inspecting the issue.

“Please tell me you at least cleaned them before you put them on.” Your squint at the swollen piercing before giving a swift tug.

“Of cou- OW SON OF A BITCH-rse I did, I’m not an idiot.” While stepping closer and redirecting his head closer to the light on your ceiling, you give him a doubting look. “I’m not always an idiot.” He corrects himself while rolling his eyes. Your triumphant chuckles are swapped out for a silent gasp when his hands land on your hips. Terushima raises his brows while his signature smirk grows. His thumbs lift your shirt little by little and caress the soft skin of your waist.

“You like that?” he whispers, leaning closer to your burning form. You nervously clear your throat and return to the task at hand.

“Of course I do. What I don’t like is the inevitable sacrifice my butter will have to make to unwedge my hoops from your ears.” His confidence never dies that easily, but his smug look drops and he pulls back slightly. It’s a small win for now. “What were you even doing anyway?”

“I was trying to….” His voice trails off into mumbles while he finds interest in your dirty carpet.

“What was that?”

“I wanted to…” he murmurs too quietly to hear once again.

“Excuse me?” You tug on the earring to grab his attention and he hisses at the sensation. His hands grip harder at your sides.

“I wanted to see what I would look like! You know… with them in.” His brown eyes strike through your own as he shyly awaits your response.

“And the verdict is…?”

His eyes glow proudly. “You have the sexiest boyfriend on the street.” The hotshot arrogantly simpers at you and you smile back before rubbing your nose against his.

“Yeah, I noticed.” You stick out your tongue at him before worming out of his grip and leaving your room. His heavy steps trail after you.

“Aww, no need to be jealous, baby.” Terushima’s reassurances are less than helpful, “I only got my eyes on you.”

“Good.” The sincerity in your usually-playful tone halts him in his steps.

“YN, I’m serious. You know that, right?” He grabs your hand and draws your attention to him just as you open the fridge door. A blast of chilled air ruffles the single blond tuft hanging down on his forehead and it almost makes you forget what you were doing.

“You want Tillamook or Country Crock?” You turn back to the refrigerator dismissively.

“YN-”

“This one’s fat free-”

“YN!” Two hands urge you to face him, both rough but tender against your cheeks. His eyes capture yours and he bites his lip apprehensively.

“Do you think we should melt them-” He pulls you into a bear hug and squeezes the sarcasm right out of you. Man, I was saving that up, too.

“Hug me back, coward.” There’s no room for argument, not that you wanted to resist anyway. You squeeze him back even tighter and fend off the burn in your eyes by pressing your face into his neck. Who knew you needed a hug so bad?

“YN, what’s wrong?” His arms slither around your back and his fingers crawl up into your scalp, scratching back and forth comfortingly.

“I’m scared.” Oh shit, tears.

“Why?”

“You hold my emotions in your hands.” Your fingers dig into his back harder.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Your throat grows tighter. “But I’m still scared.”

“Why?” He repeats. His chin digs into your shoulder with every syllable, but you don’t mind.

“This is new for me. You’re new for me.” This was your first relationship ever, and it was with one of the most flirtatious, attractive, panty-dropping guys at Johzenji. He was dangerous.

“I won’t hurt you. You’re new for me too.” Your heart skips a beat before running a marathon, and you pull back for a split second. It was the same racing that occurred when you had heard him alone in your room. In that moment, you had been so afraid. Your heart had constricted the moment his voice worriedly spoke. Your chest had grown tight and you couldn’t breathe. It hurt to think he could hurt you, and that he held that power in that moment. But now, after his confession, you were both in the same boat, floating on trust alone. Your heartbeat quickens at his words this time not from fear, but from anticipation.

“My emotions for you,” his timid tone draws you back into reality. “They’re just like, really strong and that’s kinda new for me, and umm....” He’s grown shy and scared, mumbling like a nervous trainwreck. You understand the feeling and gently pat his back to regain his attention.

“I know. I feel the same.” You smile comfortingly at him, and the world that had been fading around you both returns in an instant. Your back is cold while your entire front is on fire. Why… “Oh shit, the fridge!” You whip around and slam the door, the mood temporarily dampened by your outburst. Terushima snickers at your panic until you return your gaze to him. His eyes darken and he bites his lip seductively.

“Do you want to-”

“I still have to get those earrings out of your ears.”

“Right, right. Priorities.” The swelling around the hoops is now an unsettling bright yellow.

“What the hell did you do, by the way?”

“I may or may not have not washed them-”

“You said you did!”

“I panicked!” You groan and shake your head at him. The butter in the fridge is just awaiting its fate, and as you bring it over to him, freshly melted, your boyfriend has the gall to speak up once more.

“So why were you so scared when you busted into your room? You looked about ready to bust a crime there, copper.” He raises a brow while nervously leaning away from the steaming bowl, only for you to tug him back forcefully.

“I was- STOP MOVING- I was scared you were cheating on me.” You shrug at your own blatant admission. Although the fear of him actually cheating on you one day is still present, the loving looks he keeps serving you even though you might just burn his ear off any second is making you soft.

“In your own house?!”

“That’s what I thought!” Terushima laughs and you catch a glimpse of his tongue piercing. Damn.

“OW!” Oops.

“Sorry.” You hastily pull back the scalding dish of melted butter and tug at the earring, whooping victoriously when it slides out. “Got it!”

“Holy shit, that hurt like a-”

“Next!” You push his head into the table and turn it to view the other ear. Totally ignored, he grumbles under his breath.

“Just be careful this time, damn.” You “mhm” distractedly and peek your tongue out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. “By the way, you know I would never hurt you that way, right-”

“I know, I know. But it’s just hard to believe that when you’re, you know, you.”

He scoffs. “And who exactly is ‘me’?”

“A player,” you respond simply before completing the same task but with faster, more experienced hands this round. Terushima’s silent in thought, and only whimpers once when it happens.

“I’m not like that anymore. Not with you. You know that, right?”

“Uh huh, sure.” You inspect his earlobes before grabbing a couple ice cubes and pressing them to the swelled piercings.

“What do you mean ‘sure’?!”

“Hey, I’m just saying, the bigger the hoop, you know?” You mockingly dangle the silver earrings in front of his face with a playful sneer.

“Oh come on!”

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gyllenhaalstories · 4 years

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You've started writing at what 10 yo? gurl that is some young stuff. give us 3 writing facts pls!

I KNOW i don’t even wanna know what i wrote back then. i’d die of embarrassment.

i played with barbie dolls until i was 13 or 14 and this is where my passion for writing started. to me, writing includes building characters and stories and story telling in general. and what i loved the most about playing with dolls was a) to pretend i was an interior designer and b) to create crazy stories. i used to go back from school, finish all of my schoolwork (i peaked at 11 as an academic it went downhill ever since) and play. i built characters based off their looks, the “vibes” i was getting, the clothes that fit better on them, etc. and i discovered one of my favourite things in the absolute universe: giving names to stuff. my dolls (i had barbie but also another brand that is called LIV dolls, they no longer exist) and they always had the same names and i was like NOPE NOT HAVING IT. so i would look up for names, dig through movies i enjoyed and find cute names, read the credits at the end of movies and all of that. and still to this day, i sort of build my characters around their names!

i used to write ALL THE TIME in high school. i carried a notebook and wrote everything that came to mind. i used to roleplay (basically playing characters and interacting with other people who also play characters) on a francophone platform named ohmydollz (THIS WAS TRAUMATIC) so i would build characters, match certain characters to celebrities i enjoyed (this is called faceclaim) and all of that. i wrote a shit ton of fanfiction based off glee and x-men. in fact, my best work was a charles xavier x erik lehnsherr (cherik is my otp) fanfic set in paris during ww2. i never finished it, never went further than the prologue. BUT THE STORY THE PLOT THE CHARACTERS THE TENSION wow i really peaked.

i struggle still, up to this day, to write. i’ve been writing essays and argumentative and scientific pieces for over 5 years now and let me tell you, it kills your imagination. you develop certain writing habits and you become so overly critical of certain words and expressions. it’s sad. i struggle writing essays because they are not creative enough. and i struggle writing narrative pieces because they are not “proven” and “reliable” enough. i know it’s stupid for me to continue into a masters degree and sell my soul to the academic devils, but if it’s the only way i get to write, i’ll do it. most professors strongly dislike my style of writing, they call it too colourful or too descriptive, and this is all due to my experience in narrative writing. i don’t want to lose this “colour” in my essays, because it adds a little something that makes me appreciate writing and reading them. it gives majour headaches to all of my profs but hey, they won’t ever read what i submit to them as assignments so idc <3 one of my dreams is to write a historical novel. AND MAKE ALL OF MY PEERS CRINGE BECAUSE HISTORIANS HATE HISTORICAL NOVELS i am evil i know. but i would love that! probably still something about two gays in the army in paris wondering what the hell is happening and just living life dressed in ugly green uniforms.

#gyllenhaalstories answers #others: about laurie #Anonymous

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Living in Sin (All the Rules are Changing Now), chapter 3: Make Me Feel Right (branjie) - writworm42, holtzmanns

A/N: Last chapter, Vanessa returned to the strip club where Brooke works, and they decided to go on a date. This chapter, they go out for dinner and then to Brooke’s place for dessert.

WRIT: WOW Y'ALL!!! It’s here!!! The last chapter!! So sorry for the delay on it. Everybody say THANK YOU HOLTZ bc without her (aggressively) suggestin it and agreeing to help me write this last chapter, it wouldn’t exist. I love u, binch, I ain’t never gonna stop lovin u, binch

Title from Only Girl in the World by Rihanna. Thank you thank you thank you Barbie for being an amazing cheerleader and a beta, you are second to none!!! <3 Hope you enjoy!!!

HOLTZ: HI HOLTZMANNS POPPIN IN WRIT IS A GEM AND I LOVE THEM AND WRITING THIS WITH THEM OK ADIOS ENJOY

Brooke counts down the minutes until her shift ends after Vanessa leaves, every passing song making her more and more restless. The minute the DJ announces last call, Brooke disappears, foregoing the chance to earn a last few hundred bucks to rush off towards the dressing room where she knows her friends are already waiting.

“GUYS!” The doors swing open way harder than Brooke means for them to, and she cringes at the slam that echoes around the narrow, concrete-walled room. “Sorry.”

Yvie waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Now what, you look like you’re about to jump out of your costume.”

Brooke’s already started pacing in front of the makeup stations, and she can’t help it because all that her mind is doing is replaying her last interaction with Vanessa. “She came back-”

“Lord, finally.” Asia rolls her eyes, but is unable to keep from smiling a little despite herself. “I was beginning to think I might have to name my first child Vanessa, from how much you were talking about her.”

Brooke blushes. “I wasn’t talking about her that much-”

“‘ Oh, Vanessa said this, oh, Vanessa did that,’” Yvie throws her hand over her heart dramatically and Brooke goes over to shove her side. “So what, did she say anything else to you this time, or are we just gonna keep replaying the same three sentences and calling you ‘Mommy’ for the rest of the night?”

“Oh, sure, I’m the only one who’s been weird and gay over a girl.” Brooke rolls her eyes as she plops down at her station, grabbing her makeup wipes as she adds with a wicked grin, “The name ‘Scarlet’ mean anything to you, my dear Yvette?”

Yvie reddens. “That’s diff–Stop calling me that!”

The girls around them all snicker, and then silence settles on the room, everyone caught back up in their end-of-night routines.

Plastique swivels on her stool to face Brooke. “So, what happened? What did she do? What did she say? Did you give her another good time-”

“No-I mean yes , but-no, it was…nice.” Brooke busies herself with getting her mascara off so that she doesn’t have to look up at her. “I, um.” she pauses, suddenly aware of exactly what she’s about to say.

She asked Vanessa out.

She asked Vanessa, a girl who she’d picked up at a strip club , who she’d known for the length of approximately four songs and two lap dances , out for dinner at her favourite Thai place.

How in the world was she supposed to tell her friends something so incredibly stupid?

Before she can open her mouth to even form the words, though, Detox pipes up from her station at the corner, rocketing up off her chair to slam the counter in front of her.

“Oh my God , you slut! ” Detox practically screams, “You asked her out. You actually asked her out. Oh my God. This is the best day of my life. Legend. ”

Brooke wants to retort with something, explain herself however she can, but it’s a lost effort, everyone else erupting into screams and fits of clapping and bouncing up and down, Plastique even falling out of her chair.

“It’s not a big-”

“Oh, you bet it’s a big deal, bitch.” Kameron scoots her chair closer to Brooke’s station. “So, how did you do it? Did you whisper the words all sultry into her ear as you gave her a lap dance?”

“Shut up,” Brooke groans as the other girls all crack up, “I did not. Did something far more embarrassing, actually.”

Kameron gives her a look. “You didn’t ask her while she came, did you?”

“What? No!” Brooke swats Kameron’s side. “I wouldn’t let her pay and then asked her afterwards when she said she absolutely had to repay me.”

Detox looks at her in the mirror incredulously. “She probably would have gone down on you right then and there if you asked!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t wanna ask that. I wanna, y’know, start small first.” Brooke doesn’t know why the words are heating her cheeks up, why she’s so hung up over a girl that she’s been in the presence of for ten minutes in total, max. But she is.

“You like her!” Yvie lets out an aww as she says it, one that Plastique mimics right afterwards.

Brooke sputters. “I don’t even know her.”

“Yeah, but you want to.” Asia’s look is knowing, too knowing, and it makes Brooke let out a huff.

“So what?” Brooke doesn’t know why she’s so defensive over it, really. The girls on the cast hooked up with patrons all the time, being careful to keep it under the radar.

But Brooke doesn’t want to only hook up with Vanessa, have her be just a casual option on a rotating list of conquests like many of the other girls have. No, Vanessa’s different. Brooke doesn’t know why, but she is.

_____

Brooke does her makeup differently for their date than the way she does it for work.

Less overdrawn lips, for one, though the same colour. Less dark and sultry eyes, but more colourful. More highlight and less contour. Her face is brighter, though as inviting. Just in a different way.

Brooke spends the entire walk to the restaurant ruminating, because that’s what her brain does best. This time, it’s about the way that she had given Vanessa her number so that she could text her about where and when to meet. It keeps replaying, the way she had run back to where Vanessa was sitting in the crowd to drop a slip of paper into her hand after she had already kissed her cheek goodbye, not maintaining any sense of dignity whatsoever, nope.

So much for being smooth. The memory repeats itself over and over in her head like a broken record, making her cringe. Sometimes, it felt like Brooke’s suaveness disappeared as soon as she stopped performing, leaving behind an impulsivity in her actions that was funny to watch at best, and fully embarrassing at worst.

She beats Vanessa to Sabai Sabai, the restaurant’s lit up sign casting a soft glow on the sidewalk in front of her. The booth that she’s lead to is in a corner of the restaurant, tucked up against two brick walls underneath the soft glow of the lamps hanging from the ceiling.

Vanessa gets there not long after, and Brooke’s breath catches in her throat because she’s equally striking outside of the red light that normally coats the club.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Brooke goes to hug Vanessa, doesn’t know if she should kiss her cheek or not, because really, where do you go from getting someone off in a private room in a strip club?

Twice?

Brooke can see the way that Vanessa’s eyes roam over her after they sit down, taking her in. It makes her feel less out of her element, more in control, since it’s something that she’s used to experiencing.

What she’s not used to, though, is having to make small talk with her clients ( past clients) while sitting across from them at a table in a busy restaurant.

“So,” Brooke starts, as Vanessa scans her menu, “Ever tried Thai food before?”

“Not really.” Vanessa shrugs. “I mean, I’ve had Thai Express and shit, but that probably doesn’t count as the real thing, right?”

Brooke giggles, shaking her head.

“Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that!” Vanessa objects indignantly, and it occurs to Brooke suddenly that a few other patrons close by have turned their heads to look at the source of noise.

Vanessa out of the club isn’t just lively–she’s loud , too, in a way that’s absolutely unapologetic, and somehow, Brooke loves it.

“Some of us ain’t got wads of tips to eat out with all the time.” Vanessa grumbles, taking a sip of her water, but if she thinks Brooke is going to let her get away that easily, then she’s sadly mistaken.

“But you have over a hundred dollars to spend getting eaten ou–”

Vanessa freezes, and the rest of the joke dies on Brooke’s lips, the realization of just what she was saying hitting her a little too late.

Great. Here they were, trying to get to know the other person outside the context of the club, and Brooke had dragged them right back into it.

God, she’s so stupid.

“So, um… What’s good here?” Vanessa coughs, studying the menu just a little too intently.

“I like the pad see ew.” Brooke suggests, reaching over to tap the picture of the dish on Vanessa’s menu, “Get it mild if you don’t like spice, though.”

“ Bitch, ” Vanessa rolls her eyes, “My dumb ass can barely handle no spice, you ain’t gotta tell me twice.”

“Alright.” Brooke laughs, and Vanessa laughs too, and it’s nice, their dynamic finally feeling almost easy to push forward.

Almost like it’s a perfectly natural thing, to be talking and laughing with the woman in front of her.

Before they can continue the conversation, though, a waitress appears to take their order, and the vibe breaks, silence settling in once again when she leaves.

And they’d been doing so well. Fuck.

“So, what do you do?” Brooke starts, regretting the question as she’s saying it. Surely, she should be able to think of something else, something a little less dorky, but it’s all she can think of at the moment. Besides, where work was concerned, Brooke had already shown Vanessa hers–Vanessa might as well show her hers, too.

“I’m an event planner!” Vanessa lights up a little, and suddenly, Brooke’s question doesn’t seem so lame, after all. Vanessa talks almost non-stop after that, answering all of Brooke’s questions about weddings and bar mitzvahs and mitigating the risk of having romantic candles placed on the staircase of a wedding shoot when the bridesmaids are likely already drunk until their food finally arrives, thick, steaming piles of noodles making their mouths water.

“Oh my God. ” Vanessa is the first to take a bite, barely reacting to how hot the food is as she shovels a forkful into her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Brooke giggles, her chest swelling with hope that Vanessa’s reaction is a good sign.

“What did you say this was again? Pack see ookie or something?”

“Pad see ew!” Brooke is unable to keep herself from practically screaming from laughter in reaction, spitting out her own noodles.

“Well it’s not ew, it’s amazing!” Vanessa defends herself, only to giggle along too when Brooke laughs even harder. “Lord, I’mma have to start eating out more often.”

Brooke resists the obvious joke she could make, especially now that the ice is safely broken, and shovels in another mouthful of noodles herself, noting with a special bloom of pride that they taste even better than usual.

The rest of the date passes without incident. In fact, it’s probably one of the better ones Brooke’s been on; now that the initial awkwardness is finally over with, their conversation flows freely, and they find they have more in common than Brooke could ever have dreamed of. And even the stuff that sounds like it’s from another world, that Brooke would normally dismiss or disagree with, is suddenly incredibly interesting to her–Vanessa makes it interesting, makes every Pokemon game and every argument about the benefits of liquid versus powder foundation seem like something Brooke actually wants to learn.

And it’s not just Brooke that feels that way. When she finally gets a word in edgewise, finally tells Vanessa about the time she spent living in South Africa or the best cut of chicken at Swiss Chalet, Vanessa’s face is animated the whole time, and Brooke can tell she’s fully listening, thinking about what she’ll say to follow up and learning about Brooke’s perspective on the world. They order dessert just to get a chance to keep talking, and by the time they get the bill and Brooke chances a look at her phone, it’s almost ten o’clock.

“Oh, I should probably get going.” Vanessa chews her lip as she stares at her phone in turn. “I gotta get home, I got a meeting at a venue in the Distillery District tomorrow, don’t wanna be up too late or the commute’s gonna be Hell.”

This is Brooke’s chance - she can either ask for a second date and leave it at that, or she could spring for something more. For a moment, she almost leans towards the conservative option, afraid that going for sex on the first date might put Vanessa off.

Then she remembers how they met, and suddenly, it doesn’t seem like such an outlandish proposition.

“Well, I actually live pretty close to that area…you, um, you wanna crash and just go straight to your meeting in the morning?”

“What’s your address?” Vanessa’s reply is quick, her phone already open to the Uber app to punch in Brooke’s answer.

–

The sex is different this time - it’s slower, more exploratory, more affectionate. Brooke and Vanessa take time to explore each other’s bodies, stroking and kissing every inch of skin, listening for the gasps and whimpers that signal that they’re doing something right.

It’s interesting. For all of Brooke’s bravado, Vanessa only has to run her short nails along the curve of her ribs, kiss along the line of her neck, before Brooke is putty in her hands. Getting Brooke on the bed, bracketing her hips with her thighs is a rush that Vanessa didn’t know she needed. Being the one to make Brooke squirm, hands reaching up to pinch her own nipples because she’s already so needy, wanting more. It’s a role reversal, one that Vanessa wants to take her time with, fully explore the woman underneath her.

“Please.” The word leaves Brooke’s lips in a gasp when Vanessa grabs just a little bit harder at her hip, kisses her neck with a slight graze of her teeth.

“Nuh-uh.” Vanessa catches Brooke’s hand as it’s about to go to her own panties to give herself some relief. “You gotta be good for me.”

Brooke huffs, tries to free her hand, but Vanessa interlocks their fingers, pressing their hands up on the bed beside Brooke’s head.

“Much better.” Vanessa practically purrs the words in Brooke’s ear before biting lightly at her earlobe, making her gasp.

It’s so different from the club to Vanessa, being the one that gets to be in control. The one who can touch Brooke and control the pace and call the shots, all to make the woman underneath her fall apart. It’s not what Vanessa had expected from the night before it started, but now? She doesn’t want it to ever end.

Brooke is bold, though, more so than Vanessa expects her to be, grinding herself down on Vanessa’s thigh to get some relief. The little gasp of pleasure that leaves her mouth makes Vanessa pull her leg back, sit back on her heels, a slight satisfaction running through her veins when Brooke whines.

“Hey!” Brooke pouts, crossing her arms in a way that’s almost endearing. “Come on, don’t tease me like that.”

“Behave, then I won’t have to.” Vanessa shrugs. There’s silence for a moment, Brooke frowning slightly as she weighs her options, until Vanessa decides she’s had enough.

“All I wanna hear is yes, ma’am, then I can go back to makin’ you feel good.” she leans forward to whisper in Brooke’s ear, preventatively reaching her hands up to Brooke’s wrists to pin them down. “You understand?”

Brooke whimpers, and Vanessa pulls away again, forcing her face into a stern expression despite the excitement she can feel spreading in her body. It’s exhilarating, finally being able to call the shots. To see this entirely different side of Brooke, to get to play with it and explore it, explore her.

It’s almost enough to make her cave, but then again, what would be the fun in that?

“I understand.” Brooke finally gives in, the surrender coming out all in one hot, quick breath.

“Good girl.” Vanessa smirks. Realizing she could probably take it even further, traces her hands from Brooke’s wrists up her arms, towards her collarbones as she teases, “Now ask me nicely, baby, be polite.”

There’s a fifty-fifty chance that Brooke won’t buy it, that Vanessa’s headed for another power-struggle. Brooke is a smart woman, though, so she simply huffs before whining something out under her breath, something that sounds a lot like please.

Unfortunately, that’s just not quite good enough for Vanessa, not when she’s in this kind of mood.

“What was that?” Vanessa brings her fingers down from Brooke’s collarbone along her chest, tracing just shy of her cleavage but not daring to venture any further. “Come on, nice and loud, baby girl.”

She brings her hands down to pinch Brooke’s nipple just as she cries out her plea a little louder, a little more desperate.

“Please fuck me .”

“Better.” Vanessa lets her touch become tender, loosening her tight grip on Brooke’s tits to gently trace circles around her nipple, smiling against Brooke’s jaw as the blonde shivers underneath her.

“So pretty when you’re all undone like this, you know that?” Vanessa kisses her way down to Brooke’s neck, sucks lightly on the skin there. “Can I bite you here, or you can’t get marked?”

“Yeah, no, don’t bite me.” Brooke pants, beginning to squirm when Vanessa answers by humming her understanding against her skin. “I can’t get marked up in my industry. Ruins the illusion.” She lets out a harsh laugh, but Vanessa only nods. She doesn’t want to do anything to make trouble for Brooke at her job.

“I’ll be careful, then.”

Vanessa threads her fingers through Brooke’s hair instead and grabs a fistful. She tugs slightly, relishing in the way it makes Brooke gasp.

“Looks like I ain’t even need to bite to get you excited.” Vanessa laughs, kissing the nape of Brooke’s neck lightly and scraping it with her teeth, just enough for Brooke to feel the near-sting of a bite and not enough to mark her.

It earns her another gasp, and she files the move away for later, a flash of satisfaction running through her as she tugs on Brooke’s locks a little more, her other hand running down the blonde’s body and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“So pretty, baby.” Vanessa rasps in Brooke’s ear, and fuck, if the sight of Brooke coming undone underneath her isn’t enough to take Vanessa to the edge, then the noise Brooke makes at the praise certainly is. Vanessa can’t wait any more. So instead, she finally guides her hand home between Brooke’s legs, and starts to work some kind of magic.

“Oh, fuck .” Brooke gasps, so out of breath and desperate that Vanessa can’t help but shiver despite herself as she rubs Brooke through her underwear, feeling the fabric become slicker with every movement as Brooke’s hips twitch back into Vanessa’s hand.

“ More, more, Ness, please. ” Brooke’s voice is barely her own, and it’s cute, somehow, watching her become this much of a mess this early on into things. It’s incredibly tempting; Vanessa almost wants to keep teasing, wants to see just how far she can push Brooke before the woman really, truly loses control, but she stops herself, knowing that Brooke is already close enough to her limit.

Besides, she may be done teasing, but in terms of making Brooke feel good, well. She’s just getting started.

“Let’s take these off, sweetheart.” the pet name falls off Vanessa’s lips easily, despite how strange it feels to be using it for Brooke instead of hearing it directed towards herself. One look at Brooke, though, and Vanessa can tell that the other woman doesn’t mind–in fact, she almost looks more comfortable somehow, reassured, as if the affection the name holds is making things even better. And to a certain extent, it is, even for Vanessa. She’s not just fucking Brooke anymore; she’s making love to her sweetheart.

She wonders, for a brief moment, if Brooke had felt the same way in the club, or if sweetheart was something she called all of her clients. But the thought leaves her mind almost as instantly as it entered it; right now, it doesn’t really matter, because Brooke is squirming and bucking and gripping the sheets, desperately trying to be good and not get ahead of herself as she waits for Vanessa to make good on the promise she just delivered.

“So patient for me.” Vanessa praises, her heart melting a little as she finally hooks her fingers over the waistband of Brooke’s underwear and peels it off of her hips. “Good girl.”

Brooke says nothing, only lets out a shaky exhale, and that’s when Vanessa gets what just might be the best idea she’s had all night.

“Sit on my face.”

Brooke looks up at her, and for a moment, Vanessa thinks she might say no, thinks she might say that she’s afraid of hurting Vanessa. Truth is, Vanessa doesn’t know if she will–she’s never actually tried it before. What she does know, though, is that she wants to try it with Brooke, right now.

“You won’t hurt me, I promise–” she starts, but then Brooke shakes her head.

“I’m not worried about that,” she promises, propping herself up on her elbows and then heaving herself up all the way, “I was just thinking that I was gonna have a hard time staying up on my legs.”

They both laugh, and before the air can settle into any more worry, Vanessa slings her arms over and behind Brooke’s neck, and then she’s laying down, Brooke on top of her trailing kisses as she moves up Vanessa’s body, bit of exposed skin by bit of exposed skin until she’s shimmied her way up above Vanessa’s face. She crouches down, uses her height to plant her hands firmly on the headboard for extra support, and then Vanessa loses her nerve.

“Um, B?” she starts, only to get cut off by a bemused laugh from the blonde above her.

“You’ve never done this before, have you, sweetheart?”

Vanessa reddens and says nothing, suddenly painfully aware of how fast the tables have turned. She doesn’t have much time to feel embarrassed though, because Brooke has already settled into her newfound control and is already taking care of Vanessa, shifting her weight so that she can free a hand to stroke through Vanessa’s hair.

“It’s alright,” she soothes, “Just let mommy teach you, okay? I’ll tell you what to do.”

Vanessa nods, grateful that Brooke didn’t choose to make fun of her for getting insecure. No, Brooke has proven time and time again that she’s not like that, and so Vanessa feels safe as she follows Brooke’s directions to grab her by her hips and lower her down, pull her chin up and breathe through her nose while she reaches her tongue up to just eat Brooke out like she normally would, just like that, keep going, keep going, faster, faster–

Brooke’s legs start to tremble, and Vanessa realizes that for the past few moments, she hasn’t said anything at all–at least, not any coherent words. The only sounds leaving Brooke’s lips are soft gasps that spur Vanessa on more, making her grip Brooke’s upper thighs tighter to pull her closer.

“Just like that, you’re doing so good, baby-”

Brooke’s praises are cut off in a moan that Vanessa’s sure the neighbours can hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way Brooke is moving her hips against her face makes Vanessa never want to stop, not when she can get Brooke so undone without even making her come yet.

But she’s close. Vanessa can tell by the way one of Brooke’s hands has left the headboard to nestle in Vanessa’s hair, pushing her head closer, begging for it without using words. Brooke doesn’t seem like she can, from the incoherent sounds leaving her mouth.

The fact that Vanessa’s the one to make Brooke like this? Getting her so worked up, after being the one at Brooke’s mercy twice before? It’s intoxicating, a feeling of power that Vanessa’s never really felt before.

But she loves it.

Vanessa can feel her fingers making indents in Brooke’s upper thighs as she squeezes them, matching Brooke’s movements. She looks up from her position, sees the way Brooke’s head is tilted back, the way her lips are slightly parted in a gasp. She sucks on Brooke’s clit, lets out a little moan against her as she does.

“I- fuck , Ness, I-”

Brooke’s words are cut off in a soundless scream and Vanessa doesn’t stop, meeting the jerky movements of her hips until Brooke is pushing off of her, rolling onto the bed beside her.

Her chest is rising and falling erratically and she looks fucked out and Vanessa’s never seen a more beautiful sight in her life.

“Take your time, catch your breath.” Vanessa can’t help the smirk on her face as Brooke turns to lay on her side and face her, rolling her eyes with a smile on her face.

“That was amazing, baby. You did so well for me, did you know that?” Brooke purrs the words as she trails shaky fingers up Vanessa’s arm and shoulder and along her collarbone, and Vanessa feels her cheeks heating up at the praise.

“Such a good girl.” Brooke seems to have caught her breath, sitting back up before climbing back on top of Vanessa. Except the power’s shifted, and Vanessa gulps, squeezing her thighs together.

Because the sight of Brooke straddling her, hair tickling her face before she tosses it out of the way, over her shoulder?

Vanessa’s weak for it.

“No, baby girl, you’re not hiding from me.” Brooke tsks as she spreads Vanessa’s legs apart, shaking her head. Vanessa, for her part, finds herself unable to say anything at all; she’s only able to let out a little squeak as Brooke slots herself between her legs and begins to grind against nothing but the air between them. With every thrust, every swing of her hips, Brooke lowers herself a little closer to Vanessa, almost looking like she might close the distance. But then Brooke giggles, pulls back up, or worse, stops moving at all, and Vanessa’s left ineffectively humping the air, whining with desperation.

It’s absolutely maddening, and Vanessa could do it forever.

Finally, Brooke closes the distance between them, rubbing and grinding herself up against Vanessa, grinning as Vanessa’s slickness meets her own.

“Get up, I wanna try something.” Brooke already has her hands supporting Vanessa’s back, guiding her up as she says it.

“You ever tribbed before?” Brooke continues, giggling affectionately when Vanessa shakes her head, blushing. “Night of firsts for you, huh?” she winks, and Vanessa can’t help but giggle a little too, though she’s not sure whether it’s more out of nerves or excitement.

“Okay, put your legs like this, good girl… Now scootch towards me, and I’ll go here…” Brooke guides them together until they’re fit like puzzle pieces, one of Brooke’s legs over Vanessa’s shoulders and one of Vanessa’s boxing Brooke in close to her in turn.

“Now c’mere.” It’s the last thing Brooke says before she pulls Vanessa forward to close any distance left between them, and then they’re kissing, they’re kissing and grinding and feeling each other, the wet sounds of sex filling the room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Vanessa barely recognizes the voice coming out of her mouth as her own, can barely see through the clouds covering her vision as she moves faster up against Brooke, the other woman responding only with huffs and whimpers as she meets each of Vanessa’s thrusts with equal force.

“You gonna come for me, angel? You gonna come for mommy?” Brooke finally grunts out, and yes, Vanessa’s going to come, she’s going to come, she needs to come so badly she can hardly hold it in–

“Ask me for it, baby. Show me how bad you want it.”

As if to cement her point, Brooke changes her pace, going both slower and yet somehow harder than before, and Vanessa is gone, unable to let her pride hold her back any longer.

“Please mommy, please, please let me come, please may I come, oh my God, I need to come, I need to come, I need to–”

“Come, baby, come for mommy.”

They come together, their moans overlapping and intertwining until Vanessa can’t tell who’s feeling what, whose sounds she’s even hearing, and then, gradually, everything is calm. They continue to rut against each other until they’ve both come down from their orgasms, only to separate and finally collapse back onto the bed, completely spent.

“You got two, no fair.” Vanessa pouts as she wiggles closer, nestling into Brooke’s arms. Brooke cocks an eyebrow and reaches down to begin lazily teasing at Vanessa’s clit, but the shorter girl only yelps, twisting away.

“So sensitive.” Brooke teases, “You sure you want another, babe?”

Vanessa sticks out her tongue, but snuggles close again despite herself. “All I’m saying is, you owe me one.”

“I know.” Brooke giggles, kissing Vanessa’s forehead and squeezing her tightly. “But let’s save that for our second date.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #smut #fluff #living in sin #writworm42 #holtzmanns #tw mommy kink

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sweetpeaslover · 6 years

Text

Return To Riverdale Part 1

*Hey y'all! I'm finally writing this fanfic that I promised @aserpentsslut. This is my first time writing about a character other than Sweet Pea so hopefully it goes well. This will be a multi part fanfic and I will do more installments in the future. I don't know how to insert links to other chapters but I will in the future once I learn(y'all are welcome to message me and tell me how lol). Hope this doesn't suck!*

The last box was finally carried out of your room by the movers and loaded into the moving van. You and your mom were moving back to Riverdale from Greendale, where you had been leaving when she was dating this guy that lived there. Now, they had split and you were finally moving back to the town you called home. You missed your friends from the Southside terribly: Toni, Fangs, Sweet Pea, and Jughead. You had basically lost contact with them when you moved and you were worried that they had moved on and completely forgotten about you, after all, it had been about five years. Enough time to move on and make new friends. Also, they had all joined the Serpents probably, so that would be another strain on your relationship with them. You wished your mom had never moved the two of you to Greendale just to be near her boyfriend, Beaux. He should have been the one to move, not allow your family to be uprooted because he couldn't be bothered. Now you would never know where that kiss you shared with Fangs might have gone. The night before you left Riverdale, you and Fangs snuck out to hang out at the quarry, where you two ended up sharing your first kiss. It was sloppy and awkward, but it still sent chills down your spine. Even years later, you longed to see him again, you longed to know if he still felt that way about you.

You got in the car with your mom and began the journey to Riverdale. It wasn't far, probably about half an hour. In the car, your mom asked you if you were looking forward to seeing your friends again. You said you hoped they still considered themselves your friends after five years. You knew your mom felt bad about the huge disruption that the move had caused in your life. When you finally got to your old house, you immediately felt at home. Your house was fairly small, it only had two bedrooms, but it was enough for the two of you. Best part was that it was right next to the trailer park where your friends lived. You lived about five minutes away from the Jones's trailer, which was where you decided to go first. You had heard that FP had recently been released from prison and he would be happy to see you back in Riverdale, you used to play around the trailer with Jughead all the time when you were in elementary school. You knocked on the door, crossing your fingers that they would be home. The door opened and Jughead stood in the doorway. He looked so different, yet the same as the last time you saw him in sixth grade. He still wore his beanie, and his hair was still wavy and messy. However, he had still changed quite a bit. For one, he was at least a foot taller and he was no longer a scrawny little kid. He had muscles now! He had pretty defined biceps as well as washboard abs. When he saw you, the widest smile spread across his face and he immediately enveloped you in a bone-crushing hug.

"Oh my god y/n, I have missed you so much, it's been so long!!!" he exclaimed. "Dad!!! It's y/n!!!". FP's head popped out from behind a corner.

"Y/n, so nice to see you!" he said. "Come on in, I want to hear all about Greendale,".

You came in and sat down in their cramped living room with FP and Jughead sitting on either side of you. One at a time, they eagerly asked you questions about how lame Greendale was, and about Beaux. You had mostly bad things to say about Greendale, a lot of drugs and gangs, it was about ten times worse than the Southside, and none of the gangs were like the Serpents. Eventually, FP wandered into the kitchen to make (read:order) dinner, leaving you and Jughead alone. Jug seemed to be elated that you were back. You were relieved that your childhood playmate had not completely moved on and forgotten about you. You hoped that the same went for the rest, especially Fangs. You glanced furtively at the kitchen to make sure FP wasn't listening before scooting a little closer to Jughead.

"So, have the others forgotten about me?" you asked in a low voice.

"What do you mean y/n?" he said. "We haven't forgotten about you, I mean sure things have changed a little and we have a million other things on our minds, but we still remember you. In fact, we were all sharing a memory just the other day about when you got that new Barbie castle and you wanted us to all play with you and we didn't want to because Barbie is stupid and you started crying".

"And then Sweet Pea was making fun of me because everything in my room was pink and girly and he thought it was gross," you smiled at the memory, Sweet Pea had really hurt your feelings and you didn't forgive him for a whole week. It was only when he came to your house with these hideously decorated cupcakes that looked like a pink unicorn threw up on them. He had made them himself, his first and only attempt at baking. You had to give him credit, the kid was seven.He brought you the cupcakes and offered to play Barbies with you.

"For the record," Jughead said. "I think it's a cute memory, you getting all mad because nobody liked your pink dollhouse,".

"Speaking of the group.." you began. "Does Fangs ever talk about me?".

"Well, not more than anyone else does, why? Jughead asked.

"Do you promise not to laugh?" you ask.

"Okay, fine. Now tell me!" he begged.

"So, the night before I left, Fangs and I snuck out to the quarry to hang out...and we kissed," you said ducking your head in embarrassment. Jughead's face fell, but you didn't notice and continued.

"It was probably nothing. It's just that I've been thinking about this for years and I can't help but wonder if he still does too. I wonder if he still has those feelings for me," you say wistfully.

"If he does have those feelings still, would you be happy about it?" asked Jughead. A chill ran through your spine. You had never kissed anyone except Fangs and you cringed at how awkward it was, you wanted to do it again, properly this time.

"Yes, I do want him to like me, I guess," you told Jughead, relieved that you were finally able to confide in someone about this. "Jug, what's he like nowadays?".

"Well he has gotten really buff, and he wears his Serpent jacket all the time. He and Sweet Pea never take them off," he said.

"That's just like them, they were always fiercely loyal," you say admiringly. "Is he handsome?" you ask giggling. Jughead blushes a deep crimson and laughs awkwardly.

"Well, I've never looked at him like that, but I suppose I could see the appeal," Jughead says. "He and Sweets get lots of attention, total ladies men,".

"Oh, then maybe he has forgotten me then if he goes through that many girls," you say, discouraged.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that, I really think you might have a chance with him," Jughead said, feeling guilty that he made you upset.

"No, really, I shouldn't have assumed he still liked me. I'm the one who needs to let it go, it's been five years," you say, wiping away a tear. Jughead wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close, letting your head rest on his chest. It felt nice, it reminded you of when you were kids and you all used to huddle together and watch movies. Or the times when you guys made a fort in your living room and it was a tight fit to get all five of you in. You hadn't felt this close to any of your friends in a long time. You just wanted to be eight again, playing tag with Jughead outside his trailer, sneaking candy from the kitchen with Fangs, experimenting with hideous purple eyeshadow with Toni, arguing with Sweet Pea over who got the last cherry popsicle...those were the simple days. You wished for than anything to go back and savor them. Heck, you would rather eat a thousand grape popsicles with Sweet Pea if it meant you could run away from your problems. What if your friends weren't your friends anymore? How would you fit in at school? Would your mom ever move you again? These were big kid problems that you didn't have to worry about when it was just the five of you.

"You could go visit him if you want," Jughead offered.

"What?" you asked, snapping out of your trance.

"Fangs, I mean. I know he'll be so happy to see you, even if it isn't romantic. No matter what, you still have your friends, you still have me, you will always have me," he promised. You looked up at him and met his gaze. He had the same kind eyes that he always had, and you were so grateful that he hadn't moved on without you. Hopefully the others would feel the same. Tomorrow, you would reunite with the rest of the group and hopefully be able to clear things up with Fangs about that kiss. You so desperately hoped that he still liked you, but for now you just lay on your best friend's chest, totally unaware that with each passing minute, Jughead Jones was falling deeper and deeper in love with you.

*Okay so that didn't suck as much as I thought, I'm just winging it here😂. I know it doesn't seem focused on a relationship with Jughead but it's going to be a bit of a slow burn. I'll write the next installment as soon as I can*

#riverdale #cole sprouse #jughead jones #southside serpents #sweet pea #fangs fogarty #jughead x reader #riverdale fanfiction #toni topaz #fanfiction

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magically-strange · 7 years

Text

Costumed Craving...

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Bog gaped in shock at the docile woman before him. His brain was buzzing like stirred bees, struggling to make sense of her words.

“What are ye talkin’ about?!” He managed to say in a strained voice. He’d never told her about his...ailments. He hated telling people about his troubles.

“Come on, Bog, you’re not stupid.” Marianne replied, shifting forward in her seat. “Surely you have some suspicions about me by now?”

The way she was watching him made Bog feel like a buck before the gun. She wasn’t fucking around. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. But this was no dream.

This was a nightmare in the waking world. Every strange situation and insane doubt in his head that he’d been suppressing since they’d met came thrashing to the surface.

No.

No, not you.

NOT YOU!!!

Shooting up from the couch, Bog backed away from the brunette as if she were a bomb.

“No…no, that’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry, Bog, but you’re wrong.”

Slowly, Marianne rose to her feet as well, and steadily advanced on the trembling man, her unsettlingly placid demeanor making his pulse rate skyrocket.

“It’s not just possible, it’s real.”

Choked by the sudden terror of every horror movie he’d ever seen coming true, Bog spun on his heel and flew at the door, only to find it locked.

“Bog.” Marianne said calmly as his shaking fingers repeatedly slipped on the dead bolt.

Once he clumsily managed to turn it, he almost let out a cry of dismay at the door’s stubborn refusal to open.

Fucking privacy knob!

Frantic, he yanked on the handle, savagely rattling the wood.

“Bog, don’t do that.”

She was getting closer!

One last panicked jerk, and the frame splintered, freeing the damn latch and twisting the top hinges from the wall. The evidence of his inhuman strength only spiked Bog’s fear as he rushed past the ruined door and down the stairs.

“Bog, wait!”

Refusing to listen, Bog bolted across the dark, empty gym, still managing to see a clear path despite the deep shadows. He saw his chance of escape in a single door beyond the sparring ring.

“Bog!”

Marianne’s footsteps followed steadily behind him, as he reached the unfortunately locked door, only to realize with sharp alarm that unlike the previous, this one was metal…and with two an interior key locks.

SHIT!

“Bog?”

There was no more time to run, so Bog helplessly battered the unyielding door with his fists, barely managing to leave a pair of dents before he heard Marianne approach him from behind.

“Bog, I just-!”

In a desperate move, Bog noticed a coat rack beside him, and seized his makeshift weapon.

“Get back!” He shouted, pointing the tip of a large umbrella at Marianne’s neck. “Stay the fuck away from me! I mean it!”

For several, silent beats, Marianne just stood stock still with a look of surprise and even hurt in her eyes…

…until she gave Bog the most furious scowl he’d ever seen.

In the breath of a second, she side-stepped him, snatched the end of the umbrella, and pulled hard, causing Bog to stumble forward and lose his grip on the handle. It clattered to the floor as Marianne then grabbed him by the back of the neck and his right arm. With unimaginable strength, she marched him away from the door like an angry mother would an unruly child, and when they reached the ring, she suddenly released his neck, swept her left hand under his chest, and shoved upwards, hurling him into the air.

Bog’s six foot seven, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound body flipped clear over the raised platform and ropes. He landed flat on his back in the ring, sprawled and dazed, but unharmed, save for the wind knocked out of his lungs.

Marianne then came somersaulting after him like Catwoman. Her feet slammed down on either side of Bog’s head, freezing him in place as she squatted to snarl in his face:

“Listen here, jackass! If I wanted to hurt you, I coulda snapped you like the overgrown twig you are weeks ago! But I didn’t! So, obviously I don’t wanna hurt you, and I’m not going to! Now you get a hold of yourself, goddammit! You hear me?!”

Funny, most people would’ve likely shit their pants after getting such an explosive reaction from a person they perceived as a threat…

…but Bog, oddly enough…

…had the opposite reaction. He was still afraid, alright; but the passive and contrite Marianne freaked him out, because it was so unlike her, and it scared him more so. Yet, the shouty, boxing trainer with that don’t-take-crap-from-anyone attitude and backbone of tempered steel? Now that was familiar. That was his Tough Girl; the woman he fell in love with.

“I-I-I hear ye.”

“Good.”

Moving off of him, Marianne stomped away to sit cross-legged in the center of the ring, resting her elbows on her knees with a pensive frown. Carefully, Bog sat up and focused on calming himself.

She was right; she hadn’t hurt him. Yes, she was upset, but she was still the Marianne he knew; she’d proven that, by God.

He could at least hear her out.

“…”

“Overgrown twig?”

“Oh, don’t act like it’s not fitting.” She returned with a pointed glace, veiled with dry humor. “You’re gonna pay for a new office door, you know.”

Bog drew up his legs and crossed his arms over them.

“Not ‘til ye tell me the whole truth first, I worn’t. Start talkin’.”

Marianne started at Bog for a moment, twisting her lips in consideration before sighing and giving her attention to the restless fingers in her lap.

“Why don’t you ask me…specific questions instead, and I’ll try to answer them as best I can. I think if I try to explain everything in one go, it’ll just stress you out even more.”

Bog swallowed, but pressed on.

“Fine, who are ye?”

“Marianne Springwood.”

He huffed in exasperation at her sass.

“What are ye?”

“…It……depends on what culture or time period you’re referencing, but…basically, I’m……I’m part of a race of…superhuman beings that……feed off of mankind.”

“So, yer what? A…s-some kinda v-v-va-vampire?”

Marianne rolled her eyes with a breathy snicker.

“Not in the way you’re probably thinking. All that Bram Stoker, garlic, crucifix, ‘I vant to suck your blahd’, Hollywood crap. We may have inspired all that, but fact is still very different from fiction.”

“How so?”

“Bog, how familiar are you with Jewish mythology?”

Bog blinked in brief confusion.

“Um…well, I was raised Catholic, but my mom’s non-practicin’.”

“Ever heard of the demon, Lilith?”

“…Vaguely.” Bog said before tensing. “Are ye sayin’ yer a-?!”

“No. Trust me, if I were, you’d be dead. We’re generally known as Lilin, or, the children of Lilith, but many of us don’t appreciate the whole ‘demon association’ thing if it’s not meant as a joke.”

“Does that mean yer not evil?”

Marianne winced, but covered it by giving Bog a sultry grin.

“Well, I, personally, can be very naughty, as you know….”

Gulping, Bog squirmed to readjust his position, suddenly feeling extra vulnerable in his boxers as Marianne went on in a more serious tone.

“…but we’re sentient beings with free will, Bog. We can strive to be good, or we can choose to be evil. We have the same emotions you humans do, and it’s up to the individual on how to use them.”

Nodding in hesitant understanding, Bog took a minute to absorb the information thus far.

“Lilin.” He whispered to himself, testing the word like a new flavor.

“Yes,” Marianne continued, “but there’s an even more common term. My sister and I prefer to be called ‘succubus’.”

Bog’s mouth fell open.

“Yer sister?”

“That’s right. And Sunny and my dad are ‘incubus’, since they’re males.”

The thirty-one-year-old sound editor could hardly believe what he was hearing. Her whole family? Even Dawn? That bubbly, blonde Barbie doll he’d met the other week? They were all…?

“Succubus an’ incubus. Aren’t those the things that are supposed to come into yer room at night an’ have…s-s-sex with ye?”

It was Marianne’s turn to be embarrassed. Awkwardly, she scratched behind her ear.

“Erm…yes and no. We don’t have to do that; sex, or more specifically, kissing, just gives us the best opportunity to feed, but it’s not essential. For those of us that are born Lilin, the craving doesn’t appear until puberty, so it’s nice to have an alternative to a bunch of promiscuous preteens running around, you know? Even we frown upon underage, unprotected sex. But we’re masters of stealth, so we can usually just sneak in at night, take what we need, and that’s it.”

Regardless, Bog looked queasy.

“W-when ye said ye fee-feed off mankind…”

“Don’t worry, Bog. Lilin live off human energy, not blood.”

“How is that better?”

“It’s less messy, for one. And it’s safer for our prey, ‘cause it only takes two or three draws to satisfy us.”

“Draws?”

“We…steal their breath, in a sense; inhale the energy into ourselves from their mouths. That’s how we feed. If we take exactly what we need, the human just falls or stays asleep.”

“An’ if ye take more than exactly what ye need?”

Marianne paused, and the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Her expression darkened with gloom, but Bog’s anxious eyes held her fast until she stammered a skirting response.

“I-it’s not like the books and movies, Bog. You don’t lo-lose control like it’s an undeniable urge or anything.”

“Answer the question.”

“There are no a-accidents. If a Lilin draws more, th-then they mean to do-”

“MARIANNE!”

The echo of Bog’s frustrated demand bounced off the walls of the gym, and Marianne cringed, but confessed.

“Then…they can lose consciousness…”

“…”

“…slip into a coma…”

“…”

”...and die.”

Bog’s spine was overrun with chills and his throat was sandpaper, but he had to know. Setting his jaw, he spoke again in a quiet, but firm tone.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

#strange magic #butterfly bog #bog king #marianne #romance #mystery #hall0ween #fanfic #part 10

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fivewrites · 7 years

Text

5557 Reviews Your Fanfic #2: In Space, No One Can Hear You Have a Breakdown by paladont

Hello, friends, I am 5557 on Ao3 and I review your fanfiction if you want me to.

In Space, No One Can Hear You Have a Breakdown by paladont

@cranberrycurator

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Tags: Anxiety Attacks, fluff

Summary: Lance wakes up in the middle of the night with a panic attack, and ends up connecting with the last person he ever expected.

Optional info:

Is English your first language? Yes

How long have you been writing for? 10 years

Are you 18+? Yes

Do you want publish / write professionally one day? Maybe

Technical Style / Formatting: Paragraphs are of good size and consistent double-spacing. Easy to look at. Italics are used sparingly but effectively to indicate thoughts. Single quotes are used for thoughts as well as italics. This is not necessary, as italics or single quotes alone are fine, but it’s also not bad. Just a stylistic choice.

There is a tense error in the very first paragraph. It switches from present tense in the first sentence, to past tense in the second. It’s very important to be consistent and clean in the first few paragraphs so that readers won’t be confused about the present moment, and will also want to keep reading. Readers are fickle and can abandon a fic that has too many errors in search of a more polished one!

Throughout the story there are some errors that a spell check won’t pick up, so I recommend doing a final pass over your fic, or getting a beta reader to go over it. Again, these aren’t huge, breaking errors, but for a clean, polished fic, things like “Each second he spends going from the bed to the door, he desperately trying to rationalize trying to” can be fixed easily.

“Oh, heyyy.”

Another personal opinion, I don’t think stretching a word out onomatopoeically is necessary. I prefer to see the dialogue accented with action. ‘“Oh, hey,” he says through a clenched grin.’ Again, not wrong, just personal style.

“Keith is blindsided by the thanks, looking surprised. “Yeah, sure.” He bites his lip, looking for something good to say.”

I think this is more of an error than a choice, but this sentence sounds like we’re flipping to Keith POV suddenly, rather than all Lance as we’ve had so far. It just needs editing.

Pace: The prose pace is fast and solid. Although I ask for more detail about Lance’s nightmares, I’m never hugely lost about where Lance is or what time it is.

I appreciate how we don’t linger too long on one moment, and the story moves past an idea that has fully completed.

However, the plot pace has some issues which I cover in the flow and story section.

Dialogue: Excellent dialogue. It sounds natural and smooth. It’s really a strong suit of you writing. I don’t have too much to say here because it’s really, really good. Try experimenting with punctuation to get breaths and pauses in. Use semicolons, dashes and commas and see which ones are needed where. It can change the flow and read naturally. But really, it’s good. Give yourself a pat on the back.

Characterization: Aside from the tense issues, the imagery is quite good, and it reveals Lance as nervous and out of sorts. I like that motion and sensory images are used to give us his state, rather than just telling us a summary of how he feels.

Lance’s reflection on his family is a little simplified, but it’s not out of character. It’s just, as I said, not especially new when it comes to fic. Every langst fic has Lance reflecting on his family, so it can become repetitive if it’s all the same. However, what’s written here is good, and it makes sense character-wise for Lance.

I really like how Keith is portrayed as neutral. He’s not an asshole, just someone who’s a little guarded.

Although I feel like Lance’s breakdown is well-written, and transitions naturally from hiding, to spilling, then to shame, I think I’d want a bit more detail about why Lance feels so much shame being emotionally vulnerable in front of Keith. Right now he’s really embarrassed and ashamed, but Lance was shown to be vulnerable in front of both Hunk and Coran. So why specifically Keith that bothers him?

‘"I mean, you know...if you're not one hundred percent...you could stay in my room. In case you need someone to talk to. Or you just like someone just. Being there." It sounds really stupid once he suggests it. Lance mentally slaps himself.’

This part seems like the smallest bit of a stretch. I get that this is a brain fart on Lance’s part, but as said above, he is really ashamed of being seen as vulnerable by Keith, and then he does a very quick 180 and invites Keith to his room? Is Lance aware of his feeling for Keith and the reader doesn’t know? It’s just… a very fast development.

“It feels weird having Keith in his bedroom. Has Lance ever invited him in before? He doubts it. It felt like an oddly intimate gesture, especially given their sometimes tedious relationship.”

At least the fic is kinda self-aware that this is odd?

Nothing feel necessarily out of character, it just feels like a few chunks of time are missing that would fill the reader in a bit better as to what goes on. I believe that lance would eventually invite Keith to his room, just not, like, immediately.

Flow / Prose Style: The first few sentences give very nice vivid imagery and action. I can really sense the shock and discomfort Lance is feeling right from the get-go. However, as we progress, some of the longer sentences become overly complex and confusing. They use a lot of filler and modifier words and become unclear in their imagery.

‘Lance’s mind supplies a dozen different things that he could have been dreaming about instead, not even remotely elevating any of his sudden worries.’

The first part is vague on several levels, one being the “different things” (what things?) and two that he may or may not be thinking about them (why mention this if he is not thinking about them?) The last section, I’m not sure what you’re trying to get across. “Not even remotely” goes into more vague territory and “elevating his sudden worries” (again, what worries?) leaves me wondering what this whole sentence is trying to tell me. The next sentence switches tense again, so as a reader I am left wondering what is happening in the present, and what is going on with Lance.

On the upside, your short, snappy paragraphs are effective at creating tension, and holding interest. This writing doesn’t need to be the long, drawn out paragraphs of Jane Austen or Herman Melville. It’s more quick and dense, like Hemingway or Chuck Palahniuk

I am also a big fan of an effectively placed one-sentence paragraph.

My biggest piece of advice, and one that I struggle to follow myself, is once you have finished a full chapter, leave it for 24 hours, and then go back and re-read it as an editor. You will catch your own mistakes, and you will find areas of chunky prose that can easily be fixed by moving the sentence structure around a bit. If you practice switching between creative writing and editing, your writing will improve very quickly.

When we get to the interaction with Keith, there’s a lot more filler-modifier words, “almost, somehow, tries to, as if that were” re-read these and see if they are necessary.

Story: Right off the top, the summary tells me that this is a story that’s been done before. Which, is not necessarily a bad thing, but now because a question of, how can we separate this story from others like it, and make it unique?

When we get to the point where Lance is searching his brain for a person to talk to, I really want to know in more detail what exactly is bothering him. If he has a specific nightmare, it would help him choose which person to seek out, even if the person he eventually ends up around is Keith. Say, if Lance has a nightmare about the ship falling apart, he could seek out Coran or Hunk for reassurance.

So we go into the section where Lance reminisces about his family and home life, and get a feel for how he’s homesick. The difficult thing with going into deep memories for more than a couple paragraphs is that the reader might get lost and forget where we are right now. I think we’re in the hallway? It’s good to yank us back to the present every so often to re-establish and anchor where we actually are.

“His body is so worn from stress and hurt, he can feel himself giving in.”

Was Lance fighting a major battle recently? This is the first we’ve really heard of it. More detail would give us more connection.

“Lance much prefers imagining this goofy scenario in his head, as opposed to all the awful things he was thinking about just minutes ago.”

I really want to know the awful things.

The story starts off well, but when Lance considers who to talk to about his nightmares, the plot / characterization fall into what I call the “Klance Funnel” That is, stretches are made here and there to force Keith and Lance together when normally they wouldn’t want to or need to interact.

The klance funnel isn’t entirely unbelievable, and it certainly lets the reader know where the story is headed, but that can also be where a story sags a bit. There isn’t much mystery or coincidence in their meeting. It’s not… organic. When we finally do have the characters meet, it feels more like the hand of God has shoved them together like barbie dolls rather than a situation where two real people come together incidentally.

This is my personal opinion. Some people really like stories that are “set up” and you know what’s going to happen and how it all plays out. I, personally, like a bit of will-they-won’t-they rather than a “yeah, they definitely will, and here it is”.

Another thing about the klance funnel is that is has the effect of reducing the other characters to one-notes, or even writes them out completely. I liked that Pidge was Lance’s first choice, but we never really got to meet her or have her interact.

Overall: The story is likable, and definitely readable. I didn’t have any huge cringe moments, nor did I feel bored or have my attention wander away. I do wish for more details of Lance’s nightmares, why he’s embarrassed to be vulnerable in front of keith and then… maybe some development before they start sleeping together right away to reduce the big leap?

Other than that, it’s a nice, easy read and something a Klance fan would enjoy.

#vld #voltron #Voltron legendary defender #writing help #fanfic reviews #voltron reviews #my reviews

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morethanithoughtofficialblog · 4 years

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Chapter 21: You like jazz?

In which you guys see a beeutiful movie.

*Sans's POV*

The universe was against me. "Sweet Child O' Mine" is a hard song that, no matter how many times I have sung it, it puts me extremely nervous. I love the song, so... I never would want to ruin it.

Now, years had passed since I quit singing in public, and the fact that their opinion matters to me... let's just say I wasn't confident at all.

It was so strange, though. The music started, the looks were on me... but I felt that I had to do it. I had this discussion with Paps earlier, and he's having a rough time with my situation... I wanted to make it up for him. I love my bro, I know he's trying to help. I don't know what I was expecting when he saw me passed out on a table. It was quite obvious that he would scold me.

And so I sang.

I never thought I would feel that... "funny" feeling if I ever got myself to sing again. Somehow, it happened. I felt great at singing the song by heart and mimicking the guitar solo in my head. And as great as the music felt, the applauses made me feel even better. It felt so... surreal.

So oddly surreal.

But I couldn't care less.

"YAY! MY BROTHER'S MUSICAL CAREER HAS RETURNED!" Papy exclaimed with a goofy grin.

"Dude, we don't even need to do votation!" Undyne surprisingly commented.

The positive comments were starting to get me. I felt like floating, like if I was in a dream. I know this must mean nothing to a lot of people... but for me? Oh, of course, it does. I was so scared to sing because their opinions matter... but I noticed that some may always provide me support. Like Papyrus.

Maybe I should try this more often.

The night continued after that, everyone deciding I was the winner. I felt like a champion, but tried not to get too attached to that title. Instead, I shrugged it off and continued to get onto everyone's nerves with my fantastic puns.

Is quite... interesting how a simple recognition can make me happy. Maybe it's because I don't get complimented often. Maybe it's because I've been seeing myself as a fucking and talentless idiot these days. Maybe, and just maybe, I was feeling more anxious than ever, and then I realized it was no use.

Eh, it could have been whatever. Not that I should really get into it.

"Now let's play... 7 minutes in heaven!" The stupid robot said, and I swear I wasn't the only one who cringed. 7 minutes in heaven is... horrible. And I would never let my brother play that horrid game. What if they had to go with Frisk? Oh, I would not be able to take it.

"Pardon my ignorance, but... what is 7 minutes in heaven?" (Y/N) asked nervously. Oh girl, you really don't want to know.

Wait, but how does she don't know? I thought this was a human-made game...

"But punk! This is a traditional sleepover game!" Undyne, having the same doubt as I, asked her. She played with her fingers and muttered that she never tend to go to sleepovers, which made my brother gasp.

"HUMAN! I SHOULD INVITE YOU MORE OFTEN, THEN! YOU JUST CAN'T WASTE THE WONDERFUL YEARS OF YOUR YOUNGHOOD WITHOUT HAVING A SUPER FUN SLEEPOVER! LESS IF IT'S WITH THE GREAT PAPYRUS!" She chuckled lightly, a sound that definitely I would love to hear more often. She's really quiet, I just hope she was more open and confident in our friend group...

And for that, you need to stop being an asshole, Sans.

I shook my head, reminding myself how horrible my thoughts can get if I don't stop them in time. Now I had the head (or skull?) more clear, and I couldn't waste the opportunity. It's being a while- I need to focus seriously on the future while I still can.

And on the present as well.

"O-ok, so... what about if we... play another thing?" Alphys muttered, and I immediately nodded. If you can't already tell, I hate that game. It's pathetic and for flustered teenagers with a silly crush. I've never been a huge fan of that.

"Ok, ok!" Mettaton groaned, obviously angered by no choosing his horrible idea "Let's watch a movie, then!"

"THAT'S A WONDERFUL IDEA, METTATON. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE SURE TO CHOOSE THE PERFECT FEATURE-LENGTH FILM FOR THIS EVENING!" Then he rushed to Tori's living room and put on that Netflix thingy. I like that site, but Youtube is better. It has more variety and more stupid things. Also, no bad jokes restrainment. Perfect for someone like me.

I lost myself into thinking in what I would possibly choose to do if Frisk doesn't reset. The timeline problem is quite a huge one, but if the world decides to be on my side, then what would be next? Getting a career? Spend the rest of my days on a bar?

Yeah, the last one doesn't seem like the best option...

One of my childhood dreams was to get on the Surface and become either a great scientist or a talented writer. Now I have the possibility to stop calling it a dream. As much as I love quantum physics, though, writing is something that still has my heart. I'm much more of a reserved guy than what everyone thinks. I may joke, I may laugh, I may strike up conversations instantly, but the real me is an introvert. And a nerd.

Maybe I can become a freaking science teacher, a formal scientist, a crazy man who invents stupid things, a bonely skeleton living with twelve dogs (because I love dogs. Fite me), or even a hotdog seller. I can be anything I want to be! ...

Dude, I sounded like a Barbie commercial.

But what I mean is that I have endless opportunities on the tip of my fingers, and I won't let them go that easily. I think that the first step would be applying to a university...

Which I already did.

I mentally facepalmed when I remembered that day. I was saying stupid puns in my head to call me down, but that wasn't working. I wasn't in my right mind and, still, I went and do a freaking three-hour exam. What a smart decision.

Well, if I'm somehow accepted, I'll throw a huge party. That involves sleeping. In my room...

Wait-no.

Ah, forget it.

I will somehow celebrate it, then. Maybe spoiling myself with a bottle of ketchup or make my sock collection bigger. Yeah, little things like that. I should not congratulate myself so much.

If I don't make it, though... then I guess there won't be any differences. Pretty much everything normal, except I won't be able to give Papyrus what I've always wanted to give him...

I need to work hard.

"EVERYONE! I THINK THAT I HAVE CHOSEN AN APPROPRIATE MOVIE FOR TODAY!" Papyrus shouted, and everyone rushed into the living room "IT'S CALLED 'BEE MOVIE'!"

Bee Movie? What kind of name is that?

We all had confused looks. Everyone except the humans, that is. Both Frisk and (Y/N) were "trying" to hold back laughter.

"is it a good movie?" I asked them, not wanting to waste my time on a shitty movie.

"Pfft-Familiar comedy" (Y/N) simply replied, smiling brightly "It's more directed to... kids. But, hey! Anyone can enjoy it!"

Something about her statement made me suspicious, but Papy believed her instantly. And so he put on the movie, and we all sat down whether on the couch or the floor.

"According to all known laws of aviation," The movie started "there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway..."

"Because bees don't care what humans think is impossible"

Oh boy.

(Y/N) stopped smirking but had this goofy and stupid grin written all over her face. If it ends up with some scary shit, I swear to God I'll kill her. We went on and watched how this guy, Barry B. Benson, graduated and had to choose a job. Everything was, well, normal, I guess... until he met that human girl. What was her name? Melissa? No... Oh! Vanessa!

When Barry daydreamed about Vanessa and him flying it was... weird, to say the least. Both human girls, though, laughed loudly. It was so stupid, I need to admit it.

The movie had puns, which I highly appreciated, but the rest of it... was stupid. That's it. Simply stupid.

I liked the "You like jazz?" part though. I should hit on someone like that. And that joke about- wait, I'll get it.

"He's making the tie in the cab as they're flying up Madison. He finally gets there. He runs up the steps into the church. The wedding is on. And he says, <<Watermelon? I thought you said Guatemalan. Why would I marry a watermelon?>>"

I think that's the most hilarious and stupid joke I've heard in a while. Or well, probably in a movie. It was so stupid and so bad that I laughed. (Y/N) did as well. And Papy stared at us like we were crazy. The others were still trying to find the joke. It was amazing.

All those puns were driving everyone crazy. Well, except me. And those two weird girls. I actually didn't want to judge the adult so quickly, but if she does enjoy things like these... I may not be sure to change her nickname any sooner. I may also start to like her more, though. Serious but a dork- that's a nice personality I bet she has.

"-This is your queen? That's a man in women's clothes!"

"-That's a drag queen!"

That scene, that fucking scene... it was perfect. I would be lying if I said I didn't love the movie. According to all known laws of film-making, no movie should be like this one. It was bizarre. That's why I loved it.

"How good?" That lawyer asked "Do you live together? Wait a minute... are you her little... bedbug?"

Unfortunately for me, I was drinking soda at that moment. I spit it out. At the floor, thankfully, but I still embarrassed myself. This dork, (Y/N) laughed way too loud about the incident. But hey, I can't blame her. I would have done just the same if I wasn't the victim.

"What about a suicide pact?" Barry asked Vanessa (am I seriously talking about this movie?)

"How do we do it?" She asked.

"I sting you, you step on me."

"That just kills you twice"

"Right, right"

Can't you see how stupid and amazing it is?! And after a minute I've just realized the name of that woman was Vanessa Bloome! And she was a freaking florist! There were puns everywhere! That silly and quite morbid sense of humor...

If the Bee Movie was a girl, I should have married her by now.

"So... did you enjoy the movie, guys?" Frisk asked, wearing a stupid grin.

"IT WAS WEIRD" Papyrus bluntly replied, which made all of us laugh.

"You sure do have a sense of humor, punk!" Undyne looked to (Y/N), and she just shrugged with a smile.

"the movie was beeutiful. all-time favorite" I added, and laughter filled the room again.

"it was... something" Napstablook shyly smiled, but in his face was all written: "I will never see it again". As much as we all would like to talk about it, though, Toriel came just in time to tell us that it was sleeping time. I looked over my cellphone and saw that it was, indeed, pretty late. I can't believe we were up 'till 2 am to watch something like that. Oh well. It was worth it.

We all gave each other some goodbyes and headed to any room we would want. Papyrus had somehow made his way to reclaim the second biggest room (since Tori's is the biggest) all for his own. Since the Dreemurr family cleared up one room that was messy and made it quite nicely, now everyone had a room. I was still rooting for my dad to sleep on the couch, though...

I lied down on the bed with a happy smile... that faded after minutes passed by.

I couldn't sleep.

I groaned at the thought of not sleeping again and get all grumpy in the morning. That's definitely something I've been trying to avoid (unsuccessfully...). I wanted to be there for the people I care about, but the nightmares aren't helping. So it was almost 4 am, and I wanted to waste time...

You: hey

You: u awake?

C' mon, please answer!

24/7 Depressed Dork: Yep

24/7 Depressed Dork: What's up?

Shit, I forgot I gave her that nickname...

Oh well.

You: i'm bored

You: wanna talk?

24/7 Depressed Dork: Sure

24/7 Depressed Dork: ...hmm

24/7 Depressed Dork: So how's the weather in there?

I'm starting to like this girl more.

You: eh, nothing impressive

You: just a bit chilly but, y' know

You: it doesn't affect me at all

You: after all, nothing gets under my skin

24/7 Depressed Dork: I knew you would say something like that

24/7 Depressed Dork: I could feel it in my bones

Perfect audience.

You: Knock knock

24/7 Depressed Dork: Who's there?

You: cash

24/7 Depressed Dork: cash who?

You: nah, i'll have some peanuts, thanks.

24/7 Depressed Dork: Sans, that was horrible

And before I could answer her back and tell her the opposite, she surprisingly wrote:

24/7 Depressed Dork: Knock Knock

You: wow, really?

You: ok

You: who's there?

24/7 Depressed Dork: Annie

You: annie who?

24/7 Depressed Dork: Annie thing you can do I can do better!

Oh, so you are challenging me? Interesting...

You: you think so?

You: oh, you'll see

You: knock knock

24/7 Depressed Dork: Who's there?

You: dewey

24/7 Depressed Dork: Dewey who?

You: dewey have to use a condom?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Your POV*

I stared amazed at the message Sans just send me and laughed quietly. Either it's a way to flirt or just a corny joke, I enjoy those things. They are... interesting, and make you think twice. And not everyone is accessible to hear this type of jokes, less making them. He has quite the sense of humor, huh?

You: Oh, I see how it is, then

You: Knock Knock

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: who's there?

Ah, his nickname...

It's amazing, I won't change it any time sooner.

You: Ivana

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: ivana who?

You: Ivana jump your bones ;)

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: ohmygod

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: that's just way too dirty

You: You started this fight, buddy

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: i guess so

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: but two can play this game!

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: knock knock

You: Who's there?

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: hop on

You: ...

Oh my God, no.

What I have done?

You: Hop on who?

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: hop on dis dick

OHMYGODIREGRETEVERYTHINGNOW!

...

do skeletons even have a-

Calm down, don't let him see right through you.

So for some reason, I was taking this very seriously. Like if this was going to define who was the leader or some survival shit like that.

You: Okay, you asked for it

You: Knock Knock

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: who's there?

You: Pussy!

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: dude, what?

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: i don't get it

You: And you never will

You: Sucker

It was 6 am at this point, the sun was starting to get out. What do you think it's the best way to start the day? Smiling and laughing, of course. However, I don't think it was the right time for anyone to hear Sans loud laughter in ALL THE FREAKING HOUSE.

You: Sans, stfu

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: never

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: that was good

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: really good...

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: i have a joke for you

You: Bring it on

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: what is 6 inches long, 2 inches wide, and drives women wild?

We're still at the dirty jokes?

You: Sans, I swear to God...

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: a $100 bill

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: what were you thinking bud? ;)

...ok, he caught me red-handed.

You: Yeah... let's not talk about it

You: It's my turn now

You: But this time, it's a poem

You: Be ready

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: wow, you are a poet now?

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: i'm curious

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: spit it out

You: Ok, good

You: Let me start:

You: As I lay here with my legs spread

Like hot butter bleeding on stale bread. The warm insides of my cantaloupe thighs cry out in extasy as you eat my cherry pie. Visions of cucumbers often enter my mind and sometimes hot dogs, they plump when you cook 'em kind Whipped cream all covered with gooslurping green jello in the tub with you You are my world my little cupcake, I want to lick your cream filling until you ache. Your Juicy Avacadoes so plump, and so ripe.

Let's just do it in the kitchen tonight!!

I...

Got too carried away, okay?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not that dirty-minded.

Well, kinda.

I memorized a dirty poem by heart...

That it made Sans laugh really hard (wait, I think that rhymed... shit).

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: (y/n), you are my new favorite person

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: you are amazing

You: So I won?

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: definitely

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: let me just end this contest with one question

You: Go ahead

Short and Moody is my Skelebuddy: you like jazz

And I laughed like there was no tomorrow, just at how random it was and remembering Barry's face. God, I think I'm becoming more stupid than I originally thought.

I would have made a joke or two, but the consequences of laughing so hard already arrived:

"SANS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY YOU AND THE HUMAN ARE LAUGHING?!" Oh shit.

"ah, s-sorry bro..."

"SANS! WHY WERE YOU TEXTING THE HUMAN WHEN WERE IN THE SAME HOUSE?! THAT'S RIDICULOUS!"

I chuckled, realizing how idiotic someone can become.

Bee Movie takes all the blame.

#more than i thought #more than i thought fanfiction #sans x reader #sans #x reader #chapter 21

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