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rebeccccccaaa · 15 days

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My Part of Town

__________________

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

:: After what seems to be a rather confusing and tough case, Hotch finds himself in a dark corner of a club watching the girl he interrogated just days ago captivate him in a way he hasn’t been in years. ::

warnings:: talks about violence (canon type cm kind); reader is described to have tattoos, alt styled extras (not goth specified), etc; age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s), also slight power imbalance? Idk i tried to write it in way that didn’t make it seem like reader fucked her way into the BAU by making hotch a tiny bit subby/pathetic but idk i put the warning anyway sorryyyyyy, no mentions of y/n, sober reader slay, no contraceptives mentioned so stay safe babies, body positivity, mentioned jack at the end for plot lol but he’s not present in the story, not sure what else i should tag

author’s notes:: i originally wrote this with the intention of a certain type of person in mind (me lol) with the tattoos and stuff, i know not all you readers have such but i thought i’d keep the second pov for fun and interactiveness, so i hope that’s ok with y’all, enjoy!!

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Hotch stood at the bar, a drink sweating in his hand. He hardly drank anything, in fact he just wanted to go home at this point. The room smelt of body odor, cheap perfume, and smoke. He didn’t understand how his coworkers could love going out to such a place like this. It was definitely not his scene anymore, but with much begging from the girls and Morgan, they were able to successfully convince him and also Rossi to go and celebrate the success of this last case. He was surprised to even see Reid enjoying himself.

He never thought in a million years he'd be back in a place like this. He looked around seeing the girls in a small circle laughing and jumping around, Rossi sat at the end of the bar talking to a girl, who was way too young for him, trying to get her away from hims, and Spencer and Derek were standing at the edge of the dance floor wondering who their next flattery target was going to be. Darting his eyes around, they caught a particularly familiar set of eyes that Hotch couldn’t seem to shake until he walked into the overstimulating room of noise and colors, at least until this very moment.

You grinned at him, facing completely towards him now. You dressed in all black, platformed shoes making you much taller than when Hotch had met you for the first time. The silver and gold reflecting the bright lights that scattered over the crowd from your fingers. Your skin covered ink that surprised him just as much as it did the first time he’d seen your decorated skin. And although you dressed in all black, you seemed to stand out more than anyone else in the sea of bodies.

Hotch tightened his jaw upon meeting your eyes. Your hips swayed effortlessly to the music that boomed through the room. It was like you were dancing just for him. Teasing him, like you did in the interrogation room where you had first met. You were an enigma to the case. You had come from nowhere, had nothing to do with the unsub or the victims, and yet had almost all the answers the BAU had questions for before they could even begin a profile.

Hotch began to fidget in a panic when you began walking towards him.

Hotch walked in the interrogation room. File in hand. They were in New York City. The infamous concrete jungle. The case involved a long line of girls in their 20’s; their stomachs gutted and filled with dirt, a small white rose planted in place. They hadn’t a long list of suspects but when a security guard mentioned to Hotchner of a strange girl lurking at the scene of the most recent crime they brought her in as suspect or at the very least, a witness. Walking in the room, a girl sat rapping her ring stacked knuckles against the table.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Hotch asked.

You stayed silent. You knew the position you were in. You were studying behavioral analysis and criminal justice yourself.

You were at the crime scene yesterday, you asked questions to the security guard who ratted you out. It would be a waste of time and effort, and especially money, to know that after all those hours of studying, your skills would be useless when it comes to navigating a real case. You needed to see for yourself. So you asked some questions, awkwardly and suspiciously at best, and now you found yourself sitting in an interrogation room for a crime you actually have nothing to do with.

“Why were you asking questions to a security guard about the victim? You asked, if anything had changed? You indicated that you have seen the previous victims’ bodies.”

“I have,” you said.

“Why’s that? Was there something in particular you saw that made you ask those kinds of questions?”

“Am I being questioned as a witness? Or a suspect?”

“Why do you feel like you are being questioned as a suspect?” he asked, making you go silent. Hotch took his sign to leave, leaving you to continue tapping your decorated fingers against the table like before.

“She’s not really saying anything. Her demeanor tells me that she’s keeping something from us but her body language also is calm and collected. She may not have anything to do with the crime but she knows something, and she is not telling us,” Hotch said to Rossi and Spencer who stood watching the interrogation.

“I called Garcia to look into her background a bit. She’s also a student at the same college all three of our victims attended. So I asked her to cross-check each of their schedules with hers for any overlap and she came up empty. They don’t even study the same major,” Spencer explained.

‘What does she study?” Hotch asked.

“Get this, Behavior Analysis,” Rossi said.

“Hey! If you’re still lingering behind the window, I got something to say. But send the grumpy one in,” you shouted.

“She beckens for you, Agent Hotchner,” Rossi teased.

Hotch walked back into the room. You sat properly in your chair again with your hands folded politely, completely contrasting the way he left you. You had discarded your jacket too. Hotch couldn’t help his eyes drifting across your decorated skin. It tells him that you were most likely extroverted, confident. Though the psychology behind tattoos can be varied so his interest peaked briefly.

“What would you like to share?” Hotch sat across from you.

“Have you built a profile yet?” you asked.

“We have some working theories,” he responded.

“So do I,” you smirked.

“Agent Hotchner,” you strolled up to him, “What the hell are you doing in my part of town?”

“Your part?” he joked with you.

“Did you finish the case?” you asked.

“Yes, much help from you. Thank you,” he replied.

“What?” you yelled over the music.

“I said ‘Thank you,’” he responded loudly as you did.

“I’m just kidding, I heard you. I just wanted to hear you thank me again,” you smirked, before leaning over the counter to call the bartender. He may have been right about your tattoos making you a confident persona.

“So, what are you drinking tonight, Agent Hotchner?” you asked him.

“It’s just Hotch, and um, I’m not too sure. My coworker ordered me this drink. But I've hardly drunk it.” he complained.

“Yeah the drinks here are like gasoline, but at least you’re paying for what you get,” you laughed.

“What about you? What’s your poison tonight?” he asked you, he could feel his shoulders start to relax a bit.

“Coke,” you winked before grabbing.

“Really?” he asked with curiosity, he figured a girl your age would be drinking the night away while you were still young.

“I’m sober,” you told him.

“Good for you,” he told you, a smile creeping unsuspectingly on his face.

“Not all that crazy, I’m starting my thirties soon and graduating next semester so I have to start taking life super seriously since it won’t for me,” you said.

“What makes you say that?” he questioned.

“Seriously?” you joked, “Look, I knew my appearance was eventually going to affect my career down the line but I believed life is too short to not celebrate your body and decorate it the way you want. The body is a temple, and what’s a temple without art?”

“I think your tattoos are lovely,” he complimented.

“I think so too,” you grinned, making him chuckle. You liked amusing him.

“What do you mean by affecting your career? I understand not everyone likes tattoos in the workplace but you can easily cover them up with the right attire, can’t you?” he asked.

“Of course, but why would I want to burn up wearing a turtle-neck shirt in the middle of summer just to please some old fucks who don’t even work personally on the cases we would be working on?”

“I understand you,” he debuted.

“I can help with that,” he told you, after a small pause between you two.

“What do you mean?” you questioned.

“Well, I can talk to my boss about opening an internship position with the BAU. That way right before you graduate you can have a good reference and experience on your resume for when you start looking for a permanent position,” he explained.

“Are you serious?” you beamed.

“Yes, you were excellent with my team and incredibly effective. And I think it would be good for you to continue exploring that part of the job, if that’s what you want to do after you graduate,” he told you.

“Uh, yes! Oh my goodness, if I wasn’t sober I’d take a shot with you right now,” you laughed putting your hand on his chest.

Hotch could feel the warmth blooming from your hand into his system. His breath became slightly heavier than it was. He doesn’t know what compelled him to do this but he knows you could be very valuable to the team, and working with the BAU would set you up for success after you graduate. Those were the only reasons, right?

You and Hotch stayed a while at the bar talking and laughing most of the night. You told him stories about your tattoos and he told you stories from past cases. Derek and Spencer had left by then, Rossi was making his way out and the girls were still dancing and laughing as they had been the whole night. Occasionally they would point at him talking to you, they giggle at how unexpected and incredible it was for Hotch to be talking to a girl like you. What felt like minutes was actually hours and you were itching to get back on the dance floor again.

“Let’s go dance,” you tugged at his arm.

“Oh, no. That's not my thing,” he protested.

“Well, pretend it’s your thing tonight! Come on, I want to dance with you,” you begged.

“Eh,” he whined.

“Come on, come on,” you dragged him by the arm; it worked since he set his drink down and dragged his feet across the dance floor to bring his body against yours.

His hands hesitantly went to your hips while your arms instinctively wrapped around the back of his neck. Your chests were pressed against each other and if Hotch focused hard enough he could probably feel your heart beating against his. Maybe you could feel his picking up. Your eyes were closed, like you were trying to focus on only the music but unbeknownst to him you were focusing on his touch.

Finding confidence, Hotch moved his hands up and down your back. His leg moved in between yours and your hips moved together in sync. Hotch had never danced like this before with anyone. He felt a little lost but you were guiding him well and he was feeling more bold than before. Your fingers started raking through his hair and Hotch couldn’t help but sigh with his eyes fluttering close. It had been a long time since someone had been with him, had touched him in any way that wasn’t a professional handshake or a platonic hug. He had been always busy with work and if not work then taking care of Jack. Haley had been gone for a long time, it almost felt unnatural to feel this way again but Hotch was remembering how good it felt and how much he missed it.

He let his face bury into the side of your neck and you continued scratching his head, pulling your nails down the back of his neck making him breathe out shakily. You had this man suddenly wrapped around your finger. Hotch became as bold as one could get in the darkness of the club, letting his hands completely cup your behind and pulling your hips impossibly close to his. You pulled slightly away from him before resting your forehead against his. His eyes were only focused on your lips. You turned yourself around, hearing the sigh escape from Hotch when you did, but you made for it pressing your hips against his.

The girls had taken a break chatting and giggling at the bar. They couldn’t believe the sight before them. Hotch, a widower and single dad grinding up against a woman dressed in black and chains with tattoos up and down her arms and legs in a suit and tie he refused to change out of when he agreed to tonight's outing.

“I cannot believe what I’m seeing,” Penelope gasped.

“I think I’ve drank too much; I’m hallucinating Hotch having a better time than us,” JJ joked.

“Oh come on, girls. Leave the man alone,” Emily said before downing the rest of her drink.

“I would’ve been less surprised if Reid pulled a girl like that,” Penelope jokes.

“Yeah, it’s not so much the situation but rather who. I’ve never seen Hotch like this,” JJ said.

“You know I can’t deny that,” Emily rang.

“I think I’m gonna go now, seeing Hotch like this is making me feel things I’ve never wanted to feel from my boss,’ Penelope grumbled.

“You guys are so dramatic,” Emily laughed.

“I think I’m actually gonna go,” JJ chimed, “I shouldn’t leave my boys alone all night.”

“Ok, then let’s all just get out of here,” Penelope chirped, “We should leave Hotch to whatever he plans on doing.”

“I think you mean whoever,” Emily said, as she snapped a picture of you two dancing like there was nobody else there with you.

“Did you take a picture?” JJ gasped.

“Oh! He’s gonna kill you!” Penelope laughed out loud.

“Let’s go before he finds out then,” Emily chuckled.

You and Hotch danced like if the other let go you would disappear never to be seen again. You milked the time you had together in these final hours of the night before the sun set in reality. You could feel Hotch’s lips pressing against your hot skin below your ear. Your chest fluttered and your stomach flipped at the feeling. You were so enthralled in the feeling, you didn’t hear him whispering in your ear. The small puffs of air pulled you from this trance and you quickly turned around to better hear him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whined.

“Lead the way,” you teased, pulling gently at his tie.

His fingers entwined between yours pulling out of the disco. You nearly tripped over your platforms trying your best to keep up with the man taking you to his home. He opened the door for you and you practically jumped in the car without hesitation. You couldn’t help the giggles coming from you as you heard the quick steps from Aaron rounding the car.

The drive to his place was quick, or maybe it was long and you were just distracted. He looked so stoic and determined behind the wheel. Not even your light touches along his thigh, or the unbuckling of his belt would shake the fire behind his eyes. His skin was burning up and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. Once he got home he was quick to open the door, quick to rid his tie, quick to show exactly where he intended on fucking you tonight. So quick, he hadn’t bothered turning any lights on. Not that it mattered too much.

You laid roughly on the bed watching Hotch undress above you. You couldn’t help but notice the scars across his stomach, that’s when you noticed the scars along his knuckles; even with how dark the room was. You told yourself you’d ask about it another time. You didn’t want to ruin the moment over something he probably doesn’t want to talk about anyway. You started picking at your rings, twisting and pulling hard and fast to take them off; sometimes they were a bit distracting when you were having sex.

“No, leave those on,” Hotch gowled, before reaching to you to disrobe your outfit from tonight.

As he reached for those eye-catching platforms that made you stand out from most of the people dancing in the room, you couldn’t help yourself making a bit of a snarky remark.

“You want to keep those on too?” you flashed a smile.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he remarked, before his hands left your ankles to flip you over, leaving the shoes on for both your pleasures.

He peeled your underwear down your legs. His lips kissing the backs of your thighs softly; if you hadn’t been so overly focused on his every touch you wouldn’t have felt them. He stood tall over you, towering like a stoic statue. His hands roughly ran along your spine making you arch your back deliciously, basking in the fiery feeling. Hips pushing backwards to feel every inch of lust from the man behind you .

You dropped to your elbows, arching your back even more as you anticipated a craving you’ve wanted since he walked into that interrogation just days ago. If someone had told you then that that man would rutting his hips into from behind like he’d never fucked before, you’d had laughed in their face. But you couldn’t be more satisfied with the outcome of it anyway.

“Oh, Hotch,” you called out breathlessly.

He grunted behind you as he slowly inserted himself into you, pressure building like a souffle in the pit of your belly. He grunted again, words incoherent, before you realized he was speaking to you. You hummed in confusion, asking to repeat what he said louder, when his hands threaded your hair and pulled you back on your knees effortlessly against his body.

“Aaron,” he growled in your ear.

Your hands instinctively went up and behind, holding his face close to your neck and he bit and kissed the soft flesh sensually, goosebumps erupting along your arms. You whispered his name in the darkness that blanketed over, your sense of sound and touch becoming overstimulating. Hotch’s hands roamed your body like you were a delicate glass sculpture, contrasting the momentum of his hips that bruised your skin.

You could feel the intensity building, and your body beginning to buzz when Hotch suddenly pulled out from you to flip you over violently. You smacked down on the bed again like you had before, a playfully shocked giggle erupted from your belly. Your feet felt heavy over the edge of the mattress from the shoes you still had on. Hotch leaned down, stroking his rough hands along your legs from your ankle to your hips before dragging your hips even closer to the edge. He brought his hand to the back of your knee, bending it before he once again entered you with a delicious burn.

Your hands reached up cupping the back of your neck to pull him closer to you, his damp forehead resting against yours. Your rings felt ice cold against his burning skin. You could see, barely in the blue black darkness, his chest beginning to become red. His hands, although rough, were beginning to feel clammy but you hadn’t minded not one bit; completely enthralled and aroused in his touch.

You could feel the sweat building between the valley of your breasts. Your back is heating up from the thickness of the sheets that you laid upon. Even more so obvious when you felt the contrasting cold air that swept between when you arched you back in pleasure.

“Aaron,” you whispered.

“What do you need?” he asked you.

“Kiss me, Aaron,” you begged.

Without hesitation, his lips found yours in a feverous kiss. Your noses bumping against one another blocking your abilities to breath; but with the heightened passion shared between, breathing seemed impractical in a moment like this. Your breasts grazed softly against his chest, your nipples hardening with the friction as he moved swiftly and roughly above you.

You moaned in the kiss as did he. Your center pulsing, practically sucking him in with each thrust of his hips. The sounds of sex bounced off the walls. The bed squeaked beneath you; Hotch’s hips rutted into you with no particular rhythm. You hand came down from his neck to grip the sheets and you moaned and whined louder and louder as you inched closer and closer to your climax. Hotch breathed heavily above you before dipping head to your neck. Suddenly, without any warning, his hands roughly grab your wrists pinning your arms above your head.

“Keep them here, sweetheart,” he groaned, before standing straight up again to roughly grab your hips. His fingers dug into your soft skin, bound to bruise the next morning. His hips snapped in and out, in and out, harder and faster than anyone has ever fucked you before. You squealed and whimpered in ecstasy, pleasure. Your thighs squeezing tightly around his hips desperately holding back to climax.

“Fuck!” His voice was low and guttural.

“I can’t hold it anymore; can I come, please?” he begged, he reached for your calf pulling your leg over his shoulder. His mouth instantly kissed and bit like he was a rutting animal.

“Shit! Yes, yes!” you egged him on. Your climax spilling over, waiting for that little drop of water that would break the dam of pleasure. And once you both reach the highest point, your hands grab at each other desperately searching for some stability of any kind to guide through the crashing waves of bliss. His body slumped forward damn near crushing you beneath his strong body.

“Holy shit,” you sighed, laughter escaping your lips as you felt your entire body and mind buzz with nirvana. No man had ever fucked you that good and you were a little upset that it was over. Unbeknownst to you, Hotch didn’t have any plans of ending your pleasure; at least for tonight. With heavy eyes and a devilish smile, Hotch slid down your body, placing both of your legs over his shoulders with every intention of wearing you out tonight.

…

You stood in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with a drunken smile you hadn’t seen in years. You were completely naked. Your makeup ran down your face and your hair was practically a bird’s nest, and yet you stared at yourself with admiration. Hours had passed, every inch of clothing ripped or discarded on the bedroom floor of this man. Your shoes were long gone by this point and you felt your face becoming warm knowing you’d never wear those shoes again without thinking about tonight.

You had taken a quick shower, since Hotch had let you. He left you with a couple of garments he put aside for you to make sure you felt comfortable. You walked under the shower, letting the hot water engulf you and clean you. You looked around for the first and noticed the small toys in the corner of the bath. You stepped out and saw the small green and blue toothbrush beside another larger toothbrush that was also green and blue. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself.

You walked back to the bedroom quickly seeing Hotch sitting peacefully on the bed typing away on his phone in the soft warm light beside him. The small puddle of light allows you to better look at him. He looked so handsome and calm, so different from the harsh fluorescent lights of that interrogation room and the blinding colored LEDs from tonight. He looked up at you smiling when his eyes met yours. He chuckled seeing how different you looked now than when you had when he first saw you days ago; hours ago. You climbed into the bed, instantly snuggling into his side like a cat. Your lips kissing and biting playfully along his jawline.

“How old is your son?” you asked quietly. Hotch raised an eyebrow to look at you, he usually kept Jack’s room closed and his toys put neatly away.

“You’re going to be an excellent profiler,” he commented.

“You're not wrong but also you have matching toothbrushes in the bathroom and rubber duckies in the corner of the tub,” you remarked, giggling.

“Right. That would be the obvious answer,” he chuckled.

“He’s 10; I’m going to pick him up from his aunt’s place tomorrow afternoon,” he told you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair by then,” you told him, sinking lower beneath the sheets ready to sleep.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind it all. You can stay as long as you like,” he whispered. He craved those little domestic moments again that he had been missing for years. He knew he was crazy for thinking about moments like that, moments of you meeting Jack and whatnot despite only knowing you for such a little time, but he was starving for that kind of intimacy again. He will start thinking rationally again when he wakes tomorrow.

“I think you ought to take me to dinner first before I meet your kid,” you joked.

“I can do that,” he said seriously.

“Really?” you challenged.

“Yes, let me take you out to dinner next Friday,” he offered.

“And if you’re working? If you have to leave?” you questioned.

“Well, you’ll be coming with us, won’t you?” he grinned.

“Oh, right. Ok, then it’s a date, SSA Hotchner,” you smiled widely before pulling him in a kiss.

“You’re the only one who can call me, Aaron.”

“You swear?” you laughed.

“I swear.”

#criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #hotch x reader #hotch smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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bunchofrandomfandomsandbands · 3 months

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Random KISS Facts

(That nobody asked for)

Gene

The first time Gene spit fire, he caught his hair on fire

Back in the beginning of KISS, Gene would do a trick with flash paper, but one night his aim was off and the paper blew up in a kid’s face

Paul

During the Hotter Than Hell photoshoot, Paul got so drunk, that Gene had to lock him in the station wagon to keep Paul from hurting himself

Ace

Ace punched Tommy Thayer in the face when he (Tommy) was manager, over Ace having his girlfriend in the dressing room

Ace Frehley almost drowned twice. Once in a hotel bathtub and another time in a pool. Gene saved him both times

A day before the Hotter Than Hell photo shoot, Ace got in a bad car accident and split one side of his face open so. Because of this, Ace couldn’t wear that side of his makeup, so all the shots were profiles

Around 2000, Ace Frehley missed a flight to a concert in Los Angeles and the band got manager Tommy Thayer ready to fill in for Frehley, in costume and makeup. Frehley made it to the show at the last minute via helicopter ride from LAX to the venue

Peter

Peter Criss hardly played during the Reunion/Farewell tour, so they put an amplifier on his drums to make it sound like he was actually playing. That’s why a lot of the crew members would say “don’t sneeze around Peter’s drum set”

Eric C.

After the Dynasty tour was over, Peter Criss left the band. So, after KISS announced his departure, they held auditions for a new drummer and selected Paul Carvello, later renamed Eric Carr

When Eric Carr had to sing “Beth” he called Peter to make sure he (Peter) was ok with him singing his song

When Eric Carr recorded his vocal for the re-recording of “Beth” in 1988, he sat on the same drum stool that Peter Criss used during the original recording of the song in 1976

KISS’s late drummer Eric Carr’s collar on his 1980 “fox” costume was made out of real fox fur

In Paul’s book Face the Music he says that “When the tour stopped in Manhattan for two gigs at the Ritz, Eric Carr came to one of the shows and sat in the balcony with his head resting on the railing through the entire show. Afterwards he came backstage, and out of left field, turned to Eric Singer, and said, ‘You’re going to replace me.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ I spoke. ‘He’s going to replace me in KISS,’ said Eric Carr, nodding at Eric Singer. ‘Listen, Eric, you’re the drummer in KISS, and he’s the drummer of my solo band.’” But as fate would have it, Eric Singer was the perfect fit

Tommy

March 11, 2000, through April 13, 2001, was the Reunion/Farewell Tour with Ace and Peter. Tommy Thayer was KISS’ tour manager at the time, and he had to retrain Ace and Peter all their parts, because they hadn’t played in years. It proved to be difficult, and Tommy almost gave up. But with the reassurance of Paul, he managed to reteach Ace and Peter all their parts

Album/Song Facts

Cannons were recorded and mixed into KISS Alive! to mimic the pyrotechnics that didn’t come through the microphones correctly

Alive! was recorded in multiple different cities with crowd audio combined to make the crowd sound bigger. Alive! was mainly recorded in Detroit

At one point KISS almost went under because Neil Bogart (KISS’ manager) had maxed out his credit card. With the combination of the special effects, levitating drum set (that seldom ever worked), the exploding drumsticks, and Neil’s gambling issue, the band almost went under, but when Alive! went Platinum, it saved the group

On Dynasty Anton Fig played on the tracks except for “Dirty Livin’,” written, and played by Criss even though he wasn’t involved in its production, Peter was still credited on drums, which left Anton Fig uncredited

Psycho Circus was the first album to involve all four original members (though Ace Frehley and Peter Criss only appeared on a select few tracks). "You Wanted the Best" is the only KISS song in which lead vocals are shared by the entire lineup

The radio news announcer at the start of “Detroit Rock City” is KISS’ producer Bob Ezrin. The main news report featured a fatal car accident, and is the backstory of the song, which was based on a reportedly true event that happened to a teen on his way to Detroit KISS concert in 1975

Paul’s yodeling at the beginning of “Heaven’s on Fire” is him warning up. He didn’t realize the camera was rolling, but they decided to keep it in the video

A number of songs from Crazy Nights were performed live during its supporting tour, but during and especially immediately following the tour, most of those songs were dropped and were never performed again

The famous song “Rock and Roll All Nite” was inspired by Slade’s “Mama Weer All Crazee Now”

Towards the end of the Reunion/Farewell tour, fans were shocked to see Eric Singer in full Catman costume and makeup, meaning Peter left the band again for the final time

During the music video for “Heaven’s on Fire” Eric Carr pops up behind Paul, and Paul looks at him for a split second before looking back at the camera. Eric did that randomly. It wasn’t planned. Paul’s reaction was genuine

Other

Neil Bogart came up with Peter’s levitating drum set and his exploding drumsticks

The KISS logo is altered in Germany because of the similarities to the Nazi S

Early in KISS’ career, Larry Harris worked an endorsement deal with Gibson guitars, and they provided free guitars that Paul could smash. In exchange, KISS put Gibson on the back of their album covers

Peter “Moose” Oreckinto, a KISS roadie in the early days, was loading Peter Criss’ exploding drumsticks, when one went off, causing a hole in his hand, his chin and his stomach. This accident almost caused Moose to lose his hand, but doctors were able to save it

KISS was nominated for a Grammy in 1999 for Best Hard Rock Performance for their song “Psycho Circus.” (It lost to “Most High” by Page and Plant of Led Zeppelin fame)

Despite the band’s massive 1970s success and again in the late 1990s, Rolling Stone magazine refused to put KISS on its cover until the band’s 40th anniversary in 2013

KISS refused to play shows in their early days without their trademark giant lighted logo. In some venues, its size required it to be stood up on the side of the stage instead of hanging above it

KISS has had ten members during its 50-year existence. Paul Stanley is reportedly the only member to have participated in every song released

The KISS Army started in Indiana when a local radio station refused to play any KISS songs in the early ‘70s. Protesting fans marched outside of the radio station forcing the radio station to play KISS

Facts are continually added

Tagging: @genesstankycodpiece, @solfihelpmi, @ericsingerisababycat, @foxykissworld, @spacefoxy, @sillyamyy, @ericcarrsworshipper, @2000-man1, @tanookikiss, @sluttery-withoutshame, & @daddycatcriss

#kiss band

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tcwmatchmakingau · 11 months

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The Long Way Home

Part 1 - It’s Ok To Want More

Summary: A hardworking creative discovers she can’t girlboss her way out of wanting more out of life and turns to Right to Love Matchmaking for assistance.

Pairing: Commander Thorn x fem!Reader (designer/seamstress) (no y/n, no physical descriptions)

Warnings: very mild suggestive thoughts

A/N: Y’all are the first to get to meet two of my OC’s! Blizzard, a former member of the 212th, and Daria Trace, matchmaker extraordinaire 💙💙 This is the set up, date to come in chapter 2

Rating: T Word Count: 1325

Running an upscale boutique on Coruscant had its perks. Your clients ranged from bored debutants spending daddy’s cash to senators and their aids. The gossip was always top notch, and you frequently caught wind of scandals before any journalist was even close.

Despite your popularity, most of your clientele paid you little attention. This would have bothered most people, but you preferred it this way. You’d slip in one earbud and soundtrack their unintended exposes while you worked.

In between clients, you’d often spend time arranging your window displays. It was something you did for fun because the majority of your clients came to you based solely on word of mouth.

You were setting up an elaborate display for the coming holidays when you looked out to see a few couples here and there. No elaborate displays of public affection, just the gentle gestures of new love and old love alike.

Fingers laced together. Kisses pressed to temples. Soft smiles and knowing glances.

Your heart gave a pitiful twinge, and your turned back to your mannequins and fabrics.

You had stopped making time for love a long time ago. You weren’t willing to put your passion, your livelihood on the back burner for disappointment and mediocre sex. But you’d seen ads for that new matchmaking service everywhere you went lately, and the uptick in happy couples was impossible to miss.

It was hard to resist the fantasy of a comfortable love. The gentle brush of fingers over your face after a long day to welcome you home. Waking up to kisses and snuggles. Someone to make you miss your train because they had to have you one more time.

You shook your head and reigned in your thoughts. You had work to do, and lusting after a life the Maker hadn’t intended for you was distracting and painful. You didn’t have time for either one.

Yet day after day you found yourself taking the long way home. Your steps carrying you past Right To Love’s offices.

***

It was the blasted bridal show that did you in. Surrounded by fabrics in every color from brilliant white to darkest black, and exhilarated brides, your heart demanded your attention.

Your work-focused brain had been running things long enough, and your starving heart could not be silenced. Work was fulfilling, but it didn’t call you sweet names, draw a bath for you, or make you shake with pleasure in the dark.

It’s ok to want love. I can ask for more. You thought, taking a deep breath as you waltzed into Right to Love’s lobby.

“Hello, welcome to Right To Love. Are you here for an evaluation and profile submission?” A clone dressed in a smart, well-tailored outfit asked from behind a sleek white desk. His name tag identified him as Blizzard.

“I think so,” you cleared your throat. “Yes, yes I am.”

“It’s ok to be nervous.” Chilly name aside, Blizzard’s voice was warm and reassuring. “Most of my brothers are too. Here, just fill this out, and one of our matchmakers will be with you shortly.”

He handed you a datapad, and you accepted it with a lightly trembling hand.

You sat down and started filling out the form.

The questions ranged from the easy, ‘Occupation? Last long term relationship? Last short term relationship?’ to the difficult, ‘What are you looking for in a match? What brought you to Right to Love? What does love mean to you?’

One standard hour later, you were fanning yourself after handing the datapad back to the Blizzard, who gave you another encouraging smile, as he directed you to wait.

“There are drinks and snacks on that back table there,” he added, and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him.

Your eyes roamed the lobby, and you spotted a few other people here and there, lounging on the comfortable chairs. Some looked terrified, others looked relaxed. You counted yourself amongst the terrified, as you grabbed a bottle of meiloorun soda, and perched at the edge of a chair.

You sipped delicately at your soda, while you watched others exit looking elated or in a couple of cases utterly embarrassed. Your stomach twisted, and you eyed the front door. Had you made a mistake? You could still run for it. You rose from your seat, pretending to look at the art, as you scooted towards the exit.

You were a mere 10 steps away from freedom when a woman called your name, and invited you to follow her. She was short, but the way she held herself could fool anyone into believing she was as tall as any trooper. She had golden brown skin, a dyed lavender buzz cut, and a mischievous grin on her glossy lips.

“I’m Daria Trace, one of the matchmakers,” she said.

“How does one become a matchmaker?” You asked, curious.

“I majored in psychology and behavioral studies, and I ran a small matchmaking service for extra credits at university.”

“What’s your success rate?” You asked, matching her stride.

“Seventy percent of the couples I matched up at uni are still married,” she said with a grin, as she opened her office door, and gestured for you to enter and have a seat.

You took a deep breath and settled in at her desk. Instead of sitting behind the desk she sat next to you.

“Tell me who you are,” she said.

“Isn’t that what the profile’s for?” You asked with a raised brow.

“It gives me the basics, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know that people present themselves differently on paper. So tell me something real.”

You took a quick sip of your soda, hoping to ease the dryness in your mouth and throat.

“Um…I have my own business. I guess you could say I’m married to it. I like to keep busy,” You said, feeling the weight of her scrutinizing gaze.

“So why cheat on your job with a boyfriend?”

“I’m…my,” you feel that twinge in your chest again. “My heart wants more. Work is a sure thing. Always there for me. I just want more. I have a lot to offer, and just…”

“It’s ok, go ahead,” Daria presses, head inclined towards you.

Up close it feels like her dark brown eyes are looking through you. Like your mind was an open book, and she was flipping through the pages on the hunt for evidence that you were worthy of her time.

“I’m fine on my own, but I know I could be a great partner if I had the chance, if I took the chance.”

“And why haven’t you taken the chance?”

“I could never find someone supportive, who understood my need to create and find my own way. They wanted me to do well, just not as well as them.”

Daria sat back, and observed you a moment. Her eyes roaming your face with an unreadable expression. She stood up, and moved to sit behind her desk, tapping away on her datapad.

She grilled you a little more, asking about pets, marriage, children, foods, colors, and even scents.

“I think I have just the guy for you,” she said finally, her smooth voice carrying just a hint of self-satisfaction.

“Really?” You couldn’t hide your surprise.

“Mmhmm! According to the schedule you provided, you’re free tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow?!”

“No time like the present. Are you ready?”

You could tell wasn’t just asking about tomorrow night.

“I am,” you responded, nodding.

“Perfect! He’ll meet you at Dex’s Diner at 1800 hours,” she said sending a confirmation to your device.

“Wow,” you said pulling it out of your bag and staring at the message. “What’s his name?”

“Thorn,” she said with a bright smile. “I can’t wait to hear how it goes.”

“Thorn,” you said softly, enjoying the sound of his name.

“Have fun, ok?” Daria said. “Don’t hold back.”

“Alright. Thank you,” you said, as you left her office in a daze.

#clone matchmaking au #tcw matchmaking au #Coruscant Guard #Original Clone Characters #212th legion #non clone OC #submission #seven writes

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captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship · 11 months

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Men pay a lot of money to get their name into Gwyn's exclusive black book - enough that, with careful planning, she's putting herself through law school debt-free. Once she's graduated, she can retire the high heels and little black dresses and get to work in the pursuit of justice that she and her sister never received.

Azriel Singer's profile intrigues her, with a smile that never shines in his eyes and a delectable body. But will his attitude get in the way of any future potential?

I am so fortunate to be chosen to write Ch.2 of this fic for the ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 that has been coordinated by the amazing @azrielshadowssing

Part 1 was written by the incredible @hlizr50 and I hope I did this work justice!

Here is the link to Part 2, or read below!

TW: mentions of SA

ONE MONTH LATER

This had been a month from Hell. Gwyn was all but dying as she turned in her final assignment of the semester, thankful that she had somehow found the time to study and work a few extra nights of the week.

Gwyn had met with Tarquin the day after the disastrous meeting with Azriel. He was sweet and her saving grace over the last month. He didn’t want anything more than what she was used to offering - just a few weekends of fun. She made her rent with some cash to spare just from him alone.

It was all fine, but Gwyn couldn’t stop herself from venturing to Azriel’s profile, perplexed at what kind of bullshit someone had to go through in order to be such a massive asshole. He was hot, sure, and the kind of rich that would make paying off her college tuition look like a drop in the bucket. Had he been even a little less of dick, she might have milked him for all he was worth.

So fuck him.

But still… she couldn’t delete his profile off of her contact list. Couldn’t break that single connection to the man who equally perplexed and infuriated her.

Gwyn’s phone pinged, bringing her out of her stupor and back to reality. Her group chat with Nesta and Emerie consisted of funny memes, gossip, and the only source of true fun Gwyn had had in ages.

Nesta:

Let's go out tonight to celebrate!

Gwyn:

I am exhausted, Nesta. Maybe next time?

Gwyn entered her apartment and collapsed on the couch, ready to pass out and allow herself the bliss of sleep. Her phone went off again, and she silently cursed as she read the next message.

Emerie:

Take a nap and then join us! It isn’t everyday that you finish your second year of Law School, let alone in the top five of your class. You are a shoe in for any internship in the country. Take the evening off and just live a little!

Gwyn thought about it. When was the last time she really spent time with her best friends? Her weekends were filled with being whisked away on private jets to sunny beaches with Tarquin and her week days were jammed with studying and writing paper after paper. She had some money left over, and with this break coming up she could take on more clients than usual to get ahead of her bills.

Gwyn:

Fine, you win. Now you guys leave me be for the next 6 hours and then we can meet at Rita’s at 9pm?

Nesta:

YES! Finally!!!! First shot’s on me ;)

Emerie:

WOOOOOOO!

Emerie:

Ok, love. Get some sleep, because tonight we PARTY!

Gwyn chuckled at their enthusiasm, and it wasn’t long before she set her alarm and passed out- content and excited for the night to come.

----

Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie strode into the club and headed straight for the bar opposite the dancefloor.

“Three tequila shots and lime, thanks.” Nesta said, gesturing to the male bartender, Balthazar. She had taken a martial arts class with him when they all attended Velaris University and he always hooked the girls up when they came in. He just smiled and brought them right over, ignoring the guys who seemed to be attempting to flag him down to bring them some beers. Nesta just gave them one of her cold smiles and they shut right up.

“Here you go ladies.” Balthazar crooned as he dropped 4 shots of tequila and a small bowl of limes down in front of them. He smiled at Gwyn kindly and she was alway happy to see a friendly, male face whenever she was here. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gwyn. Finally crawling out of your den to join us in the land of the drunk and living?”

“If only you knew the half of it. I’m literally bending over backwards to finish this degree. You try finding the time to make the dean’s honors list in Law School, work your ass off, and still look this good in heels after a final’s week from hell.” Gwyn retorted back.

His gaze dropped to said heels appreciatively. Perhaps it took a moment longer than necessary for his eyes to crawl back up her legs to her smirking features, but Gwyn wasn’t complaining. He just put his hands up in silent surrender and passed out the shots to all of us.

Nesta held her glass out in a toast. “To the shit we have seen, and the shit to come. At least the booze and company are worth it all.” They all grabbed a lime slice, clinked their shots together, and knocked them back. Gwyn savored the heat of the tequila running down her throat.

As she slammed her glass down on the bar victoriously, Gwyn could feel someone watching her. Her neck tingled as a gaze- hard and determined- bore into her back. Turning towards the dancefloor, she scanned the room until her eyes landed on a pair of familiar hazel ones. Ones that she had ogled in fascination all month behind the comfort of her phone screen.

Azriel was standing there and staring directly at her. No trepidation. No hint of shyness about him all.

She couldn’t read his expression from so far away, but she could feel his eyes raking down her body - noticing her tight cobalt outfit. The skirt barely covered her most intimate areas and her crop top wrapped around the curve of her body as though it were tailored just for her. The fabric shimmered under the club lights, giving the illusion of moonlight on an ocean wave.

His gaze sent electricity sparking up Gwyn’s spine. For the first time in a long time, she felt exposed under his attention. Once Azriel’s eyes met hers again, she remembered the reason they were in this predicament and turned her back to him - deciding to ignore the source of her current vexation for the rest of the night.

Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Gwyn couldn’t help but feel Azriel’s piercing gaze on her back the entire time.

She just ordered another round of shots from Balthazar, whose doting attention was not unnoticed. When the shot glasses of vodka arrived, she turned around to see Azriel sitting in a booth on the other side of the club with two people she hadn’t taken notice of before. The man was as large as a tank. His long hair was tied up in a messy bun and Gwyn could spot some black swirling tattoos peeking out from the open buttons of his black dress shirt.

The woman, sitting on the other side of the long-haired man, was one of the most stunning women Gwyn had ever seen. Surely a model, her golden blonde hair fell in waves around her face and down her back. She was wearing a deep gold top that just barely covered her chest, with chains at the neck and back leaving her tanned skin utterly exposed. Her matching skirt had her shining like a gilded sunset.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer, Gwyn.” Nesta teased from beside her.

Gwyn scowled in reply, content to follow out her plans to have fun and not think about work for a night. Or for that matter, a pair of hazel eyes that saw entirely too much and a broad muscular form that appeared as though it were carved by a Renaissance artist. Why did he have to be such an asshole? Gwyn hated him for it.

“His friends aren’t so bad to look at, either,” Emerie said. I turned to look at her and found her eying Azriel’s blonde friend with predatory intent. She smiled a little to herself. Although Gwyn was determined not to get any tonight, she wouldn’t stop her friends if they wished to partake in a one-night stand.

Perhaps it was reckless, but Gwyn couldn’t help but stare Azriel in the eye as she took her shot, not bothering with a chaser. He leaned forward in his seat - his eyes tracking the small drop that seemed to escape Gwyn’s lips and ran down the side of her mouth. She wiped it with her thumb and sucked it off- refusing to let her gaze fall from his. Gwyn just winked at him and turned back to her friends.

She hoped he felt the same lick of fire creep up her depths and ricochet through her spine. She wondered if the air had gone thick with heat and tension for him as well. But Gwyn didn’t chance another glance over to him.

This was war, and she was determined to win.

“Let's go dance.” Was all she said, and her friends followed in tow.

-----

The dance floor was packed tonight. Rita’s was only a few blocks away from the university, so everyone was trying to make the most of their end of semester celebrations. The girls found their way to the middle of the dance floor and started jumping and swaying with the music. For a while, Gwyn forgot about the pair of hazel eyes that had been watching her all night.

At some point, Nesta had spotted the man who had come with Azriel, and she left without a further glance at them.

He was exactly her type: bold, dominant, and from the way he laughed, he was definitely a teddy bear at heart. Gwyn and Emerie started laughing to themselves at how the man’s jaw seemed to drop when he saw Nesta approaching him. When they approached each other, drifting as though attached to some magnetic force, the gaze they shared was so intimate, Gwyn almost looked away - but the liquor in her system had robbed her of that courtesy.

“How much do you want to bet that Nesta will be waking up in his bed in the morning?” Emerie joked, yelling slightly over the loud music.

“They are either going to hate each other or be inseparable. Time to start writing the wedding invitations now.” Gwyn yelled back. Both girls fell into a fit of giggles as they casually watched Nesta and man start dancing with each other at the edge of the dancefloor.

A few more songs passed by, and Gwyn was fully entranced by the music and tequila. She hadn’t had enough to be drunk, but she did have just enough to loosen her inhibitions. Maybe that was why she had teased Azriel relentlessly at the bar. Gwyn looked over to Emerie who seemed to be distracted, continuously staring at the blonde woman who had come with Azriel. It seemed the woman was staring at her right back.

“Go shoot your shot, Em. I will be fine. I was hoping to leave in a few songs anyways.” Gwyn said with teasing encouragement.

Emerie looked nervous, chewing on her lip as her eyes scanned Gwyn. “Are you sure? What if she isn’t into girls?”

Gwyn just squeezed her arm in gentle encouragement, “You will never know unless you go up to her and ask.”

Emerie stayed until the end of the song, trying to dance away her nerves. When one song flowed into another, she said, “Ok. I’m going. Are you sure you are gonna get home safe?” Gwyn knew Emerie was just trying to stall the inevitable, so she just laughed in return. “I’ll be fine, Em. Go. I will text you and Nesta when I get home.” It was always their unspoken rule. Every time they went out, they would text the group where they were headed after the club. It also helped that the girls shared their phone locations with each other - just in case.

Emerie took a deep breath and turned towards the booth where the blonde was sitting, only to find it empty now. Looking around confused, Gwyn couldn’t help but feel bad for Emerie when all of a sudden her friend turned behind her to find the blonde tapping her shoulder.

“Want to dance?” The blonde said, a warm smile washing over her face as she held out her hand.

Emerie took it without hesitation, “I would like that.”

Gwyn waved them off as she continued to dance by herself, just enjoying the flow of the music through her veins.

She told herself she would stay for two more songs, make sure her friends were ok, and then head home to change into sweats, eat ice cream, and stream Grey’s on Netflix thanks to Nesta sharing her account with Gwyn.

Midway through the penultimate song, a pair of hands gripped onto Gwyn’s waist. They were rough and felt wrong. The man pulled himself close, trying to dance with Gwyn but she was not in the mood to be manhandled today.

She tried to turn out of the man’s grip, to shuffle away with a swift turn to the beat, but the guy just squeezed her waist tighter and tighter until she was being pulled against her will.

Memories flashed through Gwyn’s mind.

Dancing at a freshman year frat party. Another man’s hands on her waist. Her saying no as he brought her into a spare bedroom and took what he wanted from her.

Gwyn stood frozen in fear, unable to say anything. She knew self-defense, of course. She had met Nesta and Emerie at a self defense course for women who had been through trauma. But there were too many people around her and she didn’t want to risk hurting anyone else.

She tried to pry the dude’s fingers off of her waist, but he just leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Want to go home with me tonight, princess? That pretty outfit would look even better on the floor of my bedroom.”

Gwyn shuddered in absolute disgust. What kind of douche just asks if you want to sleep with him without even introducing himself?

“I’m good, thanks. I was actually just heading out. Have a good night.” Gwyn tried to escape his grasp again, but he just held tighter and started roaming his hands down her sides.

“Come on, Princess. It will be fun. What do you say?” he said in her other ear. His beer breath bombarded her nose and all but made her gag. Gwyn just about had it with him and was about to damn the consequences, but suddenly those hands were jerked off of her.

In a startled haze, Gwyn turned only to find Azriel pulling the man off of her by the collar of his shirt. “The lady said she isn’t interested.” Azriel all but growled at the guy.

The guy stared up at Azriel and balked. Azriel stood a whole head taller than him, and the look on his face would send most people running in the opposite direction.

Gwyn couldn’t help but think that that look was kinda hot. Couldn’t help but bite her lip as heat swam through her depths, replacing the icy nausea that had made a home there just moments ago.

The guy just stared between Azriel and Gwyn in shock. He didn’t wait around, sparing her a scoff and leaving. Azriel turned to Gwyn, his dark gaze roaming over her. Looking to see if she was hurt, she realized.

“Are you ok?” He asked, taking a step towards her.

That set Gwyn into motion. She took a step back, flicked her hair over her shoulder in fake bravado, and said cooly, “I’m fine. Thanks for the help.”

She turned over her shoulder and walked right out of the club and into the cool summer breeze.

----

She was in the middle of texting the girls and calling an uber when the club doors swung open beside her. Azriel walked out the doors in a frantic huff. He turned frantically in place until he noticed her leaning against the brick storefront, then all but ran towards her in a frenzy.

“What the hell!?” He said in a panicked voice. “Why did you leave? I was looking everywhere for you.”

Something tickled Gwyn’s nerves. On the one hand, it was sweet that he was looking for her. So at odds with the asshole she had interviewed with last month. On the other hand… “Why? Just cause I am an escort doesn’t mean that you are entitled to my time.”

“I know, but-”

She cut him off before he could give some bullshit excuse. “You made it perfectly clear the last time we met that you wanted nothing to do with me. So what the fuck was all that inside?” She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration.

Azriel cringed at her comment. He loosed a sigh and looked down. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took in a shaky breath before he opened them to meet hers. “I’m sorry for how I treated you that day. I’ve been going through a rough time. My friends set me up and although their intentions are good, I wasn’t in the right headspace. Would you let me take you somewhere so I can explain?” His eyes were pleading. He actually looked sincere.

This emotional rollercoaster was taking Gwyn for a loop. She shook her head and scoffed. “I was just groped by a random dude in the club. What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you right now?”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with rage. He kept it bottled in as he said, “At least let me take you home. Maybe grab some food on the way? I just want to explain. Start over.”

Gwyn didn’t want to deal with this right now. She was at her wits end and just wanted to go home. “Why do you even care, Azriel? We met once, you were an ass, and life moved on. Just leave me be.”

Gwyn was done.

She was done with men who thought they were entitled to her because she sold her time and body. But there were still hers.

Hers to choose who to spend her time with.

Hers to choose when to give it.

But always her choice.

Gwyn started to turn to walk down the street and put some distance between her and Azriel, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. His grip was light and she could easily shake him off if she wanted to but something inside her was telling her to stay. To listen.

“Please, Gwyn. Just give me a chance to explain. If I can’t convince you to give me a second chance by the time I drop you off at home, you will never hear from me again. You can have anything you want, just- please.”

Gwyn stared at his eyes, and whatever she saw there made her sigh in resignation. She could ask for anything. A lot of her problems could be fixed with that kind of offer. She pulled out her phone and texted Nesta and Emerie.

Gwyn:

Taking a detour on my way home. Be safe!

She clicked off her phone and looked Azriel in the eyes, “Lead the way then, Singer.”

#gwynriel #acotar #gwynriel supremacy #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #azriel #nessian #emorie #gwyn is making azriel crawl for her #he will eat out of the palm of her hand #Gwyn is so hot and azriel is so hot #acotar writing circle 3 #acotar writing circle #this was so fun to write

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sllvertongue · 11 months

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hi ! i (they/them) am posting live from work......but im excited to present jeong haeran, socialite by day, nightrunner gwisin by night, and god's favoritest bastard 24/7. she's trying desperately to find a mask that's big enough to hide everything she's ashamed about, a problem that she thinks can also be ~magicked away~ if she could just get to astra.

🤍 i haven't gotten around to her proper bg yet, but here is her profile, plots, & inspo board! i'm also available on dc if anyone prefers, so just lmk.

so . her forbidden backstory (tw for mentions of murder):

born and raised in ansan and has never been anywhere else, to her dismay

just turned 27 last month, has been a part time pianist at revel for around 8 months now, starting a little after her fiance's disappearance.

on that note, she was engaged last year. no one rly saw her coming ? like, literally, she was a nobody before. it was rly the engagement that catapulted her into ansan's upper class scene, where she worked her way up and became known as jeong haeran! self taught pianist! aspiring museum curator! future loving wife (shudders)!

what they don't know, and what she intends for them to never find out, is that she's the daughter of jeong minah, a convicted murderer.

on paper, there's nothing wrong with this. if she were a more optimistic person, she would hope that people would be able to look beyond her past n just see her as she presents herself. but she's not lol.

all of it went down during the dawn of her early adulthood and so, as u would expect, fucked severely w her sense of identity. then life decided to throw it into another blender during the first and only time she goes to visit her mother, where her mother tells her, i did it for us.

most details are unknown. when it all happened, she was shielded from the details, and she has Not had any oustanding urges to revisit the whole situation, thank u. the first thing she did w her fiance's money is pay the enforcers to lock away anything that could trace her back to that past.

but the Daughter Syndrome is very very very very very hard to shake off. no matter where she goes, what name she uses, how she dresses, she is still Her Mother's Daughter. and every time her mother writes her from prison, haeran tramples over every boundary she has tried to set in a rush to read it and (despite how much she wants to despise her) hear how her mother is doing.

so anyway her identity is currently ? ? ? ? ! ! ! not doing so hot. and brother , the gender of it all

presents masc and goes by gwisin / sin (he / him) around the nightrunner circle. has a voicebox mod that lets her sound more masc and dresses as formlessly as possible. as far as everyone is concerned, it's she/they when it's "haeran" and he/him when it's "sin." its a fluid thing to her, more concerned abt the expression than identity (since paradoxically her identity is heavily defined by how she thinks ppl perceive her). it's all about trying to be so far away from how she typically appears to others, that no one would recognize her anymore

ooc / she/they is perfectly fine for her in writing, but he/him for threads where she is presenting as gwisin! it is also ok (nd highly encouraged by me!!!) for your muse to perceive/refer to gwisin using masc terms!!

more recently:

her first involvement with the nightrunners was watching races when she was a teen. after her mother was convicted and she officially became "independent," inheriting what little money their family had, the first thing she did was buy a bike and start racing her #problems away

i'd say her most active years were about 4 years ago? around 25 yrs old, she realized she was never going to get out of here if she didn't get herself out -- and where tf could she go where her name couldn't follow her?

astra seemed like the only logical solution. so she put down the nightrunner mask, sold her bike, prettied up, and went into the business of scamming ppl into believing her new bougie identity

she was good about it for a few months. she found a boyfriend, tho completely unattracted to him. grew bored, started sneaking out to watch races again. moved in w the boyfriend. grew more bored and went back to the place she sold her bike. it was long gone by then of course, but the owner took pity on her and pointed her to a mechanic who helped her build one from scratch.

then the happy couple got engaged, which loops us back to the start

her fiance went missing almost a year ago. no one knows what happened; the popular story is that he flew off to astra, but no one's heard from him since. did haeran have smth to do with it ... ? idk ...

tldr: she spends her days conning her place into upper society and then relieving the frustrations of that whole affair w her bike. she IS going to make it to astra someday though, mark her words.

my goals for her: for her to actually, finally move on from her past OR embrace it and reconcile w her mother. for her to find bouts where she feels like "herself." to less nefarious abt it all (possibly unrealistic)

potential plots:

plot page plug

someone w/ connections to astra?? someone she noted as her possible ticket up there and is now trying to get closer to?

fellow nightrunners... she's competitive but loves a good dirty trick even if it means she loses

a person she can shit talk with. rly, it goes a long way. she's been wearing such a clean, pristine mask for years now, and she misses when she used to just not care

other music enjoyers ? she technically conned her way into the "pianist" title too, she knows her way around keys and can read music but....doesn't rly know anything beyond the pieces she has to play for work.

accidental sugar babies lmao. i feel like her fiance was well off and all that money's left with her now, and she has a tendency of seeing someone and being like Damn u are one pathetic meowmeow, so to speak, and then giving them a little something to buy food/clothes with

past flings (fem/nb identifying muses)

other emos w parent issues. lets talk about it

#rmnt:intro #slow for a few hours bc of stinky work but then im cracking my knuckles

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pn3uemoz · 2 years

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Ride The Cyclone at St Cassian’s

This is a story inspired by @sure-i-exist ‘s AO3 called Watching The Cyclone, please go read it I love it and they recently posted.

Go read the first part (you can find it on my profile, it’s nothing you all might have missed but just info)

At St Cassians the students were in lunch and most of them had just gotten their lunch at the cafeteria, the others either were in detention or in class due to the time schedule. Apparently there was this buzz around the school, a rumor you might say. There was apparently going to be 2-3 lessons missed because they had to go to the sports hall.

Meanwhile the choir were practicing for the next up competition, you see last year they got second. They were the only choir in the competition odd enough. Through the school speakers you could hear the vice Principal, “Um… Dear St Cassian pupils. Please may both pupils and staff come to the sports hall”

Everyone just looked at each other or students looking at teachers, they ended up getting into their homeroom classes and sitting down on the chairs lined up in the sports hall, they looked around and saw a screen, bigger then any they have seen before, as soon as they sat down and only a few mutters could be heard.

“Hello St Cassian’s, I see you all are here, shall I explain what’s going on?” A voice said out of no where, there was more mutters of people talking, “God?” A teacher said, the voice only laughed, “no! No! I’m not god or am I here to prove the existence of god, so…… I’ll explain” a few students laughed at the teacher and the homeroom teacher of them just looked at them.

As it shows less of the students were scared or frightened of the mysterious voice, “ok members of St Cassian’s you all will watch the future of not many but only 6 of you will be shown.” The voice said, multiple people shouted out, some wanting to know who, others shouted more detailed stuff. Like would this change anything.

“No, this will not change anything of their or your futures-” the voice said but got interrupted by a freshman, “who is it?” She yelled, “brilliant question! The students are here today, they are……..” the voice said as a drum roll could be heard.

“Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg!” The students in her homeroom including Constance looked at her.

“Constance Blackwood!” Those that had been looking at Ocean now turned to look at the girl next to her who looked shocked to hear her name.

“Ricky Or Richard Potts!” He had been sitting on the end of a row of chairs, and now looked concerned upon hearing that, looking to the side to avoid seeing his own set of stares. “Wait his name is Richard? I thought it was actually Ricky?” A student muttered to their friend.

“Noel Gruber” He sat up straight, glanced at the people nearby and then looked at his lap, picking at his nails, glancing back up occasionally.

“And Mischa Bachinsky” He looked confused, glaring at the blank screen at the front. His friends looked at him as a few people looked at him confused, “what?!” He said pissed as he thought of texting Talia.

“I mean the choir in short, but as I said, there is another person, she was going to join the choir who hasn’t joined the school yet, she will join a few days, for now I will show what will happen on the 14th of September which is a Monday in two weeks. No I will not say who the soon-to-be student is, but may I begin?” He said.

The machine in the video began to speak, it’s eyes and crystal ball lighting up.

‘Hello’ it says, in a deep, male voice. ‘I am the Amazing Karnak. This is not a boast, but rather what it says on my legal patent as a precognition machine’

“Um,” Noel starts to speak, raising one hand lazily and jumping as his voice came out far louder than expected - the rest of the hall turning to look at him as the video pauses. “What does… this have to do with our future? It’s just some machine from the Fall Fair… isn’t it?”

‘I was designed to predict the exact cause, time and place of someone’s death’

The hall stays silent aside from a freshman boy yelling out “he was fucking what?” and a discomfort starts to set in, as some begin to suspect what may have happened in the future.

‘A rather morbid function, I grant you.’ It goes on, ‘which is precisely why I was set to Family Fun Novelty Mode; turns out being told the place and time of your death, in front of your family, with a mouth full of corndog, at a fairground is the very opposite of fun.’

Someone just began to giggle which made her friend to giggle and the teacher beside him to stare at him. “So does that mean he can do all that predicting stuff or not?” A boy whispers to him friend.

‘While I am still able to predict the demise of anyone who stands before me, I am incapable of ever expressing it.’

“Guess that answers that question.” The boy’s friend whispers back.

“That’s scary.” Constance’s voice rings out, stumbling a little, not expecting her voice to be so loud when she mumbled. Exactly like how Noel reacted.

‘I can even predict that in my own demise, I always could. Today, in this gymnasium in a little over an hour. Meet my executioner, a rat I named Virgil.’ The video moves to show what is effectively a rat fur suit on stage in the dark, with glowing red eyes. ‘For the last two years, Virgil has been steadily chewing on my power cable. In a little over an hour, Virgil will chew through the rubber, biting down on 200 volts of electricity, instantly killing us both. As there is nothing more bass than death, I’ve decided for tonight’s entertainment, Virgil will play the bass.’ There is then a spotlight on the rat, revealing it to hold a bass as it plays a sick riff.

A few people laughed, even a few teachers chuckled, but then someone had to ruin it, “um sorry to ruin this but aren’t we suppose to find out our future…. Not about a rat that can play the bass…” Ocean said.

“Just watch O’Connell Rosenberg, just watch and you’ll find out.” The voice said, “but-“ she began, “I’m saying for you to shut up.” It said.

‘Even in my divine comedy, I am well aware that rats cannot play musical instruments, When you’ve been alone as long as I have, you tend to anthropomorphise your friends.’ The Amazing Karnak says.

The Voice takes this moment to stop the video, “To let you know, I am skipping the next part of what it says as it isn’t relevant- “

“But all that was?” Ocean mutters, forgetting that she can’t really mutter right now what with the ‘amplified voice’ thing. She looks up, embarrassed.

The Voice continues merrily, “Yes, Ocean, I decided that was relevant enough for what you need to know. And what wasn’t relevant was fun. Whereas the part I’m skipping would just confuse you all.” It spoke more, no longer targeted at her. “This is now the part where the choir comes in, and remember there is one member who isn’t at this school yet. For those of you that may have figured out what happens in the future, don’t worry too much on that as you are probably wrong if you think that’s going to be the focus.” The voice says making a few people let out a relaxed sigh.

Noel felt his eyes widen as he realized, ‘does this mean that I could die here…’ he thought, ‘but that’s not what I want……I don’t want to die here.’ He thought, he began to pick at his nails and nail polish, he began to feel a dread in his stomach.

‘Tonight, I shall speak of six teenagers’ the video showed shots of the choir, dancing around and then on individual videos of each choir member. ‘Whose tales ended abruptly on a rollercoaster in a small Canadian town in the middle of nowhere.’

Noel felt pissed, “I thought you said we were probably wrong about when we said nothing bad would happen!?” He said, he had his sarcastic tone, he crosses his arms. He started the sentence loudly speaking until it reacted loudly, and he quietened his voice.

The Voice, almost sadly, responds “I said you were wrong if you think that would be the focus. I won’t say more.” Noel chuckled and rolled his eyes.

Ocean splutters where she’s sitting, trying to speak after having heard that in the video. Mischa, instead, asks something more relevant. “If us dying is not what is to focus then what is?”

The Voice doesn’t respond. The video goes on making Mischa groan.

‘The Former St Cassian Chamber Choir… who on Monday September 14th, would board the Cyclone rollercoaster as 6:17pm.’ The video shows the group at the fair, boarding the ride.

‘Great! I die on a rollercoaster!’ Noel had complained, his complain was louder then he thought.

‘At 6:19, this same roller coaster’s front axle would break, causing it to derail at the apex of the loop-de-loop, hurtling the children to their deaths.’

The hall is silent. Dead silent.

‘Tonight, I speak of six teenagers robbed of their individuality in a mass tragedy, lumped together as Our Six Saints by the national media.’ Photos of newspaper pages about the future event showed on screen, with one face on the end hidden by spilled ink. ‘And my part in this story? I read all of the children’s fortunes; I felt their hopes, thoughts, dreams, knowing they would board the doomed rollercoaster and could tell them nothing. I even suggested they ride the cyclone.’

During this, the video shows individual shots on each member of the choir’s faces, though one covers their face with their hands, leaving their identity unknown. Presumably this was the one member of the choir who hadn’t yet joined the school. As more images of the choir, at different areas of the fair, were shown, the Amazing Karnak carries on.

‘Tonight, I conjure the St Cassian Chamber Choir who, an hour before their deaths, participated in a singing competition in the Uranium City Band Show.’

Ocean got excited by this, “did we win?!” She asked, the voice sighed, “I simply do not know” it answered, Ocean sighed disappointed.

The screen cut to the choir standing during seems the Uranium City Band Show, Ocean at the front of the group, Ricky at the back, Noel and Mischa in-front of him but his face still visible. Then there was Constance standing in-front of Noel and in-front of Mischa would be Ocean. Ocean began to speak,

‘I thank you, dear adjudicator, for considering the St Cassian Chamber Choir for our senior concert.’ She says. ‘We are thrilled to be here yet again at the Kiwanis International singing competition. Last year we came in second place-,’ ‘They were the only choir in the competition’ the voice said.

A few students laughed, making Ocean make a groan but hummed it.

‘This just shows the high standards of excellence in Kiwanis - even in competition against yourself, you can still walk away a loser…’ She loses some enthusiasm at the last word. ‘Constance?’she says as she stood back.

Constance is now seen swapping places with Ocean to speak. ‘Our first song was written by our choir conductor Father Louis P. Marcus.’

A few looked at him who was standing behind Ricky, Ricky carefully looked behind him and smiled, He (Father Marcus) smiled back but it faded once Ricky turned around because he realized how they would all die in two weeks.

‘He was inspired by traditional African folk music - specifically The Lion King.’ Constance continues saying, now swapping back with Ocean.

‘Here is his homage to our very own Fall Fair.’ Ocean says, and the choir goes into song. The video pauses just before they can sing though.

“I want to clarify that, at a certain point.. and you’ll know when it is - it no longer is what really happens. One section includes what is effectively their last thoughts before dying, but put to song!” The Voice sounds unfortunately jolly for what they’re saying. “There is also choreography within this song that, past the actual concert, is not actually done in real life.” The voice said. A few mutters of an “ok” was heard.

‘When the Fall Fair comes to town…’ It begins.

In the audience, a few people start to nod their head to the song.

‘Oh, step right up, to good clean fun.’ Ocean and Constance sing, while Mischa and Noel let out a series of ‘doo dum da’s in the background.

‘All the games and fun, a little something for everyone,When the Fall Fair comes to town’ Constance, Ocean and Noel spin each other as they sing this, Ocean twirls with Mischa too but he shakes her off and looks at his phone.

“Mischa, are you really texting in the middle of our performance?” Ocean looks over the crowd to see where he is sat. He shrugs and chuckles in response, looking back at the screen.

The Amazing Karnak speaks over the choir’s song as the front-line bounces in place. ‘Tonight, my apology, a eulogy by way of a concert. The final concert of the now deceased St Cassian’s Chamber Choir.’

Those who had been bobbing their head to the music now stopped, glancing over to whichever member of the choir was closest to them. Those students would be dead soon.

As the film in front of the choir lifts, they begin to walk backwards and the song starts to glitch. This is, presumably, the aforementioned part that doesn’t happen in real life but instead represents something or other.

A few of the pupils began to get nervous from this.

‘When the Fall Fair comes- Fall Fair comes- Fall Fair comes- Fall Fair, Fall Fair, Fall Fair, Fall Fair…When the fall not fair, this ride goes where?

Aaahh’ As they sing, lights go up and they appear to crash, arms and torsos lifting and falling, going everywhere.

A disturbing feeling fills the air, that was clearly supposed to be the accident. And from here, the song would be representing their final thoughts before death. Everyone in the hall went silent.

‘Tonight,’ Karnak starts, ‘I wish to give them the chance to express not what they were perceived to be but what they dreamt they were.’

A boy leans over to his friends and asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?” They merely shrug in reply, invested in what they would see or hear next.

‘Tonight,’ the fortune machine continues, ‘we shall raise a middle finger to that most ruthless adjudicator called Time.’ As he speaks, Noel, Ocean, Mischa, and Constance spin together, lifting their arms like clock hands.

Ocean walks to the front to sing. ‘Something doesn’t feel quite right,’

‘A blur of coloured, spinning light’ Constance goes.

‘My heart is racing, pounding in my ears.’ The two sing as one.

Mischa and Noel move forward to replace the girls. ‘Dizzy tingling, spinning round, oh where’s the sky and where’s the ground?’ Mischa looks around as he said that.

‘The rabbit comes and then he disappears.’ Noel continued, gazing forwards.

“Um,’ Ocean starts, the video pausing as she stands to look at Noel where he sat. “What does that actually mean?”

Noel rolls his eyes - an unconscious movement whenever Ocean talks to him “I don’t know, do I? It’s a metaphor for life probably - rabbits aren’t known for living especially long, are they? - and, clearly, neither do we.” He said moving his shoulders in a shrug like move and then he looks away, as the video resumes.

‘Total darkness, spinning black.’ Ocean and Constance sing.

‘Pushing forward, pulling back’ Mischa and Noel go on.‘Falling through the air I wonder how can this be fair…?’ All four chant, going on to harmonise in rising notes.

People in the crowd got the chills from this, “how come we never got to hear them sing? Their singing is so god damn hypnotizing and like just gosh” a boy whispered a girl who shrugged, “no clue but I have to agree”

As an unseen voice continues with high notes, the four visible singers turn around Ricky, walking in a circle with their arms raised diagonally.

Ocean goes on to stand at the front to one side to sing.‘What a load of freaking junk! That crusty carnie - clearly drunk! Sue that fair for everything they’ve got!” She yells.

Noel goes on to his own part. ‘What’s the point of even suing? Dead, we’re done, there’s no undoing, nothing left to do except to rot!’ He extended his voice.

This left a few chills running down peoples spines.

“That’s a really morbid thought.” Constance says quietly, aware as her voice carries over the hall. “It is, but it’s not like it isn’t true.” Noel muses. The rest of the hall stays quiet, there wasn’t much anyone could really say at this point, even if they wanted to disagree.

On screen, a member of the choir had said/sang their own individual line ‘Sex, oh God, why did I wait?’ Mischa says, running his hand through his hair,

“Wait he’s a virgin?” One girl whispers to the guy next to her, “yeah apparently he’s got a fiancée” she looked at him surprised “awe man I really liked him….” She muttered so only he could hear her

Ocean is next to complain with, ‘Now I’ll never graduate!’ and Constance takes the final line of the trio with, ‘I hope I wiped my browser history clean…’

Some snickers went around the hall at that one, and Constance felt her face warm when she heard that. As a group, every member of the choir (apart Ricky) sings angrily as a group.

‘Why’d I even go to class? Algebra 12, kiss my ass!’Someone in choir said, ‘Now I know what YOLO really means!’ Mischa moans, ‘Carpe diem!’ Ocean cries.

Noel smirked and chuckled in his seat. Ocean looked over people’s head to glare at him. “What a lovely theme” the others respond.

‘C’est la vie!’ Noel called out, raising his hand into the air doing a type of pose,

Noel swung his head back to the screen and then Noel looked over to Ocean as she smirked at him, mouthing the word ‘predictable’ at him, Noel just rolled his eyes.

‘Life is just a dream, just a dream!’ The group continued, moving until they had rearranged themselves. They now stood together, the boys in the back and girls in front. They looked up and around as they sang together.

‘And then you’re sailing through space, you don’t know up from down. And you feel a little strange, from all that spinning round.’ As they say this, Mischa and Noel place their hands on Ricky’s shoulders, allowing him to spin with them.

‘And everything you loved,’ they continued.‘And everything you dreamed, and everything you feared, and everything that seemed so, oh so terrifying.’ They clutch their bodies, before releasing a heavy breath and lowering their arms.

The hall stayed silent, watching as the students on screen moved to look down. The audience was sombre as the on-screen faces showed most of them worried or concerned meanwhile Noel was an exception, he was practically beaming as he sang, An boy in his homeroom looked at him and put a hand on his shoulder, “why you smiling so much man it ain’t lookin’ right” he said. Noel looked at him, “and why’d you think I’d know?” Noel asked him, both still jumping at the loudness.

‘And it’s far behind on the ground. Like our far-from-the-city-little-itty-bitty-pretty hometown’

“Hey, that’s actually a line in our song about the Fall Fair!” Ocean sat up. “We missed that half when it cut to all the glitching and moving backwards. “Good notice.” Father Marcus replied, smiling sadly at his student.

In the video, the group continued singing.

‘Just a teeny tiny dot, on a wee blue ball. And we’ve all been spinning, all been spinning’ At this, the group splits off - Ocean and Constance dance together and Noel and Mischa waltz around the stage together. Ricky is left spinning in the centre on his own.

Across the room, some whispers about the dancing couples broke out - a few students snickered.

‘Round and round and round, and round and round and round’ They sing, the two pairs twirling. Ocean splits off from Constance, who continues spinning on her own, to sing a solo as they continue in the background.

‘Had a strange feeling from the start, Bought our tickets, stood in line, a rickety cart. I did not feel safe at all.’Ocean sang

“So, she knew they were going to die before any of the others?” A maths teacher muttered to the headmaster.

“That sounds simply terrifying…” The man responded, looking over to where Ocean was sat, looking frightened and pale in her seat.

‘Tick-a tick-a heard the crack!’ Ocean sang by herself ‘Felt the drop now I know I’m never going back!’ The rest of the group chimes in, the music halting for a second.

A cold air filled the silence, as students and staff watched, taking in what they were hearing. A pretty depressing way to go, knowing you were about to die and with nothing you could do to stop it.

The choir moves back into a group, taking the places they would were they sat on the ride itself.‘But what really happens, what happens after?’ They ask, before all crying out in song, throwing their arms and bodies around as they do so, once again simulating the accident. There seems to be one voice higher than any of those on stage. They end in a typical pose they would end songs in concerts, illuminated in the dark by a spotlight.

The video paused, “how’d you all like that? Good no?” The voice asked, a few mutters and all that, “did you seriously just shown us a video how some of us die and just ask how it was?!” Ocean exclaimed, the voice hummed.

Welp this is where I end it, I wanted to end it last night (it’s currently 6:41AM) and I need to do stuff so, I’ll leave it here.

I hope who ever reads this enjoys this and please read the info page on my profile for you to understand better thank you :].

#ride the cyclone #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #ocean o’connell rosenberg #constance blackwood #ricky potts #the voice #musical #school

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sequinsmile-x · 2 years

Text

Passing Through - Catalyst

Aaron's mother meets Emily for the first time. Things do not go well.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: misogynistic language

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

March 1999

Emily didn’t think she had ever seen him this nervous. The anxiety was rolling off of him in waves, a tension surrounding him that hadn’t even been there when he proposed to her three months ago. She watches as he straightens the place settings on the dining table again. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this, apprehension making him stand even taller than usual, a stiffness to his jaw and shoulders that she could almost feel from across their apartment.

“Honey,” she says, walking towards him as she sees him inspecting the table once more, an intensity in his gaze she’s sure Dave would compare to when he interrogated potential suspects. She gets his attention, her hand on his arm as she encourages him to turn to look at her, “it’s going to be ok, she’s your mom.”

She’d never actually met Nancy Hotchner, their only interaction a tense moment at Aaron’s would-be wedding to Haley. The older woman glared at Emily when it became clear that she was the Emily in question, the person who Aaron had named at the alter instead of his fiancee. Aaron had attempted to reach out to her over the last few years but to no avail, freezing her son out in a way that Emily knew hurt him more than he’d admitted even to her.

“I know,” he says, smiling tightly at her as he pulls her closer, his arms banding around her back, holding her to him as if she was his strength, “It’s just…”

She smiles encouragingly at him and cups his cheek, her thumb stroking delicately at his skin.

“I get it,” she assures him, “I wrote the book on complicated relationships with mothers,” her smile widens when he smiles back at her, the reaction she had been hoping for, “but it’s one dinner that she called and asked for. You can tell her all about your fancy new profiling job and your smoking hot fiancee.”

He chuckles and kisses her cheek, pulling her into a hug, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” She says, squeezing him back as tight as she can. Any further conversation is cut off by a knock at their apartment door, and she feels him tense again. He pulls back and looks at her and she does her best to smile encouragingly at him.

She was nervous herself, knowing that his mother thought poorly of her at best, the failed wedding that she’d been a part of the reason Nancy hadn’t spoken to her son ever since. Emily had been so focused on making sure Aaron was ok that she’d pushed it down, the feelings all rushing back at once now the moment had arrived.

Aaron must notice because he kisses her, his lips against hers familiar and comforting.

“Are you ok?” He asks, and she nods in response, rolling her eyes as she had done every time since he’d used the profiling classes he’d taken against her.

“I’m fine, love,” she replies, disentangling herself from him as there is another knock at the door, “you’d better go answer that.”

He smiles tensely at her before turning and heading towards the door, pausing to take in a deep breath before he does so. He pulls it open, and Emily stands a few paces behind him, her arms tight across her chest as his mother comes into view.

“Mom,” he says, stepping back so she can step into the apartment, “it’s good to see you.”

“Hello Aaron,” she replies, looking around their home, taking everything in as she does so, “this is a lovely place, much nicer than where you lived with Haley.”

Emily watches as Aaron looks down at his mother, the tension she had partially undone returning to his shoulders.

“Mom, you remember Emily,” he offers, and they both look over at her.

Emily has a fixed smile on her face, one she knows her fiancee will recognise as her fake one, the one she used on her own mother more often than not.

“Of course I do, how could I forget,” Nancy replies, her smile just as fake as Emily’s, with absolutely no attempt to hide it.

“Nice to see you, Mrs Hotchner,” Emily says, her own nerves placated when Aaron stands next to her, his palm on her lower back. She watches as Nancy studies them, their affection for each other feeling like it was under review. A critical eye instead of the curious one she has experienced when Aaron took her out with his new team, the BAU interested in their newest recruit's personal life.

It was going to be a long evening.

___

“So you…read minds?” Nancy asks, her eyebrow raised as she sips her wine. Dinner had been tense, stilted small talk over a meal Aaron had made.

“Not exactly,” Aaron replies, clearing his throat, “we build profiles based on statistics and evidence and use that information to catch the criminals.”

She makes a humming noise in her throat, critical in a way that has Emily reaching over to put her hand on Aaron’s knee, squeezing the joint in silent support.

“What about you, Emily?” She asks, looking over at her, “what do you do?”

“I’m in the FBI too, in the Counterterrorism unit,” She answers, taking a sip of her wine, not missing how the other woman looks at her engagement ring, a topic any of them were yet to bring up, “I do a lot of translation work as well as the strategical side of things.”

“Emily speaks six languages,” Aaron says, a sense of pride in his voice that never failed to make her stomach swoop, “Seven if you include English.”

“Impressive,” Nancy says, her tone of voice conflicting with what she had said, her eyes fixed on Emily’s left hand again. “So…how long have you two been engaged?”

Emily feels Aaron’s hand over hers on his knee, their fingers interlocking as he takes the lead.

“Three months,” he replies, a genuine happy glint in his eyes as he recalls it, “I proposed on New Years Eve.”

“That’s lovely,” Nancy says, looking at Emily, her gaze unwavering, “I hope he didn’t trip over his words this time, when he proposed to Haley-”

“Mom,” Aaron exclaims, his voice as firm as it had been all evening. “I’m sure Emily doesn’t want to hear that story.”

“It’s not like she doesn’t know you’ve been engaged before, Aaron. She was at the wedding.” Nancy says, one of her hands up as if defending herself.

“It’s ok,” Emily says, smiling tightly as she looks at Aaron, her eyes meeting his in a silent conversation. “It was lovely,” her smile becomes genuine as she remembers the night they got engaged “we went-”

“So, when is the wedding,” Nancy cuts over Emily, acting as if she hadn’t spoken, “you’d better make sure you practise saying the right name this time.”

The tension immediately gets worse, Nancy’s light laughter at her own joke making it thicker. Emily feels Aaron hold her hand under the table almost a little too tightly, and she knows he is trying to stop himself from saying something he might later regret.

“Excuse me for a second,” he says, standing as he heads towards the bathroom, his fingers skipping over Emily’s shoulder as he goes. He throws her an apologetic look before he disappears from view. Emily looks back at Nancy, reaching for her own glass of wine as she does, preparing herself for a difficult few minutes.

“He never used to be so sensitive.”

It takes all of her political training not to say something, to keep the fixed smile on her face. Back during that first summer, when they both played their cards a little too close to their chests, he had alluded to his childhood. Comments that she could make something out of, educated guesses she later realised were correct.

When they got back together he hold her everything. What he had experienced at the hands of his father, what, to a child, had felt like the indifference of his mother. His relationship with her had soured further after his father died, a level of passive aggression towards her son that Emily thought could, at times, make her relationship with her mother seem healthy.

Aaron wasn’t someone to exaggerate things, so she knew he had been telling the truth, but this evening made her wonder if he had somewhat underplayed the situation.

“He was glad you called,” Emily says diplomatically, smiling at the woman on the other side of the table. “He’s just nervous.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything about my son,” Nancy replies, her demeanour harder than it had been all evening.

Emily tenses, her frustration climbing as her smile falters. She presses her tongue into her cheek briefly, an attempt to keep her mouth shut that fails.

“It’s been three years since you saw each other,” she says, careful to keep her voice as even as possible, “there are some things that you’ve missed.”

“And whose fault is that,” Nancy all but spits at her, her words bitter, “you had no right coming to that wedding.”

“Wait a minute-”

Emily’s defence of herself, that she was invited, is cut off, Nancy now on a tirade that she had clearly been holding back since that fateful day years ago.

“Aaron would be married to a woman that deserves him, not some two-bit whore who showed up at her ex’s wedding in a red dress.”

Emily doesn’t know how to react, huffing out something that sounds like a laugh as her future mother-in-law’s words sink in. It had been a long time since someone had called her a whore, words that John had thrown back at her years ago when she told him the life-altering news he had held her accountable for, despite his own role in it. It takes her a second to recover, but she does. She opens her mouth to respond but is cut off.

“What did you just call her?”

Both women turn to look at Aaron, who was standing just a few paces away, his body practically vibrating with fury.

“Aaron-”

“You need to leave.” Aaron seethes, cutting over his mother’s sentence, whatever she had been trying to say. “Now.”

“Aaron, honey, it’s-” Emily starts, standing up and walking over to him, her hand on his arm, his muscles tense.

“It’s not ok, she cannot come into our home and speak to you like that,” he replies, his voice slightly softer as he addresses her, he looks back up at his mother, “you need to leave.”

Nancy looks at him and sighs, closing her eyes slightly before she looks at him again.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she says, her apology noticeably missing, “and I’ll go, but there is something I need to tell you before I do.”

Aaron scoffs and shakes his head. Emily slips her hand into his, squeezing tightly.

“What, Mom?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders at her, “what could you possibly have to say?”

“I’m dying, Aaron.” She replies as if it was simple, like her words weren’t life-changing. Emily and Aaron both stare at her, shocked by the revelation that they hadn’t been expecting.

Emily can almost feel him deflate, the anger seeping out of him onto the hardwood floors as it’s replaced by sadness and confusion. She wraps her other hand around their joint ones, ensuring he knew she was there, like she had any other place to be other than right by his side.

“What?” He asks, his voice as even as it always was, but when Emily looks at him she can see it in his eyes, the fear he would only let her see, something she was sure his mother had never looked for. He was no longer the defensive fiancee he had been moments before, but the scared little boy who had always deserved more than he got.

Nancy sighs and points to the seats the couple had vacated.

“I think it’s best you both sit down.”

___

Emily sighs heavily as she closes the door behind Nancy. She briefly leans against it after she locks it, giving herself a moment to ground herself.

Cancer. Aaron’s mother was dying of the same disease that had killed his father. A cruel twist of fate that would take both of his parents from him.

She steps away from the door and heads into the kitchen, pouring them both a decent measure of scotch, purposely using the fancy one Dave had given them as an engagement present, before she seeks Aaron out.

She finds him in the living room, sitting on the couch and staring ahead. She walks over, putting his glass into his eye line to get his attention. He flashes her a tight smile, taking the glass gratefully with one hand and offering her the other. She climbs into his lap without comment, her side leaning into his chest as she places her glass down on the end table next to the couch.

“Are you ok?” He asks, taking a sip of his scotch before putting his glass down too, his arms wrapping around her.

“Am I ok?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowing at him. “I’m fine, you just found out your mother is dying, I’m worried about you.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t know how to feel,” he admits, “I don’t know what to do.”

“That's ok,” she assures him, cupping the back of his head, her fingers playing with his hair, “it’s complicated,” she cups his cheek, encouraging him to look at her, “We don’t have to figure anything out now, and we’ll do whatever you want. We can do nothing, go back to not having a relationship with her. We can try to fix things, we can help her pay for treatment if she needs it,” he tilts his head at her, “I have the money.”

“You’d do that?” He asks as his hold tightens on her a little. “Even after she…” he drifts off, seemingly unable to repeat what his mother had said.

She shrugs slightly, “Whatever you want, or need, I’m here.” She says, leaning in to kiss him quickly, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, sighing deeply, “I’m sorry.”

She frowns this time, “What are you sorry for?”

“My mom called you a whore, Em. And she didn’t even apologise for it,” he replies, sounding wrecked, “you don’t deserve that. I forgot how much she loved Haley and I should have thought about it.”

“It’s not your fault,” she assures him, “plus she’s not entirely wrong,” she watches as he surges, ready to defend her even from herself, and she places a finger over his lips, stopping him from talking, “not that part, but it is kind of my fault you and Haley didn’t get married. If I hadn’t have come to the wedding you’d have married her, I would have gone to Europe, and who knows if we would have crossed each other's paths again.”

“Em,” he says, moving her hand, “it’s more complicated than that, and you know it.”

It’s a conversation they’d had countless times, her residual guilt always making an appearance when the topic came up. Even though she loved him, their life together, she often wondered if he would have been better off without her.

“I know,” she replies, smiling slightly at him, “I like to think we would have found each other eventually.”

“Me too,” he agrees, “I am sorry though, I should never have put you in that position tonight, I-“

“Aaron, sweetheart,” she says, stroking over his cheekbone with her thumb, “you have nothing to be sorry for,” he opens his mouth to protest, but she carries on, undeterred, “we aren’t responsible for our parents, I know that better than most,” she smiles at him, “hell, if we were, you’d have dumped me the moment my mother told everyone, during her speech that you previously worked security for us the first time you came to an event with me.”

He chuckles wryly, the sound caught in his chest. “I seem to remember you making a point of letting her know we’d had sex at one of the events I did work at.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? She never mentioned it again.” She jokes, her chest feeling slightly lighter when he genuinely smiles in response. She watches as it fades, the heaviness of the evening resettling on his shoulders. “Can I help?”

“You already are.” He replies, holding her a little closer, as if she was his anchor.

“Do you want to go to bed?” She asks, tucking herself into his chest, willing to give him as much of her strength as she could. He shakes his head, leaning down to press his cheek against her hair.

“Let’s just stay here.”

She nods against him, reaching behind her to grab their drinks. She passes him his as she settles into him again.

“Planning the wedding is going to be hard,” he says idly, and she would bet money that he hadn’t even meant to say it, “with Mom and…everything else.”

It’s something she’d thought of before tonight, the complications of a wedding that would likely turn into something neither of them wanted. Her mother taking the reigns, or what he had left of his family making comments, comparing it to the wedding that almost happened. So she says what she’s been thinking for weeks, keeping to herself because she was sure he’d say no.

“We could elope,” she replies, and he looks down at her, shifting her so their eyes meet, “just you and me in a city of our choosing.”

“Your mother would kill us.” He says, his face unreadable.

“Oh, absolutely. But, it’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” she smiles at him and winks.

“Don’t you want more than that?” He asks her, his hand cupping her neck.

“No,” she replies immediately, “I want you, us. Nothing else really matters.”

He stares at her, clearly trying to read her expression, to see if he can find anything hiding beneath the surface, anything she was hiding from him. Eventually, he smiles, nodding as he is satisfied with what he finds.

“Ok,” he replies, the most genuine smile she has seen on his face all night spreading across his face, “let's get married.”

She kisses him, putting everything she has into it, and as she feels him pull her closer, her scotch dangerously close to spilling into his lap, she knows everything will be ok, as long as they have each other.

-x-

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nctsworld · 3 years

Text

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone off to one side.

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.”

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly.

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

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landinoandco · 3 years

Text

Our Love is a Game

Lando Norris x Reader

Request from @jamieeboulos

Warnings: pinch of fluff, cute ending because they are the best

Word count: 2.7 k

Requests are open :)

It all started with a phone number, an innocent exchange that would subsequently change the world you knew; mostly for the better. When you had met Lando, as far as you were concerned you had just met a 21 year old who lived in London and had a passion for cars. How wrong you were. It was only when things started to get serious that he sat you down and explained everything that came with being a formula one driver; more importantly the fandom that he was involved in.

You had always been a private person and admittedly this piece of information almost broke your relationship but after some time to think you had decided that he was worth it all. You both decided it was a better idea to keep your relationship as quiet as possible - you took every precaution to make sure you stayed a stranger to the fans.

For the past 2 years, you thought you had managed to stay clear of the cameras, the photos and the twitch streams but it wasn’t until a fan-made compilation caused your world to spiral out of control.

You and Lando were out for a run, it was a part of your morning routine - a great way to start the day and it was time that you two could escape the motor sport world and act like a normal couple without worrying about who might be watching. It was time you both valued and appreciated. On this particular morning, Lando had decided to add to his Instagram story, a short video of his morning adventures - the mist still hanging around the trees as you ran under a heavily graffitied bridge, the early birds song chirping animatedly. At the time you didn’t think much of it as you were too busy tying your hair back up to notice.

It wasn’t until you got home and looked at his story that your heart stopped, rushing over to the kitchen island you placed your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair. It was a blink and you’ll miss it moment but in the corner of his video - the last millisecond before it ended - there was a flash of a purple top (the purple top you had been wearing) and a swish of brown hair as you chucked it back up into a ponytail.

“Lando.” You called out, trying to keep your voice as calm as you could. You didn’t know why it had affected you so much - or why you were so desperate to keep your identity a secret. It wasn’t like you wanted to hide your relationship; you were the happiest you ever had been, everyday was exciting and offered new prospects - it was more that you were so used to being in this bubble with Lando, the idea of it bursting seemed rather unappealing. Usually you didn’t care for how others saw you but seeing some of the words that people used to describe him, it would be enough to trouble even the thickest of skins.

Lando’s close proximity broke your thoughts as he stared down at your phone, pausing on the flash of brown and purple. “I am so sorry, love.” He almost whispered, his eyes widening at his carelessness. He picked your phone up to take a closer look.

“It will be alright, won’t it? I mean, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it.” You had said, more to reassure yourself than Lando. He didn’t answer, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach because he knew exactly what he had started.

The fan-made compilation didn’t go viral until a few hours later - as it turns out that flash of purple was the perfect cherry on top of an unappetising cake. Lando was sat on stream - not that this was out of the ordinary and Max had decided to join him, leaving you alone to rewatch Friends for the umpteenth time.

The pair were sat reacting to videos on YouTube when a clip of a seal swimming into a shoal of fish started playing - the amusing part was that they kept quickly dispersing away from the seal in question. Unsurprisingly, they laughed and Lando spluttered: “This is me trying to find a girlfriend.” What the fans didn’t know was the apparent irony of that sentence and this was what caused the major meltdown; whilst Lando and Max were busy crying with laughter - that chat had filled up with the same link and references to the video you would be redirected through.

Max was the first to stop laughing, tapping Lando on the shoulder as he pointed at the chat. Hundreds of the same message filled the screen: “That’s not what this compilation shows.” “Lando, what are you hiding from us?” “Lando and Max laughing knowing very well he has a girlfriend.”

“Chat what on earth are you waffling on about.” Max chuckled uneasily, looking at Lando out of the corner of his eye. Lando sat with a forced smile, his nostrils flaring as he continued through the comments. He could only let out a tense laugh as he swallowed thickly - his throat feeling suddenly dry. You were still sitting, completely engrossed and unaware that Lando Norris was now trending on twitter.

Max had come up with an excuse to end the stream not long after, Lando uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were with you in the other room, had you seen it? Did you know? How would you react? He felt as though he had lost all control, like he had failed you entirely - all he wanted to do was protect you yet he was the one to screw it up.

“Hey,” Max nudged his shoulder, “It was bound to happen at some point. Let’s go and see if she’s seen it - if not then -” He took a deep breath, “We will watch it together. We need to know what we are working with here.” Lando nodded, unable to reply, his body went into automatic pilot mode and too quickly he was standing facing you.

Pausing the tv, you looked at Lando - his jaw tightened and facial expressions set as though he had just seen a ghost. “Is everything ok?” You asked apprehensively.

“There’s something you need to see.” Max reached for his phone, pushing Lando onto the sofa. You offered your arm to Lando, pulling him into a hug. Max pulled up the video and pressed play. A tense atmosphere held the room hostage - breath restricted and gazes fixed onto the tiny screen in front of you.

It started with a clip from this year’s Goodwood - Lando preparing to drive his last hill climb - you remembered it well, a McLaren hat placed on your head mainly to cover your identity; knowing that there would be more than a few fans around. The clip moved to 3 separate stills - all of you in your McLaren hat. One with your back to the camera, you hand placed around Lando’s waist, the other two a side profile as you spoke to Max.

The reaction was immediate, you slapped your hand to your mouth, Lando looked horror-struck and Max was watching you carefully.

The video moved on, this time a clip from the quadrant video where Niran trains like Lando for 24 hours - Lando and Niran were in the kitchen preparing to eat their breakfast when once again the video moved to stills. This time they were of your reflection in the oven - holding the camera. You had thought at the time, if you were behind the camera it would stop every chance of you accidentally being caught on camera. Apparently not.

The video had moved on again, this time to stills of Lando arriving on track - of course there was no way for you to get on track without being photographed and you were fine with that because you would just arrive after Lando either with Jon or Charlotte. Photos of you arriving with Jon and Charlotte flashed up - with them you were just another member of staff but put with those other stills and it really did yell out that you and Lando were romantically involved. Finally the flash of purple from Lando’s story. The game was up.

“Oh my-” You stuttered as the video came to an end. Fortunately your Instagram hadn’t been shown but judged by how skilled you knew the fans to be - it would only be a matter of time. “I feel sick.” You admitted, wiping your hands across your face. Lando still hadn’t said a word, staring blankly at the floor. Max was the first to come up with something logical, turning to you and Lando.

“It will blow over.” He started, “The fans will soon lose interest and move onto the next big headline. We just need to ignore anything we see regarding the subject.” He moved his attention to you. “Maybe avoid social media for a few days. Let everyone cool down -” Sensing your means to interrupt, he held his hand up. “I know you shouldn’t have to and I know none of this is fair but unfortunately people have no boundaries and believe because it’s on social media it is their business. If they were in our situation, I’m pretty sure they would be the first to complain. Let’s just go along with it for now. It will give you time to think about what to do next.”

Lando cleared his throat, pulling you closer into him. “I’ve failed you. All I wanted to do was protect you.” At this, Max got up and left.

Shaking your head, you pressed your lips to his forehead. “You could never. Think about how long we kept it secret for. Besides, until we announce or admit anything - it isn’t confirmed.” You offered, trying to soothe his worries. He nodded, still not convinced.

“Our love is like a game and it’s not a game I enjoy playing.” He croaked, lacing your fingers together.

“I know, Lando, I know. Let’s let everything calm down and then we can think about what our next step is.”

Weeks later and it was the night before you were due to leave for your summer holiday. You would be spending it with Lando and some of his friends and family. Due to the current pandemic, it had been so long since you had been away - even if it was a bigger group of you going; you were still looking forward to spending that quality time with Lando.

Max had decided to take himself and Tom off to the streaming room - leaving you and Lando to sort out the remaining items you needed for your time away.

“I have a present for you.” He said suddenly, his hands behind his back. You beamed, taking a step closer to him. He shook his head, “If you want it - “ He pointed at his lips.

Rolling your eyes, you pecked his lips then held out your hands like a child. Lando chuckled, “Close your eyes.” Hands still outstretched and eyes closed, you waited for Lando to present you with your surprise. He grasped your left wrist and attached something to it - “No peeking.” He added. A moment or two later, he dropped his hold of your wrist and said: “You can open them now.” You could hear the smile on his lips. You opened your eyes and looked straight to your wrist - he had given you a pink watch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him, his eyes twinkled as he then pointed to the orange watch on his wrist.

“Watches?” You asked, confusion laced your tone.

Nodding, he said, “We all have matching watches but in different colours - they are for our holiday away.”

You gave him a lopsided grin and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I love it. Thank you.”

In the streaming room, Max was having to ignore the majority of the comments because they were all asking the same thing: “Who was the girl from the compilation.” He was trying his hardest to keep moving off the topic, instead showing off the watches - it had been his idea, blue for him, orange for Lando, a child’s watch for Tom and a pink watch for you. He had listed off all of the colours and said who they belonged to: “And then pink-” He paused, mentally face palming. He looked over to Tom for assistance - he hadn’t meant to say pink at all. “And pink is for someone.” He cursed his poor excuse but as if by magic - Lando walked through the door.

Distracting the stream from his slip up.

Croatia was a dream come true, the hot summer sun on your back and the time to just relax and recharge. Days spent with Lando sunbathing on the boat or stuck in a tense game of Uno. Not being the only female was brilliant as well - as they got to go off and not feel guilty about leaving you on your own.

Currently, you and Lando were standing in each other's arms - the afternoon drawing into the evening as the sun began to set. You had your arms around his neck and his arms were around your waist, sighing contentedly you broke the silence: “This is nice.” He pressed his lips into your hair, a sign that he agreed with your statement. In that moment, it was just you and him - everyone seemed to disappear from around you and all worries vanished. It was the simple yet affectionate moments that had always meant the most to you. You felt as though you could relax every muscle in your body, listening to his steady heartbeat - you wished for this moment to never end, to forever be in his arms and to not worry about who sees you there.

Ever since that compilation had been made, the thought had been on your mind a lot. Were you ready to go public with Lando? At the end of the day you were both happy and surely that was the most important thing.

Later that night, you were sitting eating your meal when a phone was handed to you, displayed on it was a picture of you and Lando - in each other’s arms.

Instantly you knew what this meant, looking at Lando you were met with the same expression. He did as well.

You and Lando had decided it was time to announce your relationship, there was no point sneaking around anymore if people knew and were looking out for you. You had agreed that the best way to do it was if you joined him in a stream, that way they got to know you a bit more for who you were.

“Is it ok to feel as nervous as I am?” You asked him, pulling up a chair beside him. He was setting up the stream, two mugs of tea placed in front of you. It seemed completely unnatural to sit facing the camera.

“I mean, this is kind of a big deal so yes I would say, it’s completely natural for you to feel nervous.” He reached for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Nodding, you took a deep breath.

“Ok. I’m ready.” You said, your heart beating at a million miles an hour. The corners of his lips turned up, leaning in to leave you a kiss on the lips.

“I love you and I’m so proud of you.” He admitted quietly, as though you were the only person in the world, his eyes flickered with complete adoration.

“I love you too. Now, shall we start it?”

Lando went to press the start stream button but paused. He turned back to face you, his eyes wide and offered an apologetic smile.

“What did you do?” You asked, a smile toying at your lips as you had an idea of what it might have been.

“Stream, meet my girlfriend.”

He had already started it...

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staysuki · 2 years

Text

[prologue] happy death day | l.felix smau

000—HAPPY WORST DAY.

word count: 1.2k

teaser | characters | series directory | next

a/n: this was set before SLC and a few years before chapter 1.

there were many things in life that are temporary—you could even argue that everything is. permanence is a myth, nothing stays forever. you knew that.

that’s why when your father’s business crashed, you weren’t in the least bit surprised—well, ok, maybe, perhaps, you were a bit dumbfounded.

taken aback, even.

how could this have happened?

your once wonderful empire, a glamorous life filled with poise and grace, of extravagant parties and luxury. what once was a life spent with evening gowns and designer bags now became a life of hard work and tracking mud on your trailer house. a life so shrunk down in value that it almost gave your father a heart attack.

a life that made you the blue jasmine of the trailer park.

but you couldn’t find it in you to be all that bothered. your father is a good man, that much is certain.

besides, you were mature enough to understand that what happened wasn’t his fault, it’s simply how the market works.

your biggest challenge had to be figuring out how to navigate your new life, because you see, people know when you don’t belong.

your father had advised you to stop using your designer items, to keep a low profile. and you followed his instructions, he has lived this life before, after all.

though that didn’t matter. even if your plaid skirts were replaced with jeans, your jewelry count going down to zero, people can tell that you’re different.

even when you’ve managed to fool everyone that you belonged, even when you’ve somehow convinced everyone that you’ve been poor your whole life, there’s always someone who can sus you out.

a scrutinous gaze comes from a boy with soft brown eyes and freckle-littered face, a momentous glance and he’s able to figure out your entire life.

“you’re not from here.” he says.

determined to keep your facade, you shake your head, “wrong, i live right over there.” you point towards your small abode amidst all the other identical structures in the trailer park.

“no, you’re not from here.” he emphasizes, it was then that you realized that he had a slight accent to his tone. either way, doesn’t matter, it took you a few seconds to realize that he must’ve been pertaining to the social class, not the location.

you stared back at him, not knowing what to say. not knowing how he figured you out. dumbfounded, you answer back, “so?”

he shrugs, “i’m felix.”

“y/n.”

that kickstarted the moment of you and felix’s odd friendship. days of small misadventures, hours upon hours of discussion with mostly felix teaching you how to fit in.

“how did you know i’m not from here?” you ask, bringing up the topic of your first encounter.

felix shrugs, “i just know things. but, if you want to be better at hiding your true identity, then you should always take note of your mannerisms—the way you speak, walk, act, even the smallest of gestures. they can all give hints to a person’s background.”

you look at him weirdly, as if aghast that he even sees such tiny details on people.

“being different doesn’t just mean looking different, kitten, you have to act the part.” he says with a slight smirk, your cheeks suddenly heating at the pet name.

it didn’t take long for you to be completely enamored with the long-haired brunette, he was charming, knew the right words to say, and his face seemed sculpted from the heavens.

however, even after spending so much time with him, you realize that you know absolutely nothing about him. his birthday, his favorites, where he lives—you don’t even know his last name.

without you knowing it, he somehow manages to redirect every single conversation to you and successfully avoids revealing even the tiniest detail about himself. you became so wound up in his enchantment that you fully gave in—gave him yourself, your everything.

you didn’t care that he didn’t allow you to step into his life. a momentary sequence of passion was all it took to make you go dumb. to make you look past the red flags that felix proudly displays.

you knew nothing about him, yet you trusted him.

and that was your first mistake.

he was a mysterious man, it seemed like he was always just around the vicinity. he appears during the most convenient of times and seems to just disappear when his presence is no longer necessary.

one night, he comes to you, saying that he might not be able to visit anymore—an opportunity fell on the palm of his hands, an opportunity to get himself out of here.

“what here?” you asked.

felix shook his head, clueless why you even had to ask, “here.” he emphasizes.

desperate for more of him, you pleaded for one last moment together.

and felix knew just what to do. a final stretch.

one last adventure.

he wanted to see how much he’s changed you (for the better, he believes). he wants to see the effect of his “training” with you.

there’s a recently abandoned lot in a rich neighborhood, the folks moved out, he said. but they haven’t finished moving, because their heavy safe was still within the property.

some other items, valuables. a way to make money.

it didn’t surprise you in the least bit that felix could do such a thing, perhaps what surprised you the most was how naturally it came to him. how he could do it with such finesse.

at first, you wanted to say no. this isn't you, this isn't something that you find productive. but when he looks at you with his eyes. those eyes. it seems like yes was the only answer.

you stared at him agape, watching him swipe some jewelry off an antique dresser, not a single doubt in his movements.

“try breaking it open.” he says, instructing you how to code-break a safe. it was nerve-wracking, you knew that you shouldn’t be doing this, but felix knows how to make everything feel as if it’s right.

his close proximity, breath landing on your ear, as his deep voice coursed throughout your entire body as he told you what to do with the safe, it was enough to make your knees feel weak. your hands turning into jelly as a single tremble was all it took for you to press the wrong button.

and the alarms went off.

you remembered what he had told you, never panic.

but when you look back and see that the freckled boy was long gone after the sirens sounded, you couldn't help but go through all the stages of grief in that moment.

all questions rang throughout your head as he left you here alone, the neighborhood security immediately alerted and you found yourself in cuffs. thankfully, they knew who you were, and with the right amount of playing dumb, you were able to escape scot-free. it was also thanks to your dad who picked you up, a stern look of disappointment in his face yet he can’t help but to also blame himself.

little did he know, some other guy is to blame for how you’ve become.

you never realized how little you meant to felix, and that was your second mistake.

years later, you’ve still sworn vengeance against the man. it doesn’t matter if you haven’t seen him in a long time, he could be dead for all you knew. or perhaps still stuck in the same old cycle.

but when his face reappears in your life, you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.

you’re not gonna let yourself make a third mistake.

a/n: see you soon.

taglist: @mochisnlix (open!)

mastertag: @geniejunn @leagreenly @90s-belladonna @fuzzylard @loveliebri @chimmybaek7 @todorokiskitten @lilacdreams-00 @starrylino @ninjaleeknow @trials--error @hey-i-really-miss-you @caratinylyfe

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 2 years

Text

Kisses and Near Misses (Riff x Reader) Part 1

Summary: First kisses never really go down how they’re imagined. No one ever wants to imagine a disappointment.

AN: Hello! This multi-part fic will cover the many kisses across Riff and Y/N’s relationship. For once, I’ve actually finished this series! It has fourteen parts with two different endings. There is a fair bit of angst in this series so make sure you check the content warnings or message me if you have any qualms. Thank you to my beta @ineedabifriend and @inkandpen22 for answering my many questions 💙 Let me know what you think!

Content warnings: implied internalised homophobia, physical violence (a punch) and threat. Reader uses he/him pronouns.

Masterlist // Next Part

Your name: submit What is this?

The First

The vibrations from the band, accompanied by aggressive dance steps, thudded through the night’s air. Even from outside the club, the anticipation of entry combined with the exit’s chills were enough to get the neighbourhood drunk with excitement. Y/N certainly was. Although he had partaken in a few drinks before turning up with his friend and frock1, so that might have helped. Roisin had been wonderful, as per usual, and now she had some time with her new girl after dancing with Y/N to solidify their cover. It was sweet to see Grazie so happy with her, especially after her last break-up.

Y/N’s shoulder was knocked forwards by another, one that belonged to Riff. His smart jacket was checked for wrinkles before Riff joined Y/N’s pace.

“You’re leaving a room of pretty girls to walk me home? Aren’t I lucky,” Y/N said with an unabashed mooning over Riff written on his features.

Hands in his pockets, Riff shrugged, “Gotta make sure you’re safe and sound.”

“I’m still not joinin’ your boy band.”

“Your loss.”

“You sure your boys are ok with you abandoning them for the night?”

“If they aren’t, they’ll have to get over it.”

“You mean you’ll have to deal with their shitty whining tomorrow?” Y/N said, though he still smiled at the prospect.

Their feet copied one another in their steps, and Y/N matched his own to Riff’s body language, down to the position of his elbows – stuck out from where his hands fit snugly into his trouser pockets. Y/N would sneak glances at Riff’s profile against the late night lamps to garner the mood. Soon his throat was alive with unwavering hums that carried in the cool air down the street. His hands soon emerged with dramatic flair at the familiar tune, and he spun on the spot before carrying on jauntily.

“And here I thought the Irish could hold their drink,” Riff quipped.

Y/N pretended not to hear this stereotype, just as he had done when Riff asked if his accent was “real” the other month. “Come on, you know the words!”

And he began to sing a little louder than his previous hums. It took two seconds for Riff to join him, their arms wrapping around each other’s waists as they kick-lined down the street. Fancy footwork led them into a mockery of a ballroom swing. Lyrics belted out at the top of their lungs left only enough oxygen to spin their way around one another. The moon was their disco ball, the speckled stars as its reflections dazzling their concrete dancefloor. Out of nowhere – to the two boys at least - someone screamed out one of the many towering apartment blocks. The words took a second to sink in. When at last Y/N and Riff realised they were being yelled at to “shut up”, they dashed off, giggling with childish glee and their hands still together. Their feet clattered down the gridded streets and took them to the slums. As they stumbled to a stop, Y/N and Riff’s bodies clashed, setting off more laughter while they steadied themselves against one another’s jackets.

The first kiss Y/N received from Riff was blown across the pub he worked at. It floated over the heads of the drunken patrons, rammed at the bar like pigs at a trough, and reached Y/N with Riff’s smug signature. Surely it was a joke on Riff’s part, but it meant everything to a fresh-off-the-ferry Y/N. It was his first night in New York, and every night from then on he slept in that famous skyline was spent imagining what Riff’s real kisses must feel like. On his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth, Y/N imagined they were impassioned with hands keeping him in place to be revered more. Or maybe tender in private moments, reserving every ounce of adoration for those minutes they had to themselves, that was one of his favourites.

But Y/N never imagined it would be so… brief. So brief that he thought he dreamt it. But the sudden shift in Riff’s expression was something his brain would never conjure. All the blood had drained from his face. No more condensation escaped his mouth; his whole body was stiff without breath. But his eyes were joining a dot-to-dot on Y/N’s face to complete a conclusion.

Riff suddenly disappeared, his legs carrying him fast from years of practice.

Confused, and slightly delayed by the alcohol, Y/N broke into a sprint after him, and his tipsy tongue began calling his name.

Through the maze of debris stacks and half razed houses, Y/N tailed his friend for an answer while his mind desperately clawed at the feeling of Riff’s lips against his. Closer and closer, he made it in reach to grab at the back of Riff’s shirt. They crashed again but this time, Riff swung around and punched Y/N across the cheek. The force knocked the kiss’s image out of Y/N’s mind and he wobbled back.

Riff fisted at Y/N’s collar, barely an inch between their noses as he hissed, “Nothing. You say nothing, got it? Nothing happened.”

Y/N blinked at the spit that narrowly missed his eye. With an agape mouth, he nodded only to be shoved into the dirt pile behind him. As his body adjusted to the sudden shift in gravity, ears still ringing, his foggy vision spied Riff vanishing around a silt mountain.

His head still resting on the powdered dirt pillow, Y/N wiped the spit away and the tear that joined it on his cheek. His stomach was twisting itself around into knots like a boy scout practicing for his badge - not from sea sickness or missing home like that first kiss. No, this was so much worse. A short prayer to St. Anthony to find his lost happiness was sent to the Heavens as he recuperated himself in the ruins of his daydreams. Crushing the grit beneath his fingers so tight that it could become a diamond, he pushed himself to sit up. His mind rattled as he stood up and continued to do so throughout his walk home. He wondered if it would ever stop.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

1 Frock: gay slang for a women who pretends to be a gay man’s girlfriend

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Riff Tag: @that1fanficwriter

#west side story fanfic #riff x reader #riff fanfic #wss 2021 #riff wss #riff imagine #west side story imagine #my writing #wc: 1k>#r: male #series

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sombreboy · 3 years

Text

Expensive doll⇢jjk & pjm

[ masterlist ] Serves as an afterstory for our series Mused Obsession, but can be read on its own.

Written together with @chimoona as JM and @sombreboy as JK

Synopsis: In celebration of their one year anniversary, Jungkook dresses Jimin up in lingerie & makeup as his picture-perfect doll and ruins him in every way he desires.

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 15.7k ⇢Ch.warnings: Profanity, JM dressing in lingerie and wearing makeup, messy kissing, degrading petnames and dirtytalk, breathplay, bj, praise kink, JK's fetish for crybaby JM remains intact, body worship, foot fetish JK literally slorps JM's petite little foot and it is v erotic join us feet hoes, some biting, mentions of blood(from a sharp stiletto lol dw), ok hold up and stay w me here JK rides JM but he is in no way a bottom, this is some top ridin' stuff to drive Jm mad and let me tell you it works, then JK puts little JM back in his place where he belongs stuffed with dick, rough fucking, in fact its so rough that JM can't hold his pee im not even sorry-- it was hot, idk what else if you've read any of my stuff you should just kinda know what you're up for. xo

The chime of the security alarm strikes the quiet mansion as Jungkook shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes in a hurry. He hugs luxury shopping bags close to his chest, trembling with excitement. He'd been holding onto the bags at work to ensure Jimin didn't see them for days, which felt like months—especially today, to finally come home to his favorite person in the entire universe and spend their first official anniversary together.

It's been an entire year since Jimin proved his love and dedication to the photographer, and life couldn't be any better than it is now. They're unstoppable, thriving as the biggest names in the industry. With a lot of fame—a lot more on Jimin's end—comes a lot of work and less time together, except for when they manage to crawl into bed at the end of the day. So, Jeon Jungkook wanted to make tonight extra special. He'd missed having Jimin truly just for himself; not just as a boyfriend, but as a model and his muse.

"Baby, I'm home." Jungkook calls out as he eyes the rooms, listening to where Jimin could be. He knows the model had the day off, so the younger man had given him a little white lie—he wouldn’t be able to make it home early. Yet here he is, giddy like a child and ready to surprise his beloved butterfly.

"Come to me~" He adds cheerfully while walking towards the stairs, searching for Jimin when he hears the small thuds of his lover's light footsteps.

"K-kookie?" Jimin calls from their bedroom, rubbing his sleepy eyes after a long nap. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Jungkook arrive.

Thinking he had more time to get dressed and ready for their night together, he's caught, fresh from restful sleep, wearing only an oversized t-shirt and tight black briefs. The night was planned to a T...in Jimin's mind. A brand new suit hung in the walk-in closet, designed and tailored specifically for his body. He knows how the young photographer likes to ogle when the fabric of his pants hugs his plump cheeks daringly, almost too tight for a public setting.

But tonight, there will be no public outing. No distractions from the outside world, getting in the way of their time together.

As high-profile as the two men have grown over the last year, they've found it hard to take a leisurely night out on the town without being spotted by a fan of their work or an industry mate trying to cut into their fun. It's been a rollercoaster, but it's been the thrill of their lives. Even then, it's necessary to plan nights of relaxation and indulgence. So, Jimin set out candles and dipped ruby ripe strawberries in milk chocolate, planning a romantic night with just the two of them. He even chilled a bottle of overpriced champagne—a gift from Namjoon, hand-delivered for the happy couple. It was assumed that since Jungkook was working late, the ambiance of a well-kept home and a willing partner was all he wanted anyhow... Until, of course, Jimin glides down the stairs and spots his lover with armfuls of bags. Designer bags.

"Welcome h-ooome," he yawns, still finding his voice, "And happy anniversary, baby." He leans in and stands on his toes, pressing his body into the bags held at Jungkook's chest to give him a sweet kiss. "I missed you a lot...and I cleaned up too, but I guess I fell asleep at some point. I was going to get all pretty for you, so just pretend I'm dressed up right now."

“You’re gorgeous, baby.” Jungkook smiles into the kiss, returning it softly. He pulls back to drink in the fresh state Jimin is in. No makeup, barely dressed... It's like the visionary’s plans were fated to happen. “And this is perfect for what I have planned for you. A clean canvas, so to speak.” The young photographer adds as he hands over the bags to his lover. “Take off everything you’re wearing and put this on, nothing else. And bring the small bag with you to the studio.” He leans in closer to allow the hot breath of every spoken word to fan over Jimin’s cheek, whispering his next words. “I’ll be waiting for you. Okay? Now go.”

Accustomed to following the photographer's orders, Jimin doesn't waste a moment scurrying to the bathroom and peeling off his shirt on the way in. He kicks off his underwear and sits on the closed toilet seat to skim through the first bag's contents. The second he runs his hands over smooth silk ribbons and lace, his heart leaps out of his chest.

Lingerie. Women's lingerie, he notes internally as his fingers skim the fabric with a timid touch. It feels small in his hand, and he already knows it's not meant to cover much. Jungkook has always been an appreciator of visual art, and in the back of Jimin's mind, he always knew this moment would come. The female form can be voluptuous and sensual—soft to the touch and comforting when held close.

Without taking the lingerie out to inspect it closely, Jimin knows this look is made to illuminate his feminine traits—to hug the small of his waist and accentuate the curve of his hips, prominently displaying some of his lover's favorite parts with exaggerated flair.

As a former full-time model, Jimin doesn't think twice about indulging this new request from Jungkook. He's been half-naked in front of strangers in very scandalous clothing, it's only right he indulges his partner with the same courtesy, under his exact specifications.

He sets the smaller bag aside and removes the clothing, gasping at the bright red shade the younger man had chosen. It looks like fresh blood as he tugs it onto his small body—ribbons drip down his legs to capture the matching set of pure red stockings. When he slips them over his legs, they stop at the feet, hugging them tight and showing the delicate curve of his arches.

A slender garter belt cinches high around his waist and rests low on his hips, made of a thin weave of lace that opens up at the belly button to show off the cute dip of his tummy. Not even fully dressed, he feels pretty...desirable. With each new addition, he feels his confidence grow, matching the opulent fit his love has chosen for their special occasion. Jimin grasps the silk ties that dangle off the belt and loop them into the stockings, holding them tight against his body and matching the two pieces as one. He takes his time to billow the ties into eye-catching bows, adding more of a feminine flair to his long slender legs.

He opens another bag and clasps his hand over his mouth, pulling out an accompanying bralette, so fair and petite. It's soft on his skin. Everything feels so soft and erotic, like it was crafted to draw moans from his mouth before he's even touched by warm hands. The gentle graze of the lace over his nipples makes him bite his lower lip to push back building arousal. When he crosses his legs to finish clasping the bralette behind his back, he feels the rub of new lace against his cock, only drawing his attention to the fact that women's underwear does not provide enough room to hold him fully. If he gets harder, which he's certain he will, it will be impossible not to poke out and dribble over the rouge fabric.

Once Jimin empties the bags and slips every bit of clothing onto his body, he steps back to admire the full look. Even in the dim bathroom mirror, he finds every little bit of his form jaw-dropping as it's prettily wrapped in red. But no look is complete without a matching set of kitten heels, which he slips onto his red silken feet. He immediately notices how the added height accentuates his plump cheeks, out in the open, skimmed down the center with a cheeky thong.

"Woah..." The model takes a few strides across the bathroom floor to get a feel for the new footwear. A few clumsy trips over the tile to get started, but after a couple minutes, his confidence is through the roof. He can stride effortlessly and sway his hips in a subtle yet seductive manner.

"O-okay." He psyches himself up, licking his thick lips in a quick swipe while he drinks in a final look of his fit. He grabs the smallest bag, still unopened, and exits the bathroom to find Jungkook waiting for him in his personal studio.

Meanwhile, Jungkook just finished setting up the finishing touches to his studio and waited for the most important centerpiece of the night. His favorite camera sits on a tripod next to his large armchair, which is to be his spot to admire his creation. He presses record before he forgets to, and knowing how he will soon see his lover in the new lingerie, there'd be no time to think about whether or not the camera captures it all. What he didn't expect, however, was to find the fresh chocolate dipped strawberries, paired with a bottle of champagne. He immediately noted that this wasn't something he had in his own collection, so he figured this was Jimin's preparation for the night.

"So sweet to me, always.." Jungkook sighs dreamily when placing the strawberries and the bottle on the small table next to his chair as he takes his seat. His lover always finds little ways to show his affection; always considerate of Jungkook in everything he does. It's cute, and even if the elder man's plans might not be what he initially thought, Kook is sure that this will surpass anything he had in mind.

"He should be here soon..." He leans back in his seat, still wearing the suit he'd worn all day at work. His strong, tattooed fingers wrap around his tie and tug at it to loosen the fabric a bit. He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt after discarding the suit jacket to let it be thrown on the floor behind the chair. His breathing slows down when he listens intently for the powerful sound of heels coming from the bedroom, echoing in the hallway. Although he knows what to expect, he still doesn't know just how it would look-- how his Jimin would pull off the look. The thick swallow in anticipation causes his adam's apple to bob, already excited as his heart beats harder in his chest.

Jimin bottles his nerves and clicks his heels with slow steps, echoing deliberately on the hard floor until he reaches the studio doorway.

"Don't laugh, okay?" He smirks at his own words, still hidden around the corner of the doorframe, knowing there's no way on earth Jungkook could find this fit humorous. "I'm coming in..."

One step forward, and he's basked in the low light of the photographer's setup. He swallows hard at the first sight of Jungkook, even when he's dressed the same as when he left him. The loosened tie captures his attention, and he swallows again at the thought of holding it while he glides his silken legs over his lover's lap to ride him roughly. The anticipation of what Jungkook has in store for Jimin is overwhelming.

Jimin gives the photographer a moment to gather himself before he walks forward, placing one heel in front of the other and sashaying his hips with each step. The camera blinks red to indicate it's recording, and Jimin doesn't let it distract his attention for a second. He moves in a slow weave, looking up at his partner under a tempting hooded gaze--long eyelashes beckoning him closer. When he reaches the center of the studio, he stops for further instruction, standing with confidence and poise.

"You chose well, baby. I love it." He gives a slow twirl, pivoting on his slim heel to show off the back, pausing to give the younger man a good look. "...do you like it?"

“I really like it.. I knew you’d look perfect in this.” Jungkook drinks in the entirety of his lover, his heavy gaze not leaving a single inch of the model's body unseen. The lingerie is perfect, covering just enough—but doesn’t hide anything. His hungry eyes travel down the blonde model’s back; from his slender back to his plump ass, not to mention how the posture from the heels make it stand out even more. “Did you bring the small bag?” He asks, beckoning Jimin to come closer with a wave of his hand, itching to feel his delicate body beneath his fingertips.

Jimin nods yes, stepping towards his lover. "I didn't peek, I was good." He says it in an innocent tone, as if he doesn't look like a goddamn succubus in fuck-me heels. A brilliant red strap of his bralette slips down his shoulder, which he takes his time slipping back into place. Even if he feels a bit out of place in this new look, he pulls it off with grace and seduction.

Jimin hands the bag to Jungkook. "I'm sure whatever it is, it'll make this moment even better." He kneels at the photographer's feet in a natural subservient position, resting his elbows on the man's thighs and peering up at him for further instruction.

"Yes." Jungkook says softly while taking the bag in his hands, giving Jimin an approving smile. While his face remains unbothered, the strain of his half erect cock proves that he's anything but. The visuals of the elder in such sinful fabrics drives him crazy, and eager to ruin them in every way he pleases. "You're such a good boy to me. Always trusting me with your everything."

Jungkook digs into the bag, pulling out a small, high end lipstick. He puts the bag to the side, grabbing Jimin's chin with his free hand while popping the lid off the lipstick with his thumb, leaning forward in his seat to get a proper look of his lover's bare face.

"Pout." He instructs, twirling the little stick to slide the blood red lipstick from hiding, bringing it close to Jimin's plump lips. When the blonde does as told, he gently swipes the crimson color onto the delicate skin of Jimin's lower lip. His cock throbs at how effortlessly it stains his pretty mouth, and he keeps adding more; layer after layer until he's satisfied with the deep, bloody red adorning one of many favorite features of his man.

"You look like a doll already, so pretty.." Jungkook sighs, a mixture of his adoration and sexual frustration building at the sight. But he's patient, and leans back a bit to inspect his work, moving his hold on the smaller man's jaw to rub his thumb over Jimin's lips, staining the pad of his finger in the process.

A moan presses passed Jimin’s pursed pout. All he’s ever wanted since he met the mysterious man is to be everything for him—there, at his feet, living to serve his deepest desires. To give a taste of his commitment to the role, he swipes his pierced tongue over the finger in a slow motion.

“I can see how hard you’re getting, Kookie...” He takes the thumb between his stained lips and circles his tongue around it, releasing with a light pop. “...seeing me like this, dressed in the underwear you chose...” He peers down at the slick thumb and admires the prominent stain—a perfect shade to match the rest of his ensemble. “...bet you’d love to admire every inch of your creation.” Jimin circles his tongue around the digit once more and pulls it into his mouth, humming his pleasure into the photographer’s skin. He brings a hand up to palm his lover’s stiffening length through unbuttoned pants.

"Mm, you know exactly what I like." Jungkook purrs, glancing down for a moment to watch Jimin's delicate hand touch his hard length, now prominent through the fabrics keeping it hidden. His gaze travels back to the model's face. Seeing Jimin's doe eyes look up at him with such submission, admiration... love. It drives the photographer mad with desire.

"There's so much I wanna do to you." He breathes out, his sentence ending with a quiet moan as he bucks up into Jimin's small palm. When his lust takes over, slowly and steadily, his impulses grow more reckless. "Or make you do, for me.." He adds before swiping his thumb over the lipstick once more, dragging the pad of his digit further past the corner of the model's mouth. A stripe smeared in red adorns Jimin's cheek like a small chelsea smile-effect. Jungkook's hand moves back down to wrap behind Jimin's neck, covering his nape with the warmth of his palm as he leans forward to draw his lover in for a messy kiss, aiding in the destruction of the pretty lipstick he'd just applied.

A red mess is created between the two, their lips coated with splashes of the color and the taste of chemicals mixing with their saliva. But Kook doesn't care—instead, he enjoys every second of it, forcing his tongue between Jimin's parted lips to claim his mouth.

"Look at you..." Jungkook murmurs when he pulls back, the thick string of saliva connecting their tongues breaking off when he speaks, watching it fall to stick to Jimin's chin. "Your makeup got ruined, what a shame.." The faux concern in his tone is evident in contrast to the pleased fire in his eyes. He takes the lipstick, grabbing the blonde's jaw a bit harder this time to reapply, not bothering to wipe off the already smeared makeup around the lips. "Baby... Take my dick out while I fix this, I'm aching."

Jimin pants, left breathless from the younger man's kiss. "Mm--ah...okay." His hand resumes gentle strokes over the clothed length, just feeling for a moment while he distracts his mind from his own growing erection. The press of his pink swollen cock head tests the integrity of the lace, making it bulge out noticeably. When his hand slips into Jungkook's pants to pet him bare, he can't bite back the whimpers of need that brush his partner's fingers.

"Y-you really are aching." Jimin's mouth salivates, murmuring the words to avoid messing up Jungkook's artwork. "Fuck...so big, baby." The blonde model uses one hand to tug down his lover's pants and underwear while the other maintains a languid pace over his silken skin. He takes a pause to bring his messy lips close, wetting Jungkook's shaft with an audible spit that dribbles down his chin. He's never been perfect at following instructions when arousal fogs his mind. At this moment, he needs to hear the slick sounds of cock in his hand. He needs to feel the warmth of blood pulsating under his touch, stiffening and dripping for more.

"May I taste you, sir?" He reverts back to his role, asking sweetly, nipping the bottom lip and smudging the lipstick even more. "Please."

“How can I refuse when you ask so sweetly?” Jungkook looks at his creation, already seeing the blonde mess up the lipstick with his spit and nipping of his lips. It both pleased him and annoyed him, but the heavy arousal weighing on him clouds his judgement and makes him more forgiving towards Jimin’s light disobedience. It’s to be expected, and seeing his lips messy and smeared with red while sucking his cock is all the photographer could think of, for now. “If that’s what my baby wants,” he sighs, reaching out to smudge the other end of the corner of the model's mouth, finishing the joker-like smile on his cheeks.

Kook leans back in his seat again, moving his hands to rest on his thighs. Kook’s gaze is focused on Jimin, drinking in every feature, observing every little movement. He zeroes in on his messy lips, and feels a moan scratching at the back of his throat at the sight. He can’t wait to see his lover turn into a broken mess, one step at a time.

“Suck it deeply.. take all of it. No teasing.”

To test the waters, Jimin gives a light swipe along the bottom of Jungkook's shaft, drawing his pink muscle up to the tip and swirling it around the leaking slit in tight circles.

"Mm, uhm—ahh..." Jimin becomes vocal, humming around the thick length as he pops it in and out of his plump lips, watching it twitch with delight each time he strips Jungkook of his building pleasure. Jungkook said not to tease, but the pretty little blonde craves to feel each shudder of arousal. Each touch from him is live-wired to the younger man, and Jimin feels powerful by causing it to happen. Plus, as an added perk, he knows the slow and drawn-out pace will cause more trouble for him in the long-run. And...what's life without a little pain? He anticipates it. He knows, as nicely as he's dressed, his partner can easily turn him into a crying mess without any regard for the flashy fine clothing. No amount of silk and lace can conceal his inner need to be lovingly destroyed.

With a lasting swipe of his hot tongue across the ridge of Jungkook's tip, Jimin pops it into between his rouge lips, already smearing a bit of the lipstick over the smooth skin. He bobs his head to wet the throbbing cock, spilling his saliva down the length of it with little to no regard for the mess it creates. He knows, better than anyone, the messier he is, the better.

"Ah, mmh—I told you, no teasing..." Jungkook huffs with furrowed brows, focused on how well Jimin takes his girthy length all the way, dragging his tongue against the smooth skin, watching himself get covered in saliva and faint marks of the lipstick.

"Always making it difficult for me, looking so sweet and innocent..." Jungkook licks his lips at the sight of the elder's messy mouth, makeup smearing past his lips and drooling down his chin onto his length. He's sucked the photographer's cock countless times, so he knows exactly how to do it, and his gag reflex had become close to nonexistent. But, that doesn't mean it's not there, one just has to use a bit of force. "But you're anything but innocent, aren't you? Sucking me off like a cockhungry whore." The photographer bites back a moan, unable to keep his hands off of Jimin for too long before he's already weaving his fingers through his lover's blonde curls to get a good grip. He's gentle at first, just feeling the motion of Jimin's head bob up and down his length, wet sounds and whiny, muffled moans filling the room as no other sound is audible inside the isolated space.

"So be it. If you want my cock that badly, then keep sucking." Jungkook tugs at Jimin's hair, forcing his head to move harder and faster. His generous length makes space in the model's delicate throat, forcing the continuous pool of drool to seep from Jimin's mouth to add to the mess, not allowing him to get off to breathe except from his nose.

Jimin crosses his ankles and rests his bare butt on top of the heels. They clack together as he bends forward and bobs his head steadily, opening up his throat to feel Jungkook's wet tip guide the way. Inch by fleshy inch, his lover's cock fills the space within him. It causes his own cock to peek out of the slim red lace and poke Jimin's abdomen as he bends deep. The blonde swallows around Jungkook's fat cock and holds still, warming it as deep as he can possibly bear, forcing himself to wait until he feels lightheaded.

When his lungs burn for breath, he withdraws slowly, tonguing the prominent veins that bulge along his lover's shaft. "Mmf...g-ah—ack!" He chokes on the last couple inches and holds his small palms in the inner curve of Jungkook's thighs for balance. "...Mine. All mine...tastes so yummy," he emphasizes, swiping a bead of precum directly from the leaking slit. Lost in his own little world, feeling pretty yet needy for friction, he wraps a hand around the shaft and strokes it up and down quickly.

" I-I'm your whore, sir." He looks the part—plump lips and cheeks stained with red, stringing long strands of his spit to the younger's twitching head. To the outside world, he's nothing but the most well-kept, straight-laced individual. Here? He lets go entirely, making his body available for use without a care of how someone else perceives him. The only opinion that matters is the man before him.

Jimin looks down and notices a strap of his bralette had fallen down, only matching his role of sultry temptress...quickly morphing to messy slut. He purposefully lets the other strap fall, looking up at Jungkook with beckoning lashes.

"Am I doing well?"

"Mm.. Could do better." Jungkook lies, towering over Jimin's small frame on the floor. His long, raven curls fall forward, framing his sharp features. Being in this position, seeing everything from above, makes him feel so utterly powerful. And Jimin's big, glossy eyes meeting his own only adds to the fire that awakens every single hormone in his body.

In reality, Jimin is doing well. In fact, he's doing an amazing job at driving the photographer mad. His cock twitches delightfully in the model's hands, his abdomen tightening in excitement and heart fluttering beneath his heaving ribcage.

"A job well done isn't without your pretty tears, baby." Jungkook says softly, taking deep breaths to keep his voice from wavering too much in pleasure. He strokes his fingers through his lover's bright, silky curls, coaxing him to take him back into his mouth. "Choke on it, but don't make me cum... Just enough to make your eyes sparkle for me."

Jimin chokes on nothing but a quick gasp. "O-of course." He shrinks under Jungkook's commanding gaze and rubs his thighs together, wishing he had permission to adjust his now fully erect cock. To solidify his subservience, on top of his now glassy eyes, he takes another step and clasps his hands behind his back. No ties or cuffs are necessary, although he'd enjoy being bound tight and abused for being a tease—it was the plan all along.

"I love you," he whispers, swallowing down a fresh wave of emotion and looking up to let Jungkook admire the first tear roll down his cheek. The wet droplet catches the makeup and slips off his chin to seep into his bright red lingerie. Jimin holds eye contact and sticks out his tongue, showing off the pretty piece of jewelry at the center, right where Jungkook placed it nearly a year ago. He gives a couple testing kitten licks, then hovers his pout over the tip, plunging the full length down his throat without a testing suck. No more teasing, he tells himself, gagging around the fat cock.

Just as Jungkook demanded, Jimin strips himself of breath until he's crying for relief. Hands still clasped tight and out of the way, he's given himself no way of escape, showing his true resilience and commitment to the task he's given.

“Oh, my Jimin..” Jungkook sighs in pleasure, watching how his hefty length disappears into the welcoming warmth of his lover's throat. The flesh contracts around him when the model gags, squeezing tightly to draw more low moans and grunts from the photographer. “You’re doing so well now.” He praises, brushing his thumb beneath Jimin’s eye to catch a few tears. He’s convinced that although there’s a million types of makeup to make one look perfect, Jimin looks his prettiest when his skin is glowing from the shine of his tears. The way his submissive stare from below is sparkling like little stars, just for Jeon Jungkook. The way Jimin will endure anything to please.

“Nobody is prettier than you.” Jungkook bites his lower lip at the sight below, and grows impatient. He keeps a tight grip on his lover's hair, cock deeply buried in his throat while he stands up from his seat. “Nobody could ever compare to you, butterfly.” He hisses, feeling the heat of his words creep onto his cheeks while meeting the elders glossy eyes. He withdraws his hips slowly, only to thrust forward and lodge the head of his jeweled cock as deep as possible. He sighs, lip quivering at his lover's compliance. It’s too exciting, his body is practically shaking with itching, aggressive longing to destroy Jimin further. Patience, he reminds himself. It is their special night, so he wants to ensure Jimin feels like the most desired human in the universe.

The warming praise gives Jimin the courage he needs to slide his lips up the rigid length, gliding his wet ribbed tongue in gentle sweeps. His throat burns from the intrusion, yet, it's a familiar sensation and it does very little to detract him from bobbing his head and building up the photographer until he's at his brink. Slick, slobbery sucks and the occasional gag and gasp for breath becomes the playlist of their evening. Even the model becomes affected by his own desperate sounds. He wiggles his plump butt in a subtle motion to take his attention off the desire pulsing in his veins. He sucks and tongues, staring up at Jungkook until his vision blurs with a wave of new tears. Jimin rests back on his heels to catch his breath, letting the throbbing cock flop out of his mouth and into his hand, holding it firm and continuing to bring his lover close to the edge without immediate relief.

"Fuck me." The second the words leave his swollen lipstick-smeared lips is the moment he cracks, just a little. Hot tears fall down Jimin's cheeks--hand stroking the soaked length until he's trembling to be touched. "I n-need you, Kookie."

Within what seems like a split second, Jungkook dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Jimin; framing his small face in his large palms to draw him in for a messy kiss. He can taste everything-- the mixture of lipstick and saliva, sullied with the taste of his own cock lingering on the model's tongue. But the highlight of it all is the salty topping of Jimin's tears, a clear result of his effort and submission that he worked himself so hard that his body rejected it-- and yet endured to fulfill the photographer's desires.

"Haah, you need me?" Jungkook chuckles when he pulls back from the heated kiss, lingering close to softly press his lips over Jimin's damp cheeks. His own are stained with a faint red, transferred from the elder's pillowy ones.

"Sure you're not tired of this cock?" He smiles as he continues to kiss away Jimin's tears, tongue poking out to lick his cheek as his hot breath fans his face. While he does so, his hands let go of Jimin's face to smooth down his slender form, snaking behind his back until they settle on his ass, mercilessly squeezing the flesh between his fingers. "After you got a taste of Joonie, maybe I won't be enough?" Jungkook's wolfish smile doesn't falter, knowing this will tug at his lover's heartstrings. His kisses travel south, leaving red sucks and bites to blossom on the model's fair skin in it's path down to find a spot by his collarbone where he sucks harshly, certain that it'll leave a possessive mark behind.

"Joonie?" The tears on Jimin's cheeks glisten under the studio lights. His quivering bottom lip juts out in a pout as he naturally leans into the breath of Jungkook's suckles. The hot, tongued, needy markings become painful. Jimin huffs out a low moan. "Hyung was big...but he doesn't taste like you...fuck--" He takes Jungkook's face between his hands and returns the kiss, mashing their lips together messily, parting his mouth and giving him a longing taste of what he desires most. The model draws back slowly, making sure thin strands of their combined saliva string between their tongues, obvious for his lover to admire.

"You're more than enough..." Jimin whispers, letting a hand drop back to Jungkook's swollen cock, still dripping wet with his spit and precum. "I only beg for you, baby. I only want you...playing with me...fucking me...using me until I c-cry." He scoots forward and lets the length drop from his hand, then lifts his knees to straddle the photographer's lap on the floor. While the move may be a little too desperate, he doesn't have a single shred of care in his small body. He aches to feel his love's large hands tug at the lingerie, to feel the way his dripping cock strains against the material, and how it hugs his tense thighs. More than anything, he wants to rock his plump cheeks over Jungkook's shaft, until he's shaking to rip off every bit of red satin and lace from his skin. Jimin pleas in a cracked voice. "Will you make me cry, Kookie?"

"How can you say it so sweetly, as if you aren't crying already..." Jungkook admires the disheveled man before him, lips swollen and messy with smeared makeup. The loose bands of the bralette hang down Jimin's small biceps, adding to the vision in the photographer's mind. "You know how I love it when you beg like this." The younger's strained voice breaks into a low, needy growl when aggression fuels his sadistic desires to go further. Jimin knows this is just one of his ways to show his affection, this is how he's always been, and will continue to always be. Jungkook's greedy hands knead at the flesh of Jimin's ass, nails scraping the fabrics of the lingerie, tugging so harshly that it struggles to not break in his grasp. He spreads the model's ass, keeping the lingerie in the way of his tight entrance as his rigid length rubs against it.

"I don't want you to cry..." Jungkook presses Jimin's ass down, rubbing his cock between the soft cheeks of the model's ass. He looks at his face, never wavering the intense eye contact he initiates while one hand withdraws from it's hold to scavenge the floor next to him, grabbing the opened lipstick. He leans forward, one arm snaking around Jimin's small waist to keep him in place, thick length snugly pressed beneath the blonde's weight while the other hand resumes to add another layer of lipstick, fixing the mess without cleaning up what's been smeared. "I want you to scream so loud that you cannot make a single sound," He smiles, pressing the lipstick harder against his lips, adding a second layer, watching the product crumble a little. "I want you to choke on your own cries, because you can't think of anything else but me."

One last swipe, and Jungkook moves on to draw a little heart in the middle of Jimin's chest, filling it in meticulously. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in focus, before he finishes and looks back up at the elder. "Now..." He sighs, feeling the painful aching when his cock throbs against the damp lingerie separating himself from being inside of Jimin. He nudges his chin in the direction behind him towards the armchair. "Get up."

The soft pink curve of Jungkook’s lips tempts Jimin to lean in and sully his fair skin with the clumpy lipstick. But he refrains, because he trusts the vision of his photographer—always. He looks like sin—dressed as an upscale whore, made a hot mess by the various layers of makeup applied between spit-slicked kisses and mouth fucking. He would have never chosen this look for himself, and that’s part of the thrill. It’s fresh and exciting, knowing only he can fulfill this erotic vision; being the only muse fit for the occasion, or any other.

“Yes, sir.” Jimin stands to his feet, a little wobbly as he adjusts to the height of the heels. The chair feels miles away the farther the small model steps away from his partner. Yet, the mystery of what could come next makes his heart thunder in his chest. He rubs his lips together to smooth the luxe lipstick, rubbing beyond his natural lines to make his pillowy plush pout look even fuller. Jimin sits on the chair, prim and proper with his legs crossed, pointing the tip of a slim heel in Jungkook’s direction.

“How would you like me?” He asks innocently in a sweet tone, as if he isn’t dressed in women’s lingerie, practically dripping with precum, hard cock straining against the lace.

“Like that, just like that...'' Jungkook stares up from his position on the floor, crawling forward on all fours like a predator slowly approaching it's prey. A new spark of various emotions swirl in his gaze, ranging from admiration and affection-- drowning in the crazed hunger that seeps through his blown out pupils. Having the Park Jimin looking like a hot mess made his cock stir painfully as he tucked himself back in his underwear, leaving the pants undone. It wasn't his turn yet, and as they both know-- the reward of patience will be immensely satisfying.

"Can you imagine if anybody else saw you like this? Every media source would explode, the internet would be on fire." Jungkook sighs dreamily from the mere thought of it. What makes it so good, is the fact that he remains the only person... Well, out of two, in the world to see the famous model and designer turn into a submissive plaything. "You'd lose everything... And for what? To please me?" Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling in a mocking manner as if it's unbelievable that Jimin would go such daring lengths of risking everything, time and time again, just to keep Jeon Jungkook happy.

Just to be his whore.

"And that is why I love you... You know exactly how I like you." The photographer says softly. His gaze drinks up the view above him, from Jimin's messy pout, down his clammy, heaving chest, to his crossed thighs hiding the pretty little cock that is most definitely screaming for relief.

"A needy whore. A compliant whore." Jungkook murmurs to himself when his gaze finds the heel pointing at him. His hands greedily reach out to grab Jimin's delicate ankle, kissing and biting at the stockings covering his soft skin. His free hand grabs the shoe, slowly sliding it off to place it on the floor with unexpected care. He looks up at the blonde again, his dark stare softening at the small gasps continuously pushing past Jimin's swollen lips. Kook kisses travel further down, his own breaths becoming heavy and shaky at how feminine Jimin's small foot looks, covered with the see through fabrics, holding it in his hand like it's the most precious thing he's ever seen.

"A doll." He smiles, closing his eyes when he indulges, flattening his tongue to lick a long, slow, stripe from Jimin's heel to his toe.

“S-shit...” The wet pink muscle tickles Jimin’s sensitive arch, but the pressure of it makes it more enjoyable than he anticipated. Every square inch of his body has been worshipped, marked, pleasured, pained, and all the rest of it—every sensation imaginable, Jungkook has inflicted it with purpose. Even as he pleases his own carnal impulses, he dangles new kinks in the model’s face, tempting him to grasp them tight.

“What are you—“ He knew the second he slipped on those tantalizing stilettos that there was a greater plan in store. The dagger-sharp, pointed heels could easily be used as weapons. After a year with Jungkook, he’s learned how much weaponry and danger makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Jimin moans delicately.

“Do you like my feet, puppy?” The glide of Jungkook’s tongue can be felt through the sheer fabric, seeping the moisture of his spit down to the skin. “Want to taste more?” Sitting on his makeshift throne makes him feel power and strength. He’s well aware that in a heartbeat he can be rag-dolled in any position the younger man desires, but he’s placed in a position of command with his partner at his feet. So he lifts his other foot off the floor and places the sharp point of his shoe onto Jungkook’s thigh, digging it into the muscle just a bit. “Tear the stockings, please.” Jimin’s voice shakes. “R-ruin them. Take it off, with your teeth.”

Jungkook's grasp around Jimin's ankle tightens when he feels the pointy heel dig into his thigh, drawing a low moan from deep within his chest. He gazes up at Jimin through his dark lashes, crooking an eyebrow.

"What was that?" his wicked smile is hiding behind Jimin's foot, which he kisses the sole of between his words. "I thought I heard the doll speak, I must be mad..." Jungkook purposely put Jimin in this position, knowing exactly how it'd make him feel to see the photographer on his knees. The bratty side to the model always knew how to spur-- or in this case, literally step on his nerves to get what he wants. It all serves to the buildup of a bigger purpose; the more riled up Jungkook becomes, the harder Jimin gets fucked. And he knows it too well. Just how long it'll take before he gets what he wants, is the big question.

He looks up at his hot mess of a lover again, saying nothing as he silently obeys his wish when he bites down on the fabrics, carelessly dragging his teeth against the fair skin as he does so. He pulls back, ripping the expensive material off like a kid that's too excited on Christmas to care about whether the wrapping paper is torn to shreds. He nips at the broken fabrics, slowly sliding it off from his lower leg and down to slip it off his foot, audibly spitting it out from his mouth to lunge back in. His hands withdraw to settle on the other leg, still covered and dressed with the heel that so deliciously stings into his muscular thigh. He strokes it gently, so carefully it must tickle more than anything, while wrapping his plush, lipstick stained lips around Jimin's toe, sucking and tonguing it shamelessly with low hums in satisfaction and hot breaths through his nose.

It is overwhelming to even think about the erotic visuals he's capturing on camera, so much that his cheeks flush with heat, and his thick bulge twitches with every little stroke of his tongue that snakes around and in-between the model's petite toes.

"Gah--fucking...shit--ah!" Jimin chokes on a whine as his first digit slips into Jungkook's hot mouth. Each delicate nerve ending sparks to life and ripples tingly pleasurable goosebumps up his legs. He clamps his thighs shut and adjusts the heel, scraping into the fabric of his pants, testing the limit of Jungkook's flesh. Mind over matter, the small male wriggles his butt in his seat, internally battling the conflicting tickly sensations vs his overbearing arousal. With just a single toe suckled between his favorite pair of messy lips, his mind numbs and his limbs tense to claw for leverage. Feeling this, and seeing it happen--admiring the way Jungkook's long lashes close gently as he indulges in the moment. Jimin grips the chair arms in both hands and tears his sharp nails into the upholstery. Jimin mewls, straining to keep quiet, allowing his partner to focus on his indulgence.

“Mm--ah, ah, god..." He closes his eyes and simply feels the movement of the wet muscle, licking between his toes, around them, sucking them into his mouth, until they're glistening in his saliva. "M-more--more..." he whispers, slapping a hand over his begging lips. He broke the stocking, slid it off of him with his teeth without any regard to the price or quality of the fabric. No moment of hesitation to argue against the command or counter with something more enjoyable for both of them. Spoiled, is the word Jimin thinks of...he's pampered in this position, given exactly what he needs, like a prized porcelain doll.

"M-mooore," he whines from behind his hand, biting hard into the soft skin between his pointer finger and thumb, muffling the garbled sounds and using pressure to distract. His eyes seek the recording camera before letting a tear slide down his ruddy cheek, swiping his small tongue over his rouge pout and swallowing hard. "Baby, f-feels--mmf...so good. Looks so pretty..."

With a wet pop, Jungkook withdraws his lips from Jimin's cleaned up toes. His eyes open slowly as he does so, looking up at the overwhelmed man above, shaking with his arousal and inner battle to stay still and receiving the reward. Who the reward is for remains a mystery.

"So greedy... Didn't know you loved having your filthy toes sucked so much." He hums, glancing down at the wet patch of precum staining his underwear, a clear result of just how much he enjoys it as well. "What else do you want?"

Jungkook doesn't look at Jimin while asking, but keeps his attention on the slender legs in front of him. He grabs the model's ankle, uncrossing his legs to spread them wide, scuffing closer between to where he can access and lean his cheek against Jimin's inner thigh, so close but so far away from the aching, pretty cock that's barely covered by the soft lace.

"You're really digging that heel into my leg, baby... Ouch..." He sighs, feeling his length throb with every movement that twists the heel into his flesh. He purposely chose sharp heels, feeling his mixture of bad temper, impatience and lust fill him with every hot breath pushing past his lips. He snakes a hand down between his legs, slipping past the waistband of his boxers to squeeze his cock tightly, staring up at Jimin with doe puppy eyes, rubbing his cheek against the clammy skin of the blonde's thigh. "It hurts, hmm.. Ah.." He closes his eyes again, kissing the skin softly, seemingly gentle-- until his lips curl into a small smile, parting his teeth only to bite down on Jimin's flesh, leaving a possessive mark behind.

Jimin's nails tear away from the upholstery and grasp Jungkook by the roots.

"Sss--ow, fuuck." The fresh mark lays very close to the tattoo on his thigh, still brilliantly colorful with dark shading, like he got it weeks prior. A bruise begins to bloom between the embedded dips where Jungkook's teeth sunk in. It's hot and tender and ignites the rest of his skin to an even coat of blush. Without noticing, Jimin drags his heel down gradually, brought to attention when it clacks onto the floor in front of Jungkook's knelt frame...Tempting…

"Oh, baby. It hurts, huh?" Jimin coos as his fingers naturally soothe the sensitive skin of his lover's scalp. He notices a new hole in Jungkook's pants where his heel punctured through, straight down to the skin. On the fine tip of the heel is a subtle patch of blood where he scraped a little too roughly. "Poor puppy..."

It's a rare occasion to have the photographer in such a submissive state, but he seems to enjoy it more and more once Jimin inflicts a little pain. So that's exactly what the model does, to give back the pleasure and revel in the pristine imagery of his lover on bent knees to please. "Lick it," Jimin says in a quiet voice, bringing his heel to his partner's lips. He clears his throat and states it again, louder and with confidence, wrapping his other leg over Jungkook's shoulder and pulling him closer to the sharp point. "Just like you did my toes, clean this pretty heel."

"Mm? That's what you want..." Jungkook squeezes his cock tighter, blocking the blood flow until he feels his pulse thunder through the swollen tip. He tilts his head to the side slightly, giving Jimin a good view of the way he leans in and opens his mouth wide. His tongue snakes around the sharp heel, scooping up the droplet of his own blood to coat his wet muscle in a thin layer of red. His raised eyebrows serve as a silent question of whether or not he is doing it right... And by the way Jimin's big eyes are quivering as they meet his own, he's more than certain of the answer.

Jungkook hums lowly, a deep moan caught in his throat when he tugs the waistband down to set his cock free from hiding once more, openly massaging his slick length to the way he keeps licking the heel, from the sharpness to the sole, a flattened tongue dragging up like a dog lapping up their favorite meal.

"That's g-good...so good." Any mortal man would go cross eyed from the sinful sight. Jimin is made tougher than most, strong from being with Jungkook, but he's easily bent and broken from the simplest sights. Anything from the younger man melts the model's mind to horny mush--trying on a new pair of Versace shades, or hitting a high score on Overwatch, or sloppily sipping a bananamilk until the container runs dry. This visual, however...is quite complex. The blonde sweats lightly, swallowing tight and combing his fingers through Jungkook's shaggy raven locks, getting lost in the action. He isn't even directly touched, and yet, he feels electric shock waves of pleasure from simply watching Jungkook thumb over his dripping cock head and lap the razor sharp edge of his stiletto.

"Keep touching yourself," he whimpers, gaze hungrily following the younger man's slippery pink tongue slide over the last unsullied strip of heel. "A-and...gah...don't cum." Jimin wrenches his eyes shut and moves his other hand down to touch himself too. His hand grips his needy length tight through the sheer fabric and he bucks upward to chase the friction. In the process, he jolts the heel between his love's lips and gives the plump bottom pout a swift cut. "Shit, puppy, I-I'm..."

Jungkook grunts, flinching slightly from the unexpected. He looks down, seeing as blood drips from his lip to the floor into a growing puddle, deep enough to give a burning sensation in his delicate skin. Deep enough to fuel his various emotions..

"You got too greedy." He mumbles, not bothering to wipe it off as it creates a red string of liquid running down his chin when he looks up at Jimin. His doe eyes fade into the familiar dark stare that the model knows too well. Jungkook could only hold his faux submission for so long, his generosity for the night of giving Jimin the sense of power running out quickly.

"But you just can't control yourself, can you?" Jungkook gets up on his feet, placing his hands on the armrests while towering close over Jimin, face inches away from the mess of a man. "What am I gonna do with such a slut... Getting so excited you can't even sit still in a fuckin' chair." He hisses, swiping up the blood on his lip with his tongue, mixing it with his spit. He grabs Jimin's jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open, tilting his little head back while he hovers over him. "Guess you'll just have to reap what you sow, little whore." He murmurs against Jimin's lips before he parts his own, letting the bloody mixture of his saliva drip into Jimin's lips, seeping into his mouth. He keeps a tight grip on the model, not letting him move or reject the offer the photographer gives him. Kook shimmies out of his pants while he does so, slowly climbing on top to straddle Jimin's lap, caging his small frame onto the chair.

The model nods rapidly, brushing the bloody mixture between their painted lips.

"I'll take it all." A string of Jungkook's red saliva trails between their parted mouths as Jimin arches up and steals a couple desperate kisses. "Anything you want to do t-to me." Whether he believes his own words or not is a big mystery. When he says anything, he forgets just how unpredictable and harsh his love can be when provoked. But in the moment, it feels right, especially when the heat of Jungkook's bare cock is felt so close to where he wants it most.

Jimin reaches his arms around Jungkook's torso, feels the muscles of his back tense and release while he finds his footing. He breathes in through his nose to smell the gentle cologne and musk of the photographer, and the very faint but nostalgic and calming scent of his shampoo. Jimin flicks out his tongue and tastes the rust that lingers atop the lipstick, closes his teary eyes to center himself before the pain takes hold. Perhaps there will be humiliation, or both, simultaneously.

"Anything, huh..." Jungkook looks at Jimin through mischievous eyes. His cock lays heavy against the model's clammy stomach, twitching at the new idea running through his mind. Normally, this is not something he would desire.. But this is a special occasion, and the action would fit the punishment and sate the unusual urges coaxing him to do what he does next. Jungkook leans in to kiss Jimin, keeping one palm on his lover's messy cheek. Jimin's lipstick moistens up, once again staining the photographer's mouth in their hot kiss-- a distraction from the way his other hand snakes behind him when he lifts his hips up, grabbing the elder's aching cock. He doesn't do much to prepare more than spread the slick precum along Jimin's length before guiding the swollen tip to his ass, stopping when he slowly sinks down on it until just the head slips in, drawing a hot gasp to push past his lips.

"Do not move." Jungkook whispers, kissing down the blonde's jaw to his neck, taking a few deep breaths as he sinks down further until Jimin's entire length is buried inside. Kook stays still for merely seconds, not allowing himself to adjust properly before he heaves himself up halfway, only to fall back down. The sound of his plump ass flattening against Jimin's thighs mixes in with the quiet grunts in pain and pleasure coming from him. It isn't his favorite thing to do-- preferably on the giving end, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy feeling Jimin writhe beneath him in various ways. Supposedly, Jungkook remains on the giving end, whether it's his cock or his ass that is the gift.

"Mmh, 's tight... Right?" He settles his hands on Jimin's chest, tilting his head to the side as he sits up straight to watch the man below from his higher view. His hips show less mercy as he gets used to it, finding a slow rhythm, "And your cock isn't even that big..." he shakes his head, feeling the heat on his cheeks in the form of a lustful blush when he finds an angle that brushes his prostate, grinding his ass down to chase that feeling over and over. "Just shows how much of a cockwhore you are for being able to take one as big as mine, ah shit.."

Jimin's sweaty palms clamor over Jungkook's back and move down to grip him hard at the hips. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his small body is engulfed by lean muscle and a hot grip around his cock. "Kookie, you--" This is the last thing he expected to happen--watching helplessly and breathing labored breaths as Jungkook's taut rim rides him rough. The sensation is more than expected, and much more than he remembers. "I can't, baby, it's too...much--fuck--" Nails pierce slicked skin as Jimin thrusts up to chase the hot clenching hole. Each time Jungkook pulls up, he whimpers at the loss and uses his wavering strength to pull him back down with an audible smack. The weight of the photographer is much more than he can bear, but he digs his heel into the ground to hold what little balance he has left, so hard he's sure the pin-point could snap at any moment. "So tight...around my cock...hahhh." Jimin's breaths grow weaker and thinner, gradually winded from the smack, smacking against his reddened thighs. "I--I--" He bites onto Jungkook's arm to hold steady, watching the room wobble in his peripherals. "Might c-cum in--gah!"

"Hah... I t-told you not to move." Jungkook's shaky, strained voice came out as a hiss between breathy gasps every time his ass collided with Jimin's firm thighs. Jimin's series of disobedient actions didn't bother Jungkook as much as they normally would, as this is a special occasion after all-- especially when he willingly put himself in a faux submissive state just to allow Jimin to indulge in a different way for the night. "Now you'll have to deal w-with, iiit-- fuck.." He clenches Jimin's hard cock tight when the latter bites onto his arm, the rush of the pain making him fuck himself rougher on top of the model. "Now you started it, so fuck me harde-er! Don't stop.." Jungkook growls lowly, shamelessly moaning and watching his own cock rub and drool against Jimin's stomach. With one hand firmly on Jimin's chest, the other smoothes up his neck to wrap around it, applying just enough pressure to put his lover in a deeper haze, ensuring that although he's not sure whether or not he's allowed to cum inside, he will have no other choice but to do so-- Jungkook wants him to lose any self control, and fill him up with shame and fear in his eyes of doing something he wasn't permitted to.

The straps of Jimin's bralette slaps off his shoulders once again, the small cups of it sliding around his chest the more his bouncing partner rubs against it. The momentum and chafe of the fabric teases his sensitive buds and makes them stiff, red, and swollen. So he lets the rest of the fabric fall down his body until his chest is bare, dewy with sweat. "Yes--hah ahh...s-sir." His own confirmation tapers to a pathetic whine as his breath weakens. Jungkook's grasp pins him by the neck, into the chair. The only freedom he's granted is the weak thrust of his hips to fuck the younger man from below, which he does to the best of his ability, growing weaker by the second. He won't stop, even if it means he blacks out from exertion, which feels closer than he likes to admit. Jimin pants heavily and digs in his fingertips. "I'll fill up this p-pretty hole." He speaks with delirious lust lacing his tone, just the way he would want to hear it. "Is that what you want, baby? Fuck, you're so t-tight--ahh! Can't wait..."

Jungkook leans in closer, slowing down his harsh thrusts only to replace them with slow, deep grinding. He licks his bloody lower lip, nodding while staring down at Jimin's heavy, zoned out gaze. He's losing it completely, and yet he tries too hard to please and do as told, and it warms the photographer's heart-- and it makes his cock leak profusely with the immense need to cum. So, therefore, he needs Jimin to break so he can finally give back what he's been holding for what feels like hours. "Yeah, fill me up well baby. Cum in me as deep as you possibly fuckin' can." The younger says with his low, lustful tone, still keeping his hold on Jimin's throat without loosening or tightening it. He inches closer to kiss his face, hot breaths huffing to warm his lover's skin with every grunt and moan that leaves his lips when he feels Jimin's hard cock prodding at his prostate with every fluid motion of his hips. "Cum," Jungkook repeats, deliberately clenching down on Jimin's cock, licking his cheek possessively, "Claim me with your filthy cum."

"Anything you want--ah!" Jimin's eyes screw shut as he rocks his thrusts up into Jungkook's wanting hole. "Feel my cock dragging in and out? Feel how n-needy I am to spill every fucking drop inside you?" His mind truly turns to mush, like a fever dream, losing any semblance of here and now. Only indulging in the very millisecond in which his body trembles to feel everything, all at once. "It's all for you, baby." He pontificates his oath with a harsh thrust from below, scraping his nails until the tender flesh of Jungkook's sides, drawing blood in his wake. "Fuck my cock...bounce on i-it...gahh!" The model becomes a shell of himself, as if he's boneless, thrusting his release in labored spurts, into his young love. "Moan for me, Kookie. Tear at this expensive lingerie and tell me I'm the prettiest man that's ever fucked you raw."

Jimin’s sudden and harsh words takes Jungkook by surprise— he expected the elder to fall apart one way of the other when he came inside, but what he didn’t expect was the spark of dominance that laced his voice and transferred to the way he clawed at the youngers skin. “F-fuck, ah— ow, mmhm...” Jungkook bites back his moans, to no avail when his sides are tortured by the models sharp nails, unable to hold back his pathetic whines when he feels his insides become filled with filthy, thick gushes of warm cum. “God, Jimin— J-Jimin, it hurts...” He gasps, letting himself and allowing a glimpse of actual submission to shine through his shivering body. His hands don’t know where to be, so he does as told and grabs the bralette in his fist and tugs, using his strength that’s spurred by pain to rip it off his lovers chest, while the other hand keeps him steady by grasping into the backrest of the chair. “Shit, I didn’t know you could say such things... that’s so hot, baby.” Jungkook huffs when he gathers himself slowly, unmoving while Jimin’s cock pulsates inside of him. He sighs and whines from the painful stretch of taking it without preparation, overestimating himself and yet relishing in the uncomfortable feeling. Jungkook glanced down at his bloody waist when he lifts himself from Jimin’s lap to let the latters length slip out, a splurt of cum seeping out with it. He hums in both delight and disgust, not used to the feeling of being on the receiving end..

“You did well baby.” Jungkook reaches behind him, catching a generous amount of Jimin’s cum to coat two of his fingers before bringing it to his mouth, licking it clean for the elder to see. The coy mischief returns to his gaze, leaning close to press his swollen length against Jimin’s stomach to let him know playtime’s far from over. “My turn. You good?” He places a kiss on Jimin’s scorching lips. “I can fuck you harder than that. Show you how it’s done..”

The photographer's proposition snaps Jimin back into the moment--eyes wide and dark, needing to feel exactly what he's inadvertently promised. As if the mere mention of fucking his needy hole is enough to make the blonde bend in any which way necessary to prove Jungkook's point. "Prove it," Jimin goads, unaware of the power that laces his tone. "I'm tired of being your porcelain doll...make me your filthy whore." The model wriggles from underneath the photographer until he's free from his caging clutch. Once he's able to maneuver solo, he flips himself over and juts out his plump ass, resting his ruddy cheek against the upholstery of the chair.

“Huh... maybe I spoiled you too much.” Jungkook drinks in the view below, standing up on his feet to properly watch the way Jimin arches his back to offer his body willingly— or rather, demanding his body be used like a disposable toy. A shiver ran down his spine as he replayed Jimin’s words over and over. A challenge, that he knows the model is aware that he can beat without even thinking. He must be so lonely, that the mere thought of having his unused hole filled drives him mad with need, and the temporary dominance got to his head. Kook likes it, the power in Jimin’s voice that is so rare when they’re alone.. but more than present when he is working. It’s like he brought home his persona of professionalism, and now Jungkook would get to corrupt this mask as well.

“I’ll make my pretty doll into the filthiest and prettiest of whores. I’m sure of it.” He murmurs while he reaches behind him to slowly drag his fingers in and out of himself, gathering the remainder of Jimin’s release onto his digits. He spreads his lover's cheek to get a good look of his tight rim, pink and unused like a virgin anew. Kook licks his lip, feeling the hardened texture of the dried cut on the skin. He brings his slicked fingers to Jimin’s ass, giving him little to no warnings before slipping his two digits inside, knuckle deep. “I’m just giving it back. It came from your filthy, whorish body.. but you don’t mind. This is where cum really belongs.” He says, loving the sound of his own voice a bit too much. He loves the way Jimin’s hole clamps down on his fingers as he speaks, and the way his hole becomes wet and slick, coating his fingers more and more with his juices with every in and out drag. He curls the pads of his fingers slightly, finding that one spot that he knows drives Jimin mad— especially if the abuser of it is his hefty cock.

"Mm--g-god. Please, yes." The model looks over his shoulder to provoke Jungkook to give him more. This is just the way it needs to be to provoke--to find that spot again, plumping up his full lips with a whiny pout. "Put my cum where it belongs, please, baby." Jimin presses his hips back to match the thrusts, wrenching his eyes shut to chase the high, feeling even hotter knowing the reason his tender hole is stretched so easily is because of his own cum. He rides Jungkook's fingers, nipping his lip and beckoning him closer with small kisses, placed anywhere he can reach. Through it all, he makes sure his back remains arched so his glistening pink entrance is visible. He knows how his partner salivates at the clear sight of his fingers disappearing and reappearing, hugged by his tightening rim, hearing how needy his butterfly is for his touch. "Finger out every bit and put it inside." The messy tear-streaked blonde spreads his legs wider on the chair, leaving as much room as possible for Jungkook to fit. "T-then fuck me full of more."

"I would've asked you to beg for it, but you're already so good at that.. You really are perfect." Jungkook makes his point with a particularly deep thrust with his double digits, twisting and scissoring to ensure that his lover is comfortably gonna be able to take something much bigger than his mere fingers. "Looks like your cum is the perfect lubricant, just feel how easily I got your pretty ass gaping for cock." Jungkook groans audibly to show how much he likes the view when he withdraws his slick fingers, wiping them clean on Jimin's clothed thigh, staining it with cum. "Can't wait for you to see it how I see it. It's so hot, so cute." He adds, spreading Jimin's cheeks with his thumbs before tugging at his hips, bringing him closer to let his heavy cock rest between, gathering the slick. He slowly drags his length up and down, prodding tastefully at Jimin's eager entrance before finally giving in, sinking the swollen head of his cock inside, followed with a quiet gasp from the photographer.

"Shit, even after all of this, you're still so tight..." Jungkook digs his nails into Jimin's hips, grabbing a fistful of the thong into his hands to tug him down to take more of his length inside, pushing past the thickest part of his girth. He watches the way the elder's pink rim is stretched past it's limit and then some, the sweet pink slowly morphing into a blushed red. "Your body drives me mad, baby. Almost lookin' like a woman with these on." He crumples the material in his hand, tightening the fabrics so that it presses against Jimin's spent cock. He gives an experimental thrust forward, and decides to give little time to adjust before he begins to roll his hips forward, slowly but steadily. He will break his butterfly, and making him cum a second time would be the perfect reward.

Pressure builds rapidly in Jimin's abdomen, causing his muscles to twitch and spasm. His walls clench down on Jungkook as he presses in deep, practically forcing his way in, claiming the space he's worked hard to make. Jimin can still feel the phantom stretch of the photographer's fingers as it's quickly replaced with thick, vascular cock. It's almost painful, which is a new sensation for the willing blonde. He's always made sure to breathe through it all, relax his body and mentally prepare for how rough Jungkook may or may not like it at that moment. It's a roll of the dice, and today, anything is possible.

The tight weave of red lace chafes against the model's fair skin as Jungkook thrusts pick up in pace, threatening to tear if tested enough. As much as Jimin loves the feeling of being as pretty as a girl, he doesn't blink an eye when the remaining heel falls to the floor. "S-slower...just...y-yeah, that's--" Jimin's words break into confused pleas, easing into the scene, calming his body enough to receive his partner, inch by inch. "You feel bigger today, Kookie," he gasps, rubbing his cheek into the upholstery of the chair's back and sullying it with his salty tears. He chokes on a quiet sob and presses his hips back to meet a new thrust, "I almost can't t-take it."

"Fuuuuck, say that again." Jungkook growls through his lustful, breathy words. He snaps his hips forward, rougher and buries his cock deeply to be as close as physically possible to his pretty lover. The photographer adores Jimin's choked words, and rarely does anything beat when he cries in pain due to the mere size of his thick length claiming it's space in the model's slick flesh. "Does it hurt?" He says with a noticeable grin that transfers to the tone of his voice. He grinds his hips forward while staying inside, ensuring the jeweled head of his cock is lodged deep inside, throbbing in excitement every time he feels Jimin clench around him with every audible sob. He drags out the moment, using the blonde to warm his cock properly, still grinding deeply inside. His hands greedily roam up and down Jimin's slender back, tracing his fingers on one of his favorite hidden features of his model-- the prominent, yet delicate line where his spine lies beneath his fair skin, moving prettily with every writhing movement of his torso.

"You know how much I love it when you endure pain for me.." He sighs, smoothing his tattooed hands down his lover's thin waist until they settle on his lower back, pushing down to force a stronger arch. "Feel that baby?" Jungkook licks his lips at the sight, intentionally flexing his cock inside to make a point of how impossibly hard he is, rocking his hips back and forth lightly to create the start of a momentum. "I said," He drags his length out further with every stroke, only to plunge it back in harder and harder, "Do you," And harder, "Feel that?"

"Yes...yes, fuck!" Jimin's cries are cut short by the heady penetration. The jolts burn his cheek against the chair, but not enough to distract from the sting of his abused hole.

Sounds of slapping skin rings in the model's ears--the force of Jungkook's pelvis colliding with his plump ass, deafening. "You--You're so big, I--" Jimin presses his ass back into the next deliberate thrust and swallows a yelp, morphing it into a sharp whine. He's incredibly tender from cumming already, full to burst once again. Only this time, there's more pressure built inside, like every ounce of fluid he could possibly possess is begging to be let free. "You'll make me cum too sooon." Jimin wriggles and writhes, but only for a bit, internally reminding himself to be good. Be a good boy for his Kookie. Stay still. Keep calm. Hands lay flat on the blonde's back, littered with faint marks of possession from months before. They scarred as a reminder, marking Jimin, helping him realize his one true place in life is right where he is in this moment--beneath Jeon Jungkook, moaning, whimpering, begging for pain and receiving adoring love and devotion in return. "More," he echos, softly at first, "Harder, fuck me h-harder..."

"You're whining so prettily, baby." Jungkook praises, getting a proper grip of the model's hips to use the strength in his arms to aid the pathetic attempts of Jimin trying to meet his thrusts. The harsh slapping of their skin coming together grows louder when he picks up the pace, indulging hungrily in the elder's hot, tight, insides over and over with his cock. He wishes so badly that he could stay like this forever and repeatedly claim Jimin's body and make him lose his mind. "Asking for more, when your frail body shakes so... Fuck, it only makes me want to hurt you more." He groans when a particularly rough thrust causes Jimin to clench down, his petite body jolting and his muscles quivering while struggling to stay in position-- trying his absolute best to be good. Jungkook's hunger for more grows, and with it, he fucks Jimin harder, digging his fingers into his slim hips to keep him in place, pulling him back on his cock when he's momentarily jolting forward with every forceful thrust. "Remember what I told you earlier? How I want you to scream so loud you cannot make a sound..." The photographer glances over at the camera, knowing it gets a full proper view of Jimin's face pressing against the chair while he can't see it as well from his perspective. He wonders what kind of expressions he's making right now..

He knows he'll be able to rewatch the content later, but he wants to see more..

Jungkook leans forward a bit, still fucking Jimin, heavy audible breaths of his hard labor pushing past his lips while he reaches around Jimin's small torso, lifting him on his knees. He hugs him close, pressing his muscular chest against Jimin's smaller frame, stomach perfectly melting together with the slender slope of Jimin's back. "Maybe I do prefer it if you scream loudly, though..." He buries his nose in Jimin's neck, kissing and biting his tender skin, one hand on his waist and the other smoothing up his stomach until he settles on his chest. The calloused pads of his fingers finds Jimin's nipple, reddened and sensitive due to the previous friction from the lace, making it real easy for him to find the reactions he's looking for when he pinches it hard between his fingers. His hips never cease to fuck generously, adamant to overwhelm every sense in the elder's pretty body.

With each filthy remark from Jungkook, Jimin yelps pleas of encouragement. The rough pinch simply drags it out of him, quick and loud. "M-more...harder! ...just like tha-aaat, shit..." He doesn't need guidance to say what comes next, meaning it with every short breath in his body-- "I'm a failure," he squeaks, "Cumming inside you so quickly, it's just--ahh!" You just f-felt so tight...and it's been so long, I..." Jimin grasps the hand that balances his flat chest and draws it up to grip tight around his neck, helping to push him over the edge--so close, it's almost alarming. Jimin squeaks, "...I'm gonna cum again. Fuck, I might...I don't know...I..." He loses his train of thought, not that there was much of one to begin with. Sobbing of praise and self depreciation are all his muddled mind can compute when he's fucked this well--now adjusted to his lover's large swollen length. "You fuck me too good...much better than I fucked you, I'm so s-sorr--mmmf--AH!"

Jungkook's pierced tip glides against his prostate, rubbing him raw, making his eyes flutter and skin tingle with the peak of his high. This is new. It's not normal. The gradual sensation he longs to feel is much more urgent, nearly bulging his abdomen to let free. "Wait, wait!" His small hand taps on Jungkook's arm to release him, struggling to pull away. His muscles spasm in a quick alert, and he knows all too well what's about to come next. "It's too much, I'll--" Before Jimin can finish his sentence, hot spurts of urine stream down his thighs and soak the chair he straddles. The second it starts to trickle out of his exhausted body, he can't stop it. Thrust after punishing thrust, spurts are fucked out of his shaking form until he's putty in the younger man's arms, quivering out what must be a form of orgasm. His cock pulses as his prostate continues to be abused, and all he can do is cry and whimper from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry--hic. Kookie, I couldn't s-stop--hic"

"Are you embarrassed?" He smiles, "Can't even hold it in when getting fucked." Jungkook peeks over Jimin's shoulder to watch his smaller lover's body quiver and squirm, unable to hold in anything when the younger fucks it out of him without mercy. "Always love to make a mess, do you? Then acts so innocent.." He teases, hugging Jimin closer while he squeezes the blonde's throat tighter, leaning his delicate back against his muscular chest to allow Jimin to feel some leverage. He slows down the grinding of his hips when he's fucked out every single drop possible from the model's cock, just pathetically red and throbbing.

"I still didn't cum..." Jungkook sighs, stopping his movements. He keeps himself buried deep, the grip on Jimin's throat moving to his chin to guide their lips to meet in a messy, drooly kiss. He delicately pulls back to crook an eyebrow, internally beaming with pride at how utterly fucked out Jimin looks. "Move onto your back, lay in your own filth." He suddenly commands, letting go of the elder's weak body to let it fall limp onto the chair, letting his length slip out of his stretched gape. Impatient, he's already aiding him when he notices the light struggle and quivering muscles from oversensitivity-- grabbing his hips to help him to flip on his back.

"Humph." Jimin's hiccups weaken once he's on his back, sinking into the tepid pool of urine that seeps out of the cushion. He stares up at the younger man with saucer eyes--adoring stars swirling in his gaze, slowly coming down from his orgasm. The apples of his cheeks blush an endearing shade of pink, even more as the moisture spreads across his back. It's an ever-present reminder of the mess he made, all over Jungkook's studio chair--the one he sits on to do his work, and the one he reclines in to watch Jimin pose during their private shoots.

"It's wet," the model whines, wriggling to find a comfortable spot on the chair. His nose crinkles at the audible squish the fabric makes when he adjusts his posture, saturated in him, possibly ruined and unusable. His blush dissipates just a bit, because this is the state Jungkook longed to see him in. Perhaps the visual of an alluring male model in feminine lingerie was what intrigued the talented photographer. But, just like the mirrored room, everything must come crashing down until only he can build it back up in just the way he likes.

Jimin loops his arms under his knees and exposes his tender hole to his partner, offering himself as a toy to be played with. "Do you like this, Kookie?" He pulls back a bit more, earning a wet squish from the cushion below. "Seeing your butterfly, like this..."

“Good boy." Jungkook praises, nodding in approval while a long, slow swipe of his tongue coats his lips in the glossy shine of his spit. His predatory stare darkens at the mess he's created-- the vision he's been craving finally coming to life. "I love it, you're perfect." The aching, swell sensation of blood pumping through his body is prominent in his cock as he gives himself a few tempting strokes, placing one knee on the edge of the wet cushion and the other keeping leverage on the floor while caging Jimin's body beneath him. He lines up the thick, jeweled head of his cock with the model's gaping entrance with one hand, placing his other palm on Jimin's thigh to dig his fingers into the soft flesh, aiding him in holding his legs back.

"You've done so well tonight, baby.. There's no better look for you than this.. My spoiled, expensive doll.." Jungkook's dark eyes squint as he smiles softly, a contrast compared to the way he drives his hips forward to bury his cock deep once more, welcomed by the stretched, slick flesh that hugs him tightly in the form of muscle clenches. Even when spent, Jimin does what he can to please. "My messy whore." He quickly builds up the momentum, using the full potential of every silky inch of his rigid length as he drags it in and out, harder and harder, until Jimin's petite body once more begins to jolt upwards with each and every powerful thrust. "S-shit, I love your body, I can't get enough of you like this." Jungkook spits out between grunts, thriving in the wet sounds of his cock plunging into the model, along with the squishes of his small body forcibly rubbing against the wet chair.

The photographer grits his teeth, chest heaving with every shallow breath and muscles flexing to fuck into him harder, harder to release every bit of primal desire to use Jimin to chase his impending high. "G-gonna cum soon," Jungkook's hazy eyes never waver from Jimin's face, watching it distort into his favorite expressions, a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Want me to cover your pretty face with it?"

Jimin doesn't have the power to speak, lost in the trance of Jungkook's cock railing into him at a powerful rate. His aching ring of nerves pulsates with sensitivity, so sore and spent that any words spilling from his rouge bitten lips would be desperate pleas to slow down. Positively not an option. It's their anniversary. Today is a special day--the most monumental day in Jimin's life to date, above any major career move or step in the spotlight. A year ago he may have placed himself before the pleasurable and painful touch of the photographer's hands on his flesh, but that part of himself has been far from erased. Now, in this studio, in their little private world, Jimin naturally folds at the simplest suggestion from the young visionary.

"Cum on my face, baby," he whimpers, holding his knees to his chest for stability. He nods rapidly to confirm, it's exactly what he wants. "Paint your whore--fuck. Cover me in you, I n-need it...all over my skin. Record it, up close. Please, pleasee." His voice squeaks, caught off guard by how badly he truly wants this. More than anything, he knows how beautiful the final scene will look--him, covered in tacky red sinful lace, sticking to his small body with cum, sweat, and spit. Smeared with lipstick. Prettied up and ruined for one man only.

Jimin knows exactly what the photographer wants to hear, and it's obvious by the way Jungkook's eyebrows furrow in concentration, gaze burning into the vision beneath him.

"I love it when you beg like that." Jungkook praises yet again, giving the model another punishing thrust before pulling out, leaving the gaping, needy hole empty for tonight. Normally, he would never pass on an opportunity to stuff Jimin full of his cum-- but tonight, his vision took the top priority over any carnal instincts. He had this vision in mind for forever, and it is finally becoming his reality.

"Look at me." Jungkook commands while taking a step back, tugging at Jimin's bicep to pull his spent body to slide down to the floor on his knees in front of him. He hooks the pad of his finger underneath the blonde's chin, tilting his head back to look up. His other hand works his slick length quickly and roughly, ready to burst at any given moment-- he's held it so well, and he knows he will cover his doll's perfect face with everything he's got. It'll be the ultimate visual of his fantasies; Jimin, the picture perfect man in shambles, ruined makeup and covered in various body fluids willingly, merely to serve and keep the photographer satisfied and happy. Maybe even excited for the rewards that come with compliance. "Pretty... So pretty, and all mine, hahh.." Jungkook hisses through labored breaths, clammy chest heaving as he looks down at Jimin's lips, rubbing the jeweled tip of his cock against them, stroking his cock purposefully to make a show out of the way his tattooed hand effortlessly glides thanks to every little ounce of slick fluids his lover provided. "Keep looking at m-me...fuck, I'm gonna--gah, cum." He moans louder to let Jimin know how much he's enjoying this, and the visual from both their perspectives must be otherworldly. Both men are utterly devoted and obsessed with the other.

Just as Jungkook's hip move to fuck into his hand, they stutter when his orgasm hurls over the edge without much of a warning. A drawn out, deep groan rumbles from the back of his throat, and it feels like his eyes would roll to the back of his head if he didn't intentionally keep himself so focused on watching the way thick, hot ropes of cum began to paint the model's delicate features one by one. His hand squeezes his cock, thighs tensing and relaxing between every twitching throb of his orgasm. He spits curses and praise, moans and whines, not stopping until he's made sure Jimin's skin is an entire mess, glazed with his release.

Silken droplets of pearly cum slip down Jimin's cheek and tickle the pert pout of his lips. Slowly, he licks away what he can, peeking open an eye and giving a longing look of devotion. The salty release tingles on the tip of his tongue, which he savors with a low hum. He doesn't need to ask to know how much the photographer enjoys this sight. He knows that from this angle, he's a masterpiece, commemorating a year of servitude in the most filthy way imaginable. The low glow of the recording camera reminds him of his duty, to show off his final look--a far departure from the stunning, sinful vision he admired in the mirror. Heels are scattered on the floor, stained with a light streak of blood. Stockings are torn ragged, and bralette is askew and hanging loose. With no way of truly knowing, Jimin assumes he must look a complete and utter wreck. Still, remnants of lipstick stain him in misplaced splotches, smearing down his lips and onto his chin. The ruddy makeup appears to be even brighter and remarkable under the luminous sheen of cum that slips off his chiseled jaw. Jimin lifts to his knees and palms at Jungkook's thighs to draw him closer. "Come here."

Jungkook mindlessly follows Jimin's quiet order, stepping closer before dropping to his knees in front of him, meeting his hazy eyes on face level. He can't do anything but admire his work as if in a blurry trance, and the boiling adoration in his gaze is evident.

"I'm here, baby." He says quietly, glancing over at the camera. He had gotten his shot, the visuals of everything he'd been hungering for now captured in an eternal digital memory. A sense of pride and content fills his chest as he looks back at Jimin, reaching out to swipe his thumbs underneath his makeup smeared eyes. He takes another longing moment to just look, slowly inching closer until he finds the model's pillowy lips with his own. He kisses him gently once, twice before pulling back.

"You did amazing. I got the perfect shot, and you looked so gorgeous." He rubs Jimin's bruised neck slowly, examining the purple and red marks, "Did you enjoy it a lot? I had this planned for a while.. And it came out even better than I anticipated.."

The blonde closes the distance again to kiss Jungkook tenderly. A shaky hand cups the photographer's face while the other mindlessly holds him at the waist for balance. The room shifts subtly, and Jimin breathes into the motion, tilting his head to follow the natural part of their mouths moving as one.

"Mhm," he hums again, indulging in the comfort and warmth of Jungkook's touch. He needs it after, always, to feel like a precious doll again. Like clockwork, they come together into a slow comedown, feeling their united heartbeat as the tips of their fingers brush against damp skin. "Happy anniversary," Jimin smiles into a sweet and short kiss. The tentative hold on his neck draws the model in more and he allows the younger man to indulge in his creation. He allows it until the warm ropes of cum begin to tack to the round apples of his cheeks, and the slight discomfort of his muscles begin to set in.

"So sticky and wet now, Kookie. Just how you like," Jimin smirks, pleased he could once again fulfill his love's vision. "I may need some help getting out of this though." Jimin hints at the soaked, ruined lingerie that still clings to his torso.

"I'm so happy. Thank you for taking me so well, baby." Jungkook places one last rewarding kiss on Jimin's sticky cheek before he gets up on his feet, bringing his lover up with him to lift him up into his strong arms. He holds him close, walking over to the camera to turn the recording off and heads towards the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, I have another surprise for you." He smiles through his statement, placing Jimin on the toilet seat to wait while he draws a hot bath. He turns to Jimin, reaching behind his torso to unclasp the bralette and discard it on the floor, then resumes to tug at the panties to get them off. Every action of his is tender now, the aftercare more than important to ensure that Jimin is properly rewarded for doing so well and taking every rougher part of him-- so he deserves the affection as well. "Come." He coaxes lowly, undressing properly as well until the tub is filled, and takes Jimin's hand in his to guide him into the water, seating them with Jimin's small frame practically in his lap. A soft sigh pushes past his lips from the relaxing warmth surrounding them. "Wash your face off first, don't want your eyes to get irritated."

Jimin cups the warm bathwater in his hands and stares at the faint shadow of his face cast over it. He pauses a moment, adjusting to the comfort of being supported from behind--feeling small and cared for, then brings the water up to cleanse. The warmth soothes over his soft skin, and after only one splash, he can feel the layers of grime shluff off. His palms tinge a faint red. Lipstick rubs away, followed by other various bodily fluids, some of which need a couple passes before it is completely removed. The work to remove it only makes Jimin appreciate the work Jungkook put into planning such an unexpected night.

"I never get tired of this," Jimin coos, bring another palmful of water up to wash over his face, "Taking baths together...it's one of my favorite things." Baths--such a normal and almost childlike experience. It's something that brings the small model pleasant ripples of nostalgia, like it was only yesterday they first shared the simple experience of cleaning one another. It's centering, to wash away the filth of the day and watch it slide down the drain until it's gone completely. Jimin reclines into the tender embrace of his love and allows him to rub soapy water over his body, moaning gently the cleaner he feels.

"One year," the blonde sighs, closing his eyes, "What would I have done if I never met you?" He tilts his neck to get a good look at the younger man. "Life would be so...boring."

"Indeed." Jungkook agrees, the toothy grin on his face just as childish and endearing as when they first met eye to eye in his studio. He looks back at Jimin with just as much-- if not more admiration swirling in his doe eyes. He cranes his neck to kiss the elder's forehead, gentle hands smoothing over his petite body to rub off tonight's events. "But it was fate." He adds, hands moving up to comb his fingers through the blonde curls after adding his familiar shampoo into his palms, massaging his tender scalp with the comfort of his scent.

"Sooner or later, we would've found each other." A moment of silence follows, all that is heard is Jungkook cleaning Jimin's hair while the latter basks in the aftercare.. until he speaks again. Whether Jimin heard it or not, remains a mystery.

"I would've made sure of it."

#fic: expensive doll #Mused Obsession #jikook smut #jimin smut #jungkook smut #bts mxm smut #bts mxm #bts smut #sub jimin #dom jungkook

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babymetaldoll · 3 years

Text

Stargazing (Spencer Reid/Reader)

Requested: No, but I needed some hardcore fluff

Summary: The team is “forced” to go camping, and Spencer finally decides to make “his move” on Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/ Reader

Category: Hardcore fluff

Warnings: Zero

Word count: 3,2K

Masterlist

It was the first time the BAU didn't argue Strauss's decision. She had walked into the conference room and explained to the team that the FBI had decided each department had to do a workshop related to teamwork and trust.

- "You will spend this weekend camping together. You will be part of a Team-Building Training Workshop"- Strauss wasn't excited about the idea of her best team wasting a whole weekend. But she was glad her department didn't have to do the activity. She hated camping.

- "Are you telling me we have to spend our weekend in sleeping bags, singing kumbaya?"- Rossi raised an eyebrow and looked at Erin, and she didn't move a muscle- "I'm out."

- "David, I'm not asking you if you want to do it. The whole team has to be part of this activity, that includes you."

- "Come on, Rossi,"- Prentiss smiled and tried to cheer him up- "It will be a nice change from catching serial killers for a weekend.

- "Really, Emily?"- Rossi crossed his arms on his chest and looked at Reid- "Hey, kid. How many dead bodies are found each year in the woods in the country?"

- "Over 2.543 last year,"- Spencer answered. And didn't stop talking, of course- "We can not be sure they were all serial killer related cases. The most common ways to die in the woods are drowning, car accident, and suicide."

- "Suicide it is."- David whispered. He knew it was going to be a long weekend.

Even when he wasn't a person who loved camping and outdoor activities, Spencer was excited to spend the weekend with the team, especially with (Y/N). His teammate, best friend, and secret crush. Ok, it wasn't really a secret.

Of course, everybody knew about Spencer's feelings. He never successfully hid them from the team. You didn't need to be a profiler to notice each time (Y/N) walked into a room, Reid's eyes would follow her, and his cheeks blushed. When they sat together in the jet, Spencer would always be too self-aware of his own movements. He would try not to move, especially when she had fallen asleep, resting her head on his shoulder. And when they were working on a case together, he would always cover her on the field, and he would make sure she was safe, even when the unsub was already caught.

He loved her. Even a blind man could see. Except for (Y/N), of course. Because according to her own words: "There's no way Spencer Reid is in love with me. He would never look at me that way. He is perfect, and I'm a mess. He deserves the perfect genius girl."

- "Ok, Romeo, this weekend is the perfect opportunity for you to make your move"- Derek and Reid were alone in the SUV on their way to the retreat.

- "Sure. Because there's no better time to make a fool out of myself than in front of all my friends in the middle of nowhere."

- "What's with the attitude, pretty Ricky? Relax"- Morgan frowned and put on some music, singing along for a moment. Reid looked at him and raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

- "Ok man, picture this: you, your pretty lady, in the middle of the night, gazing at the stars together, alone in the middle of the forest. The full moon is the only light."

- "Who are you? since when are you a romance expert?"

- "Hey! I can be romantic!"

- "I've seen you get girls only by raising an eyebrow"- Reid argued, and he was right. It had happened once, but that was another completely different story.

- "What I'm trying to tell you is that you have the perfect chance to tell her how you feel during this trip"- Spencer was about to start debating that idea when Derek continued.

- "And stop saying she has no feeling for you!"

Reid bit his tongue and looked at the road. Neither of them said a word for the next couple of minutes. Until Spencer whispered

- "But she doesn't"

- "She does!!"- Derek nearly yelled

- "Why are you so sure?!"

- "Because she told Penelope she is in love with you!!"

The silence in the car was as intense as the red in Spencer's cheeks. Derek knew he shouldn't have said that, but he was tired of seeing his best friend's sad eyes each time he stared at (Y/N). Someone had to do something, and he knew neither of them would make the first move.

- "Are you sure?"- Reid's mouth was hanging open- "I mean, maybe she was joking."

- "No, she was honest. So please, this weekend, make your freaking move."

How could Spencer ever make his move? He had no idea. He didn't even have a "move"! But something inside of him felt a little more confident now.

That didn't show on the outside at all, 'cos during the whole day, he was more clumsy than ever. He dropped his coffee. He failed the first two attempts to set up his tent and nearly fell carrying logs for the fire.

He wanted to dig a hole and hid.

But (Y/N) didn't notice any of that. Not because she didn't pay attention, but because she was oblivious to any of those things. She just couldn't stop staring: He was wearing jeans. Spencer Walter Reid was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. (Y/N) thought she was going to have a heart attack when he got out of the car.

Sure, yes, she had seen him outside work in a more casual outfit, but nothing prepared her for Spencer's camping clothing. It suited him too well for his own good.

- "Hello? Anybody there?"- Prentiss waved at (Y/N). She and JJ stood in front of her, trying to catch her attention.

- "Jesus! you look like a schoolgirl today!"- JJ teased her, laughing- "Can you be more obvious?"

- "What are you talking about?"- (Y/N) tried to look all innocent and continued setting the logs for the campfire.

- "If Spencer wasn't so clueless about your feelings, I swear you two would be already married,"- Emily joked and helped (Y/N) with the logs. The young SSA just shook her head and tried to keep her eyes from Reid for as long as she could. She successfully did it for five minutes. That day's record.

- "(Y/N), hey"- he stood by her side, and she quickly stood up.

- "Hey, how are you doing?"

- "Good... you?"- she just nodded and smiled. She really was acting like a schoolgirl in front of Spencer- "Great... hey, I thought maybe tonight you would like to do some stargazing with me..."- Emily and JJ heard him and nearly squealed. They tried to look away, but it was impossible. They needed to know what was happening. Where was García? she was going to be so mad she missed that.

- "Yeah! I'm sure tonight we can see way more stars than on your building's roof like last time."

(Y/N) answered, smiling, thinking there was nothing more romantic than being underneath a starry sky, listening to Spencer talking about constellations.

- "Ok, kids,"- Rossi's voice stepping out of his huge camper interrupted them and forced everybody to turn around- "Let's do this trust thing we are forced to do before it's lunchtime. Maybe we can manage to go home early."

Of course, they weren't. The whole team had to work as a unit to fulfill a series of activities an expert team the FBI had hired forced them to do. Aaron thought it was unnecessary, considering they worked on the field together, and they trusted each other with their lives all the time. But he was also sure his team needed a break, and everybody could use some fresh air.

- "Great work, team"- Hotch hugged everybody and smiled when the whole activity was done- "I think we've earned a nice dinner."

- "Please don't tell me we have to hunt our food"- Penelope wide opened her eyes suddenly and looked at Hotch- "I can eat blueberries."

- "Don't worry, kids"- Rossi shook his head and pointed to his camper- "Anyone in the mood for a nice steak?"

- "I bought marshmallows for the campfire later,"- (Y/N) said and smiled- "You are never too old for some s'more."

- "Scary stories by the fire eating s'mores? I'm ten years old again"- JJ looked excited- "I need to do this with Henry."

- "Just don't tell him your "I'm scared of the woods because I found the camp director dead" story." - Derek said, smiling.

- "You freaked out!"- JJ chuckled, remembering how she had scared her friends a few years earlier while working on a case in the woods.

- "I need to hear that story!"- Emily said- "I bet it's no better than mine, I'm sure."

- "Battle of horror stories?"- (Y/N) smiled evilly- "You two have nothing on me."

The evening was fun and a little terrifying. Garcia was holding Derek's arm so tight it was starting to feel numb. Rossi and Hotch had told a couple of stories that left the team completely frightened, to be fair. Especially Spencer. He had forgotten an essential part of his plan: nights in the woods are dark as pitch. And he was afraid of the dark. How would he successfully take (Y/N) to a nice spot, sit down and stare at the stars with her if he was too scared to move from the fire?

(Y/N) looked at Reid and sighed. Maybe he had regretted it. Of course, he hasn't forgotten his invitation, 'cos Spencer remembered everything. Still, he hadn't made any move or sign to go stargazing. Being alone with him in the dark was scary but in the right way. Maybe she could finally tell him how she felt. No, no way. That wasn't going to happen.

- "Ok, so... it's late, and we are out of wine"- Rossi stood up and looked at the team- "I am ready to go to my comfy bed"- the rest of the team groaned. They were going to spend the night in a tent, probably freezing, while Rossi was going to be in his warm camper.

- "I'm going to sleep too, we have trekking in the morning, and it's going to be a long walk. I suggest you all go to bed early."- Hotch stood up and waved at the team, to then walk to his tent."

- "Sweet chocolate thunder, is there room in your tent for me?"- Penelope asked, and he chuckled immediately

- "Are you still scared of the stories? they are just made up things people create to terrify us."

- "I know. But I'm also scared of bears, psycho killers, and slender man"- Morgan looked at her, raising an eyebrow. She wasn't joking.

- "Bring your sleeping bag."

- "You are my hero. I love you."

Prentiss and JJ went to bed soon after, leaving the two love birds alone.

- "Stargazing?"- Reid whispered, and (Y/N) nodded- "We should find a darker stop... or we can stay here by the fire if you like."

- "Are we going to get a nice view here?"- (Y/N) looked at the stars and tried to see anything.

- "No, it has to be darker,"- Spencer whispered, taking a look around- "There was a nice spot by the cliff, that way."

- "I don't think walking to a cliff in the middle of the night is a good idea"- (Y/N) smiled, and Reid shook his head

- "You are right..."

- "But we can walk carefully and carry a flashlight,"- she added and smiled, looking at him. His brown curls moved with the wind, and his chocolate eyes were brighter than the sparks of fire next to them.

- "That sounds good."

Spencer stood still for a second. He had a blanket in one hand and a bag of marshmallows in the other. (Y/N) put on her scarf and jacket and stared at him.

- "Are you ok?"

- "Yeah."

He wasn't. He was trying to calm himself down, thinking that walking in the middle of the dark was worthy because it meant spending time alone with (Y/N).

He kept telling himself he didn't have to worry because nothing was going to happen. He wished he had his gun with him in case of any danger, though. Maybe that could make him feel better.

- "You can't kill darkness, stupid"- he whispered to himself and sighed. (Y/N) walked a step closer and took the marshmallow bag. Then, she held his hand.

- "Let's go?"

That was all Spencer needed. He was ready.

- "Did you know astronomy is the oldest of the sciences?- Reid whispered as they walked hand in hand to a nice clear spot - "Ancient astronomers were able to differentiate between stars and planets, as stars remain relatively fixed over the centuries while planets will move an appreciable amount during a comparatively short time."

- "And when did you start learning about the stars?"- Spencer loved that. How each time he started rambling, she wouldn't get annoyed like the rest of the people he knew. Instead, she would always ask him something related to the subject. And it was usually something personal. She wanted to learn more about him and how he had ended up being such an amazing human being.

- "When I was four, mom started taking me regularly to the library. That was when I started to learn more about science. I could pick ten books each time we were there, and I decided I wanted to know everything I could about everything I loved."

Spencer confessed and smiled, looking at her. His heart was warm with their conversations. He was never comfortable talking about his personal life, especially about his childhood. But with (Y/N), it all came naturally.

- "How often did she take you?"

- "Every other day"- she chuckled and remembered the pictures Diana had shown her of Spencer when he was a little kid last time they visited her. He was adorable, with his glasses and his messy hair. It was impossible not to imagine having a family with him.

- "This is it... this is a good spot."- Spencer said and stopped walking. He moved a log and tapped on it, smiling at (Y/N). She sat with him, and he wrapped them together with the blanket.

- "So, what am I staring at?"- (Y/N) asked and kept her eyes on the starry sky. It seemed she had never seen so many stars. And they even looked closer. Spencer looked at her, and his heart skipped a beat. He was about to start a lecture on astronomy, but instead, he decided to do "his move." Or the move he could think of. He didn't really know if it was a move, but he was going to give it a shot anyway.

- "Most stargazers learn about constellations looking for different noticeable patterns across the sky"- he made a pause clearing his throat. That was it. He was going to do it.

- "That's how it all started,"- he continued- "Some of these noticeable patterns up there are still the same ones our ancestors noticed while sitting around a campfire telling stories like we did today."

- "Telling stories about the stars sounds a lot less creepy, though" - (Y/N) whispered, and the two of them smiled- "Wanna tell me a story about these stars?"

There was no way Spencer could say not to her puppy eyes.

- "Ok... let's see..."- Reid sighed and thought for a moment, looking at the constellations above them- "Do you see those stars over there that look like a cute bunny?"

- "Which ones?"- Spencer pointed at the sky, and (Y/N) nodded- "I see them"

- "Well, you'll see, there was a comet in love with the bunny, but it could only look at her from a safe distance."- Spencer finally confessed. (Y/N) held her breath for a second and tried not to get her hopes high.

- "Why?"

- "Well, the comet was afraid he wasn't good enough for the bunny"- Spencer was whispering, and his soft voice sent shivers to (Y/N)'s body- "So he stared at his favorite constellation every day and only imagined what it would feel like to hold her in his arms."

- "And the bunny never saw the comet?"- (Y/N) asked softly, while very, very slowly, she moved her hand and reached Spencer's.

- "The bunny thought the comet just wanted to be her friend because he was scared to tell her how he felt,"

(Y/N) kept thinking there was no way on earth Spencer was telling her how he felt about her with that adorable story. Was he? Really? 'cos it was too romantic, and if he wasn't and she was wrong... it would be heartbreaking. But, there was only one way to find out.

- "I think the bunny felt the same, but she thought she wasn't good enough for the comet"- Spencer's heart raced at those words, and he turned to look at (Y/N). She blushed and stared at him with a shy smile.

- "Why would the bunny ever think that?"

- "The comet is too brilliant and too amazing to settle for a simple constellation when he could have the sun."

(Y/N) was embarrassed to confess those feelings, but it was now or never.

- "But the bunny is the sun in the comet's life."- Spencer whispered and caressed her cheek with his thumb carefully.

- "Really?"- her voice was so soft, it melted Spencer completely. He couldn't answer. All he could do was to lean in slowly and kissed her as gently as he could, enjoying the sensation of her lips against his. He cupped her face with both hands and moved a little closer.

It was the sweetest kiss he had ever given. It wasn't just because (Y/N)'s lips tasted like marshmallow, but because it was filled with pure love. He could feel it, even when he still couldn't believe it. She loved him. She really did.

(Y/N) was sure that wasn't really happening. She had probably fallen down the cliff earlier and was now unconscious or dead, living a fantasy. There was no way Spencer Reid was kissing her.

When they slowly moved and looked at each other, neither of them knew what to say. So (Y/N) did what she always dreamed of doing and leaned in and kissed him again. Spencer didn't hesitate and wrapped his arms around her waist, moving her closer to him. Her hands played shyly with some of the curls of his hair, and they simply kissed for what seemed to be forever, even when it wasn't enough time for them. Spencer felt he could kiss her his whole life, and he still wouldn't get enough of her.

- "So..."- (Y/N) whispered after some minutes and looked at Spencer, blushing- "Do you think the comet and the bunny could... maybe try to be more than friends?"

He smiled and kissed her again, rubbing her lips carefully with his; (Y/N) sighed into the kiss.

- "The comet is willing to do anything the bunny asks him because he just wants to make her happy all day, every day."

(Y/N) couldn't speak. She could only kiss him again and again.

- "Bunny just wants her comet to be happy too."

- "Then would Bunny be the comet's girlfriend?"- she giggled and nodded- "Good, because I don't think I could ever live without your kisses ever again, Bunny."

- "Neither do I, Comet"

And after that, stargazing was forgotten. There were enough stars in their kisses to keep the two of them lost in their own new universe.

#Spencer Reid #Matthew Gray Gubler #Criminal Minds #Fluff #Spencer reid x reader #fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #mgg #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #babymetaldoll writes

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letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

Normal People don't know their IQ

(A/N): Inspired by me, who recently discovered normal people don’t know their IQ, while I was tested two or three times already...

Summary: A certain someone is the only way to get the UnSub. But there’s also something different that makes her special.

Warnings: Angst (fluffy end, I swear), language, mentions of rape and torture, mention of dead people, the usual CM stuff I guess Wordcount: 2.0k

✨Masterlist✨ _________________________________________

“Garcia, I need you to look into high school teachers, who are suspended or fired for inappropriate behavior towards students and live in the area of the kidnappings”, Hotch orders in a stern voice. But you can’t blame him, after all there are currently six dead teenage girls and one missing. One can only hope and work as fast as possible to get her back to her parents alive.

The team is working a case in Sacramento, California. Teenage girls get abducted on their way home from school, are held for exactly a week and are killed by a simple cut to their throat. The torture they have to endure beforehand isn’t as simple. The last two also show signs of rape.

The dumbing sites are different parks all over the city. The placing happens overnight only to have the girls found the next morning by a clueless jogger or stroller.

“Let’s go over the profile again, I feel like we are missing something”, Rossi commands. His gut feeling tells him only that much, he just has to find out what it is.

“It’s a white male in his mid thirties to late forties. He blends in, so he has to be or has been a teacher. Someone who looks like they belong into a school isn’t suspicious”, Spencer counts the facts.

“The victims all look similar, probably resembling an ex-wife or girlfriend”, Morgan adds. Before he can get into the depth of the torture a phone rings.

“My lovely crime fighters, I got an address. Charles Collins. philosophy and history. Got suspended for suggestive talk towards his female students. He is also said to stare at them and certain body parts for way too long and way too obvious. Gross. Annnd that- wait”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asks after a moment of silence, which is unusual for the ever bubbly tech analyst.

“You got your profile wrong. Collins doesn’t take these girls because of an ex flame.”

The team looks at each other in confusion. Garcia always stresses how she isn’t a profiler and can’t judge over people, because she only wants to see the good in them. How is she able to tell that the profile is off?

“Shoot baby girl, we don’t have much time left”, Derek urges her. He wants nothing more than to have this SOB finally behind bars. The whole team wants that.

“He has a daughter. Technically it’s not his daughter, it’s someone else’s, but he is her foster father. Go and please save both girls!”

Penelope doesn’t have to say it twice. After a brief thank you and goodbye the team is on their way to the given address. As soons as they get there, everyone notices the absence of a car in the driveway. Hotch sends Spencer, Emily and Derek through the back door, the rest goes in from the front.

“FBI! OPEN UP!”

It’s needless to say that nobody opens up. There is no other way than kicking the doors down.

After entering the house and clearing the first floor, Rossi points towards the stairs that leads to the first story. There are only two rooms. A bathroom right hand and a closed door left hand.

Morgan counts quietly down before also kicking this door down and screaming “FBI!” But he seemingly talks with air, because there is no one to be found. Once again the team swarms out to look for evidence or clues.

As Spencer looks through the room they cleared last, he sees various things that make him smile. Several bookshelves are flooded with all kinds of genres, authors and covers. At first he can’t make out in which way they are sorted. But a closer look makes him realize that they are sorted by the author’s birth year. The doctor is kind of impressed, because that means the person knows when they are born in order to find a certain book. He likes the idea, it is a nice little challenge.

While he investigates further a sound makes him stop. He sends a text to Emily and waits for her. When she enters the room Spencer gestures to her to keep it quiet. Then he points to the bed.

They lower themselves down to the floor at the same time on each side of it. A girl, no older than 14 years, lays there shivering in angst. With big doe eyes she looks at Spencer and whispers:

“Please don’t hurt me.”

A while later the team is back at the station with the girl sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. The temperature is already set down, though Hotch feels really bad for it. Still there is another girl out there waiting to be safed.

“Baby girl, what can you give us on her?” Morgan sets his phone in the middle of the table and switches the speaker on.

“Our little girl’s name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), fourteen years old. Parents were deemed to be unable to look after her since they are both heavy drug addicts and didn’t even register her crying for two hours straight. Since the age of six months she bounces through the system with nobody wanting to keep her longer than two years. They claim she is too smart for them and want somebody to look after her, who can challenge her intellectually.

“Collins took her in one and a half years ago. He got her signed up in several activities after school, like chess and academic decathlon. As of right now she is a junior with an opportunity to graduate next year. Her teachers describe her as incredibly bright with a complicated way of thinking.”

“Complicated way of thinking? Her intelligence was neglected for years, so she gave herself her own challenges. I found her books sorted by the birth year of the authors. She found ways of making things more difficult for herself, that’s why she fabricated strange ways of thinking. This is often found in children with high intelligence, who are not boosted enough by their environment”, Spencer explains, getting more and more furious.

His colleagues feel that this is a sensitive subject for their resident genius. JJ comfortably puts a hand on his shoulder, making the tense go away.

“Emily and Dave, I want both of you to interrogate her. We need to know where he hides the girls. JJ, try to hold the press off for a bit longer. Morgan, Reid, I want you to watch and look for tells or anything else”, Aaron orders.

Everyone works on their given task immediately.

You don’t need to be a profiler to see that (Y/N) is scared out of her mind. She has her feet on her chair and her head lies on her knees. When the two agents enter, she tries to at least fake some kind of composer. But she fails miserably at it.

“Hello (Y/N), may I call you that?” Emily begins in a soft voice. The teenager nods shyly. “Good, (Y/N). My name is Emily Prentiss and this is David Rossi. We are agents from the Behavior Analysis Unit from the FBI. Do you know why you are here?” The teenager shakes her head.

“Ok, let’s cut the chase”, David's voice booms through the small room. “You know exactly why you are here. From what we saw in your room you are an incredibly smart girl. How high is your IQ? 130? 135?”

“147 a-actually”, she nervously corrects the agent, never meeting his eye. The team notices this fairly quickly.

“Even better, normal people don’t know their IQ. So you know what your forster father does. You saw the news, you read the papers, you heard your classmates talk. In addition to that, the girls look alarmingly similar to you. And all of the sudden Charles is more often out than usual. So do us a favor and come clear.” Then he pulls out a picture from a manila folder on the table. Emily tries to intervene.

“Rossi, don’t. She is not the UnSub. (Y/N) is just unfortunate to be at the wrong place.” “She might as well be another UnSub if she doesn’t do anything to help us. Do you know how long you are going to jail for helping hi-”

“I don’t know anything. I- of course I saw what is h-happening. A-and I connected the dots a long time a-ago. You know, Charles lost his job and that’s a stressor. T-then Child Service was investigating him, because of the suspension’s reasons. I-I couldn’t do anything. I had no evidence, the police wouldn’t believe me. I asked him once wh-what he thinks about, you know, what’s happening. He slapped me and told me to not talk about it again. I’m so sorry, I wanna help. The only thing that comes into my mind is an old cabin he once mentioned when I first arrived at his. B-but I don’t know if it helps you. P-please, I don’t want to go to jail or juvenile, I-” Then (Y/N) breaks down into tears.

Emily is in an instant by her side trying to calm her down, while Hotch gives the information to Garcia. As soon as she finds the location, JJ takes a seat next to (Y/N) and the rest of the team flies out.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, Sweetheart. My colleagues will find him and he will be tried and convicted. He will never be a threat to you again”, the blonde tries to comfort her.

“Whenever I leave an abusive home, there will be another one that’s exactly the same. The only difference with Charles was that he seemed to understand me. He helped me. There’s nobody who is willing to do what he did for me”, she admits sadly.

It breaks JJ’s heart, because her words are true. Even though he is a killer, Collins did help her. But she is also determined to show the young girl that he isn’t the only one who can do that. That there are more people out there, who are kind and as helpful if not more.

Not long after this the team brings the man into the station, Morgan guiding him with a deadbolt-like grip.

Rossi spots (Y/N) in a break room with a hot drink in her hands. While making his way over there, Spencer follows him. He wants to talk with her as well.

“(Y/N) I’m sincerely sorry if I hurt you earlier. I didn’t intend to scare you, we just had to act quickly and you were the only source of information available. I also wanted to tell you, that your achievements are astonishing and I guarantee you a bright future, maybe even at the FBI”, he winks at the end of his last sentence.

“I understand, Agent Rossi. But doesn’t everybody know their IQ? I assumed everybody gets at least tested once in their life in some way”, she asks with surprise in her voice.

At that the older man is speechless. Of all things she could accuse him of legitimately, (Y/N) goes with the most innocent question.

“Actually, not everybody gets tested. A reliable test has to be done by a psychologist and most people don’t go to one. Furthermore there has to be a valid reason to do one, that’s why a great part of the population doesn’t know their IQ”, intervenes Spencer. He has to infodump, since the last time was over half an hour ago.

“But you also have to differentiate between the several kinds of intelligence, because intelligence is way more than being good at math. There…”

Rossi stopped listening to the excited interaction between the two geniuses. Instead he watches their body languages and facial expressions. He hasn’t seen both of them more at calm than they are now.

After all there might be a way for (Y/N) to get a little Happy End.

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one-rosy-sock · 3 years

Text

Coming Undone | Abner Krill x fem!Reader (1/2)

Go to the {Ao3 Link} for more info...

Fandom: The Suicide Squad (2021) Rating: T (M for future chapter) Summery: You’re a psychiatrist. You should know the warning signs when a relationship with a patient is becoming problematic. But you refuse to consider this, because Abner Krill is a lot of things, and violent is not one of them. Warnings: PTSD, childhood abuse, trauma, brief mention of past suicide attempt.

Notes: no use of y/n Disclaimer: Author is NOT a real therapist. I do not own DC comics. __ The first time you met Abner Krill, he was recommended to you by a colleague at Belle Reve.

It had been several weeks since the convicted metahumans defeated Starro, that giant one-eyed starfish. Sometimes it amazes you to no end what strange things exist in this world. The Corto Maltese coup and monster defeat held onto headlines for several weeks until the next big thing came to top it. Seeing such exciting news affect your patients wasn’t unusual, but to have a high profile patient be a part of such news was a first, you’ll admit.

As for you, well, things were pretty much the same. You see your patients during the week at your office. You’re a licensed psychiatrist, and oftentimes you see men and women who have been convicted of a felony or are ex-prisoners themselves. It wasn’t a dream job for many women, much less anyone, to counsel people so troubled. You aren’t like everyone else, though. No, you might not have x-ray vision or super strength, or any super fancy gear to punch bad guys, but you do have a gift not many have: A good ear and an open heart.

And a prescription notepad, but you are determined to make your sessions more than just a pill dispensary.

You are aware of who Abner Krill is. The Polka-Dot Man. One of the metahumans who went to Corto Maltese and defeated Starro. This has partially immortalized him in the media as a superhero, despite his past as a prisoner. Some of your patients were metahumans too, but none as powerful or as widely known as the Polka-Dot Man. His identity and those of his teammates had been concealed from the general public. As of last week, you know his real name.

His appointment’s in the morning on a Tuesday. Your secretary came by as you were straightening up your office to let you know he had arrived. You fluff the couch pillows, throw blanket over the back, tissue box on the side table, a mild scent infuser on your desk. The century-old computer at your desk whirls to cool itself off. Earlier you'd taken the time to shoot an email to Ms. Waller confirming Mr. Krill's appointment.

You follow your secretary up front. She goes to her desk and you step into the waiting room.

Though foolish, you half expected to see Abner in his super suit. The polka dot suit and headgear. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of khaki trousers that hugged high over his hips, and a somewhat flashy, silk button-up tucked neatly into the waist. And, dare you say, a fanny pack. His outfit looked straight out of the 70s or 80s. You don’t know the definitive difference between the decades. But his shirt looks clean and pressed, the collar tucked down nicely. He has one leg over a knee, bouncing it rhythmically as he watches the fish swim around the tank in the wall. It looks like he tried to read a magazine, but stopped halfway, finger wedged between the pages.

“Mr. Krill?”

He jerked in response to his name, swinging his head up with a guilty look gleaming in his eyes. You think of a puppy who’s been caught peeing on the carpet. His expression, or perhaps the way his face was structured, reminded you of a puppy too. His face was somewhat sallow, somewhat droopy. Lines indicate a lot of frowning. Like a sad, droopy cartoon dog. His face narrowed down from his eyes, making his red cupid’s bow mouth seem small. A strong, straight nose dominates his face. His big eyes seem dark and questioning. Like a scared, lost child.

Krill quickly shoots up like a bean sprout, shaking his hands out. The magazine drops to the floor. He swears, bends down to pick it up, and anxiously fusses over righting it on the coffee table. You watch the way the glossy purple cuffs wave as he moves about in jerky, quick moves.

“Good morning, doctor,” he greets warily, avoiding your gaze and staring at your shoes.

“You must be Abner,” you smile. You reach out your hand. In a painful, pregnant pause he visibly wavers as he stares at your hand as if you’d stuck out a gun at him. Finally, he reaches out to take your hand.

He has a strong grip. Sweaty hands.

Hastily, he pulls away.

“Nice to meet you. Why don’t we head on back?”

He nods. His legs are long yet his steps uncertain, reminding you of a gangly adolescent. He follows you down the hall from the waiting room and awkwardly stands by as you open the door to your private office. You hear him pat his thighs as he waits. Like a shadow, he follows and sticks close but careful not to touch. Barely making a sound.

After your office door clicks shut, the two of you sit in your respective places. Your desk chair has a high back, cloaked in a fraying, multicolor knitted throw blanket. A bit garish against the dull beige walls and simple yet whimsical desk decorations beside you. There’s a poster that reads It’s OK to feel this way: over a circle divided by colors and sections, listing different emotions.

You pull your knees up and begin to take off your shoes.

Your patient stares in visible confusion.

“Would you like to take your shoes off?” You ask, setting your shoes aside as you straighten up in your chair. “I find it easier to relax without them.”

“Um…” he trails off, his downturned mouth pursing as he considers this. The tension rolling off him makes him stiff and hard to read. All you’re getting from him so far is how much he doesn't want to be here.

You watch him while occupying your hands with things on your desk so he doesn’t feel pressured to make a decision. From the corner of your eye, you watch him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and he slowly reaches down to untie and slip off his oxford shoes. He sets them neatly beside his feet. Hands tucked in his lap, sock feet on the ground. Looking up at you somewhat imploringly.

“This is a safe space, Abner,” you smile at him. You have your clipboard and pen in your lap, but you make yourself relaxed and as welcoming as you can. Note-taking can be done later. Visibly, at least. Don’t want to make him think you’re already assessing him before y'all begin to talk. Can’t force him to talk.

Ex-prisoners often struggle with reforming to civilization after release. He couldn’t be forced to attend therapy here despite the outside forces that pressured him to. If he wanted to walk out, he could. Abner was so tense he seemed to be walking on eggshells. He struggled to relax his shoulders, like his limbs were too long for his body. During all this, he hadn’t met your gaze one.

“Whatever we talk about won’t leave this room, unless, for instance, you said you plan to hurt yourself or someone else.”

This gets a reaction out of him. A grimace, a shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t…”

“Of course not. You’re a superhero now, right?”

He grins. It’s brief, boyish, sheepish. He’s studying the design of your clothes. You consider that progress from your feet.

“You were recommended to me by Dr. Rooney at Belle Reve,” you begin conversationally, baldly, wanting to get a feel of where he was coming from. Your colleague had said Krill was not a violent inmate, but was often verbally bullied by other prisoners. He tended to avoid crowds, thus mostly avoided. More than once he had been on suicide watch. Casually, you glance down at your clipboard. Born in Philadelphia to Augustine Krill--father unknown--and tried and convicted for first-degree murder as an adult in the city of Metropolis. He was incarcerated at Belle Reve shortly after turning eighteen. He was in his early forties now.

You look back up at Abner. He had that sad puppy dog look again, staring at nothing in particular with his neck hunched.

“Did you and Dr. Rooney get along?”

“D-Doesn’t your notes say?”

You make a face. “I want to know what you think of Rooney, not what he thinks.”

Abner didn’t answer right away. “He was okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, licking your bottom lip as you cock your head up. “Okay is better than nothing.”

“We mostly spoke about my mother.”

“Oh?”

“She experimented on me and my siblings. She wanted us to become superheroes,” he said. His voice held much more confidence than anything he’d said so far, but his expression remained unchanged. It was because he kept words void of emotion.

“I see.” Yes, you did see. You had anticipated the topic of his mother coming up if you didn’t ask him about it first in future sessions. Dr Krill was listed in his files as a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs, and having six children whom lived on site with her. CPC had been called a few times, rebuffed every time by various means other than being convinced nothing was wrong. The whole thing was fishy, especially after the untimely deaths of three of Dr. Krill’s children. The whereabouts of the other Krill children were unknown. All investigations into S.T.A.R. Labs had been terminated by higher powers, even after Abner’s arrest and psychological evaluation.

Abner continues, to your surprise. “I pictured Starro as my mother.”

“You did?”

“It makes it easier, when I convince myself that my enemy is her. I don't like killing.”

You pick up your pen and tap your lip, looking down at the way he was fidgeting his feet. “Did you regret killing your mother”

Abner’s knee stopped bouncing. “No.”

“Do you regret killing the other scientists at S.T.A.R. Labs? The--”

Abner grimaced and brought his hands to his head, tugging on fistfulls of black hair. “I-I didn’t mean--I-I--”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer that today,” you placate with a soft tone, putting down your pen, fingers rubbing along the edge of your clipboard. After a moment of heated silence, you set your things down on the desk and stand up. This makes your patient crumble in on himself, trying to hunch low enough to shield some blow. You smile sadly where he can’t see. “Abner, do you see my poster here? With all the emotions?”

He looks back up, glancing from you to said poster. His attention is answer enough.

“Whatever you feel in this room is valid to you and to me. Not now, but in the future I’d like for you to give me short but detailed descriptions to how you feel on certain things. It's okay to say something you think is taboo or unorthodox. This room doesn't have ears or a head to judge. Do you think you can do that?”

The couch makes no sound as he moves to better see the circle chart of words. Timidly, he nods.

“Great,” you smile sadly and sit back down. “Let’s get back to that later. Today, I’d like to talk about something other than your mother.”

Abner tilts his head. You must be doing something to exceed his expectations, because now he’s looking at you and not at you. “The Corto Maltese mission?”

“No. I want to know about you. I want to talk about Abner Krill. Who are you?”

His blank stare makes your heartache a little for him.

The following silence, where all you can hear is his ragged breath, the whirl of the monitor, and the soft mist of the incense humidifier, is thick. You can cut it with the tip of your pen. The sound of his voice as he speaks is almost staggering. "I am... I am my mother's son."

“No."

He flinches.

"Your mother does not define you. What you think about your mother and how you feel about her should not determine your sense of self or your future. You liked defeating that monster, right?”

Abner nods.

“You’re a superhero because you took action, not because she moved your hand. What you say here today, and any day, should be the same. Do you think you can do this for me?”

“I don’t understand…”

“I want to know the real Abner,” you smile. “Not Dr. Krill’s son.”

He still can’t make eye contact. The fidgeting starts back up. “But, what I am is because of her.”

“Not unless you choose otherwise. Starting today, you and I are going to help define Abner Krill. First, you are not your mother’s son.”

“But I am?”

“No. You are not your mother’s son. You’re Abner Krill, superhero. What does Abner Krill the superhero like to do?”

Understanding slowly started to dawn on him, visible in his eyes as he lifted his slanted brows. Recovering from trauma was no walk in the park, but the two of you had to start somewhere. Rooney over-fixated on Abner’s fixation on his mother and the abuse, and after years of obsessing over it to “fix” him, it seemed to become all Abner could think about. No one had really given him proper trauma recovery therapy, or helped to treat his PTSD. You wanted him to take the first step into self-evolution. No one could do it for him. You want him to define himself other than his mother’s son. Seeing himself as a superhero was perhaps the start of it.

“I-I don’t know,” he frowned. “I like to read…”

“That’s great!” Your enthusiasm startles him. “What sort of things do you like to read?”

“Well… Ah, I-I uh... I like the classics….”

The rest of your session with Abner was mostly casual. The safe topics you steered him to visibly made the man relax. He spoke about the fictional worlds he enjoyed immersing himself in. He liked the classics because they were “soft”. Sweet romances where the only real worries were who’s going to the ball. He didn't like tragedies or novels about war or great violence. With some coaxing, he opens up to talk about his favorite foods, animals, celebrities, songs-- You ask about his (non-virus related) talents or any hobbies he might’ve picked up at the prison or since he’s been out. Steering him away from the topic of his mother confused him in the beginning, leading you to assume he had anticipated mostly speaking about her. He’d been prepared like he might prepare to go into battle.

You know he won’t be able to just brush his mother aside; his virus was because of Dr. Krill. He blamed his 20+ years of incarceration at Belle Reve on his mother’s experimentations. He blamed himself. He hated her. He hated himself. Feared her. Feared himself. It was an inner wound that would never heal, you know this without a doubt, but you hope with time it becomes easier to manage as he takes control and independence of his new life.

“Did you ever go to school, Abner?”

The phantom smile on his face falls, but you haven’t lost him as he turns to you. Looks at your shoulder. “No. We--my siblings and I--were… homeschooled.”

“Right. Well, you at least know what homework is?”

“Yes. Of course. Am--Do you want me to--?”

With a hand gesture you hope is placating, you smile and gently cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not assigning you an essay to write or a month-long project to present. I’m not that cruel,” you chuckle. “But I am going to push you a little. Can you try that for me?”

He looks as if you’ve asked him to consider sacrificing his firstborn. Thankfully, he nods as he plucks a loose string off his knee.

“I want to see you biweekly, so schedule with Patrica upfront. Maybe this Friday or Saturday?”

“I-I can do that, yes ma’am.”

"Now, it's your choice to come back or not but it would make me really happy if you did."

His back straightens. "Yes. I'll be here."

“Beautiful, Abner. Beautiful. Sometime this week I’d like you to do something you normally wouldn't do. Go on a hike, join a gym, take a class on cooking or arts and crafts. It can be simply looking up a food recipe you’ve never tried before and making it. Tell me about your experience. If you’re around strangers, how is your relationship with them? If you see something new, how does it make you feel? This isn’t an order, Abner, just a… strong suggestion, mm? All I’m asking is for you to do something new and spontaneous. It can be at home or outside. Your choice.”

Abner licked his lips. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince him to come here at all today. Today is the first time speaking to him, but you’ve had his file for a few days now. You’re a little grateful for that. There was a lot to read. However, it took outside forces such as one Amanda Waller and fellow ex-prisoner teammates to get him to come here. You suspect someone dropped him off if he didn’t take a cab himself. He had no driver's license.

“Ah… Okay. Um, yes miss. Ma'am. Doctor! Ah--”

“You can call me by my name,” you reassure, tilting your head to him. “This is a safe space for you and I. We may be doctor and patient outside that door, but here, we can be as familiar with each other as we'd like. Like old friends.”

He turned to you with a look that sent a thunderbolt of sensation down your spine. Surprise, awe. A silent question gleamed in his puppy-dog eyes. He doesn't respond, brows raised high as he just stares at you.

You cover for his lapse. “I’ll see you in a few days. It was wonderful to finally meet you, Abner,” you say, looking at him without pretenses to hopefully show your honesty. He had an incredible gift that could help save a lot of people, and from what you've learned from recent character evaluations on him he had the makings of a fine superhero. First thing first, he needed to adjust to civilian life after years of being locked up, and years of having nothing but unresolved trauma. All the while, you hold back a rueful smile at his demeanor. You won't say it aloud of course, but he was so cute. Idly, you wonder about his sexuality- but you can ask that another day. For now you wanted him to be a little more daring to try new things and focus on something other than his mother.

You stand up and shake his hand. His grip is a little looser this time, lingering longer, but he moves away quickly, gathers his shoes, and you see him out. His scurrying reminds you of a startled elk. Large yet quick, stumbling over his long legs. Running from you as if you held a rifle instead of a purple glitter clipboard.

It was hard to believe this man had committed mass homicide.

#abner krill #polka dot man #the Suicide squad #abner krill x reader #polkadot man x reader #reader #therapy #chapter one

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