#that love is a lot more complex than one anticipates | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heavenlyhischier · 11 months

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idiots in love - dick grayson

summary: two people who are madly in love with each other but they're both idiots.

word count: 5.8k (lmao sorry)

warnings: lil angsty, cursing, steamy lil makeout sesh, unedited, cursing??

notes: hi hello hi! here is something that has been sitting, more like marinating, in the drafts for a hot minute. btw its not explicitly titans!verse dick, but he's hot so sue me

Saying that befriending Jason Todd changed your life would be a complete understatement. You had gone from being invisible and living under the radar in Gotham to earning an unwanted spotlight from being seen alongside Bruce Wayne’s son nearly every day. To make that matter worse, Jason had once conned you into attending a gala that Bruce was holding because “it is the only way he could manage to survive another one of these things”. That drew a lot of rumors and suspicions from the media in Gotham as they speculated the true nature of your relationship with Jason. That was also the start of a complex and hidden relationship with his older brother.

Dick Grayson remembered the first time that he saw you like it was happening right in front of him all over again. You were standing next to Jason in a floor length black dress that shimmered blue when the light hit it just the right way. You were, albeit unknowingly, wearing his colors next to his brother and it instantly attracted him to you. He could tell you felt out of place by the way your body was turned towards Jason and your eyes kept darting around you. Trying to get you away from Jason was a much harder task than he had anticipated, but what ensued once he had made it all worth it.

Meeting Dick was something Jason had tried to keep you from for as long as he could. He knew that Dick had a less than honorable reputation when it came to women, and you getting tangled in that web was the last thing he wanted for you. Despite his efforts, your attraction to the detective was stronger than he would have guessed and you managed to fall into the hole anyway. Jason, the ever so protective friend he was, tried to keep out of it, but his brother made that increasingly harder the more often you showed up at his apartment defeated and confused.

You had initially tried to keep your relationship with Dick a secret. You really did. But being friends with someone like Jason made that impossible. He was able to find out anything and everything he wanted. When he tried, and miserably failed, to subtly ask you if you were seeing someone he knew, you came clean about everything. You told him about how the night you met Dick, he had taken you back to his apartment and you two talked for hours and hours. Jason had been slightly thrown off that he didn’t try to sleep with you, but you assured him that that didn’t happen until nearly two weeks after you had met.

You also divulged the true nature of your feelings for Dick that night, and Jason had suggested that you tell him or it was going to ultimately cause you pain and heartache. “I tried to bring it up once,” You had said, “But he kind of shut it down pretty quick. Said that we’re just friends who hook up sometimes. He just- he acts like it’s more than that when we’re in bed and it’s so confusing, but I don't want to give it up. If that’s all I can have of him, I’ll deal.”

That was nearly four months ago, and nothing had changed. Dick would call you at random times day or night and you would go running every single time. It was pathetic how desperate you were to have a piece of him, but you were too scared to ask for more. He was too closed off with his feelings to ever let you get even an inkling of how he felt about you outside of physical attraction. Jason had been right about this bringing you nothing but despair. Nonetheless, you stayed at his mercy.

Your body was hot and sticky with sweat as you lay on Dick’s chest, fingers tracing along the scars that littered his skin. You often asked how he managed to obtain so many, but he, much like Jason, said the same thing every time. “Job’s just dangerous”. You’re not quite sure how being a detective and security guard would get one in situations to earn such wounds, though you never pressed too hard. His arm was tight around you, making sure that you stayed tucked into his side as his fingers delicately grazed your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in their wake. Moments like these you both despised and cherished. They made your heart swell with hope and want, but they also made your stomach turn with uncertainty.

“You going to the gala tomorrow,” Dick’s asked, his grip slightly tightening.

You peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah. Jay always makes me go with him since he ‘can’t handle it alone’. Are you, or do you have to work?”

Dick’s not sure why hearing that you would be attending the event with his brother hit him the way it did. It made his throat close up and his chest burn with jealousy. You had always attended Bruce’s events with Jason, and he knew that. He knows that it was purely platonic, but a part of himself couldn’t help but think there was something else there. He knows his brother is an attractive guy, and God you are the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. It only made sense for you two to be attracted to each other, and that’s what he has been running with.

“Yeah, I’m bringing a girl from work actually,” His voice was flat as he loosened his grip on you so that he was barely touching you now. It was a total lie, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

It was as if Dick punched a hole into your chest and ripped your heart out with his own two hands. Your movements froze as you blinked back the tears that instantly pricked your eyes, not wanting to give away the effect his words had on you. He was always good at reminding you that you were a disposable secret to him, but it hurt all the same every time.

Composing yourself, you flattened your hand on his chest and used it to push yourself up into a sitting position. You avoided looking at Dick as you slipped out of his bed and began putting your clothes back on. He watched you, trying to piece together what was going through your brain. He shamelessly wanted to believe it to be jealousy; that you detested the idea of another woman on Dick’s arm, but he knew better than that. He assumed you were in a hurry to get to Jason’s apartment, which is where he knew you went every time after you left his place. He had followed you one night to make sure you stayed safe, but he wasn’t prepared for his own heart to be put into danger.

That was the night he realized just how deep his feelings for you were, and it scared him to no end. He thought he was doing good at guarding his heart, but then he met you. You had effortlessly and entirely captured him. Dick craved everything about you. He craved your touch. Your smile. Your laughter. You. He would do whatever it took to have a part of you no matter how much it hurt him to know your heart would never belong to him.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” You spoke through the awkward tension in the air, “I should probably go home to sleep before tomorrow. Don’t want to look like a walking zombie, you know.”

Your idiotic attempt at a joke hung in the air as you slipped your socks on, and you mentally slapped yourself for saying that. Wanting to get away from the now uncomfortable situation, you rushed out of his apartment without another word to the man who held your heart in his hands. Typically, you would walk to Jason’s and mope about your unfortunate situation, but you opted to go to your own apartment instead. You made sure to let Jason know of your plans so that he didn’t quite literally break into your house to make sure that you were alive. His “u ok?” text went ignored as you fell into your bed and begged your thoughts to quiet themselves so you could sleep in peace.

You woke the next morning with a new sense of determination, and a little bit of retaliation on your mind. You quickly sent Cass and Steph a text asking them to come do some last minute shopping with you, which they were more than happy to agree to. They both met you outside of your apartment an hour later, questions tumbling out of their mouth as soon as they saw you. You brushed off their interrogations with a laugh and started towards the nicer part of Gotham.

“I thought you already had a dress,” Cass pointed as you walked into one of your favorite dress shops in the fashion district.

“I do, but I always wear some variation of black and blue and I wanted to switch it up,” You shrugged as you filtered through some of the dresses on the rack.

Truthfully, you knew that the colors you always wore matched the colors that Dick wore as well. It was something that he mentioned drove him crazy whenever he managed to pull you away to have his way with you. You started wearing those colors for him specifically, but something inside you switched this morning. Today, you were going to wear something else and prayed to anyone that would listen that it would get underneath his skin. You knew it was childish, but if he was going to bring someone else, you didn’t care.

The two of them shared a knowing look with each other before diving in to help you search. They were aware of your situation with Dick and how you felt about him, but unlike you, they could see the way he felt about you. They knew that if you showed up wearing something other than the colors he wore to protect the city, he was going to be absolutely furious. However, they secretly hoped it got under his skin enough to ignite the fire he needed to tell you how he truly felt.

You had gathered a decent amount of options, so you decided to move over to the dressing room area and try what you had on. You had tried on a variation of styles and colors; none of which you liked. The girls of course gave their honest opinions, and you got rid of the ones they made faces at almost immediately. Your last pick was a long-sleeved red dress with a slit on the right side and a plunged neckline. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way the color looked slightly off, but it still made you look damn hot.

You opened the curtain and slowly stepped out, catching the girl's attention. “Now that’s sure going to piss Dick off,” Cass laughed, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, but she’s right. If your goal is to make him mad, that dress will sure make that happen,” Steph agreed as she nudged Cass to calm down, “Is that what you want?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. At first, yes, but now I just- I’m not sure. I don’t think he’ll even notice,” You sighed, casting your eyes to the ground as you lightly pinched at the satin.

“Oh he’ll notice alright. He might beat the shit out of Jay, too.”

Your eyes darted back towards them, wide and alert. The last thing you wanted to cause any sort of fight between your best friend and man you were in love with. “Why would he do that over a dress,” You rushed out, hands nervously gripping the fabric.

“It’s not the dr- He won’t, hon. It was just a joke,” Cass recovered as she glared at Steph, “I’m sure he won’t do that. You’re just going to look really good and he’ll probably be a little jealous is all.”

You ignored Steph’s quiet snort and went back to change, making the decision to go ahead and get the dress. It was as if it was tailored specifically for your body, and not getting it would almost be criminal. You knew you were going to have to dip into your savings a little to afford the dress, but the way it looked on you was worth it. Once you had changed and went to go pay, but there was a woman standing outside the dressing room with a dress bag.

“We paid for it,” Steph peeked her head around the woman, a smile beaming on her face, “And no you can not pay us back!”

After a failed attempt at trying to get the girls to at least take some of your money, they took you back to the manor to get ready with them. Cassandra called Bruce who had Alfred ready one of the larger rooms for the three of you to get ready in. Steph put on some music as you took turns showering in the biggest shower you had seen in your entire life. You had stayed in there a little longer than you intended, getting lost in your thoughts about Dick Grayson.

You could tell that the girls were itching to ask you about why your sudden change in outfit happened, but were keeping quiet in case it was too sensitive of a topic. It was clear to them that you were trying to get back at Dick, but they couldn’t figure out why. They were both capable of asking the right questions in order to gain the information they wanted; it was a practice they put into use nearly every day. However, they felt guilty using that skill on you.

The closer the time for the event to start came, the harder it became to breathe. Knowing that Dick was bringing someone else made your entire body ache as you wondered why you weren’t good enough. He had told you before that he never liked to bring dates because people would speculate, and he only wanted them to speculate if it were true. Now, he would mingle and flirt all he wanted, but he had never kept it to one person the entire night. This girl had to be someone special if he was okay with rumors flying around.

Nearly an hour later, the sound of someone knocking broke through the intense concentration you had from doing your makeup. Steph, who was already done getting ready, pulled the door open and Jason came barreling in. He was dressed in an all black suit, but the tie he was sporting was the same color as the dress you had bought today. You internally smacked yourself for not remembering that red was Jason’s color, and that’s why the girls said what they did about Dick.

“What do you want,” Steph huffed, quickly closing the door in case anyone passed by.

“I’m bored,” Jason groaned as he fell backwards onto the untouched bed.

“So go bother someone else,” Cass spoke over her shoulder, giving Jason an annoyed glare. If you hadn’t known anny better, you would have thought she was being serious.

“Y/N’s in here and she’s my friend so why don't you go bother someone else. Anyways, we need to be down there in like twenty minutes so you two better hurry.”

“I just need to get my dress on and I’m done,” You called out as you let the setting spray settle on your face.

You heard Steph whisper something to Jason, but you were too far away for it to be understood. You went back into the bathroom where your dress was hanging on the back of the door, leaving their whispers behind. Nerves spread through every inch of your body as you slipped the dress on, the urge to throw up growing with each second. A large part of you wanted to back out and just not go, but you knew that Jason would physically drag you if he had to.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you pulled the bathroom door open and walked back out into the room. Initially, Jason cast you a passing glance, but he nearly broke his neck swiveling back to you, sitting up so quickly the momentum almost threw him off the bed. The girls had the biggest smiles on their faces and you couldn’t help but blush at the attention.

“You’re right. He might kill me,” Jason laughed as he stood and strided over to you, “You look beautiful, but if you’re trying to get under Dick’s skin. I think you’re going to accomplish that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize we’d be matching. I wanted to make him mad, but I don’t want to make him think this is happening,” You gestured between you and Jason as you grimaced. The thought of ever being involved with Jason like that made you uncomfortable.

“You wish it was, sweetheart,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Why do you wanna make him mad anyways?”

“Uh, he uh- Fuck,” You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration as you let the truth out, “He told me he was bringing someone else and I know it shouldn’t be a big deal but it’s just- you know why it bothers me..”

The girls looked both confused and shocked, but Jason. Jason was absolutely fuming. He already hated the way his brother treated you, but knowing that he would do something that childish made his blood boil. He knew that Dick never brought a woman to any events because he hated the rumors that accompanied that, and if Dick was willing to put up with that just to spite you? That was enough to make him see red.

“Jason,” Steph tried, sensing that he was about to boil over.

You watched as the two girls shared a look with each other as Jason tightly clenched his fists. You felt guilty for making Jason so angry, but you knew it wasn’t you that made him mad. It was his brother and his idiotic behavior, but a part of you wished that you had just kept that to yourself. You knew that he hated the way Dick was treating you and this only added fuel to that already blazing fire.

“I’m fine,” He let out through strangled breaths, “I’m good. Let’s just go downstairs.”

Dick had been downstairs for the last thirty minutes, his heart beating harder and faster the longer he waited for your arrival. Bruce could tell that he wasn’t all the way there, but chose to not ask his son what was on his mind. In fact, he already knew the answer to his own question. Dick paced the floor, eyes glancing to the door every few seconds in case you chose to make your entrance then.

He was nervous to see you after what he had said to you last night. He had no intentions of making that lie a truth, but he still felt the guilt eating away at him ever since you had left. You hadn’t texted him when you got home, and you also hadn’t texted him all day. That was how he knew that he had struck a nerve, but he was still naive as to why. He had convinced himself that there was no way you felt the same way, so why were you suddenly so distant?

You had attempted to soothe Jason’s anger by telling him it wasn’t a big deal and that you didn’t care if Dick brought someone else, but he saw right through your lies. He curtly brushed your comments off as his eyes stayed set on the path in front of him; one thing staying at the forefront of his mind.

Your heart was bound to beat out of your chest the closer you got to the party, you’re sure of that. The combination of having to see Dick and Jason’s anger towards him was not helping ease any of your already bubbling anxiety. You wrung your fingers together as you tried to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t doing much. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave and pretend like nothing ever happened.

Steph and Cass kept glancing at you, passing you sympathetic gazes as they walked ahead. They could practically feel the nerves radiating off of you mixed with the pure rage off of Jason. It put them on high alert, and they knew they were going to have to keep a close eye on their brothers in order to maintain some sort of peace. A silent agreement was made to keep the two of them apart until Jason got his emotions in check.

“Jason,” You tried again as you entered the party, hand instinctively gripping Jason’s bicep “Please don’t do anything stupid. It’s fine.”

Several eyes watched as you descended the stairs on Jason’s arm and you knew whispers were being thrown around thanks to the accidental matching outfits. You had, of course, been seen with Jason countless times before, but now the public had all the proof that they needed to confirm the relationship they had created in their heads.

“I never do anything stupid, sweetheart. Everything I do is calculated and on purpose,” He teased, his anger fading for a fleeting moment.

Dick found you as soon as you stepped foot into the room, but he immediately wished that he hadn’t. Your dress was a deep red color that not only matched Jason’s tie, but the helmet that adorned his head as he prowled the streets of Gotham. Dick could feel any hope that he had shatter with each step that you took, and he hated himself for it. It was his own fault.

“Dick,” Bruce’s gruff voice pulled his gaze away from you, “If there’s going to be a problem-”

“There won’t be,” He interrupted before turning on his heels and heading straight for the bar.

Cass made a beeline straight for Dick while Steph stayed relatively close to the two of you. Jason had taken a glass of champagne from the first waitress that passed by, not even letting the poor woman get four steps away before he needed another one. Your hand stayed glued to his bicep as an attempt for comfort while also keeping him near you. Just when you thought you had grown accustomed to the scrutinizing stares of Gotham’s most elite, it was ten times worse now.

“Good evening Mister Todd,” A man you recognized from The Gotham Globe approached, his annoyingly bright smile plastered on, “I see we have made the relationship official?”

“Piss off,” Jason grumbled, dragging you away from the obnoxious reporter.

Stares lingered longer than usual and whispers were present anywhere the two of you went. You tried to tune everything out, but the ache in your heart remained. You had only seen the back of Dick as he spoke with a woman; you assumed she was his date. You barely managed to fight back tears, but the thought of Jason seeing them made it a little easier to control. Despite your current suffering, you didn’t wish him any harm.

Dick didn’t mean to find you every chance that he could. He really didn’t, but it was like his own subconscious was trying to torment him. Forcing him to watch you throw your head back with laughter as you clung to his younger brother. It lit the sort of rage within him that was different from the one he got when he was dealing with the scum of Gotham. This rage was based out of fear. He needed to get out of there, at least for a moment.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, Jay,” You had leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I might be a while, though. I just need to breathe for a little bit.”

You slipped your arm out of his own before making way towards the stairs. You had spent enough time at these events to know where and how to escape unnoticed. You were essentially being guided by pure muscle memory as you snuck into one of the rooms that was in an area off limits to guests. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you turned and leaned your head against the dark wooden door, letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you okay,” A voice you would recognize anywhere cut through the silence. You let out a startled yelp, opening your eyes to see Dick sitting on his old bed. You had, unintentionally, guided yourself to the one room you were trying to stay away from.

His eyes dragged over your body for the thousandth time tonight, but now he was able to really admire you. You looked breathtaking. Though to him, you always did. To him, you were the most beautiful woman to exist in any world, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He had come here to escape the aching in his chest for a moment, but it seemed the universe wanted him to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” You finally managed to speak, albeit quietly, “I didn’t mean to come in here.”

“It’s fine. I was just leaving,” He avoided eye contact with you as he stood.

“No, don’t,” You rushed out, taking a few steps towards him, “This is your room. I’ll leave.”

The sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floors made Dick look up and meet your gaze. Dick had spent countless hours observing you and getting to know each and every part of your body that he could tell you were nervous. He could sense the apprehension from the way you struggled to maintain eye contact to the way your fingers pinched at the fabric of your dress. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away any anxiety you had, but he knew he couldn't do that. Not anymore.

Dick’s hair was untamed in a way that looked as if he had been pulling at it, something you knew he does when he’s frustrated. His cheeks were tinged red and eyes slightly bloodshot and tired. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to reach out to him. To let him know that you were there, but you couldn’t let him back in again. You had endured enough pain from him.

“You look beautiful,” He quietly spoke, gaze unwavering.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes darted across the room, “Thank you. It was a last minute change and I accidentally ended up matching with Jason, which is only fueling those stupid rumors. I should have just worn the dress I originally bought, but I-”

“Y/N,” Dick cut off your rambling, knowing you would keep going until you couldn’t breathe, “You mean that you and Jason aren’t…”

Your gaze snapped to his own at the implication, and you could see the desperation and defeat swimming in his eyes. “No, Dick. No,” You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head, “Nothing has changed on that front, and it never will. But even if it did, why do you care? You brought a date.”

Your voice was thick with emotion as you mentioned his alleged date, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from brimming with tears. You hated that the simple thought of him with someone else made you break, but there was no stopping that now. He took a few steps towards you and took your face in his hands as you attempted to blink back tears.

“I lied,” He whispered, thumbs wiping away at the tears that managed to break free, “I never had a date. I only said I did because I was hurt and confused. I was hurt because I’ve convinced myself that Jason is the one that you want. That he’s the guy you want to be with; not me. I know that you spend a lot of time with him so I just thought...”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled; your skin burning in the places his fingers pressed against. You wanted to cling onto the hope that he meant that the same way that you wanted him to, but you’re scared. You’re scared to let yourself believe the one thing he had convinced you wasn’t true. Your eyes were a tell all for Dick, and he hated the painful look in them now. He could tell you were holding back, and he knew he was the cause of that.

“I don’t want to be with Jason,” You began, voice wavering, “I spend a lot of time with him because he’s my friend and he’s there for me. He listens to me and he comforts me because I’m an idiot in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”

Every nerve in Dicks body was telling him to let you go. He would never forgive himself if someone were to find out who he was and used you to hurt him. Jason would never forgive him. Bruce taught him that keeping someone you love far away is what will keep them the safest, but what good has that done him? He’s a gloomy man who hides his feelings with a veil of indifference. A veil any person could see through if they looked hard enough.

His silence was unnerving, so you were quick to add, “Dick, it’s okay that you don't feel the same. I’ve known that for a long time.”

“I do,” He hurried as his fingers pressed slightly harder, “I love you, and that scares me in more ways than you could ever know. I thought I knew what it was like to be in love, but then I met you and I realized that nothing has ever compared to the way I feel about you. I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes. I can’t let that go.”

The tears you were desperately trying to keep at bay flowed down your cheeks as he confessed. You had been waiting to hear him say he loved you for so long that even now, it doesn’t feel real. If it weren’t for the pressure on your cheeks from his fingers, you would have convinced yourself that you were hallucinating. That he wasn’t truly there and the few glasses of champagne you had got to your head.

You lunged forward, quickly capturing his lips with your own. He let out a low groan as he dropped his hands to your waist, pulling you into his grasp. You knotted your fists in his undoubtedly expensive button up as the two of you kissed each other like your lives depend on it. Obviously, you’ve done this particular dance with Dick before, but this was different. This was the kind of kiss that splits the sky in two and opens it up to the heavens.

You can taste the alcohol on his lips as he gently turns and guides you backwards until the backs of your thighs come in contact with the obnoxiously large desk. One of his hands moves to fumble around with the various objects scattered across the desk. His struggles cause you to lightly break away and let out an airy giggle as he works to clear the top.

“I haven’t touched this thing in years I don’t know why there’s so much shit on it,” He mumbled against your lips, “Oh fuck it.”

He shoved everything onto the ground and hoisted you up onto the now empty desk, and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter at how cliché that was. “Calm down, hotshot. You’re going to attract an audience with that noise.”

He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark, lustful gaze, “Let them watch then.”

The pool between your legs grew, aching for any sort of friction to ease the desire that had blossomed inside of you. You were desperate for a release, so you pulled him in by the back of his neck and met his lips in a blinding kiss. Dick gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against his body. Your fingers pulled and tugged at his hair and suddenly he's kissing you harder with a fervent desire that left you utterly breathless.

“Dick,” You pulled away, “If you don’t stop kissing me like that, you’re going to have to fuck me.”

Dick was slightly stunned at your bluntness, but it just made him even more attracted to you; something he did not think was possible. “Not that I don’t want to, but I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you,” He whispered, his eyes dancing all across your face as if he was memorizing every inch of it, “Trust me, I really really want to. I also want to do things right with you and I know I’ve been fucking it up for the last few months.”

“Who knew you were such a softie,” You teased, “But now is not the ti-”

You were cut off by Jason’s voice bouncing off the hallway walls as he called your name. You instantly shoved yourself off of the desk and began to straighten your dress. Dick let you push him away from you, his heart constricting as he let himself go back to what he thought previously. You looked behind you and you could tell that he was upset.

“Hey,” You started, cupping his cheek in your hand, “Don’t do that. It isn’t like that at all, okay? I just know that he is extremely pissed off at you right now and I want to do a little damage control first. I promise you I will come over later and we can do whatever you want.”

“Can you stay with me tonight,” He pleaded, taking your other hand in his own, “Stay with me as my girlfriend.”

He felt cheesy saying that, but he didn’t care. Not when it came to you, and especially not when he got to see the most beautiful smile that came after it. You heard Jason’s footsteps getting closer, so you have Dick one last kiss before quickly leaving his room.

“Y/N,” Jason called out, “Were you in Dick’s room?”

“Can we go talk somewhere? I need to tell you something and I don’t think doing it in public is wise.”

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#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #titans!verse dick grayson #dc imagine #dick Grayson imagine #dick Grayson angst #nightwing imagine #nightwing angst

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isaegi · 1 year

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isagi loves you and your kisses. so, so much.

— isagi yoichi x reader

wc: 707.

content: kissing your boyfriend isagi and he is absolutely whipped. fluff, characters are 20+, established relationships. university au

You loved Wednesdays.

There was no specific reason other than the fact that you got to commute home from university with your boyfriend, Isagi.

Wednesdays were the only day of the week when your and Isagi’s lectures generally ended around the same time. His sports media course ends an hour earlier before your own lecture, but he insists on waiting so that you both can leave together.

Right now, you both are seated on the train to his place. You’re lucky because despite the rush hour when everyone is rushing to get home after their shifts at work and day at school, you find that the cart of the train you two are seated in is generally empty.

You two rarely get such privacy, especially without wandering eyes watching your every move.

Which is why you break the serene silence to ask,

“Yoichi, can I kiss you?”

Isagi turns his gaze away from his window, where the scenic view of the sun dips below the vast expanse of many green hills is. A few of its rays hit the side of his face, painting his features with warm gold. From this angle, you’re able to catch how his eyes widen a smidgen at the question— which makes the corners of your lips twitch upward.

“H-Huh?!”

You grin again at the octave change in his voice, and everything inside him moves. Love. Oh, how you make him feel love so quickly.

“I said,” You scootch a bit closer now, knocking your knee against his, “can I kiss you?”

You two kiss all the time, so it was no biggie. But, Isagi can’t help how his heart practically lurches outside the confines of its cage whenever you ask to initiate stuff with him. Especially this.

Perhaps it's because he knows what’s to come and can’t help but to feel eager—anticipating how your lips would press against his, feeling your warmth, being in such proximity that he could smell the lotion you put on throughout your day.

He swallows, nodding multiple times before he answers with a meek, “Yeah...” And he’s shocked by how his reply almost comes out as a compliant whimper. Isagi thanks whatever higher power is up there that there was no one in your cart to hear.

You reach your hand out and rest it on the nape of his neck. “Yeah?” You tease, mimicking the docile tone he harboured a few seconds ago. But even you can’t front for much longer. Your abundant love for him butts its head once you feel the layering heat that settles at the bottom of your belly when Isagi leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah,” he states one last time before he kisses you.

Eyes falling closed, Isagi feels the slow spread of your smile on his lips, which in turn encourages one of his own. The heat of the late afternoon sun only adds more emphasis to the tender yet searing scene of kisses.

The sensations of it left your knees weak, like how the softness of his breath fanned out against your lips. Or the faint vocal sighs he exhaled whenever you two pulled away, only for him to dive back in to press several smaller kisses on your lips and face.

“Love you…” he mumbles against your mouth before he pulls away from you. From this distance, he can observe the punch-drunk glaze that lingers in your eye when you drop your hand away from his neck to place it in the seat of your lap.

“Me too,” you say softly, promptly turning your view away from him, unable to handle the heat of his stare any longer. And its sudden shy nature only makes Isagi want to crowd your space once more. So, he does.

He playfully bites your cheek (something he’s been doing quite a lot lately…) and rests half of his body weight onto your side once his arm drapes itself across your shoulder.

Despite your lame attempts to push him off, Isagi remains tethered to you for the next two stops until you both arrive at the station near his complex. “You’re heavy. You know that?” You grunt in the midst of his laughter.

You loved Wednesdays, especially when they were with Isagi.

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #bllk imagines #ilovehimilovehimilovehim.#isaegi

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willows-escape · 1 month

Text

Carpe Diem - Musical!Erik x Reader

Pairing: Musical!Erik x Fem!Reader

Summary: You'd received possibly the worst news a high status woman could receive in their entire life time, and you had only one thought and one goal in mind. Erik had a different one.

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, a lot of crying, jealousy, uninformed consent (?), almost getting caught, oral (f and m receiving), finger sucking, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, forced mask reveal, mentions of murder, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping

Words: 9570

Notes: sorry this took so long, coursework's a pain in the ass and i've written and deleted what i've wanted to write so many times. i've written seven different stories at this point and rewritten them each at least three times. i decided to pull back all the complexity of what i was originally going for and ending up with this thing.

i tried to make the phantom more submissive because i know people wanted to read that but musical!erik just doesn't feel submissive to me, at least not in this kind of scenario. he's just too much of a control freak i feel and i think he would become more of a switch later into a relationship when he grows comfortable.

hopefully i don't take so long to write my next thing in future, and i pray i continue to improve in my writing skills lol.

You were in flight, your heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in your chest, matching the frenzied drumming of your feet against the opera house's ancient wooden floors. Every sinew in your body screamed in protest, yet you willed yourself to run faster, harder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out all thought, all reason, save for one - you have to get to the rooftop.

Your relentless fate was stealthily stalking you, icy tendrils of fear unfurling down your spine, as you envisioned the pitiless roots of destiny relentlessly chasing you, eager to entangle you within their remorseless clutches. The letter you gripped in your trembling hand was the harbinger of your impending doom, a chilling memento of the ominous vow you had once made.

As you turned the corner, your heart pounded in your chest as you darted up the flight of stairs towards the clandestine meeting point. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, matching the dusky sky's ethereal haze. As nightfall descended, it signalled the time when both of you could shed your public facades and bask in the tranquillity of each other's presence, shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

Every muscle in your thighs and calves screamed in protest, pleading for mercy as you drove yourself onward. You forced yourself through each step. As you pushed through the final barrier, the rooftop door swung open, revealing your destination. A gust of crisp, cold air met your face, a shocking contrast against the sweltering heat of your exertion. The sudden chill cut through the stifling humidity clinging to your skin, offering a brief, but sweet, respite.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" you called out aimlessly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

The tension of anticipation didn't linger long. Soon, the haunting familiarity of the black suit and porcelain mask punctuated your line of sight. A smile, so ignorant and blissful, graced his hidden face, while your own mirrored nothing but distress. As your eyes met, his smile faltered and a sense of panic ignited within his gaze.

"Has somebody hurt you?" The first conclusion came tumbling out of his lips as he rushed to stand in front of you, hands reaching out to caress your arms.

An onslaught of feelings of safety and security besieged you. The caress of his gentle touch, his sugar-coated words, and the purity of his love stood stark against the frigid future looming ahead - ice-cold eyes, indifferent touch, and a home that was nothing more than an glorified prison. Your vision blurred, as if submerged underwater, with briny tears carving trails down your icy cheeks. Your body convulsed with splutters and coughs, surrendering to the raw unravelling of your emotions.

"My dear, please, who did this to you?" His voice wavered, desperation tinging his plea. "I can't bare to see you like this," he confessed, his heart aching to draw you into his arms, to cocoon you in a protective embrace. Yet, his hands twitched with uncertainty, unaccustomed to offering unbidden comfort and tormented by the fear of making the wrong choice.

Struggling, you gasped for the words that seemed to evade your grasp. Finally, in a pitiful whimper, you managed to choke out the truth, "My father. It's my father."

"He has hurt you?" His words, taut with restrained fury, barely managed to mask the cataclysmic rage broiling within his core. His eyes flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, pledging an unspoken oath that he would move heavens and earth to guard you from any harm. He would not let this happen again, his earlier leniency was a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

"No... well, yes, sort of," you stammered, every word a struggle as tears choked your speech. Your sentences, muddled and hardly coherent, tumbled out in a rush. He stood there, a silent pillar of patience amidst your storm. "The curtain had just fallen on tonight's performance, when Madame Giry found me, said someone had come to the Opera Populaire with a letter for me. I ventured backstage, and – and –”

"Take your time," he reassured you, trying to keep his tone soft and soothing when he was feeling anything but that.

"My father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "He sent this to me," you raised your arm, presenting him with the damning parchment that bore the news, "It declares that I have a single week to make my return... and to dutifully submit to his wishes, to bind myself in marriage to a man he's handpicked for me.”

As the words tore from your lips, a deluge of sobs overpowered you, shattering your composure into fragments. You crumpled onto the frigid concrete, your body convulsing with the ferocity of your wails, echoing the raw torment festering within.

"He has already decided my fate, to wed me to Alexander Beaumont, heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Paris. But, Erik, I cannot bear the thought! I'd choose the most excruciating demise before even contemplating marrying him!" Your tears began to mingle with your snot, humiliation gnawing your insides, knowing he was bearing witness to your disarray. Yet, you were powerless to stop it, and no amount of snivelling could quell the impending sense of doom building within you.

Erik was consumed by a fury so intense, it was a blinding white light in his mind. Thousands of brutal scenarios played out in rapid succession, each a unique way he could annihilate the man who dared to pull you away from him. The man who had reduced you to nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be used in his ruthless climb up the social ladder.

"I've met him before, his gaze piercing through me, speaking of me as though I were a mere fly on the wall... If I were to wed him, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a trophy wife, imprisoned within the confines of a household, expected to bear children annually until nature robs me of the ability," you choked out between sobs, bitterly recalling his elaborate discourse to your father about his archaic aspirations for a wife, a die-hard traditionalist to his core.

"The Opera Populaire, an impossibility now. My friends, forever out of reach. And you... you, I shall never feast my eyes upon again." The tears assaulted you, battering you with the unrelenting force of a tempest as the brutal reality bore down, each tick of the clock amplifying the sting of truth.

"Then don't go," he uttered, his words masquerading as a suggestion, yet ringing with the commanding tone of a demand, "Don't return home, do not bend to your father's will. There's always another escape, always."

"Oh, Erik," your voice broke, anguish seeping into each syllable, "I can't." A hard lump constricted your throat, the bitter reality of your predicament sinking in. "My father...he wields power, he has influence. If I dare not return, all of Paris would be hunting me down, a bounty on my head. I'm cornered, Erik. I'm left with no other choice."

Before he could utter another syllable, you swiftly eradicated the residue that had amassed on your skin and surged to your feet. Your eyes were ablaze with a bloodshot hue, stray teardrops stubbornly tracing a path down your face. Yet, an unyielding determination was etched across your features. You yearned for one final moment, one last poignant memory before the unavoidable reality of leaving him forever would consume you.

"Take me," you urged in a hushed plea, your gaze ensnaring him with such profound intensity that he was left with no room to misconstrue your meaning. Your purpose was undeniable, and it struck him into stillness. "Please, I beg you, do not deny me this final experience, this closing moment of exhilaration. For I am to be condemned.”

Your fragility was palpable, an image of vulnerability and innocence that made the idea of your bodies entwining, your souls merging into one, nearly impossible to suppress. Erik was gripped by a relentless thought; this encounter wouldn't be your last. A scheme was rapidly taking shape in his mind, a bold plan that he was awaiting the opportunity to enact. Yet, beneath it all, he was merely a mortal, how could he resist such a sweet opportunity laid before him?

As though your initial plea wasn't potent enough, you read his silence as a stark rejection. With a desperate urgency, you persisted, "I must experience what it means to unite with someone who harbours a profound love for me, and whom I equally adore, before time steals this chance forever. This is my final request of you, please, grant me this.”

Every trace of Erik's reservations - his mask, his insecurities, his lack of experience - evaporated in an instant. His entire being was consumed by the sight of your pleading eyes and enticing lips, desperately imploring him to make love to you. The intensity of your need, your last request born out of the fear of never seeing him again, ignited a scorching fire in his abdomen. His slacks tightened unbearably as his body responded to the raw desire coursing through him.

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his body lunged forward, crashing against yours, his lips desperately colliding with yours in an intoxicating, chaotic ballet. It was flawlessly imperfect, devoid of rhythm or pattern, yet it echoed the sheer intensity of your shared lust and fervour. A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your skin prickling, your stomach churning with a heady mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you passionately kissed him.

Small, desperate gasps and whimpers escaped your trembling lips as they urgently sought his, the icy chill of Paris causing a cascade of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You clung to him with a ferocity born of pure, raw fear, as if you were precariously perched on the brink of an abyss and he was the only tether keeping you from plummeting into the void. He was your sole anchor in a sea of chaos, the only force keeping you alive.

The searing heat of your skin beneath his fingertips sent his mind spiralling, the sensation of you - so soft, so yielding under his hands, a staggering, unfamiliar experience. He could feel the rhythmic surge and ebb of your chest, your breath, a hot whisper against his face as your lips clashed and fused, time and time again - he was certain he could feel the pulsating rhythm of your veins as your blood roared through your body. So vivid, so fiercely alive.

Inescapably, the mask had turned into an intolerable burden. Each movement caused it to ruthlessly scrape against your skin, the epidermis painfully inflamed and raw. With a heavy sense of reluctance, you retreated, your eyes slowly fluttering open to behold the breath taking spectacle of your angel, gasping for air, his eyes wide and darkened with intensity.

"My love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers nervously fiddling with the lapels of his coat. "I know this is a significant request..." The tension hung heavy in the air between you two. "But, would you consider... removing your mask?" Your heart pounded in your chest as you dared to meet his eyes. "It's been catching on my skin, and it's starting to hurt. If it's too much, I understand! We can find another way. It's just that... I yearn to see all of you, unobstructed."

His expression shifted to one of grave solemnity. Deep within, he had known this moment would arrive, yet he had clung to the hope that it would be delayed, that he could savour more of you and this opportunity before you were cruelly torn from his grasp. Now, his countenance was a spectacle of terror, a sight so horrific that he was certain it would repel you instantly, forever severing any connection you could have had. It was this dread, this fear of losing you, that compelled him to deny your request.

"No," he declared, his voice cold and final, making it clear he had no intention of prolonging this conversation any further.

A lump formed in your throat, a silent reflection of the tension in the air. His features were chiselled, hardened as if sculpted by an unseen force. His eyes, unyielding and intense, bore into you, commanding silence without uttering a single word. You were far from foolish, aware that any protest would shatter the brittle tranquillity of the moment. Respecting his unspoken plea, you held your tongue, allowing the silence to envelop the space between you.

You plunged back into the fervour of your previous kisses, this time contorting awkwardly to keep your face clear of the cold, threatening porcelain weapon. With each passing moment, you fought to maintain the connection, a bizarre dance with a man whose full face you'd never seen. A wave of filth washed over you, a creeping sense you should be drowning in shame, but you found no room for such feelings. Not when his touch set your skin ablaze with desire.

His hands settled on the small of your back, gently rubbing above the fabric of your dress. You naturally moved closer, your soft chest against his solid one. Your hands wandered, touching every part of him within reach.

"Is this what you call a lovers outing, Piangi? It's cold and dirty!" The piercing voice of the renowned prima donna erupted from the rooftop entrance, slicing through the silence. You and Erik froze.

"Ah, forgive me, my love," replied her lover, his familiar Italian accent flooding through his words. His voice sounded awkward and dejected. One could almost imagine his look of shame, realizing his romantic gesture wasn't appreciated. "I wanted to look at the stars with you, but if that's not what you desire-"

"Forget it," Carlotta spat out. The echo of footsteps approaching sent jolts of panic through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Erik, however, remained calm amongst the chaos. His fingers laced through yours, pulling you urgently towards the shadowed sanctuary of the rooftop's far corner.

"If you get too cold, dear, I have my coat with me. Just say the word and I will give it to you," Piangi spoke, his voice straining with the effort to pierce through Carlotta's gloom.

As their voices clashed in petty discord, a sudden blast of searing air prickled the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your hair bristling on end. A whispered command, laced with urgency, pierced the tension, "Stay behind me and follow. Make no noise. Not even a whisper."

With a sense of increasing trepidation, you gave a tense nod. You watched, breath held, as Erik emerged from your concealed sanctuary, prowling the expanse of the rooftop with a predator's stealth. He would intermittently halt, shielding himself within various makeshift hideaways. You hastened to mirror his movements, until at last, you found yourself inside the familiar confines of the opera house. His hand ensnared yours, his grip firm yet comforting, as he urged you onwards into the unknown.

It didn't take long before he ceased his steps, drawn like a magnet to the first mirror you encountered. His grip on your hand slackened for a fleeting moment, his fingers dancing over the wall in a cryptic rhythm. There was a tense hush, then the sharp click echoed in the silence, and the mirror slid back with a menacing grace to unveil a hidden passageway.

"What on earth?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice as you gazed upon the hole in the wall where once a mirror was.

Erik wheeled around abruptly, a sense of urgency flickering in his eyes as he extended his hand to you. You paused, uncertainty clouding your features, "Where does this passageway lead? Where are you taking me?"

"Trust me," he implored, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying an undertone of desperation.

You swallowed, your throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. The situation and context around it weighed heavily on your mind, a potent cocktail of potential consequences swirling before you. The silence was deafening as you deliberated, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you extended a trembling hand towards him, a silent acquiescence. You nodded, a solemn gesture of trust, surrendering your fate into his hands.

He responded with a nod of his own, guiding you towards the opening. The entrance was inconveniently elevated from the ground - not to an extreme where a leap was required - but enough to pose a considerable risk. With a firm grip, he assisted you as you stepped inside, ensuring the voluminous folds of your dress evaded entanglement. He trailed in your wake, the air heavy with anticipation.

With a precise touch, he activated a concealed point on the wall, causing the mirror to slide back into normalcy. The echo of silence descended, the only sound being the synchronization of your breaths reverberating through the confined passageway. A whirlwind of questions swirled in your mind, each one violently dismissed as the realisation of your shared purpose gripped you. Of what you were coming down here to do.

He steered you through a maze of bewildering turns, his whispers of caution echoing in the cold, damp air. His grip on your hand was constant, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. His familiarity with the convoluted tunnels was unsettling, and a chilling worry gnawed at you, as you wondered what hidden dangers made him tread with such measured care.

Soon you were greeted by a lake, its misty greens and blues shimmering so bright it twinkled like glitter. The view was mesmerising, the many candles scattered around lending the stone walls a glorious golden glow that took your breath away. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, the foliage blending together beautifully as it decorated the walls. You gasped.

He guided you towards a gondola which was tethered to a stout wooden stake driven deep into the ground. With a steadying hand, he aided your entrance into the vessel, ensuring your balance as you nestled into the boat's hollow core. Following your lead, he stepped in with calculated caution, his grip closing around a weathered paddle, poised at the ready to commence the strenuous task of rowing.

"What is this place?" You asked, ogling at the scenery around you.

"My home, my hiding place, the Phantom's lair, the sewers under the opera house..." he drawled off, beginning to row, "whichever one you wish to call it. All apply."

"You live down here?" You questioned, your brow furrowed as the icy air bit harshly at your exposed skin. The beauty of the place was undeniable, yet it held a chilling solitude that whispered of profound isolation, making it a daunting place to inhabit.

"Since I was a young boy," he spoke as if the words that spilled from his lips held no weight.

You couldn't shake the thought that something terrifying lurked beneath the mask. He had warned you, but you'd never considered how truly terrible it could be until now. Your eyebrows shot up, eyes dilating as your mind spun wildly with grotesque possibilities. What could be so monstrous about his visage that he was compelled to conceal it in the depths of a dank cellar?

Clearly, you had no intention of broaching the topic; it would undoubtedly ruin your plans for the evening. Yet, as the journey unfolded, you became lost in a whirlwind of contemplation, feverishly imagining the concealed face beneath the mask. Your affection was unwavering, regardless of how horrific his face was you'd feel the same way, but the mystery added an exhilarating layer of intrigue that consumed you.

Within mere minutes of fervent rowing, the silhouette of land loomed ahead, jolting you from your daze back into reality. You remained in the confines of the boat as Erik disembarked with calculated precision. He secured the boat with a swift, practiced motion, restoring the paddle to its rightful place. Then, he pivoted towards you, his hand outstretched in an offer of assistance, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled graciously, accepting his helping hand as you stepped out of the boat. You were enchanted, looking around at his home and how it was decorated. It was beyond your wildest imagination, intriguing and enigmatic, labyrinthine and gothic.

You were struck by the vast arrangement of candles. They casted a dim, dancing light which bathed the walls in an ethereal glow, casting long, eerie shadows on the dank stone. There was a majestic, ornate pipe organ, and a big mirror off to the side. All the way in the farthest corner, you spotted a bed, grand and draped in heavy, dark fabrics. You were in awe.

Erik did not give you long to stand and stare, as he was quick to pull you in the direction of where his bed resided. After a long, unfamiliar journey, you found yourself standing at your ultimate destination.

Anxiety, like a shadowy predator, stalked and then launched itself upon you, its claws sinking deep into your psyche. Your blood surged in a torrent, your heart hammered an urgent rhythm against your ribs, and your palms became slick with cold sweat as the full weight of your hasty agreement descended upon you.

"Now, it's my turn to pose the question," Erik initiated, his every footstep purposefully resonating tension as he incrementally diminished the space between you both. Your eyes, wide and alert, mirrored the mounting suspense. "Will you do this with me? Allow us to feel each other, become one, before you are to leave and never return?"

Tears welled threateningly in your eyes, a bitter reminder to the tortuous ordeal that loomed above. A personal hell was waiting, embodied in the stony indifference of your father and the pitiless gaze of your suitor. Discarding caution and fear, you hurled yourself against him with the force of a dead weight. In the face of despair, your inner flame roared back to life, desperation clawing its way to the surface once more.

His arms coiled around you with an intensity that left your breath hitched, his lips fiercely claiming yours. With a sudden, swift motion, he hoisted you into the air, your legs automatically snaking around his waist in response. He gently, yet assertively, laid you upon the cool sheets of the bed. He loomed over you. He began to crawl atop, compelling your legs to part in silent compliance. A gasp of anticipation escaped your lips, swallowed by his own, as you felt the weight of him gradually descend upon you.

As you kissed, the inadvertent brush of his crotch against your core sent a jolt through you, driving your senses into a wild frenzy. The searing heat from his arousal, even through the barrier of his trousers, was palpable, each pulsating throb a teasing promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest, as saliva-slick tongues ventured into uncharted territories, escalating the tension that hung in the air.

Driven by instinct, Erik's hands made a beeline for your sleeves, yanking with an insatiable restlessness, a silent plea for their removal. You countered his advances, pushing him back, a giggle escaping you at his stubborn demeanour. Undeterred, his lips sought new territory, latching onto the sensitive expanse of your neck, peppering kisses and grazing his teeth in a seductive dance that sent shivers down your spine.

Erik's movements against your aching core grew in intensity as he realised what he was brushing against, threatening to silence you completely. Yet, if he truly desired your uninhibited vulnerability, he needed to grant you the space to shed every layer.

"Erik," you tried to infuse your voice with authority, but it faltered, punctuated by your ragged sighs and helpless whimpers, "I'm laced into a corset, it needs to come off. Release me."

He moved with urgency, moving away from your form and allowing the space for you to rise, your knees pressing into the solid mattress. With a focused precision, you began to unbutton your dress, the fabric gliding over your head with a practiced ease, your focus fully enveloped in the task at hand. So engrossed were you, you failed to notice the predatory way his gaze drank in the sight of your bared skin, or the noticeable gulp that resonated from his throat as more and more of you unfolded before his eager eyes.

Your fingers trembled, struggling against the stubborn knot that held the ties of your undergarments in a vice-like grip. It was a battle you were unaccustomed to, always having the help of someone else to aid you with your corset. Your difficulty was palpable, a silent cry for assistance. Lifting your gaze to Erik, your eyes were wide, desperate pools of plea.

"Would you... could you, do the honours?" you asked through gritted teeth, your fingers clawing fruitlessly at the defiant knot, the bulge in the string a mocking testament to the maid's overly-zealous efforts.

In a silent affirmation, he nodded his head, his hand reaching out with an unspoken authority to rotate your form, granting him unimpeded access to your corset. You felt your undergarments grow increasingly wet under his firm handling, a damp patch steadily spreading across the fabric in response to your mounting anticipation. Heat suffused your cheeks, each accidental graze of his fingers against your back as he navigated the complexities of the female attire sending a shocks of tension through your body.

After an intense struggle, he conquered the knot, crafted by your maid's expert hands. But victory left him bewildered.

"Now that it's undone, what's the next step?" His gaze bore into the corset's lacings, a new challenge awaiting him.

With a chuckle rippling through the tension, you interjected, "Allow me." Swiftly, you unhooked the busk at the front, stripping the garment from your form. It cascaded to the floor, disappearing from view.

Bare and unshielded, your form was revealed from the hips upward, only your undergarments veiling what remained. There you were, a portrait of vulnerability, kneeling in anticipation yet turned away, placing a blind faith in him, trusting his unspoken intentions.

His hands seized your hips with an assertive grip, drawing you into his sphere, letting you tumble back onto the mattress as you laid facing him. Your breasts bounded with the abrupt motion, your soft contours and supple skin devoured by his relentless gaze. He studied every detail, every curve and secret of your figure, etching them into his memory.

"You might find this... somewhat audacious," you stammered, your gaze darting around the room, evading his intense stare, "But I've come across something in a book. And I have this... this urge to experience it."

Erik seemed to snap out of a daze, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "And what might that be?" he asked.

You dropped your gaze, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you attempted to muster the courage to voice your desires. "Are you familiar with... cunnilingus?"

A silence fell over the room. Erik appeared shell-shocked, his lips parting but no sound escaping as he tried to comprehend the salacious request that had just spilled from your lips. His experiences with carnal pleasures were extensive, more so after meeting you- he'd spent countless nights engrossed in books filled with varying degrees of erotica. He'd envisioned you and him as the characters, and his fantasies of caressing, embracing, and making passionate love to you had kept him awake many a night.

"Briefly, why?" He asked, his voice steady but his façade barely concealing the turmoil within.

"I want... I want you to do that to me," you managed to utter, swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to choke you. "My betrothed, he... he wouldn't. I need to know, just once, what it feels like."

A dark shadow passed over his face at your words, the mention of the man you were intended to wed igniting something within him. His lips met your skin with a ferocity that stole your breath away. His body was pressed against yours, a desperate attempt to meld into one, to erase the space that separated you. His kisses trailed a scorching path from your neck downwards, each mark he left with his teeth due to the simmering anger that consumed him.

His hot breath teased against your core, creating a whirl of anticipation that caused your legs to twitch restlessly, your back to curl off the bed. An tingling sensation flowed from your core to the tips of your legs, prompting your thighs to instinctively tighten. He exerted his dominance, forcibly parting your legs to the sides, his chest pulsating with a primal pride as he observed the clear signs of arousal staining your underwear. The thin fabric did nothing to veil your desire for him.

His lips embarked on a deliberate exploration around your intimate area, strategically withholding the direct contact you craved, fueling a desperate need within you. He relished in your quiet pleas, in your desperation for him, for his touch. He wanted to hear it again - your voice, filled with longing, confessing your need for him, your love for him.

A few teasing kisses and feather-light licks over the fabric of your underwear were enough to reduce you to a state of complete disarray. Your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent plea, you begged, "Please, God, please."

He was relentless, persisting in his torturously slow pace and feather-light touches. He was prepared to play this drawn-out game; after all, he'd been fantasizing about moments like this since the dawn of his adolescence. He could wait an eternity if needed.

By the time he finally conceded, you were a whirlwind of emotion, eyes squeezed shut, body writhing as you grappled with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, struggling to voice your feelings. You appeared as if you had been plucked straight out of a painting, your body seemingly sculpted by celestial forces, the ethereal glow on your skin from your sweat rendering you nothing short of angelic.

His fingers danced along the delicate straps of your underwear, tracing the curve of your hips as he meticulously slid them down your legs. Your underwear was discarded with an impatient kick. He admired how your lips glistened with your wetness, eyes wide and mouth agape as he inspected your parts. His cock felt like it was suffocating in it's tight confinement, begging to be released. He subconsciously rubbed himself against his quilt, hips driving him harder and harder into the fabric.

He didn't allow himself to spend an excessive amount of time simply staring, his fingers gingerly parting the folds of your intimate area as he gradually moved ever closer to the spot where you craved his touch the most. His tongue hesitantly emerged, like a tentative explorer venturing into uncharted territory, testing the waters as he gradually grew accustomed to your unique taste. It was an intoxicating, addictive flavour that he found himself drawn to, your evident arousal dissolving on his tongue like the sweetest candy. As he became more familiar with your body's reactions, his actions started to grow decidedly bolder, his initial cautiousness melting away.

The smooth, cold porcelain of the mask, right where his nose should have been, made direct contact with a particular spot on your body. It was a spot so sensitive, so responsive to his touch, that it turned you into a trembling, moaning mess. Each touch was like heaven, each movement a wave of pleasure that washed over you. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, and it left you weak, gasping for breath.

He pushed himself further into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more needy. His tongue, warm and insistent, ventured into every hidden corner it could find. It was as though he was trying to memorize you, to imprint the taste of you onto his very soul. He was consuming you, devouring you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The side of his face that wasn't hidden behind the mask was growing wetter with each passing moment. Each new wave of your arousal either swallowed by him or adding to the wet mess on his face. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching your every reaction, feeding off your pleasure.

With each passing moment, you found yourself teetering on the edge of exquisite pleasure, its intensity growing with a fervour that rendered you breathless. As cries of delight spilled from your lips, your fingers curled into the fabric of his bedsheets, clutching them with a strength that threatened to rip them to shreds. Now that you had experienced such ecstasy, you were unsure how you’d ever live without it again.

The pressure swelled within the depths of your abdomen, escalating dangerously as your eyes lost focus, surrendering willingly to Erik's touch. The burgeoning tension coiled within you like a heated serpent, until it could no longer be contained, compelling it to uncoil and release the pent-up passion that had been simmering within. Everything let go.

Erik's lips found your most sensitive spot again, sucking on it gently, coaxing a symphony of soft whimpers and quivering gasps from deep within your throat.

The intense sensations that flooded your body soon became far too much and left you with no other option but to gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away from your soaked cunt. His visible cheek and chin bore the shiny evidence of your pleasure, an erotic testament to the intimacy that had just transpired. His lips, swollen and red, were slightly parted as he laboured to catch his breath, the aftermath of your intense encounter leaving him just as breathless as you were.

He planted a single kiss on your thigh before he rose, drinking in the sinful sight of you lying beneath him. Your chest heaved, and the intimate area between your thighs was slick with a mixture of saliva and arousal, a mess he alone was responsible for. He was in disbelief at the sight before him - a woman who had pleaded for his touch, who had permitted him to venture into territory he was not meant to traverse.

You felt utterly winded, struggling to regain your breath as your mind remained in a dense fog. As you sat up, the ringing sensation of blood rushing in your ears was almost deafening. You gave him a once-over and let out a weary pout.

“Why am I naked and you are still dressed head to toe?” you playfully whined, clumsily rising up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt.

A wave of panic washed over him. While a less sensitive subject than the removal of his mask, he was still hesitant about the concept of somebody seeing him disrobed. His hand swiftly intercepted yours, worried eyes looking directly into yours.

“We don’t have to do this,” you reminded him, “Removing clothes is quite necessary to engage in intercourse, so if that’s off the table, that is fine and we do not have to go any further.”

The looming threat of your sexual endeavours coming to a halt was so disconcerting that it pushed his fear of being seen nude into a corner of his mind. If you managed to bare all in front of him, then surely, he should be able to do the same. No horrifying disfigurement marred his body, save for a few scars and marks, which offered him a semblance of comfort amid his anxiety. Yet, it felt so extraordinarily odd - prior to you, people avoided him, disdaining him as a bizarre outcast to either laugh at or run away from. But you, you wanted to see him. You saw him.

With his consent, you delicately unfastened the buttons of his shirt, your fingers tracing the contours of his body as you gently slid it off along with his coat. The anticipation heightened as you unbuttoned his trousers, a sense of awe overtaking you as you noticed the visible sign of his desire pressing against the fabric of his underwear. With a slow, tantalizing motion, you slid his slacks down, pooling them around his ankles, leaving him to step out of them. The sight of him in such a state had your mouth watering, the subtle twitching under the thin fabric not going unnoticed. You glanced up, your eyes silently asking for permission before you proceeded to remove his last piece of clothing.

He was perfect - not too intimidating, yet not too modest. A balance that promised pleasure without the prospect of discomfort. A smile graced your lips as your hands were drawn to him, appreciating the prominent veins that adorned his underside and the swollen tip that seemed to crave the soothing touch of your lips. You didn’t have a second thought before you ducked down to take him into your mouth.

The moment that his length was enveloped by the soft, velvety embrace of your mouth, he felt an explosive sensation, as if he might shatter. The intoxicating blend of your warmth and the slippery wetness was an overwhelming sensory overload, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he savoured the sensation in its entirety. His low, primal groans amplified into a resonant hum of pleasure as you explored his length, your tender hand caressing the parts your lips had yet to discover.

You surfaced for air, drawing in a deep breath before giving him a seductive smile. Your hand continued to stroke him, maintaining the rhythm you'd established, "Have you heard of this one too? It's called fellatio. I've heard from men that it feels quite pleasurable, so I wanted to give it a try."

His brows knitted together in confusion and a hint of possessiveness, "Who's been talking to you about things like this?" he hissed, his fingers entangling in the roots of your hair. He didn't tug or pull, but simply let his hand rest there, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch.

“No one, I just overhear a lot,” you winked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Finding yourself drawn back to your prior task, you returned your mouth to its position, delicately licking around the sides and base of his manhood with a renewed vigour. You made a point to explore every contour, every ridge, leaving no part untouched by your careful ministrations. As you took him into your mouth once more, you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight, welcoming space that made him gasp. You allowed your tongue to wander, tracing the map of protruding veins that decorated his length, making him shiver at your touch. You took your time, adjusting slowly but surely to accommodate his length.

Over time, you found a rhythm that was as steady as it was sensual, each movement drawing forth intoxicating sounds of pleasure from your lover. Your hand was rendered unnecessary, forgotten at your side as your face pressed closer, your nose brushing against the heat of his skin. The taste of him, the intimacy of the act, left you breathless, saliva slipping past your lips. The symphony of his escalating moans and guttural grunts echoed in your ears, signifying the mounting pleasure coursing through him.

Erik was teetering on the edge, every fibre of his being screaming for release. Time had lost all meaning; all he knew was the burning desire to break down your defences and claim you as his own. He tugged urgently at your hair, a silent plea for you to relinquish him from your mouth. His ego soared at the sight of your ravenous gaze and ragged breathing. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably beneath his mask, creating a stifling heat that was nearly unbearable. Yet, he would not — could not — remove it. For your love, he would endure any torment.

With a gentle persuasion, he coaxed you onto the plush solace of the bed, a wordless request to which you surrendered willingly. His fingers, rough yet tender in touch, traced the shape of your lips. You accepted them eagerly, lavishing them with a soft suckle until he withdrew them. Setting off on a slow, teasing journey, his fingers embarked on a path that danced across your lips, before descending the length of your neck. His touch was electrifying, a trail of shivers marking their progress.

His fingers continued their southern movement, drawn to the inviting warmth of your most intimate area. As he approached your yearning core, your breath hitched, a silent supplication mirrored in your eyes as you awaited his touch. He relished the anticipation, playfully circling the edge before carefully penetrating you with one of his fingers. The sensation of being filled by him was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering in sheer overwhelm as he moved in a rhythm that was leisurely and gentle. Every part of your being was tuned to his touch, each motion sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"Erik," you moaned, unaware of how you just moaning his name made his arms feel like jelly. He pushed through, eager to please and show you how good he could make you feel.

He cautiously inserted another finger, gradually stretching you out around his digits. He was utterly enchanted by the soft, plush feel of your walls, which seemed to welcome him in their embrace. He explored you curiously, his fingers gently probing, reaching deeper and deeper inside of you. It was like he was charting a course through a previously unexplored territory, each new discovery making him yearn for more.

The sounds that escaped your lips - cries of pleasure, of anticipation, of need - were music to his ears. The way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he moved, the way your fingers clung to him - everything about you made him feel weak with desire.

He didn't keep his fingers at work for very long, just enough time to make sure that you were adequately warmed up, ready for what would come next. With a simple gesture, he signalled for you to move further up the bed. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he guided you to position your head against the plush softness of the pillows that lay strewn at the head of the bed.

His gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you took the next step. Without needing any words, you communicated your agreement to what was about to unfold. You spat into your hand, a simple but intimate act, sitting up before carefully spreading the moisture over his length.

You allowed yourself to lay back down, your body welcoming the coolness of the sheets beneath you. Erik carefully positioned himself at your sopping wet entrance; his eyes, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire, locked onto yours as he began to push against you. You could feel his bulbous tip as it slowly pushed past your entrance, a sensation so new and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but squeal, your body jolting in response to the sudden intrusion. Erik's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the first part of him slide inside you.

With a slow, cautious movement, he pressed forward further, sinking into you bit by bit, deeper and deeper until he was fully nestled within your warmth. Every inch of him was surrounded by you, his breath hitching once more as he adjusted to the velvety sensation.

For you, it was a fervent blaze, a primal burn that seared through every nerve. His manhood was a stark contrast to his previously tender touch, an unmerciful comparison that seemed impossible to reconcile. A soft whimper of pain broke free, a silent begging for him to pause his movements and allow your body to accommodate his invasion.

You lingered in the throes of this discomfort, each second diluting the initial shock and morphing it into a thrilling wave of bliss. It was a leisurely metamorphosis, a sultry dance between pain and pleasure, until all that was left was pure, unadulterated desire that left you gasping for air and craving more.

Once your body had succumbed to this new sensation, you gave him a silent nod of approval, a signal that he could resume. Erik let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, and his initial gentleness gave way to a carnal rhythm, each slow, deliberate thrust sending ripples of ecstasy that cascaded through your very being.

“So this is what it feels like,” you chuckled, less talking to Erik and more so thinking out loud.

Erik was so utterly focused on you and the indescribable sensations your body was offering him that he found himself unable to formulate an appropriate response. He was completely entranced by the way your intimate area, slick with your abundant arousal, enveloped him so thoroughly. He was lost in the feeling of you, engaged in an internal struggle between wanting to see the expressions of pure pleasure that danced across your face, or to look down and observe the erotic sight of his own manhood disappearing again and again into your inviting warmth.

He draped himself over you, his form a sanctuary, shielding you from the world beyond. His face nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder, an alcove where he could inhale your scent. The cool porcelain of his mask contrasted with your heated skin, tempering the dew of perspiration that glossed your body. Underneath the mask, he endured the humid confinement - a necessary sacrifice for the exquisite torment he was bestowing upon you. Each powerful thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through you, rendering you breathless and dizzy with delight. The potent heat was all-encompassing, filling your consciousness with nothing but unadulterated, exquisite pleasure.

"I love you," you breathed out in a whisper, your voice dripping with desire. Each word was punctuated by a soft moan, the sound of it causing shivers to cascade down his spine, your hot breath against his ear igniting a fire within him.

As if his struggles weren't already overwhelming enough, your words seemed to only add more fuel to the already blazing fire within him. It was as though every syllable you uttered stoked the flames, pushing him further into a realm of passion he had never known before. His arm, strong and certain, forced its way behind your back, pulling you up to hold you close to him. It was a closeness that was almost palpable, almost too much, as he thrusted inside of you.

“I love you too,” he groaned, his words saturated with an intense, raw emotion that welled up in his eyes, the tears threatening to cascade down his face in an uncontrolled torrent of feeling.

You, on the other hand, were no better off, your own tears of sheer joy and devastating heartbreak pooling in your eyes until they were beyond their capacity to hold back any longer. They overflowed, running down your face like precious diamonds, a display of the depth of your misery. Making love to somebody who genuinely loved you back was a concept so beautifully simple, yet tragically forbidden. It was an experience that brimmed with a love so deep, a care so nurturing, and a passion and compassion so profound that it was unparalleled.

You knew you would never encounter such a feeling again in your lifetime. You were merely attempting to stave off the inevitable end, attempting to shield yourself from the stark reality that awaited your return to the surface world. Each moment was a battle against the clock, each second a desperate attempt to extend the blissful ignorance of the impending conclusion.

In that moment, you belonged to him and he to you, your bodies intertwined and connected as the flames consumed you both. You held onto him with a desperation that mirrored your own, your arms wrapping around him, hugging him close. You were a lifeline to each other, two beings lost in a sea of passion and desire, holding on to the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

With every pulsating sensation, you tried desperately to prevent the impending climax that was steadily building within you. You wrestled against it, mustering all of the strength and willpower you possessed. You didn’t want this magical night, this passion and desire, to end. The thought of the experience drawing to a close was unbearable, and yet there was nothing you could to do stop the familiar building pressure in your abdomen.

And you knew, in the deepest recesses of your mind, that you shouldn't have given in to the temptation- that you should have exercised restraint and kept your wandering hands to yourself. Despite this, you were a prisoner to your own overwhelming curiosity, a force so powerful it threatened to consume you whole.

The haze of pleasure Erik was weaving around you kept intensifying, it ebbed and flowed into every crevice of your consciousness, distorting the boundary between the tangible world and the intoxicating euphoria you found yourself spiralling into. Your hands, as though guided by an insatiable yearning that was wholly their own, found their way to the mask that resided on his head.

Your fingers, trembling with anticipation and anxiety, began to play with the thin string keeping the mask firmly in place, protecting his true form. The tension in your body was mounting, your anxiety and the impending orgasm that threatened to shatter your very being reaching the same intense peak.

The familiar ball of pleasure that had been steadily growing within you finally burst, sending shockwaves of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. You could feel Erik's hot semen spurt inside you, marking you as his. As the intense waves of your climax washed over you, you summoned the last of your strength and ripped the mask off his face, revealing the man beneath.

You had comprehended the profound severity of Erik's disfigurement when he confessed that he had been residing here since his tender youth. Why else would somebody feel so compelled to withdraw from society? You had determined then, with unyielding resolve, to love him irrespective of his appearance. Your conviction remained unwavering as his visage came sharply into view. His eyes, dilated with raw fear, his mouth trembling on the verge of speech, and his hands, once securely encircling you, now trembled and twitched uncontrollably.

A sigh escaped you, a bright smile lighting up your face as you gazed at him dreamily. You leaned in, your hand tenderly cradling the side of his face which had remained disfigured and concealed until this moment. Tears which had been threatening to spill from his eyes now fell freely, and your own followed suit as the realization of parting hit you.

With a gentleness that belied the depth of your feelings, your fingers traced the lines of his marked skin. Your lips had found his in a passionate kiss, the tears that slid silently down your cheeks mingled with his, a silent symbol of the connection of your souls, a joining so profound that words failed to capture its essence.

With reluctance, you pulled away from the warmth of his body, rising slowly from where you were entwined with him. You wiped your tears away. A wince crossed your face as you felt Erik's softening length slip out of you, the sensation of his release dripping out of you, serving as a lingering reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

"Do you not take issue with that you see?" His voice was laced with an unnerving intensity, his eyes never leaving your form as you searched for your scattered garments. You assumed his weird behaviour was due to his feelings about your impending departure.

"Not when it's you," you confessed, a poignant smile pulling tragically at the corner of your lips, laden with unspoken emotions.

It didn't take long for you to find your garments. You fastened the corset around your waist, making sure it properly supported your bosom. Despite pulling the laces tightly, you found that you needed additional help. Each time you tried to tie the laces, the corset loosened.

"Could you lace this up for me, Erik? I'm struggling," you chuckled, turning back round to find that he had already put his underwear back on. "Corsets are tricky things. I often need someone else's help to put it on and take it off."

"You don't need it," he declared, his face a stoic mask, eyes unblinking and filled with unwavering resolve.

You hesitated, uncertain of how to respond or process his words. You thought he might not understand the full purpose of your undergarment. "I can't be amongst with people without wearing my corset. It's indecent. Without it, people could see my breasts," you said.

"And that's precisely why you don't require it," he shot back, his hardened face rigid with confrontation, eyes locked onto you as you blinked, wrestling with the weight of his words. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What? Erik, I have to leave," you leaped towards him, a wave of dread washing over you as he remained unaffected, "My father wields a lot of power and influence, a fact you're well aware of. Search parties will be dispatched and they'll hunt us down."

Erik's laughter echoed ominously around you, his jarring mirth only amplifying your unease, "He will not pose a threat, my dear. Act as though he doesn’t exist."

"How can you be so sure?" You shot back, eyes narrowing into slits as you regarded him with deep-rooted suspicion.

"Because he won't live to witness the week's end, fortunate if he survives the night," he sneered.

You were petrified, frozen in terror. The uncertain veracity of his words hung heavy in the air, but the fury etched in his gaze was unmistakable. It was a chilling declaration that bulldozed your defences, sending frigid lashes of fear snaking through your bloodstream.

“No, no,” you whispered, face twisted in dread.

"You said it yourself!" he yelled, seemingly unaffected by your flinch. You lifted your hands, ready to protect yourself if needed, but you knew that if he truly wanted to hurt you, you had no chance. "He was the one who tried to separate us, to spoil our love! How can I let him manipulate destiny? It's a sin!"

"Sin or not, he is my father!" you retorted, tearing off your corset and swiftly pulling your dress over your head. You let it fall over your figure. "I have to go."

“You forget yourself,” Erik's voice echoed ominously from the shadows, untouched by your retreat. “Was it not you pleading for me to awaken your senses to the touch of a genuine lover? Were you not weeping to me over the wreckage your father's deeds would cause in your life? Does Monsieur Beaumont need to be added to the list? Is that what you desire? I am merely aiding you!”

Trying to block out his taunting, you jammed your underwear down your bodice and clung to your corset like a lifeline. Panic was on the verge of consuming you, your thoughts spiralling out of control, too swift and chaotic to grasp. The realization of your own foolishness hit you like a punch, a bitter and unforgiving truth.

In your hour of fragility, you had sought solace in the one individual you deemed a sanctuary, a cure to your torments. But he, like a concealed predator, exploited your vulnerability, shrouding his true motives to feast upon your innocence and cast you into never ending isolation. The dread lay not in his visage, but in his very being, a monstrous revelation.

“Even if you escape, your father cannot. He has to pay for what he's done,” he hissed, his voice becoming a menacing whisper, fading into the background as you distanced yourself.

You were approaching the familiar boat, stepping carefully over the wooden structure. You untied the rope and with the paddle in hand, you prepared to set off on your journey.

CLINK, SLAM.

You froze.

“Besides the fact that you have no idea where you’d be going around the sewers and passageways and would probably end up fatally mutilated in one of my many traps,” he spoke once more, trailing off as he watched the light leave your eyes, “You don’t know how to open the gate. Unfortunate.”

What had you done?

any feedback is appreciated! sorry it ended there, i started writing this at 12pm and it's now 5:21am the day later. i have not had a break. it had to end.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #poto #erik destler #erik the phantom #gaston leroux #phantom of the opera x reader #musical #poto x reader #smut #angst #erik x reader #erik destler x reader #ramin karimloo #the phantom x reader #phantom x reader #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #2004 phantom of the opera

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kisstuals · 11 months

Text

if blue could be happiness

PAIRING. na jaemin x female!reader WORD COUNT. 2.4k CONTAINS. angst, romance, actor!au WARNINGS. implied smut, just the reader being sad and in her head a lot, pretty reflective and retrospective, not much plot more emotions and vibes PLAYLIST. if blue could be happiness - florist | never goodbye - nct dream | liability - lorde NOTE. turns out i love complex female characters and depressing stories and men who fall harder… who is sensing a theme in my works? also im kinda back hahahaha hope everyone has been well xx. i’d say i’ll be more active now but i have a bad track record. that being said, please do give this some love and interact and let me know ur thoughts bc that will motivate me to be more active and post more things!!! would love to chat with you all <3

All you have ever known is being alone, so you can’t help but pull away when Jaemin comes into your life. Too bad he’s here to stay.

NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE TRAVELING, there is a wave of relief that hits you when the plane finally makes its descent in New York City. The tall buildings shimmer against the twilight sky, and even from so far away, you can sense the hustle and bustle of the always-busy city. You can imagine people getting off work after staying late, going into bars for happy hour. They laugh and giggle with their friends with a drink in their hands. New York City is always alive, and that’s why you love being there, as the fervor and excitement almost allows you to forget about how empty you feel all the time.

Despite that, there is a blue stillness around. A cloud of comfort, broken by a brief anticipation.

Your fingers curl around your seatbelt, waiting for the indication that you could finally take it off and leave the plane. It had been a month since you were last home, as you had been in Paris for the shoot of your upcoming movie. There is no doubt that your time there had been lovely, for you participated in every cliche there was for a Parisian tourist… eating too many croissants every day, visiting the Eiffel Tower, getting lost in the Louvre. The actual work you had gone to Paris for also concluded smoothly, but film shoots were never a problem for someone like you who actually enjoys their job.

None of that mattered though. You were aching to finally be home. It’s difficult to ignore your heart that is practically beating out of your chest, but that may be for reasons other than simply arriving back in your favorite city.

Reasons that are called Na Jaemin.

You wonder if he thought about you nearly as much as you did over the past month. And why would you, consider that you were the one who pushed him away. But you keep on wondering this as you leave the plane. He plagues your mind at the baggage claim, when you get into the car waiting for you, and the entire ride home. The buzz of your phone on the leather seat next to you is the only thing that pulls you out of your daze, eyes blindly following whatever buildings you could see in the distance. It was getting late, but New York never slept.

It buzzes again, and you finally blink before reaching for your phone. It’s a text from your sister, who had been house-sitting for you (or, more of an excuse to hang out in the city).

sister: he just showed up.

Your eyebrows furrow. The texts keep coming in

sister: (name). sister: JAEMIN IS HERE sister: when are you getting back?

Movements growing frantic, you quickly look outside for a landmark, realizing you were still pretty far from your apartment. And with the city traffic, it would at least be another hour.

you: WDYM HE’S HERE? you: i won’t be home for a while you: tell him to go wait in my room

She sends you a thumbs up and you sigh, leaning back into your seat to close your eyes in hopes of getting some rest. Your efforts prove to be futile, of course, because he’s all you can think about.

The first time you met him, you were drunk out of your mind. It was Ryujin’s party for actors to gather and mingle if you remembered correctly, but truthfully your memories of that night were pretty foggy. Everyone was dressed nicely and there was expensive liquor lining the countertops, but you ungracefully stumbled into Jaemin, a new and rising actor whose name was everywhere on the tabloids, in a corner somewhere. See, you were normally always on your best behavior, with perfectly styled hair, manicured nails, and hands folded politely. You never tripped over your own feet. You never spoke out of turn. You never did what you weren’t supposed to do, which was a long list considering you were an A-list actress with an image pristine like glass. People looked up to you.

So you had really no explanation for how Jaemin’s hands ended up around your waist, his lips chasing your own. Your body was hot against his, aching for his touch, and when you finally gave in, there was no stopping either of you. His lips moved ferociously against yours, lighting your skin on fire wherever they touched you.

It was no surprise you ended up in his bed later that night, but it was equally less of a surprise that you left the next morning before he could even wake up.

Yet, that was only the beginning. You seemed to run into him everywhere. At parties of mutual friends, you didn’t even realize you shared. At dress fittings, because the stylist for your next movie also happened to be his personal stylist. At the new coffee shop you decided to try out, and then realized was his favorite.

Suddenly, you couldn’t run away anymore. He was going to be in your life, whether you willed for it or not, so you entertained it for a brief minute. So you kissed him at parties and showed up at dress fittings with your hand in his. Every Sunday, you went to his favorite coffee shop together. You went to sleep in his bed and woke up in his arms. His name was linked to yours, and everyone talked about it, but you didn’t care. You had relinquished all control of your life.

It was great, until it wasn’t. Until he got too close, and you went too far.

That night, there was a downpour in New York City and you retreated back into the comforts of your home. Of the perfect, orderly life you built for yourself.

And the next morning, you left for Paris.

There is a tremble in your fingers as you enter the code to your apartment. Why was he here? You pushed him away, and then he was meant to stay away. People don’t usually try so hard to remain in your life. Probably because of how distant you keep your heart from them. Or maybe that’s why you began doing it in the first place. It’s been so long, you cannot even remember what came first.

Your sister greets you with a worried smile as you enter. She takes your coat from you and you take a moment to set down your belongings, including the large suitcase you had been hauling behind you. The longer you take to go into your room, the longer you have to prepare for whatever is about to happen.

“(Name). He’s been waiting.” Your sister says, looking pointedly at your room door. You’ve dug your toes so far into black boots that you are afraid they may appear at the other end. There is a fleeting touch of comfort on your shoulder before she walks away. With a sigh, you take off your shoes and arrange them neatly on the shoe rack.

In an apartment as big as yours, the walk to your room is shorter than you remember, but you know you cannot delay this any further. Jaemin is definitely aware of your presence, no matter how softly your clothed feet hit the wooden floor of your apartment, so you finally open the door.

Your heart stills when you see him. He’s sitting at the foot of your bed, wearing a fluffy brown jacket and a hat to match. It’s pretty obvious how he looks out of place against your cold, blue walls.

“Hi.” His smile is cautious like you might run away upon seeing him. His worries are not entirely absurd though, as you do consider backing away. But his eyes are warm, and you remember how much you are aching for his touch. You can’t help but take another step towards him.

“Hi.” Your voice cracks and he notices, but you both choose to ignore it.

“How was Paris?”

“It was good.” The temperature of your room must be near freezing, but somehow your words are colder. Jaemin winces, subtle yet noticeable, and stands up, rubbing his hands on his jeans. You pray that he doesn’t move any closer to you, as then you might actually run away, and somehow, he listens.

The heart is a silly little thing, because you find yourself disappointed at the distance between Jaemin and you, even though this ruin was your doing.

“(Name)...” You’re not sure what he’s going to say, but the deep breath he takes before speaking lets you know that you are not ready to hear it. Not yet.

“Sorry for making you wait. Got stuck in traffic.” You begin moving around the room to straighten up a few things that suddenly looked out of order, even though no one had entered your room while you were gone.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” His gaze follows your every move. “I hope your sister wasn’t uncomfortable with me just showing up.”

“No, not uncomfortable. Just surprised that you’re here.” Arranging your lipsticks from the darkest red to the lightest nude seemed like the perfect task at this moment, so you stand in the corner of your room farthest from Jaemin, hovering over your vanity.

He sighs. “Me too.”

This makes you glance back at him, eyebrows raised. “You are… also surprised that you’re here?”

“Yeah, considering how you just left me, why would I want to be here?” Jaemin is always honest, and you appreciate him for that, but you can’t ignore the guilt that pools in your stomach as you finally meet his eyes.

Your lips purse, and if you’re feeling anything, you don’t let it show. “Why are you here, then?”

This is the question that ultimately pushes him over the edge. Jaemin’s expression darkens as he finally closes the distance between you two, stopping just close enough so you could feel his breath against yours.

“You’re seriously asking me this? After everything?” He asks incredulously, his eyes searching for answers in your own

“I told you it was over.”

“Okay, but why?” You don’t answer, but you also don’t step away. “What are you afraid of?” Your lip quivers.

“Stop,” you whisper, as you feel your resolve starting to break. Jaemin takes a step back but keeps going.

“That I’ll break your heart? That I’ll leave you and go away?” He lets out an empty, pained laugh. “Well, isn’t that what you’ve done?”

“Jaemin, I–” You begin to speak, but now it’s his turn to cut you off.

“But despite all that, I still love you.” Your eyes widen, and an unknown, indescribable feeling overtakes your entire being. A single tear escapes you, of guilt, and fear, of love and longing.

The room is silent for a minute, and then another.

You are unsure of what the proper response to his confession should be, but whatever it is, you have messed it up already by waiting so long. You owe him an answer, because of everything you’ve put him through. Because you walked into his life, and then walked out, doing it first as you were afraid he would soon enough. But above all, because you loved him too, despite everything you had tried to convince yourself of.

“I’m sorry.” You aren’t sure how to put all your thoughts in words, so you decide to apologize first, instead. And even though it may be a deflection, you hope he realizes that it’s sincere.

But there’s disbelief in his eyes, and you hate that he doubts you, even though you’ve given him every reason to. “That’s it?”

“You’re right. I left because I wanted to do it before you could.” You continue, providing him with the honesty he deserved from day one. “I was so sure you would, because people always leave anyway, you know? They come into my life, I get used to them, then they leave, and I have to get used to life without them. There’s only so many times you can do that before you simply cannot anymore.”

Jaemin’s expression is unreadable as he considers what you said. “So, the solution was to push me away, even though I told you I wasn’t going anywhere that night?” Now his tone is neutral, and you are unable to figure out if he is mad, upset, or disappointed by your explanation.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been told that?”

You had always known that the film world was a lonely one. Your dad was a producer and your mom was an actress. They fell in love when they were twenty and fell out of love when they were twenty-five, with affairs and scandals galore. That left you and your sister, mere toddlers, stuck in the middle, as they threatened to leave each other. Eventually, they just left you. Despite all that, you chose to go down the same path, as the film world was the only world you knew. And then you went through it all over it again, as friends, boyfriends, managers, and mentors all came into your life, only to leave again. The only person who had stuck around was your sister, but because she had to.

Jaemin was the first person who ever wanted to be in your life, by choice.

“I should’ve been more clear then. If I had told you I loved you that night, would you have stayed?” He asks, his voice breaking.

“I don’t think anything would’ve stopped me that night,” you say quietly, remembering how quickly you booked a flight to Paris, and leaving one week earlier than you were originally supposed to for your shoot.

“And how about now?”

You look into Jaemin’s eyes and see only a love for yourself, despite everything, just as he said. And in that moment, the heaviness that you had been carrying around in your heart for as long as you can remember finally settles.

“I want to stay.” You admit.

“So what’s stopping you?”

The question that has plagued you forever now rises to your lips, in a bout of vulnerability you never saw for yourself. “Please don’t leave me.”

At that, Jaemin is immediately reaching for you, the touch that you had yearned for finally engulfing you. He gently cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m here, aren’t I? And, I always will be. I won’t give up on us.” You nod, and return his touch, tugging on the collar of his jacket to pull him closer. “And if you leave, I’ll come after you, again and again, like I did today. I just needed to know that you want this as much as I do.”

“I love you.”

And then you kiss him like you never have before, like blue water in the forests of love. Because if blue could be happiness, that is all you ever want.

278 notes · View notes

hanibalistic · 10 months

Text

THERE WAS THIS BOY | STRAY KIDS.

genre | fluff with brief angst

synopsis | have you ever been in love? do you want to talk about this boy?

word count | 13.2k+

warning | mentions of bullying, injury, blood / brief mention of health (skin) issues / brief allusion to sex

note | follow me for a tutorial on how to make the most uncoordinated moodboard / wanted to practice writing fluff so here is something short and sweet

There was this boy who lived in the apartment complex you always deliver food to.

Seeing you after soccer practice has become a weekly routine for him, courtesy to his next-door neighbor for ordering takeout dinner from the restaurant you worked at least once a week. Sometimes he would only see you once; other times, if he was lucky, he would see you more than once a week, and you would have more than one order to deliver. He noticed your constant presence around the apartment complex before he began mustering the courage to talk to you, which he ended up not needing to do so because you accidentally bumped into him when you turned a corner, which led to an introduction.

Because of your flashing silhouette, Chan could usually tell if you were present around the area. You were constantly running, the scorch of your sneakers a familiar sound to his ears, and somehow the food and drinks in your hands never ran out of place despite your hyperactive movements. The first time you bumped into him was because you hadn't anticipated his presence, and you had been running across the hallways at full speed. But, as he looked upon the open halls of the apartment building from the ground floor, he saw no signs of you anywhere.

Clutching the shoelaces of his practice sneakers and letting them hit as they dangled from his grip, Chan tried to mask the disappointment from his face just as the elevator door opened. When he saw nobody waiting outside, he resumed the saddened pout that lingered on his face from realizing you may not be around today. He hasn't seen you all week, and he has missed you dearly! Looking on the bright side, which Chan was good at doing, he's got a lot of stories to tell you, as well as a big surprise he has kept from you for a while. But he couldn't do any of that if you weren't here!

With dejection at his feet, he stumbled out of the elevator and into the apartment hall. The silence in the air, matched with the slowing steps of his feet that sounded like a ticking clock, made him feel ridiculous that he was praying for your miraculous emergence. But Chan liked to hold onto the last stand of hope, he was good at doing that, and to him, you were good at answering that hope, usually with the rapid screeching of your sneakers. Perking up, he turned around at the pitter-patter sounds of your steps just in time to catch you pop out from around the corner.

You recognized his faraway figure and did not attempt to decrease your speed. You ran towards him, a plastic bag of food in one hand—you have a job to do! The soft grin on your face widened when, after Chan realized you planned to get past him, he playfully got into a goalkeeper stance. His eyes were serious, though; he had seen you move before, and he wasn't exaggerating when he told his friends he could only catch sight of your shadows sometimes. Maybe it was your fantastic work ethic or phenomenal laziness, but the constant, high athletism your body could perform made it such a waste that you were focused on making food deliveries instead of joining a national sports team.

Staring at your increasingly approaching figure, Chan was ready to grab onto your shoulders when you hopped up to kick the wall to the side. It gave you momentum to jump over his head, which he dodged to avoid being hit by the heel of your shoes, but it only served as an opportunity for you to step feathery light on the back of his neck and land on the ground behind. He rubbed the spot where your shoes landed and immediately turned to find you standing in front of an apartment, ringing the doorbell. He chuckled lowly, watching your polite smile as you handed the customer their food.

"Are you sure you don't want to join the track team?" Chan asked lightheartedly when you began approaching him, shoving money inside your pocket.

You scrunched your nose up and shook your head. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you typed something into the notes app before showing it to him.

"Doing sports is for high school. I gotta focus on studying and working to pay for my tuition."

He pulled away from the screen with a vague frown, then he held up his dirty practice sneakers and waved them at your face. "I'm still doing sports.”

You pursed your lips into a smile, but your shoulders moved like you were laughing. Chan watched you. An endless hunger rumbled inside the seams of his chest; he wanted to hear what your voice sounded like. He wouldn't force you to talk to him, though, especially after you told him that your body tended to refrain from verbally communicating with anyone you didn't feel close to. It was less of a conscious choice but a law your mind imposed.

"Oh! Also, I want to tell you,” he began moving his hands hesitantly to sign out words that matched his voice, "I have been taking sign language classes for over two months now.”

It took you a long beat to register that Chan was signing the words to you. He was a little slow with the words, perhaps nervous about making mistakes, but you understood him with no problem. Your eyes widened in excitement as you clapped with your phone in your hand. Then, as you were about to type your reaction with your phone, he stopped you by gently moving your phone away from before your face.

"You don't have to keep typing," he said. "I can read what you say. If I don't know something, I'll ask!”

Suspiciously, you rubbed the tip of your nose and squinted at him. This came as a complete surprise to you. You have been chatting with Chan through texts and papers. You never thought he was taking sign language classes under your nose. He has not once spoken of it, and he never mentioned having relatives who used it either.

Bringing your hands down to your chin, your chest hummed with low anticipation before you, slowly to accommodate him, signed, "You know I can still hear you, right? You don't have to do it.”

"Oh! Yeah, I–well, sometimes I don't remember." He laughed with his heart full. "It's okay, though. Doing it helps me practice!”

"That's true." You nodded in agreement. "Why did you suddenly want to learn sign language?”

Chan shifted his weight. He wasn't thinking too deeply about your question. Hence he gave a straightforward answer. "I wanted to talk to you.”

You let out a huff of hair in replacement for a chuckle. "You didn't have to learn a new language to do that.”

"Yeah," he signed. "But I want to know what you know.”

He wanted to know what you know, to learn what you learn, and to talk how you talk. He would even call himself infatuated with how much he wanted to consume himself through your teeth and drown himself in your existence. Chan wanted to see what you see, to think what you think, to feel what you feel, and to stand where you stand. The first step to do that, he thought, was to utilize communication the way you use it, so he did. He found a way to talk to you. He was always going to learn how to understand you.

When you didn't reply, Chan was left feeling stoic and awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck at your furrowed brows and asked, "Did I say something?”

You almost looked angry when you ignored him and stomped away, but really, you just weren't used to someone committing so much of their time and effort just to be able to talk to you. You could feel a door inside you opening—it has been opened for a while with Chan. He even held it open for you these months, waiting patiently for you to take the first step.

"Hey! I'm sorry if I said something weird!" Chan yelled down the hall, hoping his apologetic voice would reach you.

You stopped in your tracks and looked ahead. The door was opening. It was opening wide, and it may never close again. Spinning on your heels, you couldn't help but smile when you saw Chan standing timidly at his spot. Your legs jogged into a sprint, your body bolting toward him at high speed before you abruptly stopped. Chan shot his arms out to catch you by the waist, but you prevented your fake fall by clamping your hands on his shoulders.

He didn't register it when you moved your head to his ears. For the first time, you spoke to him with a voice he could never forget.

"Goodnight, Chan.”

There was this boy who lived in the apartment complex you always deliver food to, and you let him hear your voice for the first time.

There was this boy you've been dating for two and a half years.

The train announced its arrival in ten minutes. Minho listened to the static in the station speakers, and as he stared at you with his chin hidden under his scarf, he realized for the first time how much he didn't want you to move out of the city. He hadn’t said anything when you told him about it. At that time, he genuinely did not think ill of you moving away to finish off the remaining two years of college. Two years felt measly to him, and you planned to visit each other during the holidays, so there was nothing to worry about.

Until now—the speakers announced the train’s arrival in ten minutes, which would feel like seconds to him. Your hand luggage was trapped between two pairs of shoes so Minho could hold both of your hands as you waited for departure.

“You don’t look very excited,” you mumbled with a faint giggle after you observed the increasing furrow of his brows every time he felt the train tracks rumble.

He shifted his gaze from the rail to you. “You know me very well.”

“Just admit it,” you rolled your eyes at his monotonous voice, “you’re going to miss me.”

He pulled a face; the corner of his lips stretched into a sneer, and his eyes rolled back briefly. The mere idea of displaying such an emotion appalled him, not because he was against it but because cheesy, affectionate things made him uncomfortable. He was never a fanatic of verbal confessions, physical intimacy, or grand romantic gestures. Honking his car when a high school couple, holding hands, was walking across the road as his favorite pastime, and he visibly mimics a barfing motion if he ever witnesses public proposals.

You always thought it was ironic. It could be hypocrisy or ignorance that led to his opinion, but the truth remained that as much as he hated romance, he was also filled to the brim with it.

“Never,” Minho said, swinging your joint hands. "It’s not like you’re going to be gone forever. We are literally seeing each other again during spring break, which is only a few months later.”

“I bet you circled the date on your calendar and everything.”

“Please worry about getting your degree,” he said with squinted eyes as he playfully pulled you toward him. You stumbled, your face coming in close to his as he smiled. “Study hard. Don’t forget to take breaks. Talk to me if you need anything, and don’t let anyone make fun of you.”

Not being around you was going to be a hassle for Minho. Even though you could take good care of yourself, he often interfered with your daily routine with his own snippets of kindness. Bringing you food, restocking your shampoos, gossiping about your family, driving you home, calling the administration office after they messed up your transfer applications, and almost kicking the door of your landlord’s apartment because they skimped on maintenance. You didn’t have to ask for them; he was your boyfriend, after all. And it would be hard not being able to do those for you anymore conveniently.

“I’m serious. Don’t let people push you around,” he repeated firmly after you laughed at his final advice. He searched for your eyes when you nodded, and a smile gradually grew on his face. “Bite them if they won’t listen. You’re good at that.”

You giggled as you shoved his chest. Minho thought he would miss that too—being shoved around with the company of your laughter. Sometimes you would startle him after showering by drawing pictures on the fogged mirrors; he still has pictures of them in his gallery. He remembered bumping his head on the sink because he was scrambling to grab his phone outside the bathroom, and you had to treat the wound on his forehead while he sat stupidly on the covered toilet seat. Sometimes you would bite him, which he heard was a partner thing to do, but he couldn’t do the biting because he had to play the role of being eaten. He never entirely understood that one.

The station speaker rang, signaling the arrival of the train. You looked behind you as the wind picked up. When you saw the headlights of the moving car, you whipped your head back to look at Minho. You brought his hand up to your chin and began pushing at the sleeve of his jacket. He let you, still unsure of what you were planning to do.

“I’ll call you when I get there!” you said hastily. “I love you. I’ll miss you.”

“I expect you to–ow!”

He pulled his hand to his chest after flipping it a few times. You giggled as you grabbed your luggage and hurried into the opened doors. You dropped the luggage on the floor near it, standing despite the rows of vacant seats around. Minho widened his eyes as the automated doors began to slide shut. He managed a short wave when he saw you do the same from behind the misty window. They were misty, or maybe his eyes were. He wasn’t sure. His head was in the clouds when the train moved with you in it, and his thumb rubbed the sore spot on the side of his palm.

When he looked down, he saw that you had bitten him. You had bitten hard, enough to leave marks of your teeth on his skin. A gentle laughter escaped his lips in the form of a shaky shiver as he traced the juncture of them, still faintly wet with your saliva, and each touch of his finger was a hapless scream into the void about how he would miss you dearly and that you did well not allowing him a verbal farewell. But most importantly, he was right. You were good at biting.

There was this boy you've been dating for two and a half years, and you were good at leaving yourself places he couldn’t forget.

There was this boy you have been hooking up with, he broke up with his previous partner not too long ago.

You made a mental note that you wouldn’t let Changbin convince you to stay for breakfast the next time. Next time you wake up before the sun could fully rise, you will forget the warmth of his bare chest and take your leave. It was a promise you have been serving to yourself on a platter you ignored, but not next time! No matter how delicious his sunny-side-up eggs were, how well he could make a cup of morning coffee, or how delightful you always felt eating breakfast with him in his shabby apartment—next time, you leave his home to save yourself.

“Can you get me eggs from the fridge?” he asked over the stove, his hand moving to crank the fire out. A sudden grimace glossed over his face after a thought, and then he tapped his head. “Actually, I don’t know if I have any left. If there isn’t any, then just grab whatever we can eat.”

You rubbed your nose with a yawn as you made your way to the old refrigerator left behind by the last tenant. A bunch of messy documents remained stuck to its surface with a middle school magnet he got from attending his niece’s graduation ceremony; you remembered asking him about them once, and he could be telling the truth when he said he had no idea how he planned to deal with them. Opening the fridge, you pulled a face at the leftover parade happening in every small cabinet before snatching two eggs off the side rack. You slammed the door shut, earning a stern whine from Changbin.

“That fridge is on its last breath, and I can’t afford to buy a new one, so please be so gentle with it,” he said when you were near to drop the eggs on the counter carefully. He thanked you as he reached out to grab one. Before he turned toward the pan being heated on the stove, he stepped back to peck your lips. “Thank you.”

You meekly returned his smile. The second he turned his back on you, your shoulders slumped into a distrusting frenzy. You were good at avoiding these affectionate gestures, which he loved to do. By moving around all the time, always having something happening with your hands, and constantly snacking or drinking, you were more or less able to avoid lighthearted intimacy with him. And you had to avoid them because you cannot delude this fleeting relationship into commitment.

You were a rebound. That was all there was.

It was ridiculous to let a despicable, loud-mouthed cashier working at the supermarket you frequented gossip about you to yourself enough that he convinced you to start worrying about your relationship with Changbin. But that cashier was potent, your starvation for love was impressionable, and as much as it hurt to admit, gossips tend to hold some amount of truth, which was that Changbin recently broke up with a partner of his caliber, and you were just someone he met at a college party.

You were the rebound; the middle point between a past and a true love; the scapegoat used for self-improvement; the experimental medicine a few steps behind the successful cure. Changbin was never going to love you. That was all there was, so you shouldn’t let yourself dive too far into the ocean in case the water starts running dry.

“My niece has been asking for you,” Changbin mentioned fondly after he cracked the eggs into the pan. It began sizzling moments later. “She has not stopped whining about seeing you since last Christmas.”

You hopped onto the kitchen counter next to the stove, carefully keeping a distance from the fire. Kicking your legs, you smiled and responded, “You should have never told me what she wanted as presents.”

“Well, someone has to buy something for me to slap my name on it,” he joked. “I have a reputation to uphold in case she grows up to earn big bucks. I plan that she grows so appreciative of my presence in her childhood that she pardons all my student loans.”

“That,” you rolled your eyes and scoffed incredulously into a chuckle, “that’s not a plausible plan at all.”

He laughed over the sizzling noises. It sounded familiar and heartbreaking; you loved the way he laughed, and you would not have it conveniently forever. Turning away from his face, you glanced at the floor, where your feet obstructed the view by playing around the sliding cabinet. You opened it, pushed it close with the heel, and pried it open again with the sole of your feet. The drawer was wobbly and old; it was another piece of furniture the last tenant left behind that Changbin gladly took ownership of.

“Really, though, she is never gonna stop whining until she sees you again,” he said after a moment of silence. “I can’t keep telling her you’ve just been extremely busy with school and work, and that we didn’t break up.”

Your feet slipped from the edge of the sliding drawer just as you pulled it open. It was partially the fault of the drawer, but your shock from processing what he said also caused you to double over. Noticing the uncontrollable lean of your torso, Changbin immediately let go of the handle and gripped his hand over your thigh, steadying you back on the kitchen counter. He glared at you with confusion, which turned clueless when you returned to him eyes with unreadable fright.

“What was that?” he asked, his hand unconsciously squeezing your thigh as an attempt to calm you down.

“I–I don’t know, I was just–“ you cleared your throat and shook your head–“I’m sorry. What do you mean we didn’t break up?”

There was a suspicious squint in his eyes, and then a hesitant smirk showed up on his rosy lips. “What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ Did we break up without me knowing?”

“No, we didn’t. I was just…” You pursed your lips together before placing a hand on his, holding it. “I didn’t know we were dating.”

He stared at you, his thoughts crashing into loopholes in a self-inflicted maze that had no exit. He must have been moving too fast. He definitely was! He never even asked you to label this relationship officially; he has been unconsciously introducing himself as your boyfriend to everyone that he convinced himself it was true. It was a terrible, outrageous mistake; he must have scared you.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–“

“No, it’s fine! It’s okay! I never thought otherwise, anyway!”

“What?”

Changbin was staring at you again, but this time, he looked more dissatisfied and disappointed than clueless and confused. If you watched the way the lines of his forehead formed, you could even consider him an angry man for a second. He turned off the stove, ridding the air of the comfortable white noises, and moved to stand before you. His hands supported his weight on the edge of the kitchen counter on either side of your knees, effectively trapping you between his body.

“What do you mean you never thought otherwise?” he asked, brows furrowed and voice low with a scruffy croak hidden somewhere in the corner. “Actually, what are we, exactly?”

You didn’t know what to say, but you forced an answer out of your mouth. “We’re hooking up, aren’t we?”

His breath hitched. For the same thing, he would argue that you two shared something much more significant. For the same reason—the fact that his skin remembers the taste of your nails and your body visible with stains of his saliva—he would argue that you two were much more than you said to be. He never thought you thought this way. He didn’t know where it went wrong.

Removing himself from the kitchen counter, he turned around with a hand in his hair. “I didn’t know you think so lightly of me.”

“I don’t!” you exclaimed within a blink of an eye. “Changbin, I don’t! I didn’t think that would hurt you, considering I’m just a rebound!”

“What rebound?”

You jumped at his sharp tone. Pulling at your fingers, you nudged your shoulder up to your cheek in a poor attempt to shrink into yourself. “Me. Someone told me you broke up with someone a while ago and how much that gutted you, so I should watch out.”

“Who–“ He took a deep breath with closed eyes. Curling his fists by his side, he raised his brows and opened his eyes, which were much more gentle than before. “Who told you that?”

“This boy at the supermarket I go to. You might know him. His name is Han Ji–“

“I do know him. Thank you for telling me.” Changbin held up a hand to stop you from continuing. There was humor in this situation; no wonder his friend acted avoidant after he talked about you. Slowly moving closer to you again, he placed his hands on his hips, then shifted to put them on your knees reluctantly instead. He looked honest when he spoke. “[Name], you’re not a rebound.”

“But he said the breakup destroyed you.”

“It did, which is why it happened a while ago. I needed time to move on from it.” He nodded with a soft smile. He squeezed your knees, scrunching his nose to appear less tense. “I wouldn’t kiss you if I didn’t love you.”

He wouldn’t have let you sleep with him if he didn’t love you either. He wouldn’t have brought you to see his family during the holidays, and be so restless and fidgety when he misunderstood your perception of this relationship, and miss you first thing in the morning after he woke up, and yearned to perfect the art of cooking a sunny-side up egg if he didn’t love you. He wouldn’t be standing here, vulnerable and maybe a little lost, telling you he loves you if he didn’t.

You played with your fingers still, flicking your nails against each other. “What if you change your mind?”

He tapped the tip of your nose. “What if I don’t?”

What if all that would happen was that he searches for your silhouette everywhere? What if he saw your shadow in every corner of his usual streets? What if he just yearned for a glimpse of you in the sun’s shadow, cascading over his kitchen through the opened window, almost as if you lived in his home with him? This was a bet you ought to be willing to take. You must insert the coin before the slot machine starts moving because love is not a promise. Love is not a guarantee. You ought to be brave, be bold, and take a leap of faith. It may be a fall to your death, or it may be a soar to the sky. But sometimes, taking a leap of faith may just be hopping off the kitchen counter into the arms of a boy in love with you.

“There, I got you,” Changbin beamed with his arms around your body. He set you on the floor carefully, his eyes not once leaving your face. “I always got you.”

There was this boy you have been hooking up with, and you could never imagine how much he loves you.

There was this boy in your art class.

Hyunjin has always been in full support of your in-progress fashion career despite the fact that you were taking art classes in college to learn how to draw. From helping you fix your design drafts to standing in for you as a life-sized mannequin, even to strutting on the makeshift runaway set out by the theater students for the annual student fashion show wearing the clothes you specifically made for him, Hyunjin has always been in full support of your dream to become a fashion designer.

"Do you mind?”

Hyunjin snapped out of his trance to squint his eyes at you holding out a measuring tape across your chest. You took his measurements once in a while, sometimes even after you had already sewed your designs for him to try on because you liked to double-check and to have everything in record. It wasn't the most thorough thing to do. It would even be pointless, to put it harshly. But he never particularly minded. He liked having you near him.

He faked a grimace and carried an unserious complaint in his voice when he spoke, "Actually, I do mind. I have minded over the last two years, but I never said anything.”

You ignored him. The second you heard the whiny tone roll out the tip of his tongue like the red carpet he was used to walking over, you dove in and began leveling him with the measuring tape. Hyunjin scoffed through a smile flattened from his previously humorous grimace, and he relaxed his limbs to let you do as you wish. Words flew out your lips in mutters of numbers, reminding yourself of his size and comparing the data to what you have recorded in the past while Hyunjin stood there in silence.

He watched you carefully, but not without an affectionate haze that blinded him enough to grin through the pins and needles you occasionally stab him through the fabrics. You paid no attention to him, just as he preferred it, and there a facade of vague disinterest was propped just beneath his chin in preparation for your direct gaze. More than reciprocation, he was afraid of being seen, being known, being broken out of the distant pedestal his peers put on his fortunate features and being rejected for it.

"Your shoulders have gotten broader," you whispered near his neck, causing him to freeze.

Hyunjin hadn't realized you had moved to stand behind him until you removed the tape draped over his shoulder and walked to stand before him again. You were frowning in thought, allowing him to let out the breath he sucked in when he felt yours stranded on the back of his neck, chilling a soft finger trail down his spine. That was the closest anybody had gotten to touching his skin with their lips, and ironically, he didn't think he could handle it well if you kissed him, even though he had reserved that experience for you and nobody else.

"Can you try this on?" you asked as you moved over to a tall chair where you placed a paper bag. You reached inside and pulled out a jacket, holding it out to him. "I wanna see if it fits.”

Hyunjin received it gladly. He would be grateful for any opportunity to occupy his mind, turn it away from the gruesome feeling of his body being unraveled by a mere shard of your breath. Putting both his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, as he tried to shake it in place, he frowned at the faint tightness surrounding his shoulders. He could still wear the jacket, but it felt uncomfortable and restricting.

You rubbed your knuckles nervously with a palm, observing Hyunjin's unspoken reaction. He has always been too nice to tell you the truth, which was ironic as someone whose academic career involved receiving and providing critique to improve.

But just between him and his mind, it has never been about his kindness and only that he cherished everything you made for the world, yourself, or for him. To Hyunjin, your original vision was already the best version of anything. Abominations woven by your fingertips would have special meanings—there must be a reason why such mistakes exist; make him a shirt cut full of holes, and he'd thank you for a beautiful monstrosity.

"It's a bit small, isn't it?" you pointed out as you reached in to fix the collar.

"Yeah, but I can still wear it," Hyunjin said.

You grabbed the two flaps under the jacket collar and attempted to button it up. The buttons smacked open once you managed to clasp them together, to which Hyunjin breathed out a lighthearted chuckle in response to your sullen state. He let you attempt it a few more times, not bringing up the shrinking of his shoulders to accommodate your exerted force, before you gave up after the third failed attempt.

"Hmm..." you slid your hands from the button to under the jacket, stopping at his chest where you pressed your palms flat against him, "let me think..."

The shape of your hands and the warmth of it against his chest, over the thin fabric of his white shirt, Hyunjin got tattooed right where they currently resided. He wondered how your hands would feel on his naked chest. He wondered if he could keep you there, and he was aware of what his desire for this to be permanent meant. He has always known, and he felt like a jagged breath being drawn into your lungs when you looked up to ask him a muffled question.

He grabbed you by your elbows and pulled you close to him, his actions a needed contradiction to his thoughts. He leaned his face down—kiss them, he thought. Kiss them good; kiss them like how everyone wanted him to kiss them; kiss them to tattoo their lips in your brain; just kiss them.

"Hyunjin...?"

He stopped. A space in his brain got shoved aside to savor the print of your palm against his cheek, and you asked him, with concerned eyes, if he was feeling okay. He wasn't, but he was. He felt like turning into one of the gleaming specks in your eyes. He felt like experiencing how your eyes shift when he tells you he loves you.

"I..." he gulped, clearing his senses. You would never. You and your gentle creativity would never return his feelings. "I'm okay, just feeling a little light-headed. Thanks for catching me.”

There was this boy in your art class who modeled for you, and he was afraid you would recognize his love for you.

There was this boy who worked the closing shift with you at the supermarket.

Jisung had his hands clasped together in a praying manner, and he was pouting at you with pleading eyes that would fade the second you agreed to join him on his troublesome rendezvous. He was phenomenal at this—thinking up a weird idea every other shift that would, without fail, get you both into trouble. He always covered for you because none of the disasters that came with were your fault. But at this point, you learned never to let Jisung convince you (and himself) to do anything he wanted to try out. You never listened, though. Your desire to be around him all the time greatly overshadowed your caution to be a good employee.

"What are you planning?" you asked as you eyed the shopping cart before him.

You two were supposed to collect all the shopping carts from the parking lot and line them up outside the supermarket for locking. After pushing the first carts out of the lot, Jisung deviated from the task and brought a shopping cart to the edge of a slope leading to the underground floor. You glanced at the directional words painted on the wall, leading drivers to choose between left and right, then back at the shopping cart stopped just before the tip of the slope. You grimaced, already able to guess what he planned.

"I have a plan!" he exclaimed.

"You're going to sit on the cart and run yourself down the slope?" you asked monotonously, gesturing downward.

Jisung's posture flattened into a straight line, and he deadpanned at you with distaste. "You didn't have to guess it right on the first try.”

"Oh–my bad," you muttered with a chuckle. "Do you want me to ask you again?”

"No," he scoffed as he rocked back and forth on his shoe heel. He let his furrowed brows relax into a friendly smile sooner than he wanted; he seemed incapable of anything other than joy whenever he was around you. "You can make it up to me by getting in the cart!”

You took a hesitant step back, your head shaking in disagreement. You didn't know how badly you could be injured if he pushed the cart down the slope with you in it. The falling wasn't the most significant issue. It was the impact of the front of the cart hitting the wall. You could not anticipate the recoil intensity and would hate risking your currently unharmed body for a split second of thrill.

"This isn't a good idea, Jisung," you told him. "We're gonna get in trouble again, and we already pissed the manager off with the soda cans incident.”

Jisung thought it was a good idea to make a waterfall out of shaken soda cans he didn't buy out of pocket from the supermarket last time. He reasoned that champagne glasses were boring and overdone, and that people needed to understand the real joy in life and make a monument out of those things instead. In that case, the real joy in life was coca cola's fizzling and bubble taste.

He had been so excited about it, yet all he accomplished was make a mess and pop a vein on your manager's forehead. He didn't even manage to create a waterfall because he fell straight into the soda can structure while trying to open the last can on the very top.

Jisung had spent the night feeling sticky all over his skin as you helped him by mopping the floor. But, beyond feeling uncomfortable, he remembered most the way you rubbed the liquid off his drenched body with tissue papers, and while you grumbled under your breath about how stupid he was, you couldn't help but let a few smiles fall on your lips. He may not have impressed you, but at least he made you laugh. He always thought about it. He thought everything he ever did was to make you laugh.

"He was mad at us because of property damage," Jisung argued, waving his hands animatedly. "He can't legally get mad at us this time because the only damage that could happen would be on us!”

"So you know this will injure us?”

"I don't. I'm just saying it could!”

"And we are still doing this," you squinted suspiciously at him, “why?"

He blinked innocently as if he wasn't sure why you asked him such a question. Everything comes with potentially harmful consequences, were you supposed to never do anything? He understood the need to be cautious, but he wasn't asking you to jump off a bridge with him, even if there was an off-chance where you asked him to do it, he would do it with you. This was light-hearted fun. Rolling down a parking lot slope in a shopping cart was the same thing to him as building a waterfall foundation out of soda cans—it was something thrilling to do. It was something memorable to do with you, and years later, if you two no longer exist in each other's daily routine, he would look at a shopping cart and think of you.

"I thought it would be fun," he replied with an honest smile.

Your heart wavered. Even if you didn't harbor the feelings you did for him, you would have caved in with the mere glance into his eyes anyway. Jisung always had this effect on people; he was the entertainer, the jokester, the mood-maker. He has yet to be fired because customers came back for him, either to chat or out of friendly loyalty.

More than that, though, to you, he made time enjoyable to drag through. He stuck his neck out for you to grab onto so he could pull you out of your hollow shell to find that the world was a place made for you to be alive on. Sometimes it was racing each other with a handful of items needed for restocking. Other times, he was twirling you by your hand under the dim lights and surrounded by a ridiculous song blasting through the supermarket speakers. Tonight, it was falling off a slope in a shopping cart.

"Hold onto the cart," you mumbled.

Jisung beamed as he grabbed onto the cart handle. Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge and plopped inside the space. You leaned against the cart's back and pulled your legs to your chest to make space for him. After confirming that you had settled on your seat, Jisung let go of the handle and walked to the side of the shopping cart. You watched him as he placed a leg on the support pole below and hopped up using it. The cart shook at the force, and, unfortunately, its front wheels tipped over the ledge of the slope.

"What–" you paused to register the moving car before whipping your head back to look at Jisung–"oh my god, Ji–“

The cart rolled faster than either of you could react to it. Jisung grabbed the shopping cart edge and doubled forward to lean his weight against it while you shot your hands out, hoping to hold onto his arms to steady him. Before you could even blink, your body jolted at the crashing impact. The cart tipped to the side where Jisung was, making you squeal as you began falling out. He noticed it before you did because he discovered he had lost his footing on the pole. Gathering all his senses, he leaned his torso forward to cage you in his arms before you both fell onto the floor, the shopping cart landing on his legs instead of your curled-up body.

Your heart almost beat out of your chest, and it would have if you retained enough senses to understand the proximity of your faces. Your body shifted along with each heave of his chest; you would never know how he managed to hold onto you bridal style, but his circling his arm under your knees saved you from being crushed under the metal cart. Getting off of him, you first looked at the damage done, and you gasped when you saw Jisung's bleeding knee.

"Jisung, you're bleeding!" you said as you got up to pull the shopping cart off his feet.

He could somehow feel it. The liquid trickling down his skin was a vivid feeling. Pulling himself up with a groan, he held back a faint whine upon seeing the bleeding scratch around his knee. The edge of the shopping cart must have nicked him when you two fell. It all happened so quickly, he barely felt it. All he could remember was the weight of your body pressing down on him, shielded from the ground. Placing his hands around his leg, he applied some pressure to the skin, accidentally forcing more blood out of the wound.

You gasped at the sight and slapped his hands away, to which he responded with an incredulous laugh.

"Why are you hitting me? I'm hurt! I'm injured! I'm bleeding!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.

"I told you this was a bad idea," you said. "I'm going to go get something to help you with. Stay here.”

Jisung was forced into silence by your frustrated tone. He anticipated getting hurt; truthfully, the knee injury didn't bother him that badly. He grew up with clumsy scratches all over his body, after all. It was your public display of dissappointment that guilted him into this shrunken shell. You looked upset, saddened, and even annoyed that his knee was bleeding. Jisung couldn't delude himself with the thought that you cared about him enough to hate his injury to neglect your obvious distaste for what happened. It felt earth-shattering to him.

"Wait!" He stood up, his leg buckling at the spike of pain, but he kept going. "I'm sorry! I really thought this would be fun–ah, oh?”

The itchy sensation present in his nose made him reach a hand up. He smeared blood across his cupid's bow once, and the next second, more rolled down from his nose. Brows furrowing in confusion, he arched his neck and pinched the bridge of his nose. You could only stare at him in shock, your legs stuttering to bring yourself to him while your lips unconsciously began to quirk up.

"Where did this nosebleed even come from?" he yelled with a few stomps of his feet. "My face didn't even touch the floor–ow! My knee!"

You brought your hand up to your lips to fail at covering a fit of giggles. Nothing about this was funny, which made everything about it so. The ridiculous way Jisung acted in response to his injuries made it even more hilarious. What would have been a bratty tantrum was made funny by his presence because that was the kind of boy he was. He was the entertainer, the jokester, the mood-maker.

Jisung lowered his head when he heard your glorious laughter. It was the same one he heard when you wiped the soda stick off his skin or when he held your hands as he guided you to dance across the cashier aisles. This was what he yearned for. This was all anything has been about for him. New sparkles in his eyes birthed through your shivering reflection; in your joy, he existed infinitely. This was all he has ever wanted, and this was all anything has ever been about—him being in love with you.

Letting go of his nose and lowering his head, he stared at you affectionately with fiddling fingers. "[Name]." The blood rolled past his lips, dripping down his chin. He cared not of it. "Can I go out with you someday?”

He smiled honestly at you when you approached him. You tugged at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, pulled it over your palm, and wiped the blood on his face.

"You're ridiculous. Your nose is bleeding," you whispered.

"Sorry," he said. "I just really like you.”

You giggled. Jisung wished he would sew himself into the air you breathe out of your mouth, to become part of the noises you make when you felt happy.

There was this boy who worked the closing shift with you at the supermarket, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

There was this boy who has been living with you since you started college.

“Get out of here if you’re not going to help! Useless!” Felix exclaimed with flailing arms as he chased the high school students up the stairway. He sneered when they ran up the stairs giggling. Putting a hand on the stair railing, he shouted upward, “That’s what I thought! Get a move on before I change your pronouns to ‘was were’!”

After the sight of those pesky teenagers faded, Felix quickly descended the stairs to where you were and crouched next to you. He collected all the pieces of papers you had scattered on the ground after being bumped into, bumped them together into a straight stack, and positioned them in one arm. He reached out to grab your white cane before shuffling over to you, his free hand tentatively hovering over yours as he moved his head in front of your face. He always made cautious announcements of his presence; he remembered you telling him you could still faintly see lines and colors, and he didn’t want to scare you with his sudden appearance.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, letting his palm rest above your hand for an acknowledging second before he held it to pull you up with him. “Here, let’s get back on our feet.”

“Thank you, Felix.” You smiled as you leaned into his support. You steadied yourself by finding a footing on the ground, not afraid of stumbling now that Felix held onto your hand. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Nonsense!” he protested as he carefully tugged you along with him to the estate lobby. Your strides were more confident with him around, but he didn’t notice it because he was busy getting all heated and fussy over the group of high schoolers who waited around your fallen body just now. “The real trouble here is those damn kids. How long have they been bothering you?”

You shook your head at his question. “They haven’t been. They didn’t do anything to me. I fell on my own, and they just happened to be around when that happened.”

Felix scoffed. He knew you were putting a good word for them because you, much like himself, didn’t own a heart capable of tarnishing another. Between you and him, though, he was more willing to give someone a well-deserved kick or two and not feel guilty about it afterward, especially if that particular someone was causing harm to someone he cared deeply about. Whether or not those kids deliberately tripped you, he didn’t like that they stuck around to watch you struggle. They should get out of the way if they had no plans to help you. No matter what you tell him, he will keep harboring a negative impression of them, but he wouldn’t do anything if he saw them again. Not because he was nice, but because you were.

“I have a few friends who also live here,” he said once the elevator arrived at your floor. He held the door open as he guided you outside. “If you don’t mind, I will tell them to keep an eye out just in case they see you around or if you need help with anything.”

You hummed in agreement. Ever since the outreach program helped you get into college and obtain a rental apartment, you have meant to meet some new friends. You figured you would struggle with schoolwork already, so to get the best of this opportunity, you wanted to fulfill the social aspect of the ideal college life. Felix was your roommate and, thereby, your first college friend, or acquaintance. You weren’t sure if he saw you as a friend yet. If he were willing to introduce you to the people he knew, you would gladly take the offer. Considering the kind of person Felix was, you doubted his friends would be anything short of a happy meal.

“Okay, we’re here. Give me a second. I’ll open the door.”

Clutching the white cane in your hand, you waited by the side for him to open the door. He inserted the key into the lock on the first try, much unlike the usual days when it would take him a few seconds of struggling to fit the key in place. You always heard the rustling from outside and knew he was home. The lock clicked, and Felix opened the door before returning to you. He stopped his palm at the small of your back as you walked, hovering carefully, and he squeezed through the small space between you and the doorframe to get inside first.

"There we go," he said, kicking his shoes off to a corner. He giggled quietly in amusement at the aggressive way you shoved your shoes aside with the tip of your white cane, and then you rested the cane against the wall near the door at its usual place. He was going to help you with them. "How was class today? I forgot to ask you!”

"Oh–it was good!" You clapped your hands and turned in his direction. Hopefully, he hasn't moved from where he last spoke. You were proceeding according to where his voice was coming from. "I caught up on some reading at the library. This boy who was going to the fine arts building led me there on his way. He was really nice.”

"That's nice. Did you get his name?" Felix hummed in contentment.

"No, I didn't," you said between soft giggles. "But he was wearing something weird and flashy, I assume. I could feel the fabric.”

He turned on the lights to illuminate the dull living room and frowned at the opened bags of chips and soda cans on the table. He remembered you were catching up on assignments at the table yesterday night. You must have forgotten to throw them out after. Quietly, he moved over to the table, dropped your notes on a clean corner, and began cleaning things up. He slid the soda cans over his arms and crumbled the chip bags. You perked up at the plastic noises, stayed in thought momentarily, then gasped, remembering the mess you made on the table.

"Oh, wait! I can clean it up myself," you urged as you stumbled over to the table. "I can help!"

You stopped when his presence loomed over you, and through an extreme fog, you could make out the blond of his hair and some red of his jacket. Felix watched you stare at his neck before slowly looking up at him, your brows furrowed with a certain plead. You never said anything about your possible grievances over needing care, and he never assumed you had any. You have been picking up after yourself just fine, save for certain moments when you needed help, which everyone would require once in a while. But in case you had grievances, he wished you would know he didn't mind helping you. He didn't want you to think he saw you lightly in any way.

"That would be lovely. My hands are too small to hold anything, I swear," he said with a defeated chuckle. "Can you hold out your hand? I'll give you the chip bags.”

You did so willingly and tried to get a feel of his hands again when he transferred the empty plastic bags to you. You didn't think they were as outstandingly small as he made them out to be, especially not in comparison to yours. Or perhaps your opinion of it was influenced by the fact that whenever he touched you, he was helping you to somewhere, and you wouldn't have cared what his hand felt like as you walked with his voice sounding in your ears.

His voice was where the end of your heartstring sat, not just because his voice was securely deep but also because it was one of the only ways you could confidently know him in. You could barely make him out with your eyes, and it was too awkward to touch or smell him, so the best way to feel him was through his voice and how yours mixed with it in the air.

"Are you going to get fried chicken for takeout again?" he asked as he stepped on the trashcan near the kitchen counter. He waited for you to drop the chip bags in before letting go. "I think we should! I walked by this morning, and I saw a new promotional poster! They are drizzling cheese sauce all over the drumsticks, and they're selling it at a discounted price because it's new on the menu.”

You raised your brows. You were used to ordering the same thing at every restaurant as someone who felt uncomfortable trying new things. Sometimes, even if the new thing was good, you felt inclined to stick with what you knew anyway for, perhaps, nostalgic purpose. But Felix sounded so thrilled over it that you didn't have the heart to let him down, so you agreed.

"Let's order that, then," you said. "I'll treat you. You helped me a lot today.”

He strangled out a protest with his throat and then snorted to dismiss your offer. But you stood your ground, reaching your arms out slightly to wave in disagreement. He might not think a big deal of helping you pick your belongings from the floor, walking you back home, choosing to clean up after you, and defending you to disrespectful high school kids, but it all meant something to you. Every kind gesture meant something.

"How about this–" you snapped your fingers–"you can make it up to me by letting me touch your face.”

"Huh?" Felix broke into clueless laughter. He tilted his head, a finger unconsciously pointing at himself, and he pulled a face even though you couldn't see him. "[Name], if you wanted to touch me, you could've just asked.”

You gasped, embarrassed. His assumption was not your intention, but hearing him joke about it out loud caught you off guard. "I did just ask!" you exclaimed, then you waved your arms in a criss-cross motion before your chest. "Also, no! I didn't mean it like that! I just–I don't know what you look like!”

"I know. I was joking," he muttered with an amused smile. Taking a step closer to you, he reached for your hand and placed it on his cheeks. He hesitated at first; he didn't know if you started from the top of the head or the bottom of his chin when you wanted to get a feel of someone's appearance. "Here. Examine away.”

You scrunched your nose as the only protest to his unfunny joke, and then you began your search for his facial structure.

Being touched so gently was not remarkable to him, but somehow, he felt the amusement fading from his face the more ground your fingers covered. The cushion of your hands touched each crevice of his bones. Your fingertips ran like raindrops over his eyes and his lashes; the back of your knuckles glided smooth and firm over his cheekbones; your thumbs a ghostly whisper as they stripped his lips bare of all its desire for romance; your palms an opened leash he gutted himself to tighten around his neck.

"Your skin..." you dragged your fingers carefully under his eyes, "do you have freckles, Felix?"

He sucked in a nervous breath when you leaned in as if to see better. "I do. Can you feel them on my face?"

"Barely. Freckles are mostly flat, I think. Part of the skin, like blemishes," you replied as you reached around to his ears and down his jaw. "You have a nice bone structure.”

"Thanks," he chuckled. "I wouldn't know anything about that, really.”

You laughed with him, your fingers still trailing. He wondered if you saw him differently than everyone else did, differently than he did. He wondered if touching his face would be more aggravating than observing it. It might be. It should be for him. If he closed his eyes and felt for the upward quirk of your mouth and your laugh lines, instead of watching the way your teeth flashed as you smiled, he would feel a certain kind of cruelty, a kind of sickness, like he would staple his skin to your face to feel its ever-changing joy.

He wanted to laugh. His brain begged him to turn this into something less than what his heart felt—the possibility of being in love. But Felix couldn't stop. His heart pounded in a pattern as muffled as your eyesight—he wasn't sure where his kindness for you began and where his affection for you ended.

Being touched so gently was not remarkable to him, but being touched so intimately was. Being touched to be remembered, being touched to be memorized, being touched to acknowledge the growing affection his skin developed for the shape of your hands were remarkable to him.

"Thank you for helping me today, Felix," you said, your warmth abruptly leaving his features. Giggling, you gestured at him with a wave. "And for letting me invade your privacy like that.”

There was this boy who has been living with you since you started college, and he would let you do to him anything you wanted.

There was a boy who was your childhood best friend.

Seungmin needed to take a breather. He had never been beaten up like this—blood running down his nose, a split wound hidden on his forehead, and a reddened, swollen bottom lip. He thought he was going to die; he knew he was going to die, but he jumped to shield you from the grotesque louts with his fragile body anyway.

Your eyes shifted to the side when you felt his weight fall from on top of your back, and then they widened when you saw how uncharacteristically dirty your best friend's face was. It made you scramble out of your curled position onto your knees, treading past the rocky ground to where he lay catching his breath, and you loomed over him with panicking hands. He flinched when you touched his face, causing you to move away with a hasty apology. That sudden sting served as a wake-up call for him to gather himself and get off the ground.

Seungmin's head hammered with a muffled ring in his ears. He smacked the heel of his palm to his temple, trying to knock the pitchy hum out of his head, but all that for him was a shaky migraine. Groaning inwardly, he pursed his lips at the bitter taste of realization that he, indeed, was out of shape. The odds of winning a street fight were already against him when he first found you in the alleyway, and it stacked up higher when he got pushed on all fours. His muscles hurt all over—not even his father has ever hurt him like this.

"Are you okay?" he asked scruffily, looking at you as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You were, physically. Seungmin may not have defended you from those smelly louts from school, but he did protect you. Most of what was supposed to be done to you was done to him because of his persistent cover of your body. You ran your hands over your body slowly; you didn’t hurt anywhere, which may be a sign of victorious heroism to him. To you, though, it was a burden. His heroism was a burden, a hassle, something that was better off not happening.

It broke you to know that you thought this of him, but he was never supposed to be here. An honor roll student; the student council president; understanding and kind but not without wits and a specific type of humor; tall and well put together—Seungmin was never supposed to meddle in rotten business as such. This was not his place. It was yours.

"Why are you here, Seungmin?" you asked as you reached for your school bag for some tissues, disregarding a need for gratitude.

"I was going to walk home with you," he replied with a shrug. "Why else?"

"Well, I thought you had a student council meeting today," you muttered, handing him the tissue. He rolled it into a semi-stick shape and shoved it in his bleeding nose while you pressed a clean one on the blood from his hair. "I didn't know you were going home on regular hours."

He scoffed. "You did know. I told you yesterday through text.”

"I haven't read it.”

"Well, you should," he said as he eyed you pointedly. He pinched his nose, feeling silly that he was trying to carry a serious conversation when he looked the least from that. "I don't appreciate you avoiding me, [Name].”

You pulled a face in disagreement. "I wasn’t."

Oh, but you were. As someone who has always been the one to make space for you in his schedule, because the truth was that he had more errands to attend to than you did, Seungmin would know you were avoiding him. You have never joined extracurricular activities or enrolled in night tutor classes, so naturally, it didn't make sense not to spend a measly five minutes with him. You also only made friends with him and one mutual friend he introduced you to, meaning you would have no plans outside the ones you made with him, which were getting scarce even now. Seungmin would know if you were avoiding him. The only thing he has to ask you of was the reason.

“I don’t believe you,” he muttered without looking at you. “To think I didn’t even get a thank you.”

“Because you shouldn’t be here!” you exclaimed through gritted teeth, focusing on the unseen injury on his forehead.

"Why? Because this–" he pulled away and gestured to his face–"would have happened to you?"

You sneered. This wasn't rocket science. You were being bullied. In the last year of high school, too, unfortunately. It wasn’t hard to deduce, but your distaste for his ability to voice whatever truth came to mind was especially strong at this moment because you knew the next thing would be an interrogation on why you didn’t ask him for help. As the student council president, he has a level of influence over the student body. You should have asked him for help; he would have stepped on everyone’s daily routine to defend you.

Taking your frustration on him, you shoved your hand against his head and threw the bloodied tissue paper on the ground. You clicked your tongue, glaring at him, and threw a baseless accusation, "You should have left!”

The angrier you got, the easier it was for the frustrated tears to fall.

He has no idea how embarrassing this was! You have spent years living in his shadow, being tended to by him as children. You were the clumsy one; he was the responsible one! You fell off stairs and tripped in the rain; he has band-aids in his mini crossbody bag and a set of coaxing words prepared. He proceeded to grow up to be exactly how it was predicted. He was smart, took up even more significant responsibilities, and was on his way to remarkable things. While you fell off from the generous predictions of your life, kicking your teenage years off with average grades and a complete lack of social skills and ending it by being a punching bag until the last year of high school.

But you were handling it! Seungmin’s increasingly busy schedule made it easier for you to hide such tragedies from him. You never received his help, and you survived these four years, albeit with two black eyes and a limping ego! To you, this was the noble thing to do—to suffer alone and handle it alone. He wouldn’t understand.

Trying to find something to do as a distraction, you grabbed the tissue you threw on the floor and tried to wipe the blood on his face. Your throat let out a teary croak when you saw the black soil stained on top, and you threw it away again. A suppressed screech sounded from the core of your throat, and you rambled with malice, a finger pointing at the mirror of his eyes. "Look at you! You look beaten! You–you look stupid! You’re stupid! You're bleeding, and you smell! You look disgusting!"

It was all supposed to be you; being in pain, dirty, bloody, injured. It was all supposed to be you. Seungmin didn't say anything when you pulled at your uniform sleeve and used it to clean his face. It was even a little hilarious to him that you cared about the dirt on the tissue paper but not much about the snot and tears you were wiping onto the sleeve fabric that was mixed with his dry blood. Your cries echoed in the chamber of his mind, bouncing off the pulled-back walls where his memories hid to keep away from your agony; his mind knew if he made sense of your pain, he would hurt him so badly that he might die.

“You should have left me here,” you said. “You should have left me alone.

“To get beat up? To die?” he argued softly. “Never.”

Seungmin forced a knot down his throat. The metallic taste in his mouth grew into a lump of a tumor, stranded at the tip of his tongue, where he screamed in response to you asking him to let you rot alone. You didn't know how he felt, even though this friendship lasted beyond ten years.

You could not suffer without him. You could not ache without him. There was no more danger in the world than a silly boy in love with his childhood best friend. You cannot die without him; you didn't know how he would distort his body, feeling his bones snap into brutal places to fit inside your coffin. He would lay himself down into Earth's ground with you, his body desiccating next to you, and grow into a tree where its roots were built as one with you. The tree would get cut down centuries later, and your branches turned into papers used to write a magnificent love story, filled with affection he has all once felt and contained for you. You could not die without him. You could not love without him.

"I will never leave you," he repeated.

You saw your reflection in his eyes; when you were drowned in their browns, you became more than who you thought you were. Your hand dropped to your lap; he wanted you to strangle his neck with it. Seungmin would never leave you, and you knew why. You did know why. Because he was the responsible one, because you would do the same for him, because there was no version of this story where he would turn around the corner and leave you with violence as the answer.

There was a boy who was your childhood best friend, and he would fight to die with you.

There was this boy. His name was Yang Jeongin.

The lights were out before midnight struck toward the day of the college entrance exam. It was to prepare for the testing with a whole night's sleep! Instead of sleeping in your own bed, you closed your eyes on a mattress laid out just next to Jeongin's bed on the floor. Unlike what your friend kept arguing about, the mattress wasn't at all uncomfortable to lay atop. What was actually uncomfortable and sleep-eliminating were the hot weather and the skin irritation that suddenly decided to appear.

You have always known Jeongin's parents live a frugal lifestyle, and their ideals bled into how he operated daily despite how financially generous they were willing to be with him. He rarely bought anything he didn't need, like clothes and games. Sometimes, he saved money on things he needed by cheaping out on food and hair conditioners. With that, one frustrating thing Jeongin couldn't bother to spend money on was electricity, specifically the use of air conditioning on a hot and humid summer night.

You heaved a deep exhale and furrowed your brows as you touched your inner thigh under the blanket. There was an itch developing there, which you tried your mightiest not to scratch it gone. When your fingertips made contact with the spot, you flinched away at the light bumps of hives nesting around the area and removed your legs from the blanket warmth. The chill wind blowing from the window helped you relieve the pain momentarily before it was gone.

Your inner thigh was not the only place developing a hive-like itch. The way Jeongin's sleep shirt rubbed against your back as you moved, the pattern printed on the uncovered mattress that sparked friction on your skin, and the humidity snuck between the hair that occasionally tousled across your face were all the causes for an unexplainable itch. You pursed your lips into a thin, silent line and frustratedly kicked off the blanket to keep the fabric away from your legs entirely.

"Are you okay?" Jeongin asked after hearing your soft whine, but he kept his back turned from you.

You were not, but if you told him about your current skin condition, he would close the window and turn on the air-conditioner for you. His parents had already cooked you two decent meals today; you arrived at Jeongin's home during the afternoon for lunch and to study together, then you had dinner before studying more. They also let you use their shower and drink from their fridge, which to you felt like a huge financial sacrifice because you've repeatedly listened to Jeongin complain about how expensive good body wash was these days. You didn't want to make him turn on the air conditioner for you over something a good night's sleep could eliminate.

"Yeah. I'm just nervous about tomorrow," you said.

"We've studied so much. You're going to be fine." Jeongin laughed airily. It hit just below his chin and was almost inaudible. "Just go to sleep. You don't want to doze off in the middle of the exam."

You scoffed. "I'm not going to.”

It would be impossible to fall asleep during a college entrance exam, regardless of how much rest you got the night before. The sheer pressure to pay attention to each question and the constant reminders of each clock tick that this exam determines the rest of your life were too big of a responsibility to run away from, let alone sleeping through it. But, at the rate these itches spread across your body, you thought you might just lay your head on the desk tomorrow and get some shut-eye anyway.

Jeongin could hear the sound of you scratching your skin. They went on and off without a specific pattern, but they happened within quick intervals—you were scratching somewhere, and then suddenly, you were not. He could also hear your quickened breath, paired with the constant shifting of your body across the blanket. He held back an annoyed exhale as he snapped his eyes open to meet the opened window. For the first time, he acknowledged the uncomfortable humidity in the air, mixed with a suffocating heat that would surely trigger your skin irritation.

Your parents speculated it was the result of allergies, and the doctor they took you to see approved that assumption. You never found out your triggers, though, and it was moving like there wasn't anything specific. You were just allergic to atmospheres that made you uncomfortable, be it extreme heat or festering cold, cotton pants or polyester shirts.

Jeongin always knew about it. His parents were the ones who found out over-the-counter allergy pills worked to relieve you of the itch, and since then, he has done in-depth research into anything related to such a health phenomenon. An interesting fact about him that he liked to tell others was that he could, on the fly, answer any questions about allergic reactions. He became obsessed with it because he wanted to help you, but really it was because it caused you a lot of pain. He was restless about it; whenever he recalled how you cried because you began bleeding from the scratches, he ached and scraped his to-do list to take another deep dive into the internet.

He wasn't sure why your pain made him feel such despair that he was running the map of a very niche topic. But he wanted you to feel better, to stop suffering from it.

You stopped itching at your jaw when Jeongin abruptly shot up on his bed. He turned on the night light sitting on his nightstand and peered down at you. You were staring up at him with squinted eyes, not used to the light, but even then, he could tell you were frustrated to the point of tears by the mere shift of your arched brows. He curled his fists lightly, the ache turning into fleeting anger before his chest started to hurt again. Leaving his spot, he went to close the window and turned on the air conditioner.

"Wait, Jeongin–" you got onto your knees in protest–"you don't have to do that.”

He ignored you as he rummaged through his desk drawer. He pulled out a plastic container of allergy pills and a tube of cream he got in a pharmacy some time ago, then he approached you. Kneeling on the floor next to you, he urged you to receive the pills and watched you intently as he waited for you to pop them into your mouth, his water bottle in his free hand. When you were done, he brushed the blanket off to the edge of the mattress and sat near your legs, the tube of cream ready in his hands.

"I bought this cream a while ago. I heard it's good with alleviating rashes," he said as he popped the lid open. He took a brief sniff of the cream. It smelt medicinal and nothing more. "Where do you itch?"

"Jeongin, I can do it myself.”

"Every time you touch it, you end up scratching it," he said softly. "Where do you itch?”

You were speechless. You weren't sure if you wanted to feel annoyed that he ignored all of your protests against helping you out or endeared that he went out of his way to buy you medicine for something you've never asked for help with. You glanced at the desk, where he didn't even close the drawer fully before coming to your aid, and back at Jeongin, who waited patiently with the medicinal cream in his hand. You shivered; he looked exhausted, and he should be after pulling so many all-nighters to study. Yet, he knelt before you, asking for nothing but your permission to help.

"A few places," you muttered.

His touch was soft and made cold through the cream, but your skin remained heated from the tender way he nursed your broken body. He applied the scream on your forearm, under your jaw, and near your collarbones. And then there was a sudden shift in the air, stumped beneath the dim night light, when you told him your chest and your inner thigh were feeling suffocated.

Jeongin tried not to think about it. If he felt too strongly about it—reaching his hand beneath your shirt and pushing at your leg for further access—he thought his feelings for you may unknowingly bleed into the pressure of his fingers. But even with a blank mind and unfocused eyes, he could never rid the sensation of your soft, once private skin. The only thing that kept the endearing butterflies from turning to obsessive parasites was the reminder that you were in pain, that he was applying medicine on your skin to keep you from suffering through the night.

Neither of you spoke a word during. At some point, his touch, plastered with the medicine, became permanent and regular. At some point, him taking care of you became constant and unthinking.

After he was done, he dropped the tub of cream on his nightstand and turned off the light. He laid down next to you instead of returning to his bed, forcing you to make space for him.

"Turn around," he said, pushing at your shoulders lightly.

Your voice strangled with confusion, but you complied. After turning your back to him, you felt his figure inch towards you until his chest hit your back. He snuck his arms around your body and searched for your hands to hold, effectively spooning you. His arms felt stronger than you recognized; he had been working out recently. You just never noticed any physical changes. But they were stronger and more secure as he hugged you to him and imprisoned your triggering hands from worsening your itches.

"Go to sleep," he mumbled. "I'll wake up later to reapply some more cream for you."

You protested, your voice barely a whisper, "But you need sleep."

"[Name]," he dropped his face to the back of your neck and curled up in a spot between you and the pillow, “sleep."

You wanted to tell him not to bother, to go back to his bed, but you found yourself falling asleep in his arms. His chest heaves felt too much like gentle caresses, and instead of on your lap, his head lay atop yours on a single pillow, which meant the same thing to you even with the ghostly touches of his lips on the skin of your neck, hauntingly there. You weren't sure what this was about, but you thought he must be in love with you to do this.

"Thank you, Jeongin," you whispered in a drowsy haze, "for taking care of me."

There was this boy named Yang Jeongin, and you thought he told you he loved you in your sleep.

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wannaeatramyeon · 11 months

Note

I love everything you write! Can I request some headcanons for Gun/Goo, crewheads, and the J-Highers? You can choose what you're comfortable writing about

Thanks anon! Just... hc? Ohh this is extremely wide-ranging, I'm panicking. Hope you don't mind if I go for a list with the tiniest sprinkling of hc.

Lookism Boys & Love Languages

Maxed out 2 per person. I feel like I need to explain myself for a few. Some are a vibe, some have an actual reason, some are just bullshit

Giving

Acts of service

Vin Jin: If he likes you, he will be running little errands and doing things for you. He'll grumble and beat himself up for being a simp as he does it, but he does do it.

Jibeom Kwak: Would do anything for his bros, and now that includes you too.

Gun Park: an absolute gentleman. Silently observing and anticipates your needs before you need to ask.

+ Daniel Park, Jay Hong, Zack Lee, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo, Jace Park, Warren Chae, Ryuhei Kuroda, Xiaolong

Physical Touch

Xiaolong: once he is used to you, then absolutely physical touch. This guy is so touch starved, when was the last time he even had an embrace where it wasn't riddled with guilt? Will never get over being able to just reach out and place his hand on your leg, or put his arm around his shoulders. Same reason why he likes to receive.

+ Vin Jin, Logan Lee, Ryuhei Kuroda.

Words of Affirmation

Warren Chae: He's so quiet usually, and never has been very vocal with Sally but she also didn't initially return his affections. Canonically, his sentences and speech got better with his confidence so once you're together? Warren really finds his voice and adores showering you in praises and telling you how much he loves you.

Jihan Kwak: Vibe that he is flirtatious as hell, muttering a lot of sweet nothings that will make you blush and your pulse race.

+ NOT Goo Kim: Honeyed words flow from his mouth to anyone and everyone. Don't bank on anything he says holding a grain of truth.

+ NOT Jake Kim: A bit like Goo Kim, a lot of shit runs from his mouth. Sorry Jake. Jokes, pick-up lines, flirtations, puns. You can't take him seriously half the time and he does it with pretty much everyone.

Quality Time

DG/James Lee: Time is extremely limited for this k-pop idol and one-time limb detacher. If he spends time with you, he must really like you.

Hudson Ahn: Very busy man training, keeping an eye on Ansan and his lackeys, eating snakes in the middle of nowhere with Taesoo. Doesn't give up his time and focus for just anyone.

+ Daniel Park, Zack Lee, Vasco Tabasco, Johan Seong, Gun Park, Goo Kim, Eli Jang, Eugene, Sinu Han, Jace Park

Gifts

Jay Hong: Hard one to place, act of service then split between Gifts and Quality Time but Jay likes traditional gift-giving. Also protects and looks after others with his money too. Will literally buy your way out of trouble. Our capitalist king.

Logan Lee: It's canon.

Johan Seong: To be honest, I imagine him a bit like an outdoor cat, going on adventures and bringing you back gifts that he thinks you'll like. A pair of shoes mysteriously in your size and a bit worn, or maybe just a random flower that was pretty. It was totally Eden and Miro that picked it, not him. Stop looking at him like that!

+Goo Kim, Samuel Seo

Receiving

Acts of service

Actions may speak louder than words, but more because these guys have god complexes and loves you doing things for them.

+ Vin Jin, Goo Kim, Samuel Seo

Physical Touch

Vasco Tabasco: once he's over how deviant touching one another is, he doesn't want you to keep your hands off him. He has a limit though, so please keep the touches quite innocent and pure. Hand holding? YES. Pinching his butt? OBSCENE! (but... maybe... that's ok too.)

DG/James Lee and Gun Park: Not ever on the receiving end of tender touches. Moreso that they're not going to let just anyone get their grubby mitts on them. Something as casual as you linking your arm through theirs? It's different. It's unusual. It's... Nice.

+ Johan Seong, Eugene, Jace Park, Warren Chae, Ryuhei Kuroda, Xiaolong, Hudson Ahn

Words of Affirmation

Daniel Park: Hangover from his childhood, where the only compliments are from his mom. Always nice for him to hear clearly and loudly your love for him. Actually praising his looks though, he can take it or leave it.

Jake Kim: As mentioned, he chats so much shit that he sometimes forgets that being on the receiving end of sincere, loving words can really be beautiful. Especially if they're from you. Genuine compliments and praise will make him blush.

Jibeom Kwak: Middle child syndrome for this and quality time love languages. Attention, please.

+ Zack Lee, Vasco Tabasco, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo, Jace Park, Warren Chae

Quality Time

What's there to explain? They can't get enough of you. Even something as simple as sitting side by side, scrolling on your own phones. Just being in your presence is enough.

+ Daniel Park, Jay Hong, Zack Lee, Logan Lee, Johan Seong, Jake Kim, Gun Park, Eli Jang, Sinu Han, Ryuhei Kuroda, Jibeom Kwak

Gifts

Goo Kim: Here's a whole little drabble about this. He doesn't need expensive gifts, just tiny small things to show that he's on your mind. Yeah, almost as proof because he's an idiot like that.

Sinu Han: Can't you hear him giggling like a schoolgirl if you handed him a pretty leaf or something?

+ NOT Daniel Park: Jay gave him a wholeass designer wardrobe, and while he was grateful and was clueless about the cost, he didn't seem as fussed as someone who would truly appreciate it as a love language. Finds small things equally nice too.

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bagopucks · 1 year

Text

Blurbs

Jamie Drysdale x Reader

It’s 3:30 am. I woke up in the midst of a storm. So I figured I’d post a storm request I finished.

✄————————————

“She‘s right here, mom.” I peeked up from my phone to see Jamie turning his own in my direction. I waved at his mother on the face time call.

“Oh, hi, honey! I was just asking to make sure you were okay. I know Anaheim’s under a tornado watch right now.”

I frowned at the reminder, and slowly looked back down at my book.

“Mom.” Jamie scolded quietly, as if I wouldn’t be able to hear him from across the couch.

“Right, sorry. I forgot.”

“Do you mind if I hang up? I can’t stay on the phone with you all night.” Jamie spoke in a joking tone, but I knew he was antsy to get off the phone so he could charge it in the case that the power went out. And anybody with an iPhone knows how hot they get when on a call and charging at the same time.

“Yes, Jamie. Be safe, okay? And make sure you have a lot of blankets, and flashlights around. Does your apartment complex have a place to go to at times like these?”

“I think so. People have already visited and let us know where to go if the sirens go off.” Jamie stood up, and my eyes trailed him as he left the living room and walked into the dark kitchen.

I hated thunder storms. What I hated more was tornadoes. I hadn’t lived through one and I didn’t want to. But the threat of one in an area where they weren’t uncommon made me incredibly nervous. Every flash of lighting and loud crack of thunder woke a new wave of nerves. I hated it, but what I hated even more was how calm Jamie seemed.

“Right.. I love you mom.” Jamie returned with a bottle of water in his hand.

“Tell my sweet future daughter in law that I love her too!”

I smiled to myself, and I spared a moment to look up from my phone again, specifically to catch the blush on Jamie’s cheeks before it disappeared.

“I love you too Mrs. Drysdale!” I shouted across the room, and Jamie ended the call quickly after.

“She is so set on you being the girl I marry.”

“And you’re not?” I teased as I looked back down. Jamie quickly got settled on the opposite end of the couch again.

“I am, but she’s been like that since day one.” He shook his head in disbelief, reaching up to push back the dark hair that fell over his eyes.

The light flickered, and for a moment neither Jamie nor I said a word. We both looked up at the ceiling, as if somebody was messing with the lights there. Perhaps we jinxed our own power, because the next thing I knew, there was a loud rumble of thunder and the power completely cut out.

“Great,” I heard Jamie mumble out.

“Jam.” I stretched my legs out across the couch, the tip of my toes just barely grazing his thigh.

“You good?”

“Should we go downstairs?”

“Babe, we’re fine. There’s no siren or anything. Just a loss of power.”

I turned my phone off and set it down. Jamie’s flashlight turned on, and he set his phone down with the light facing upwards. I could see him. It made me feel safer. A flash of lightning lit up the room, far brighter than Jamie’s light. I tensed in anticipation of the thunder, but the loud boom still caught me off guard. My entire body jolted, and the only sound to soothe me had been the sound of Jamie’s laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, pulling my blanket up over my shoulders.

“You.”

“Me?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Jamie brought his hand down to rest on my ankle.

Another rumble of thunder made me gasp.

“Babe, really.” Jamie insisted. “Come here.” His smile slowly faded into a look of determination. I crawled out from beneath my blanket and moved over to Jamie’s side of the couch, curling into his side. “I’ve got you, alright?” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I rested my head on his shoulder.

“You’re safe with me. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. When I opened them, I looked back to the window, wincing at another flash of lightning. I felt Jamie pull me into his chest more, both of us anticipating the thunder, but he was more so worried about me jumping again.

When the thunder did rumble, I pressed deeper into his side. Jamie kissed my head and rubbed his hand up and down my arm in a soothing manner.

“Babe.” Jamie spoke sternly. “Stop thinkin’ about it.” He moved his free hand forward to rest beneath my chin, tilting my head in his direction. I sighed softly. “Don’t think about it.” Jamie leaned forward to press his lips against my own. He put up a good argument. He made for a great distraction. As he pulled away, my I allowed my body to relax against his side. The lightning flashed, but I tried to remain focused on Jamie. He’d get me through this.

“See? That’s not so bad. Gimme another.” Jamie pressed his lips to my own once again, earning a quiet laugh from me before the thunder rumbled. My body tensed, but I didn’t jump.

“You’ll be okay.” Jamie reminded gently against my lips.

#jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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drarryspecificrecs · 1 year

Photo

2023.04 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3

1. When Harry Sniffed Draco by CorvetteClaire [E, 137k]

►Once upon a time, wizard blood was mingled with that of wolves and a race of magical creatures known as Lycans was born. In the millennia since the race nearly died out, until Lycans have become little more than legends or fairytales. So imagine his surprise when, shortly after his 18th birthday, Draco Malfoy goes into heat! Draco now finds himself in the awkward position of being the only known Omega in the wizarding world. [...] The only saving grace for Draco is that Alphas are even rarer than Omegas, and the chances of him running afoul of one at Hogwarts are virtually nil. Until Harry Potter turns up, that is.

2. It Started With A Handshake by i_dont_read [E, 113k]

►One year after the war, Draco Malfoy is fresh out of a three-month term in Azkaban. As part of his parole, he's back at Hogwarts as an eighth year student to finish his studies. All Draco wants to do is lie low and make it out of Hogwarts in one piece, but when he finds that he's forced to room with none other than Harry Potter, that proves to be much more difficult than Draco anticipated. After a particularly eventful detention together, Harry and Draco must reconcile their relationship. What started as a volatile feud eventually becomes something much deeper than either of them could've imagined. The question is, will Draco ever come to terms with his feelings, or will he be left pining forever in secret?

3. Twenty-Two Cards series by peu_a_peu [E, 105k, 6 works]

►Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

4. A little bit confused but not at all surprised by indigospacehopper [M, 103k]

►When auror-in-training Harry Potter accidentally drinks a truth potion, he’s sent straight to St Mungo’s for their expert potions master to help him. The problem? Draco Malfoy is the expert potions master, and he’s having far too much fun taunting Harry about his problem. However, more sinister things are afoot and whilst Harry and Draco bicker and flirt, dark forces prepare to make their move…

5. What The Fuck Draco Malfoy! by Silverhood [M, 70k]

►After being almost killed by Harry Potter, Draco decided that being a death eater is most definitely not what he wants with his life. After lots of planning, and a bit of help from his Godfather, Draco finally comes up with a way to escape. Becoming an animagus and fake his death. /// Snape brings in a strange creature to the great hall with him. Harry finds it adorable. Dumbledore is not pleased.

6. A Game of Cat and Mouse by @steampunkserpent27 [E, 66k]

►It's best to not stand too close to the water's edge, lest something pulls you into the deep. Draco knows this well, but something keeps dragging him back to the elusive, green-eyed stranger waiting for him by the dock.

7. Your Soul Sat On My Lips by @m0srael [E, 61k]

►Sometimes, two broken men can love one another whole again, and sometimes they can’t. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to try.

8. along each garden wall by @oflights [E, 61k]

►Draco has to have a baby (or have one on the way) at the time of his fast-approaching 35th birthday, or he's going to lose his home to his vile cousin. Harry offers to help, but their complex past—even beyond Hogwarts—prompts Draco to set out on a long journey of friendship, kittens, gardens, motorbike rides, and more.

9. Under the Invisibility Cloak by bribri02 [E, 54k]

►Draco and Harry have been hanging out on top the Astronomy Tower. Only Draco doesn't know it's Harry he's starting to catch feeling, for the Gryffindor stays hidden from his love under his cloak.

10. Thunder in Our Hearts by Miss_and_the_Rope [E, 50k]

►Harry and Draco both turn to running to help them process their trauma after the war and they end up bonding over it. Will their newfound friendship turn to something more or will it crumble under the pressure of their pasts?

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 10k

※ Word count: 10k ~ 40k

arranged love by @stvrlvghtwrites [M, 28k]

Come, To Say Thank You by @shewhomustnotbenamed [E, 10k]

I just wanted you to know (that this is me trying) by Kendra_Storm [T, 13k]

In Memoriam (S.B, J.P, R.L) by @unturbulent [M, 33k]

An Open Mind by NettaAmi [M, 14k]

Safe With You by @amillionregrets [M, 28k]

Slippery as a Snake by sweetasmaple [M, 12k]

Under the Confetti Mist by @azalealarae [E, 12k]

We are strangers again. by IcarusGWings [E, 14k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Draco Tops Harry Fest 2021 | @dracotops-harry

HP Poetry Fest 2023 | @hp-poetry-fest

HP Trans Fest 2023 | @hptransfest

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #monthly review #2023

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copperbadge · 1 year

Text

[ID: A photo of the fountain in the Piazza Della Cinque Scole, featuring a gorgon head on the fountain, water visibly falling, and a bird perched on the rim, bathing and getting a sip of water.]

Okay, well, Piazza Della Cinque Scole is a lot more complex than I anticipated when my dumb ass walked into it looking for a place to eat a macaroon.

I didn't know when I booked my room that I was on the edge of the historic Roman Jewish ghetto, but when I found out later, I did somewhat plan a day around it. The idea was to go to the kosher bakery I'd heard was really good for breakfast, then stroll up to the Great Synagogue of Rome and do the museum and synagogue tour, and I have reservations for a late lunch at a historic local restaurant to try the Jewish fried artichokes (and obviously also now the Grandpa Balls, for those who saw the earlier post). I had wanted to attend Kabbalat Shabbos on Friday, but I got into Rome far too late, unfortunately.

What I didn't expect when I walked into the Museuo Ebraico di Roma this morning was for the first placard I read to explain to me that the Cinque Scole were the five distinct cultures of Judaism that one of the Popes crowded into the ghetto and furthermore that eventually they all were housed in one building, because all the Jews of Rome were only allowed one place of worship. So that's simultaneously even more awesome in re: imagine the shouting, and also an unavoidable and terrible aspect of the persecution of Jews in Europe. But yeah, it turns out the little plaza where I ate breakfast is hugely historically important to Roman Jewish history.

Good start to the day, actually; a lot of my most meaningful encounters with Judaism come from coincidence, which is the kind of chaos I just live in. And then I got to see the Great Synagogue, which certainly is a lot. It's a gorgeous building inside and out, but our tour guide told us that it was designed by gentiles because the Jews had no architects at the time (probably to do with being forbidden to own their own houses) so it's very, uh, unusual. It seems to be (both visually and from the tour guide's speech) that the architects basically said "Let's make a church that's, you know....exotic," and the result is a very pretty synagogue that looks like it's also a basilica and an art deco hotel lobby, all at the same time.

I have a couple of minutes before lunch reservation so I thought I'd come home and drop off the souvenirs I bought; getting to the restaurant should be fairly easy if I take the alleys instead of the main streets as planned. This whole area is basically wide alleys that occasionally open into interesting courtyards, but aside from some areas that are barricaded off from cars, they're also city streets -- cars and motorcycles drive through them all the time, and it will be a miracle if I get out of Rome without getting pasted into a wall by a Fiat. (Most of the cars on these alley-streets are Mini Coopers and I figure if a Mini Cooper tries me I can just kick it onto its side.)

I found a super cool Jewish antique store near the museum, so I bought a lovely almond-blossom brooch for Mum for mother's day and a khamsa bracelet for myself, and also a fidget ring inscribed in Hebrew that I'm pretty sure has the traveler's prayer on it but I'm going to need to check next time I've got Sefaria open.

#sam travels #the cheese tour #rome #jewish rome #jewish history #jumblr

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katherinakaina · 6 months

Text

Being bullied for knowing another language is a real thing. Think of all the animosity people feel towards the Bachelor for saying, what, 3-4 phrases in Latin.

Storytime.

Every Russian feminist remembers how Nixelpixel was bullied and I presume is still being bullied. It really was Russian gamer gate and Nixelpixel is Russian Anita Sarkeesian. Both were tormented for being feminists, that's the base of it. But Anita was also a target of antisemitism and anti Armenian rhetoric. Nixelpixel is a skinny white Russian, very little to add on top. So she was bullied for speaking English.

She is bilingual and as many of us bilinguals do, she mixed languages in her speech in the way that I do and feels natural to me and all my friends.

The Russian Internet was not having it, not even a little bit. Unanimous consensus was that she is doing it only to appear smarter.

For English speaking people in the first world it maybe hard to comprehend. English is just the default language. But remember how conservatives react when some nonbinary teenager makes a video about cultural appropriation or any other academic topic and suddenly they all feel like they don't know certain words?! And they have to google words to understand someone's complex speech?! This is unheard of! And what right does this "beneath me in social hierarchy" have to know something that I don't?!! Outrageous!

The core of this emotion is envy. Knowing English good enough so you become legitimately bilingual is a privilege in Russia. Knowing a lot of stuff about society and understanding complex topics is a privilege. You have time and money for education. Or you got lucky and had educated parents. Envy becomes even more venomous when the person you envy is supposed to be beneath you.

Like, I don't really get it. But that's how I make sense of other people hating me all my life for being... eloquent. As if they anticipate me being hostile because they are less eloquent than me and attack me preventively.

This is made worse by me being autistic and forgetting all the time that you must make all humble song and dance around your every achievement so not to trigger neurotypical rage. I genuinely forget which words are too smart and which are fine. The idea that I'm trying to sound smarter on purpose is so laughable to me.

Returning to the Bachelor. He's a doctor, he studied at university. Do you hate him when he uses medical jargon? What's the deal with Latin then? They study Latin in med school. It is a mandatory course. For me this trait of his always meant to signify that he took his education very seriously and knows everything that he studied very well.

When people just assume that someone, a character or a person, does anything just to look smart I'm a little triggered. I know I'm not safe in that company.

And I know that all of it is incredibly whiny. Knowledge is a privilege, as I said. Dankovsky is a privileged man. I'm not blaming those who feel uncomfortable around learned people. I'm not blaming those who are not into such characters.

But Dankovsky is not gatekeeping knowledge though! He looks like a man who would nerd out about Latin to you, if you only asked. He gives his degree away for free! It's not the same as rich people hoarding wealth. He's eager to share his knowledge! But now he is a coloniser imposing his western ideas onto indigenous society.

Oh well, damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Maybe it's not envy then? Maybe they want a smart sounding person but the one who would agree with them all the time? Like, Peterson uses a lot of long words and they love him. Hm...

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #daniil dankovsky #bilingual #the guy is being bullied for 20 years for using latin idioms three times in 12 days

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seiueina · 11 months

Text

IN THIS TOGETHER | ITOSHI RIN*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ; 796wc

episode 4: "let's surprise daddy at the airport!"

synopsis: y/N and jiro goes and picks up rin from the airport! rin is needy for y/N but jiro just wants to be back in daddy’s arms.

warnings: suggestive + slice of life + whole family again + everything's better with a strawberry milkshake

The airport was colder than you anticipated…you rarely find yourself at the airport let alone inside of it. But today was different! See the plan (or the norm) is Rin typically calls a rideshare from the airport to the apartment complex..there he’s greeted with y/N along with Jiro conjoined to her hip as she opens the door. But today was different when y/N decided to surprise him at the airport herself.

“Tell Rin not to call a ride-share…say that you guys want to go out for drinks!” You emphasized heavily, “not to call a ride share” because you knew deep down it could go horrible when talking to Karasu, one of Rin’s teammates. Worst-case scenario, he’d arrive home to no one there to greet him and you feel your heart sinking at just the thought of it.

“Momma, when’s daddy coming?” Jiro asks as he twists a handful of your hair in his not so small any more hands. “He should be coming out any second!” You say as you start to bounce a little, keeping Jiro entertained as much as you possibly could. A short time later, you see four familiar faces start to walk towards you from out of the baggage claim.

You wave them down, and from the distance, you could see your husband's face filled with tiredness and devastation. You could see his eye bags even with the great amount of distance between the two of you. When you caught his attention, his face lit up, his eyes bulging and he starts to run straight at you.

A little too fast than you thought, he was then running when all of a sudden you felt your feet dangle up from the air and the giggles let out by your four-year-old. “Is this why they were persistent about me not calling a rideshare?” Rin asked as he placed kisses all over your face along with Jiros.

“Mhm! I thought- well Jiro thought of picking you up from the airport would be a change so! Minus well it be a surprise!” You say while also looking at Jiro, now being placed back onto the ground. Rin immediately goes in to retrieve Jiro from your arms.

“Hey, baby boy! Did ya miss me?” Rin asks as he throws Jiro up into the air to catch him, doing this action a few times before Jiros giggles turned into pleads. “Of course I did Daddy!” Jiro answers as Rin places him on his shoulders. Jiro grasped Rin’s teal hair.

“I missed you two a lot as well..” Rin says, looking particularly into your eyes as he takes one hand and starts caressing your arm, pulling you into a long-awaited kiss. “I love you, s’much baby!” He says in between breaths, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

He could get lost right there and then. Forgetting he’s in a public space, forgetting that he’s the top football player in FIFA, forgetting that there are cameras everywhere. He could have gotten lost in the feel of your lips until Karasu slaps him on the shoulder.

“Yer should know, no PDA during game season.” Karasu exclaims before putting himself on top of you, bringing you into a hug. You return the hug and look over at your husband with annoyance on his face. You smile at him, before letting out a laugh when you see a line of transparent drool fall from Jiro’s mouth onto Rin’s hair. "Ah shucks! Thank you Karasu for helping me with this." You utter, rubbing the back of your head before going back to your husband and son.

Rin immediately feels the drool and swiftly brings Jiro down back into his arms. “Jiro! You can’t drool on people!” Rin lectures before putting him onto the ground so he could stand up himself. “Jiro! Bad boy!” You say jokingly before looking up at your husband. “Let’s go home!” You say before grabbing Jiros free hand and walking towards the exit.

You buckle Jiro into his car seat and see Rin standing behind the car, the trunk still open. “Rin? Jiro's all buckled in, you read-” You say as you get to the back of the car you are met with a strong grasp to your waist, lips plucking down your neck and his hand softly groping at your butt cheeks. You slap him away.

“Maybe we should call your parents…watch Jiro for a bit.” He says, foreheads conjoining, you laugh at his comment.

“Maybe. But I want to have a family day! Maybe our anniversary…it is coming up in three days…” You say with a cheeky smile, ending it off with a wink before returning to the passenger side of the car.

You hear Rin chuckle before slamming the trunk door closed and entering the driver's seat. “Who wants a strawberry milkshake?!” Rin announces as quickly Jiro shouts, “Me! Me! I want one!” shortly you also respond.

#ִ ࣪𖤐 satoberrie #ִ ࣪𖤐 sumijade's writing #anime #blue lock #bllk manga #bllk x you #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock x y/n #bllk headcanons #bllk rin #bllk rin x reader #blue lock rin #blue lock rin itoshi #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #itoshi rin fluff #bllk itoshi rin

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rainbowsky · 8 months

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Hiiiiii. I'm here again!💛 My question is: what are your top 3 solo dance performance of Web?

Mine includes his recent interpretative dance of Like the Sunshine, opening dance during SDOC4, and the classic Versace on the Floor, duh! 😘

You're anonymous so I have no idea who you are, but hello! Nice to see you! 😊

I absolutely love this question, thanks so much for asking it! DD's dance performances are always exciting, and something I eagerly anticipate - probably more than anything else from him!!

#1 Like the Sunshine

There can be no other winner. Truly the most memorable performance he's ever given. So special on every level. Even though I've been unable to watch it since January (long story that I talk about in my post* about the song, which is still in drafts), I think about it a lot. Exceptional, beautiful, powerful.

*Sorry to bring up a mystery post, it WILL be published eventually!

#2 SDOC3 Captain Dance & Rehearsal

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I loved this practice version because we got to see DD dancing out of costume, and he looks so fucking amazing (he really can rock a tight-cuffed pant, windbreaker and ball cap like no other). This clip holds a special place in my heart. I love watching his practices. DD in his own clothing, just being DD, being a great dancer.

Both the practice and the live performances show DD's strong skill, professionalism, and talent. (DD's starts at 12:40).

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After the captains' opening performances the dancers all voted with their towels to choose the best one. DD ended up getting the fewest votes of all the captains.

If you rewatch the performances you can see that other performances weren't nearly as intricate, coordinated or frankly 'cool' as DD's, but we got to see these performances from a very different vantage than the dancers, so I'll cut them some slack for being so blind. There were even some comments after the fact, that they couldn't see the complexity of it from where they were sitting.

It's crazy to me to think that he ended up in the bottom from this, and he even made a statement about hoping to improve. 🥺

This dance was so good, he performed it so well. It really shows that perspective is everything.

#3 VOTF

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It feels like this performance wasn't meant for our eyes (😅), but I love it anyway. For all the same reasons everyone else does. It's just so smouldering and sexy, and he looks godly here.

My CPN post about the performance can be found here.

Special Mention: YH Practice Clip

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This practice dance has to be mentioned because it's been a favorite of mine for years. Not just because he looks so stellar in it, but also because more than a lot of other videos out there, this one really shows DD's exceptional gift for dance.

If you watch the presence/power of his performance vs the two dancers behind him, you can really see how much he stands out - how much star power he has just based on his overall demeanour. He has such beautiful lines, precision, musicality and quality of movement. He hits every beat and every step effortlessly, while giving so much swagger and fluidity. His transitions are unbelievable - so smooth and so strong. It's mesmerizing to watch.

It's crazy to think it's only 1 MINUTE of dance. It feels like an entire epic story of movement.

The same is also true with the Swalla video that is popular among fans. Same thing. You can really see DD's talent in these clips. I fervently wish he'd release more of these, although I understand it's not likely to happen again. It would be a feast for me if he did.

#bjyx #yizhan #yibo dance #favorites #ask

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bisexual-horror-fan · 11 months

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"A Lack Of Climax In Act Three." Reverse! Poly! Ghostface X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Hello, hello, hello! So at long last, the very much awaited follow up and part two to Lessons In Faking It Redux for Multi-May! I thought hard about this, I hope this is worth the wait and you all love it. I put a fuck ton of effort into this one and honestly it hurt to write! I am so mean to Billy and Stu in this but I don’t mean it, I love em still, I promise! But for now, let’s put that love aside and lose ourselves in this fun AU idea.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3k. Reverse! Poly! Ghostface X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Cheating. Lying. Fake Dating. Faking It In General. Cunnilingus. Fingering. “Loss Of Virginity”. Vaginal Sex. Nipple Play. Reader Is A Manipulative Asshole. Really Mean Shit, Hurt. Angst. Blood. Gore. Murder.

—

The big night was finally here.

To say that this was highly anticipated was an understatement. The culmination of over a year of work for your girlfriends and months of your own effort leading up to tonight. Sidney and Tatum were such good actors throughout this process, it was inspiring. The pair of them had killed a few more people by this point and had been playing up the scared and concerned act amazingly well, doing all they could to keep suspicion off of them. It made you all the more smitten with them. The duality and depth, the complexity they have inside of them, makes you wish you were sandwiched between the pair of them as opposed to Billy and Stu like you currently were.

Sidney and Tatum had this grand finale planned for a long time, a party at Sidney’s house, currently in full swing, was going to be the setting and so far everything was going off without a hitch. You were doing your best to keep your eyes on them while staying close to Billy and Stu, still playing the part of loving and caring girlfriend who was obscenely into them both. Billy was being extra clingy tonight, understandably the murders kicking up around town has him feeling stressed, you were excited that after tonight you would never have to deal with him again. After tonight you wouldn’t have to feel his arms around your waist while sitting in his lap, wouldn’t have to pretend you weren’t cringing inside when Stu would kiss you, the list drags on and on but there is no time to linger on that.

You notice the signal you had worked out with Tatum earlier, now for the next phase and you had to initiate it, time to put all that “practice” to good use. Everything before this was the rehearsal but this was like opening night on Broadway, you had to impress and dazzle and make them truly believe your act; and this was arguably much more challenging than any of the “read throughs” that occurred in your girlfriend’s bedrooms, you hope all the work pays off.

You’d been planning this yourself for a long time but unlike Sidney and Tatum’s openness, you hid exactly what you had in mind, for fun. Sure the two gave lots of direction but ultimately the final cut was left to your discretion, a show of trust from them that you appreciated. You can feel their eyes on you, looking at you from across the room, over the throng of the other inebriated party goers. You finish the rest of your own drink, which was free of any alcohol but the boys didn’t know that, before placing the red solo cup off to the side. Next you were turning in Billy’s lap, straddling him so you were now face to face, your arms hanging loosely around his neck as you looked down at him. “How you holding up, tiger?”

“You know how he is, head wayyy too full, way too stressed and worried-” Stu teased, he reached forward over your shoulder, an attempt was made to ruffle his hair but Billy yanked his head back, dodging out of the way with a sigh, “Can you blame me?”

“No, of course not. But Stu is right, look at all the people here, you are totally safe.” You reassured and he nodded but still seemed unconvinced as he said, “I know that but-”

“But nothing, listen to us man.” Stu cut in and you say, “Yeah. You want us to help distract you? Keep your mind on other things?”

“What did you have in mind?” He asked and you leaned in closer, “C’mon, I can’t show you here, we need to go upstairs for what I’m thinking of.”

You knew that it wouldn’t take much to convince either of them, but one well placed sentence and they were practically dragging you off to go upstairs with them, you have to hold your laugh in at how easy they were. To be fair this wasn’t the hard part, convincing them you were not only into the sex but getting off on it would be the real test. You meet Sidney and Tatum’s gaze as you walk past, Stu leading you with Billy right behind. You fight back your smirk, Sidney hides her own behind her sleeve, a subtle wave, a single that when matched with her eyes said, “Try to have fun.” Tatum hides her laugh behind the rim of her own cup.

It all feels different. Not just from what you did with your girlfriends, that was a give in, but the physical affection you had shared with Billy and Stu thus far to keep up your charade felt less seriously than it did tonight. You wonder if it is because you know this will be the last time or if because this time it is actually going somewhere, it isn’t just kissing with forced enthusiasm and some awkward feeling up, well it was at this moment, but the point is, it wasn’t going to stay just this.

It progresses quickly but that is fine, it sells it as rushed, passionate, all full of need, they certainly seem swept up in it. Your arms wrap around Billy’s neck as your tongue enters his mouth, you are very in your head, trying to make every single movement and sound read as effortless and natural when in reality it was a calculated dance that neither Billy nor Stu knew they were a part of. You really should be praised for this, the soft moan you let out was thoroughly convincing, even though his tongue was unpleasantly rough and he tasted of cheap beer that threatened to turn your stomach. The make out continues as Stu feels you up, rolling your nipples between his fingers in a way that harkens back to trying to tune an old radio. It makes you want to roll your eyes from how boring and not to your taste it was, you think that you could school that into a display of pleasure rather than annoyance, but you could save that for later.

You did feel some minor nerves but when you actually had more of their clothing off, touching them, it put you much more at ease. They are so responsive, alive, much more so than a regular silicone dildo locked into a strap-on harness, even a loose grip and an easy pace of your hand has either one of them bucking their hips with a groan. You don’t know why you were so worried, this will probably be easier than you thought.

Sidney tastes much better than Billy does, she has this almost sweet and salty tang and he has this bitter taste, metallic and sweaty and much less pleasant. Stu’s flavour isn’t much better, and his blow job etiquette leaves a lot to be desired with how he buries his fingers in your hair and forces you down until you gag, doesn’t let up until you push with more force than you should have to on his thighs to be able to just fucking breathe properly. You were glad you pre-lubed yourself in the bathroom to help make this easier because Tatum was right, Stu’s tongue is overrated.

He is sloppy in an overly enthusiastic way that sadly, doesn’t make up for the lack of any real technique, he can’t hold a candle to any of the experiences you have had previously with your girlfriends. Your fingers thread in his short hair and you pull, rolling your hips with a moan as you try to think of Sidney being in between your thighs earlier that very week. Stu doesn’t make it easy for you to pretend with how rough his treatment is, Sidney’s face is softer as is the stroke of her tongue but still you manage to be convincing that it felt fantastic rather than painful and overstimulating in the worst way.

Again you thank God for the lube you applied because lord knows Stu’s oral skills and Billy’s pawing hands aren’t doing anything to help make you naturally wet.

Things progress further and you fear that this might seriously hurt, it doesn’t thankfully, but there is a present ache, who would have thought penetration with a real dick rather than the imitation would feel so different? If anything the few sharp inhales and tense body help, again they think you have no experience and so showing no pain outwardly wouldn’t make sense. You play it all up of course, both the pain and the pleasure, one blending into the other as it progresses.

You insisted on condoms of course but still, it was an uncomfortably intimate experience in Billy’s arms, him looking down at you as you “lose your virginity to him”, he was clear how totally fucking lovesick he is. Doing this in front of Stu, him so close, touching you, talking to you, made this all the worse, it was nearly overwhelming and not in a fun way.

It pushes you forward, you play hardball and really take initiative and all in all, ten minutes, two condoms later you are definitely sore and putting your clothes back on. They were still clinging onto you, soon as your shirt is pulled back down and your jeans are buttoned they have you all wrapped up in your arms and you want to groan and push them off, you just had them literally inside of you two minutes ago, can’t they chill out for five fucking seconds?

Instead you take a deep breath and sling an arm around each of them, not much longer, less than an hour, you do your best to attempt to enjoy what would surely be your last cuddle session in your faux triad.

Said next hour was pretty chaotic. The distraction worked well, got everyone else out of the house except for who was meant to die and you were finally all where you were supposed to be. You were heaving, just finished running, Sidney and Tatum have Billy and Stu injured and cornered and even then, when it looked like they were done for, their concern was with you, a shout to get out of here, to run and the pair of masked killers straighten up, a look over their respective shoulders and a question of, “Should we fill em in?”

“I think that is only fair.” Came your response, a nod of agreement from them along with saying, “You are so right.”

The masks came off and the looks of shock on their faces were a million times more satisfying then the sex you had earlier with them.

Those looks slightly morphed to ones of confusion as you walked right up between the pair, just like you had with them previously, an arm slings around each of them, “Jesus that is a lot of blood, you two are brutal.”

“Had to make sure they wouldn’t get back up and try anything.” Sidney said with a shrug and Tatum, same as always, a tap of her cheek and you smile, a fond roll of your eyes before you lay a kiss down on her crimson smeared cheek, she greets you once the action of affection has been laid down, “Hi baby.”

“Hiya Tate.” You coo in return with a smile.

“How’s your night been?” You ask and Sidney scoffs, “Exhausting, hosting a party is just so much work, you know?”

You giggle, you love this, Tatum spilled to you that after getting stab happy Sidney gets jokey and silly, seeing it in person was too fun, too good for words. “Yeah, you must be dog tired.”

“Mmm, seriously. You know what is the worst thing about hosting a party?” Tatum asks and you respond curiously, “What is that?”

“The clean up.” Tatum said with a wave of her knife towards Billy and Stu, leaning against each other, clutching their wounds and still bleeding at a very steady rate. Finally Stu speaks up, “What the fuck is going on?!”

It interrupts your laughing over Tatum’s joke, and Sidney said, “Awe they still aren’t getting it.”

“You wanna help spell it out, baby?” The blonde asked and you nodded, “Course.”

You let go of them and take a step forward, you crouch down and look between the pair, “So-” you gesture between you and Billy and Stu, “-this? Was an act. What was between us? Our whole entire relationship? Was made up. Completely false, well, at least on my end.”

Eyes locked on Billy’s face, his lips are parted, there are tears staining his cheeks along, cutting messy tracks through the sweat and the blood, “You…You faked our entire relationship for-”

“Months.” You said easily, as if it was a plain as the clear blue sky, cutting off his sentence and finishing it all in one. Stu jumped in, there was blood down his chin, he had been coughing, he was cut deep, “The dates, the talks, the-”

“Sex? Oh my God, especially the sex.” You laughed and Billy seemed to get angry, “No way, I don’t believe it, there is no way that it was all pretend!”

“It was! It very much was.” You stood up straight, and Stu chimed in, “Yeah, I call bullshit-”

“Oh yeah? You need to be convinced?” You ask and when their expressions do not shift you put more of that “practice” to good use. Immediately switching it up, your eyes close, hands in your own hair, a few deep breaths, a few impassioned moans, calling out, sounding pitch perfect as if you were mid-fuck, “Shi-shit, Billy, ah! Stu, right there, don’t stop-”

Billy looked so betrayed, so hurt, it was delicious. Tatum praised, “Man, you do that shit so well.” You thanked her, "Couldn't do it without either of you giving me all those experiences to call back on." You then proceeded to launch into continuing to berate the two men bleeding out at your feet.

“Christ, you are just so fucking convinced that it is impossible for me to not be pathetically desperate for you two idiots like you are for me.” You sigh as you take a step back to be between Sidney and Tatum. “If your small brains can believe it, along with pretending to be with you, I’ve actually been really dating these two on the sly.”

The shock just continues, stunned silence as you heap on, “And it was all their idea! Been helping me the whole way so I could assist them and make this-” You gesture to the messy kitchen around you, “-all happen.”

You didn’t stop talking, “Every time we finished a hang out, a study sesh, a date, I would leave you both and go running back to them and man we would fucking laugh and laugh over all the dumbass shit you said.”

“Oh fuck, remember that night you told us about Billy telling you he loved you?!” Tatum laughed, her hand smacking you on the shoulder and Sidney perked up even more, “Oh my God!”

“I just love you so much-” You three mocked through fake tears before falling into a serious laughing fit.

“I did! I did love you, we both did-” Billy sobbed and you said, “I know that you did. It’s what made it so easy to trick you.”

“I told you everything, I was so open with you an-and you just-” His sentence broke off and you said, “Broke your heart? I know. Poor baby, I can be a real bitch.”

Stu began to make a move to try and get up, holding his side and Tatum’s laughing cut off, she fell to her knees, fingers in his hair, not unlike yours were earlier and she had the knife to his throat. “Don’t think I won’t do it. I’ve thought so much about it. Could slice your throat up and make a massive mess with very little effort.”

“You are all fucking crazy.” Stu spat and Sidney seemed less than impressed as she bit back, “Yeah real original Stuart.”

Sidney sighed then before she said, “So I’m getting just a touch bored so allow me to spell it out. I killed your mom, me and Tate are gonna kill you and Stu and pin it all on your dad. Got it?”

“Why?” Billy asked through more tears and you all groaned. “Oh my God, isn’t it obvious?”

Sidney kept going, “Because your mom ruined my fucking life, destroyed my family but yours stayed together! How is that fair?!”

Tatum chimed in, tone as lethal as she was, “It isn’t.”

“Right. It isn’t! So me and Tate and your little not-girlfriend cooked up this scheme to even the scales a bit.” Sidney was approaching Billy, knife brandished and she kept talking, “It was laughably simple and I am so fucking excited that I am going to be the one to run you through and get away with it.”

Stu was getting weaker and weaker, the blood was welling up from how hard Tatum was holding the knife to his throat, “Fu-fuck you.”

“Awe, we already did that and I gotta say, it wasn’t anything to write home about. You both called it, Billy's fingering is terrible, and Stu couldn't use that tongue properly to save his life! I dunno how I managed to fake my way through that mess.” You mocked him further still before saying. “But really we should wrap this up so in closing, Stu?”

You turned to him, “You are without a doubt one of the biggest, dumbest, most undeservedly overconfident assholes I’ve ever had the displeasure of getting to know.”

Turning to the other you say, “And Billy? You are a pathetic, whiny, fucking momma’s boy who no one is gonna miss.”

“Cold blooded!” Tatum laughed and Sidney cheered, “Well said! Couldn’t have put it any better myself.”

A look from brunette to blonde, knives at the ready, positioned just so, you watch with bated breath as there is a question of, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

#Reverse!Poly!Ghostface X Reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF writing #Multi-May #AT LONG LAST #IT IS HERE #FINALLY #Hope it was worth the wait #Enjoy the food #Eat it up

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leonstamatis · 10 months

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hello leon stamatis (my favorite stamatis)! i do not know anything about the state of blaseball right now, i think it was a randomly generated baseball-like a while back? my understanding was that most of the content was fan generated to begin with, being what it was and all that. is it too late to get into it? if not, i would love to hear some starter recs

what a coincidence, he is also my favorite stamatis! and blaseball is one of my favorite things. this, however, is a complicated question, so i'm gonna go ahead and apologize for what will surely be a much longer answer than you anticipated by asking this. sorry!

we're gonna start from the beginning. what is blaseball?

well, you're right. it's a randomly-generated baseball simulator. that's the general idea of it. there were 20-24 teams (sometimes more, depending on what else was happening), and they played games against each other. while it initially started as a basic baseball game -- with some absurd names and very simple mechanics -- it later evolved to include more complex mechanics, including player death, modifications to the stadiums, and other statuses that could impact and change gameplay at random (or under specific and nonsensical conditions).

blaseball started in late 2020 and had a sort of on/off cycle. during an on cycle, there would be games every hour on the hour for 99 hours over a week. then there would be a post-season to determine a champion, and the season would end. these on cycles were often divided into eras, and had larger plots and storylines forming connective tissue through the elections and special events.

during an off cycle, also known as a siesta, the devs would take some time to patch bugs, develop new features, and plan for the future. some of these siestas were a week or two; some were several months or over a year.

the unfortunate news here is that blaseball just recently... ended. the games won't be happening anymore, the site isn't active, and there's no new content coming down the pipe. the devs said it wasn't sustainable to keep doing it -- a thing that makes a lot of sense, because one thing blaseball certainly could be was overwhelming and time-consuming. and that's coming from me, as a fan who didn't have to actually do any of the coding or community maintenance.

however. onto the second part of your question. can you still get into blaseball even now that it's over?

[takes a deep breath.] YES. please do, in fact!

it's fair to say most of the content was fan-generated, i think, depending on what you define as "content." the games and the website were fairly minimalist; they gave us major events, but the characters were just names and a few lines of stats, so it's not like you're missing out on key character moments or quotes or anything with blaseball being done. all the identifying characteristics, the personality and appearance and emotional response? that's fans, baby!

this is one of the things that's cool about blaseball. i've heard it said that writing for the fandom is more in line with original fiction because so much of it is created by and dependent on the individual, as opposed to a centralized canon. which means a lot of the time, there's more effort in a fic to introduce you to someone -- something fanfic doesn't typically do! and because so much was happening in blaseball all the time, people do make an effort to explain events and canon occurrences either in author notes or in the story itself.

(unless, that is, it's a major event everyone was largely aware of. these were few and far between, but they were such a big deal that they make up a lot of the fic content. if you have questions about any of those events, i would recommend the blaseball wiki, where election results, modifications to specific players, and other significant canon events are recorded. there's lore there, too, but i can pretty much guarantee that whatever lore is there won't match up directly with any of the fic you read; blb authors tend to take the wiki and widely-accepted fanon lore more as a suggestion than as a rule.)

the long and the short of it is, you can absolutely still get involved. there are just under 3,000 fics, last time i checked, so it's not big enough that you'll be drowning. my honest recommendation is to pick a team based on who you vibe with -- the blaseball wiki has team overview pages, too -- and then see who is writing for that team. there are collections for a lot of them, and they'll focus on a specific set of characters most of the time depending on who had the most significance on the roster.

(my actual recommendation is to start with the earlier fics. the discipline era -- the first eleven seasons -- was a very tightly told story without a lot of bells and whistles. players had a normal season in season one, and then in season two everyone started dying, and then in season seven the fans messed with the mechanics and did a necromancy and the necromanced player started murdering people until we all banded together to defeat the god that was giving them the ability to do that. that's pretty easy to follow, especially compared to later eras when the entire point was adding as many new mechanics as possible or testing out new features. it got confusing, even for people keeping a close eye on all of it.)

if you find something that confuses you, that's okay! it might take some effort/research to understand these storylines, but the wiki is pretty good at explaining mechanics and events. just look up whatever is getting you and it should make some more sense. or you can use Before, an archival tool that lets you watch old games and fandom events in real time. (and if it still doesn't make sense... well. that's blaseball, baby! you kind of get used to rolling with nonsense, honestly.)

okay. that's all very long-winded, because of course it is. sorry, again. but... recommendations!

i think, often, that blaseball fic would be aided by the inclusion of a sort of "Weeb Ass Shit" scale. some of it is going to be very embedded in the nonsense of blaseball and hard to get through, especially if you're new to the team, specific player, or even blaseball in general.

hen fourteenfifteen and i had some friends who had never engaged with blaseball read a few fics of ours a couple months back as an experiment, and it shocked me to learn that the concept of an incineration -- a player being set on fire and killed by a "rogue" umpire, one of the earliest and most basic mechanics in the game -- was unfamiliar and a stopping point for the readers, because they'd never heard about that happening. and certainly not in such a nonchalant way. these kinds of terms are everywhere in blaseball fic, but if you can find the ones that focus more on a character than a game or a modification, then you've got a starting point and you can build out from there.

that being said, there's always going to be blaseball, so there are definitely still going to be moments where you end up scratching your head. it is simply impossible not to. if you're cool with that, here's a brief collection of some blaseball fics i would say have a lower blaseball-ass shit rating:

when winter turns to spring by waveridden, a love story between two co-captains from around season seven to season eight. (also, it's one of my favorite ships and it's my team. go flowers.) honestly, hayden does an excellent job of explaining everything in very simple and understandable ways. so if you want to just poke around on their page, you'll have an excellent time. there's a whole run of things from mid-2021 that is literally just character studies written for other people, and they're all great.

the things we take off for each other by bloodsweatspit is less about blaseball itself and more about one of the teams, the canada moist talkers. it looks at a handful of the key dynamics and is, in my opinion, one of the best fics for providing insight into a team and the people on it -- especially in so few words.

speaking of the moist talkers. it's hard to recommend just one of cyndakip's fics, but they all tend to exist in a similar timeline and universe and there's a lot of continuity that makes it easy to follow once you've gotten started. if you're looking for some very well-done, very lengthy character work, cynda does great things.

there's this fun trend that hit during the first lengthy break in blaseball colloquially known as the 12x100, or twelve scenes of 100 words. the idea is to give a series of short scenes that highlight a character or storyline without committing to a whole lengthy thing. i'd recommend checking out the 12x100 tag and clicking through a few to see what characters you like. (more specifically, babytriumphant's chicago, in brief series is a bunch of them specifically focused on the chicago firefighters team, and they're all lovely!)

another flowers fic. i'm not sorry. oxicleanmoron's it's my own damn fault is more recent, and set in the late expansion era. but it's not about blaseball. it's about a road trip. so you're in good hands if you want some fun character dynamics and minimal blaseball.

lift your head (and look out the window) by baliset is a nice little window into the baltimore crabs. marn also is one who does a really good job of explaining things from the beginning, so there are a few fics of hers i would recommend. but start with this one, and then maybe check out your sinking ship (is big enough for two) if you want to meet some more of her beloved little guys.

another sort of love story without the focus on game mechanics: you're at the party (you're not invited) by impernia. this one i include in part because i think it leans into some of the stranger aspects of blaseball lore without getting into the game itself; a lot of characters are strange or unusual in some way, and this fic conveys that beautifully.

take the bullet by waltztangocache is a great example of something you'll find a lot in this fandom, which is... character death stories! if there's one thing blaseball gave us a lot of fodder for, it's people dying and people grieving. if that's your thing, wonderful! you've found your people! hen does a great job showing the ripple effects that i would say are common in fanon lore -- esp on the firefighters -- regarding incinerations. i love this fic. it pains me.

i have written a lot of blaseball fic in my time, but i tend to think i fall pretty high on the blaseball-ass shit scale. there are others like me. however, if you do not mind me shilling for just a moment, i would recommend to you inside your blinding light. it's not about blaseball, as much. it's about a carpenter and a tree, and they fall in love. welcome to blaseball lore! it's fun here.

i... hope you were not overwhelmed by all of this. thank you for asking about this, and for being willing to dig deeper into this fandom and what it has to offer! i'm barely scratching the surface here, but all of the authors i've listed have plenty of fics worth reading, and there are tons of authors i love who i didn't have a specific pull from for this list but who i would nevertheless recommend once you're a little more familiar with how this fandom writes.

blaseball is over, but the fic's still around. and it's pretty fucking good fic, i'd say. <3

#thank you thank you!!!#ardentumbra #tam.ask #i am... so sorry #but like. yaaaaay long post #blaseball #blaseball fic rec #fic recs #long post //#VERY LONG POST...

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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 2 months

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HEYY girl 💗 could I req a bam x fem reader where they’re enemies to lovers becuase y/n is just as reckless as he is?? Thank you 🫶

The Stuntgirl Rule

Bam breaks the one rule the crew all agreed on when they first added a girl to the group, which wouldn’t be as big of a deal if they didn’t hate each other. All this animosity builds and builds until Y/N finally figures out how to knock Bam down a peg.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Fluff, Angst)

3.8k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, enemies to lovers, crude language, blood, snakes, misogyny, Madonna-Whore complex, injuries, hospitals, flirting, slut shaming, situationships

An: Thank you so much for the request!! I’ve come to find out I really do love writing for enemies to lovers pairings :) More than that, I got to do a lot of research for this fic with psychological complexes, especially (as the tags indicate) the Madonna-Whore complex!! If you can’t tell by now, I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to writing XD I also experimented with making Bam a bit of an unreliable narrator in this one to wort of show his thought process better. I’ve been told my writing takes the asshole out of him but I’m pretty sure this fic put it right back in, so be warned! If you want an idea of the dynamic I was going for, the dynamic betwen Bam and Y/N reminded me a lot of this clip from the 2016 revival of the musical, Falsettos! Ah, my theater kid past…But thank you for the request and please keep sending more!!

Kneeling on the grass, you sat eye to eye with the King Cobra you somehow got a permit to film with. The whole “Kiss of Death” stunt got shuffled around to a couple of the other guys before it landed on you but hell, you couldn’t complain- dangerous shit was kinda your thing, and otherwise the next person in line would’ve been Bam and you knew exactly how that would turn out- the yelling, the laughing, the storming off set. All the guys stood around, looming over you with bated breaths as you slowly leaned over the snake, the hot Florida sun beating down on your skin as the air swam with anticipation. But as you were creeping in, right before your lips made contact with the Cobra’s forehead, the thing lunged at your neck. Everybody hooted and hollered as you grabbed the snake and lurched back in an act of quick reflexes, chuckling in surprise, but before you could crack some wise ass joke, your cockiness betrayed you and that smug grin on your face was wiped right off your face when you felt a pair of fangs sink into your wrist. “Agh! Fuck…” Yanking your hand back, you shook out the sting as you stumbled to your feet. Steve, who was serving as impromptu cameraman after Rick ‘refused any part in your dangerous bullshit’, focused the lense in on the blood that was tricking from your arm, “Shit…that’s gnarly, dude.” Though you probably should have been concerned for yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about how awesome it looked as Johnny patted you on the back appreciatively, “That was great, Y/N!”

As you were getting walked to the medic tent, the only one who didn’t want any part in your little victory parade was Bam, still sitting half slumped back on set, glaring at you as you walked away. Big whoop, girl gets bit by snake. Last week he got on a teeter totter in the bullpen and you don’t see that on any headlines. Maybe he hated the way the guys talked and joked with you like you were one of them even though you joined the Jackass cast less than a month ago. On the other hand, maybe he was still pissed off by the very real but entirely unspoken ‘Don’t Fuck the Stuntgirl’ rule. Of course Bam brought that sorta thing up when you first joined because he’ll there’s a lot you can do once you’ve got a chick in your group, but Johnny quickly shut the idea now by saying since they wouldn’t screw any of the other guys in the crew, they’d be keeping their hands off of you. Keeps things from getting awkward when you gotta see eachother on Monday, you know? But since Bam’s running theory of you only having gotten on set after getting into Knoxville’s pants hadn’t been disproven, he wrote it off as him making the whole thing up to keep the pretty girl all to himself. Greedy asshole. Who was he to say what he could and couldn’t stick his dick into? God, he bet the whole crew was passing you around- behind trailers, in empty hotel rooms, or what about those porta-potties on set…Bam decided to stop thinking about that once some things got stirred in his mind he didn’t really want to think about too long.

Getting bandaged up in the medic tent, you hardly noticed when Bam walked in after everybody left, watching quietly and scanning you up and down from where he stood. He looked from the bruises on your knees Bam was sure he knew the source of, to your baggy clothes that always made you look like a guy with the way they sat on your body, to your hair that was unkempt and showed just how little you cared about your appearance in his eyes. You were the exact opposite of Bam’s type in women- that dark lipstick tight bootcut fantasy goth chick with a great ass that also wasn’t a bitch. Looking up from where you were bleeding through your gauze, you made eye contact with him nonchalantly, “What is it?” Bam’s eye twitched at the disinterested tone in your voice but he kept up the whole smug thing, “You cryin’?” The medic had to scoot out of the way as you leaned in towards him and squinted at the realization that Bam was getting that whole ‘hating you’ stick up his ass again. “Does it look like I’m crying?” Part of him wanted to see you cry. Bam’s eyes drifted back to your hair, thinking about how satisfying it would be to grab a handful of it and yank you to your feet with his lips pressed tight against your ear as he said every awful word he was too nice to say to your face- that he knew everything about nasty hoes like you worked, and while it was cute how quickly the guys took to you, he was getting pretty damn sick of it so it was time for you to get the hint and hit the road. But he didn’t.

The medic passed you a container of pills that you palmed and that’s when Bam got an idea, “That snake oughta be on antibiotics instead’a you.” Scoffing at his unoriginal joke, you cocked your head to the side, “Really? You think a little blood’s that nasty? Y’damn baby…” Outside the tent, there was no doubt amongst the guys that another one of your petty fights were starting and nobody was looking forward to it. Well, except you. You found the little bickering thing you had with him fun, especially with all the weak ass insults Bam threw at you. “I mean, anything that comes outta you’s nastier than whatever Steve-O’s got goin’ on in him- that guy’s a disease nest.” This was too easy. “Yeah, says the guy who let him tongue his ass wound...” Wait, you were at that party too- the one where Steve popped ecstasy and went around kissing everyone cause he ‘felt good’? Bam’s jaw clenched at the way you always had an answer to him- how dare you one up him. He jabbed a finger at your chest, “Oh, don’t talk that shit. You wouldn’t even have the balls to get branded in the first place!” Unable to help yourself from cracking a smile, your giddiness was apparent in your voice, “I got more balls than you do.” As much as you hated how much of a little bitch he could be, you always thought the back and forth thing you had between him wasn't ever that serious (a contrast to the way Bam viewed it). Delight filled you as he stormed out of the flap of the white medical tent, blushing and emasculated and- while he would never admit this, kind of turned on by the angry banter like it was some kinda foreplay.

You needed soap. That’s how it started- after shooting one day, you went back to the hotel and noticed halfway through your shower that the room service lady forgot to leave any of those tiny complimentary soaps. Groaning, you got out of the comfortable, warm, sorely needed shower and put on a towel, thinking you could go next door and get some from the guys. It’s not like you hadn’t seen them naked before, so them seeing you in a towel was no big deal. Water dripped off of your legs as you walked out into the hallway, pushing open the door to their room which was left unlocked. From what you could tell, they had gone to the hotel bar promptly after filming, so you didn’t bother to announce your presence as you walked in. However, you had one major oversight in this- Bam, who you didn’t notice from where he was sitting on one of the beds on the near side of the room. Now, you and him could have gone on just hating and fucking with each other and everything would’ve been fine, but this one incident would change it.

From where he sat on the bed, Bam silently watched as you walked around like you owned the place, softly humming to yourself as you rummaged through their shower- through his shower, the towel you wore riding up dangerously high on the backs of your thighs, skin still glistening wet as you bent over, nabbing a few little bottles of shampoo and conditioner. He glared at you with contempt through your reflection in the mirror. You’d probably do this even if the whole crew was here, wouldn’t you? Just stroll on in, nearly naked, parading yourself around in front of all those dudes like it was nothing. Shameless. He knew better than anything what that kinda porno logic setup would devolve into. Wait- christ, was he…? Oh, oh yeah. Yep. Bam couldn’t believe himself- he was actually getting hard. More than that, you had no clue he was there in the first place even as you turned to leave, and you wouldn’t have noticed him at all if he didn’t stand up to catch your attention. “What’re you doin’?” Turning around, you met Bam’s gaze, maybe six inches away from his body as you held up your towel with one hand and presented him your spoils in the other, “I’m getting soap…?” Unceremoniously plucking one of the bottles from your hands, he squinted at you like he was accusing you of something, “So you think y’can just waltz on in here and take my shit whenever you feel like it?”

Looking around at the empty room, you got an idea to really get under his skin. You know how Bam uses his little rich boy MTV paycheck to get whatever he wants? Well your pockets may not be lined as generously but you still found a way. Taking a step forward, you pressed your body right up against his, the same way you saw all those flirty girls do to him at the bar, letting your towel slip down a little as your voice dropped into a teasing coo, trying to provoke him, “Aww, what’s the matter? You don’t like sharing?” While you were referring to the soap, Bam took it as a double entendre and thought there was no way you didn’t mean it in the way he was thinking- what with the way your chest was squished tight against his torso or how you were practically straddling his thigh in, and this is important here, only a towel. In your eyes, this was the same as any other day you were going back and forth on set, but Bam, oh. He could feel the surge of hormones in his bloodstream as his breath caught in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. The way your body was curving against his nearly made him forget about why he hated you so much. Snapping back to reality, he couldn't tell if this was anger or lust that made him speechless, but it was probably a mix of the two. Leaning in closer, you pressed your lips close to your ear, his very obvious state of arousal only fueling your teasing as you words fell slow, melodically from your lips as you enunciated, trying to keep yourself from laughing and fucking it all up. “I’m gonna take this soap back to my room, and I am going to rub it over every inch of my wet. Naked. Body- and you are gonna do nothing about it. So, uh…” Reaching out with a grin, you grabbed the bottle back from Bam’s frozen hand. Now, logic would dictate that this is right about when the two of you would say fuck it and start going at eachother, but that’s not what you had in mind. “Thanks!” Slipping out the door and shutting it loudly, you left him standing there- unable to respond, entirely conflicted, and hard. Fuck.

Why was this happening? He was Bam Margera- Bam fucking Margera- he could have hordes of playboy bunnies folowing him arround wherever he want and fawning over him like their lives depended on it, but noooo. He had to fall for the gross chick he worked with. Perfectly fine, well-adjusted (debatable) women literally threw themselves at his feet on a day to day basis, and the one he’s got his eye set on? Yeah, last week she was doing lines of Tabasco sauce with Steve-O off the table at Denny’s cause they got bored waiting for their food. What a catch. He didn’t even want to meet up with the guys to go pick up chicks at the bar anymore- you know, the civilized kind that wore makeup and shoes you couldn’t skateboard in. And you didn’t even want him the way those girls wanted him- you were messing with his head like some succubus. Very quietly, he sat back down in the bed and thought about some things.

Bam was having a hard time letting everything that was happening with you go- that’s not the kind of guy he is, you know? Too many big feelings in a small package gotta go somewhere. So when he showed up on set the next day, hyped up to do that stunt where he was set to get shot by a riot control shotgun wearing nothing but a leather jacket for protection, his emotions were not in any way subdued when he caught word that Knoxville gave the stunt to you. “Dude!” Storming up to confront him, Bam pulled the asshole away from whatever conversation he was having with Jeff, “I mean, seriously? You got Y/N to do the stunt and not me?” Sticking his hands up in a mercy gesture, Johnny stammered but managed to explain himself, “I’m just sayin, man- It’d work better for her! You know- you have your skating stuff, she’s got the dangerous stuff! You could always watch from the sidelines…” Yeah, real nice save there, Knoxville. Bam hated whenever you did stunts- not because he didn’t like that you were equally as reckless as him, no way- it’s just that he thought chicks shouldn’t be doing dangerous shit, and you were always there to throw yourself in harm's way, and that annoyed him. You were standing off to the side, joking around with Chris and Steve when you felt someone suddenly grab your shoulder from behind and roughly spin you around to face him, “You know, I had some fuckin’ ideas about you, Y/N, but this really takes the cake.” Grimacing, you stood eye to eye with Bam, a little too close to his body to be comfortable. “What the hell are you talking about?” Bam took a step back, eyeing you up and down as he got ready to say what had been eating away at him for weeks. His voice was tense as he nearly growled, “You’re fuckin’ Knoxville.” What?

“Wait, I’m fucking Knoxville?” You certainly were not, but your mind put two and two together lightning fast, tracing his train of thought. It was like a switch flipped in you as rage curled up in your stomach, springing out of your mouth in words that dripped with venom, “Oh, please! You’re probably takin’ it up the ass from all of ‘em!” It was only natural that you would deny it- I mean, it’s kinda taboo for people to admit that they’re sleeping with their boss. But Bam couldn’t summon the words he needed to use to defend himself from what you claimed, so he said the only words his anger-fried brain could come up with, “Fuck you!” Flashing a grin, you got all in his personal space as your voice went from anger to condescension, “Oh, you wish.” Back to the snarky shit with this woman. Okay, maybe he did, but that was none of your business. Bam pressed his lips together as he could feel the tips of his ears heating up, and he couldn’t tell if he was getting flustered from the way you were challenging him or how correct what you were insinuating was. The fact that your lips were nearly touching his wasn't helping either. Taking advantage of your close proximity, Bam quickly reached out and snatched the shotgun from where you were gripping it and dashed off.

Oh, you said Bam had no balls? Yeah, he’s got more balls than the tri-state lottery, bitch. Shoving the gun into Ryan’s hands, he didn’t even notice when Rick started filming from where he was setting up the camera for the stunt you were supposed to do. Stepping back, Bam smacked his own chest twice in a challenging gesture, looking at his best friend but saying words he wanted to say to you, “C’mon, man. Hit me. Do it!” Knowing better than anyone the way he could get into these kinds of moods, Ryan knew the only way to talk him down was to go along with whatever stupid plan he had in mind. Groaning, he steadied the sight on where Bam was standing, aiming for his stomach where it would result in the least damage, and pressed his finger against the trigger. This loud, sickening whip cracking sound made everyone on set jump. The man on the other end of the barrel doubled over with this noise you only hear out of dying animals, falling to the ground with a thump as every ounce of air wooshed out of his lungs in a second. It was the way Bam looked like roadkill with how he curled up on the ground, not making a sound or movement, that made you feel a shred bad for him for the very first time. Looking around, you were the first person to call out, “…Medic?”

Internal bleeding they said. Three broken ribs on account of Dunn’s stellar marksmanship and a gnarly bruise, or so you heard from when the guys gathered around his bedside and were all gasps and oohs after Bam pulled down the sheets in when Steve asked to take a look at it. But after everyone was done grimacing and telling him how awesome the footage would turn out, they flooded out the door and the only person who remained was you, smugly sitting in one of those stiff hospital chairs as Bam lay across from you in his bed, hooked up to electrodes and shit like they do in movies. But there was something different in your eyes as you got up to his bedside- not so much your usual loathing towards him, but more so fascination. Bam got knocked down a peg, and you were satisfied knowing his ego was bruised alongside those abs of his he so loved to flaunt.

Bam’s words came out in a weak mumble as he looked up at you, “What d’you want?” As much as he tried to appear all tough and be a big angry man, you couldn’t help but find the sight of him laying back with his hair a little messy and that glossy look in his eyes from the epidural kinda cute with how vulnerable he was. He couldn’t make fun of you when he was at your mercy like this, what with not being able to even sit up on his own, much less fight or come up with any worthwhile insults. With one finger, you pointed down to the swollen, dark purple mark on Bam’s pale skin, lit up from the light flooding in the window. You nearly snickered, “I wanna touch it.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Bam scoffed at your suggestion, “Fine, whatever….It doesn’t even hurt- oh, fuck!“ Recoiling when you poked the tender bruise, Bam nearly let out a whimper as he winced, pain shooting through his chest. Letting out a breathy groan, he muttered, his head falling back against the pillow, “Don’t- don’t do that…” Part of you wanted to laugh at him, call him a pussy, and go find out wherever the other guys were headed, but another part of you, maybe one you went too eager to own up to, couldn’t deny that he looked kind of pretty when he got fucked up, all fragile and defeated. Like it activated something primal in you, this unconscious attraction towards broken things. You came to the realization that, when that mouth and that attitude of his wasn’t fucking it up, he was pretty hot.

The thing is, both of you liked each other, but neither were too eager to jump at that whole romcom style ‘confessing your feelings’ thing, so for the next few weeks, you tried to keep up the whole hating each other charade. Like when you and him were on the mini-ramp Chris hauled to set with his truck to give you something to do in between filming, and Bam just kept messing up whatever trick he was intent on doing that day. Up he’d go, then down to the plywood with a slam that left him a shiny new bruise- back and forth. “Y’know, it’s a lot easier to do tricks once you’ve learned to stay on your board.” You taunted, kicking up your board to stand on the one side of the ramp. But as he was about to reply with some smart ass response, Bam nailed whatever stupidly over complicated thing he was attempting. “Hahaha! Yes!” Popping his board up with one foot and, turning to you with a triumphant grin, he did one of those victory crotch grabs. “Suck it!” Ignoring the fact that, given the right circumstances, you probably would’ve taken him up on that offer, you rolled your eyes, looking him up and down in a way you hoped looked sarcastic as you spat, “Yeah, in your dreams.” Still, while the venom in your words was still there, it was dulled in a way, like a swallowing a spoonful of sugar after bitter medicine. “Oh, I’d rather rip my dick off and shove it up my ass before I let you suck it!” Bam had the same shitty comebacks as ever.

And the fact that you two were phoning it in wasn’t lost in the slightest on the rest of the guys. They’d try to drop hints to Bam and say that if he’s got the hots for you that it’d be a good idea to try not being an asshole for once, but he’d just laugh them off and tell them that that’s what chicks like nowadays- assholes. But they had no clue. All anyone else knew was that the seemingly boiling hatred you had for each other had melted into a mere simmer, practically friendly banter. Maybe Bam didn’t hit the mark when he said you were fucking the whole crew, but was right about you being shameless, as he would come to find out a few weeks into whatver the two of you had going on. But now, he wasn't one to complain when you pulled him behind a trailer on set, or into an empty hotel room- hell, even into one of those porta-potties on set. Honestly, it was just like how he imagined.

#jackass #bam margera #johnny knoxville #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #angst #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader

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