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1kook · 4 years

Text

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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cassanovancats · 3 years

Text

felicitate. four.

three < current > five

March 2017

White Day is only a few days away when you begin to notice Rika’s form is absent from your training sessions lately. There shouldn’t be any reason for this, at least not one you’re aware of. Your class celebrated Yuta’s birthday just two days ago, and both the curse and cursed seemed fine, great even. You decide it’s best to bring this up casually - Yuta was still so skittish and Rika would be able to hear whatever you said anyways. So while you lead Yuta through a yoga session, you ask, “How’s Rika?”

He flusters and falls from his side-plank variation pose. The band he was using as an aid tangles around his calf. You debate and decide to leave him. If you touched him now, he might spontaneously combust. That thought makes you giggle a little. You move to change to a position that meant you weren’t looking at him. Hopefully, that’s less pressure.

Yuta speaks up when you’re fully downward dog, leading you to believe your plan worked. “She’s fine, yeah, fine. Just uh - tired?” You nod but inwardly roll your eyes. You shift your hips in to move to upward facing dog and make eye contact again.

“Just checking. I miss her hanging out, you know?” It’s obvious Yuta just lied, curses don’t get tired, but it’s better to not call him out this time. You just have to hope it wasn’t anything you did. “I know you fell but at this point you’re just slacking. Get back on your mat,” you say, changing the topic to something safe.

You’re back in downward facing dog when the door slides open. A familiar voice drawls, “Why are you still working out, dummy? Forgot our plans?” You scramble to your feet.

“Gumi!” You rush to hug him despite his obvious distaste. “What time is it? Do I still have time to shower or will we be late?”

Your little brother snorts and pushes you away, “Please do, you smell. You have,” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“Gumi! That’s not enough time!” You yell, already sprinting towards the showers at the back of the gym. Yuta pouts at how quickly you seemed to forget his presence. That face doesn’t escape Megumi.

“So, you like my idiot sister?”

“W-what! No, no no no, it’s not like that! She just helps t-train me and -!” Yuta knows he’s rambling but he can’t seem to stop talking.

“Whatever,” Megumi has better things to worry about than repressed hormones. He's known that Yuta had a crush on you since the first time he came to campus to train with you after Yuta arrived. Your classmate couldn’t stop staring and seemed disheartened by the fact that you called Megumi by a shortened version of his given name. He had pouted until Satoru showed up and made a spectacle of ‘Team Gojo’ being all together again. Like you three didn’t, at minimum, have a weekly dinner together.

“If you ever want to acknowledge them, you’ll have to get approved by Satoru.” Yuta feels like he also needs the approval of this boy, but he leaves that unsaid. Just nods dumbly. Probably a good thing he didn’t respond, because you barrel through the doors you disappeared from.

When you rush past him, Yuta gets a strong whiff of the floral scent he’s come to associate with you. Megumi laughs under his breath at the blissed out look. Your hair drips water onto your tee shirt and it’s clear you rushed. “Really, really sorry to dip, Yuta. Run through those stretches we did last week to cool down!” Your fingers distractedly pull your wet hair into a braid as you instruct him. “Oh! Tell Maki I won’t be at afternoon training, Satoru already knows and gave permission. Megumi, grab my duffel?” Already carrying it, he rolls his eyes. “I should be back tomorrow morning, but don’t count on it.”

“Wait, but why -?”

“Gotta dash. Bye, Yuta!” You run ahead of your brother, headed to your room to grab Tsumiki’s gifts. Megumi gives a nod and follows after you. Alone and without anyone around to judge, Yuta groans and buries his face into his yoga mat. God, why can’t he just be normal.

When he looks back up, Rika has taken your spot on your mat. You left in such a hurry, you didn’t even clean up. He’ll have to drop it off in your room. “Ya’ know, it’s not that I’m mad about you liking her,” she begins. “It’s just…. I know we can’t be together so I do want you to be happy. I just feel jealous. Especially since you got her that super fancy chocolate for White Day,” Rika finishes with a pout.

Yuta doesn’t really know how to reassure her. So he does what he promised when he was ten, and is just honest. “I’m here to learn how to let you go, Rika. Neither of us know how to do that yet. I can’t be in any kind of relationship until I learn. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

Rika hums and picks at the corner of your mat. “Well. I think it’s more than just us two you’re worried about.”

“What?”

“Inumaki seems pretty interested in the both of you too. You may not see it, but all three of you are pretty smitten. It’s actually kind of gross.”

“That’s - he - no!” Rika just laughs and dissolves her form. Yuta, still flustered, continues to mutter as he collects the things you left and wipes down any used equipment. When he finally leaves, it’s just his luck he runs (literally) into Inumaki who looks unfairly handsome in a fitted tee and sweatpants. Even his markings are uncovered, which makes Yuta groan, tuck tail, and run away. Yuta can hear Rika laughing in his mind.

“Tuna mayo?” Inumaki tilts his head to the side but shrugs off the odd behavior.

July 2017

JJH Thots the good gojo: guysss help which tie do i get :( fushiguro: isn’t satoru with you the good gojo: yea but u know he’s shit at gifts maki: Both of those are ugly, (y/n). Do you hate the man? osamu: the cheetah print trophy husband: I like that one too! the good gojo: this is why you two are my favorites

From a few cities over, Yuta flushes at your words. Inumaki notices and kicks his foot. He’s laughing when he says, “Nori,” but Yuta can spot a faint pink over the hem of his collar too.

You turn around in the middle of the street when you hear a loud, “(y/n)-chan!” Satoru is speed-walking towards you, waving an arm that is covered in different shopping bags. His long legs have him beside you in a split second, even without the use of cursed energy. “Are you done yet? Nanami won’t even thank you properly you know. Why don’t you just get gifts for your precious Nii-chan?” He pouts and takes the two bags you’re carrying.

“One, it’s not your birthday. Two, you could buy anything you want already. Three, who's to say I didn’t already get you one?” You pull a box of macaroons out from one of the bags he took. Satoru moves to snatch it immediately but you put it behind your back. Of course, if he wanted, he’d just grab it, but your Nii-chan would never deny playing a game with you. “You can’t get it until we’re back on campus! I’m already tired and this is my bribe to go home early.”

“But (y/n)-chan,” he whines.

“Nu-uh. I promised a movie night with Toge and Yuta and I don’t wanna be late.” You realize too late you revealed too much, because your brother suddenly looks like a very successful cat.

“Why didn’t you just say so? I would never make my little sister late for her first date.”

You blush furiously, “Who says it’s my first?”

“It better be your first.”

“It’s not even a date,” you roll your eyes. “Neither like me like that, and if it was a date, wouldn’t one be a third-wheel?”

“Tricycles are pretty fun.” Your brother says casually. You roll your eyes again and add a gag for good measure. “Seriously, (y/n). You should know you have my full support to love anyone and everyone you want. Not that you need it, though. You’re a Gojo. We do as we please anyways.”

You tear up at his sincerity and throw your arms around your brother, or at least the best you can with his bags in the way. The two of you are frequently physically and verbally affectionate but not often in such a serious manner. You know there’s a deep love between you; for a long time, the two of you only had each other. Eventually, your family expanded to include Megumi and Tsumiki, but neither ever took the Gojo name. You and Satoru had a special bond. “Thank you,” you stutter around tears. You hope he understands it’s not just a thank you for the reassurance but a thank you for giving you such a life.

“Come on, no crying. You can’t go on your date with puffy eyes, you’ll scare both of them away.” He pats your head softly and just laughs when you punch him in the gut.

#felicitate #cass.writes #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #inumaki x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #inumaki x reader x yuta #female!reader #jjk spoilers #jjk volume 0 spoilers #in ao3 this is two chapters but theyre real short so #combined with my author powers

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woundthatswallows · 2 years

Note

what are some of the things that make you stand out makeup/fashion wise?

i dress quite differently than most of the people i am around which helps in general, but style wise i dress in a fun mix of "grunge" (90s insp) and goth (more 80s insp) which is a really great combo if u can figure it out. (might not be super unique for on here, but it is irl!) i ONLY wear skirts/dresses i hate pants so that also makes me stick out, so i wear a lot of black/brown skirts, i have a snakeskin print skirt, and a few slip style dresses with lace trim, and a few with cool patterns. i layer a band tee shirt over most dresses- and i wear lots of fishnets or colored tights under.

also i am not afraid to wear bold animal print, one of my fave jackets is leopard print. Oh and probably most of all is my jewelry, i wear 2-4 neckalces a day, earrings, and i have 12 rings i wear (layered) everyday that are all more on the weird and bold side (metal babies, metal tooth, big gemstone surrounded by floral metal print, 2 dif snake rings, etc)

makeup wise tbh i dont really do anything super crazy anymore, i used to wear a lot of bright eye-shadow but i've toned it down more. i wear a lot of bold lipstick tho (unless i need to wear a mask).. my faves r dark red and a dark berry :) i'd show more pics of my outfits on here but alas my life centers around working in education

#im not a teacher yet but im working towards getting there etc. so there'll never b any super telling pics of me bc im paranoid.#asks #anon

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seostudios · 4 years

Text

零 don’t cha

synopsis: who would’ve thought that dating you; the perfect it girl. would be this much trouble? definitely not nakamoto yuta as he decided to become someone more significant to you. was this your average fairy tale or was this a tragedy?

genre: fluff, angst pairings: yuta x fem!reader info: ceo!au, non-idol!au, ceo!yuta, ceo!model!music-producer!nct, rich!au, mentions of proclaimed death, cheating, brother!johnny, assistant!haechan!jungwoo wc: 6.8k

a/n: lol this is NOTHING LIKE WHAT U REQUESTED I’M SO SORRY..... i mean in the beginning it is but it just took a turn and i was writing whatever came to mind... like 2/3 of the story isn’t even a yuta x reader fic it’s jsut about everything else! i hate myself for doing u dirty but i hope u read this! it’s actually good (imo) since i worked awhile on it and it’s one of my longer fics.

She was fierce, elegant, beautiful. An unmatched package for any walking figure. Her person, running a multi-millionaire business by herself. Doing it for who? Her and Suki; the fiery red betta fish, placed on her nightstand. Yuta was just like you. Although Yuta is fierce, charming and quick on his feet, he still manages to be just the opposite around you. Yuta is on the right path, growing his empire little by little. You started as an insufficient secretary for an Electric Power Corporation but, those late nights and overtime paid off as you are now the CEO of your own retail company. Yuta waltzed into your business while he was an errand boy for Moon Taeil, a good friend and business partner of yours. Taeil had been worried about his future and decided he would've let Yuta go under your wing for a couple of weeks.

That brings you here, September 2019. The vibrant hues of autumn settling into the busy streets of Seoul. "Good morning Ms. Seo." The receptionist, Chaewon, greeted with a bubbly smile like any other day. "Yuta is waiting for you in your office," She informed, watching your small strides turn into a jog towards the elevator. When you reached the top floor where your office and meeting rooms were located, "Did you receive John's fax? He told me your father wanted an opinion!" Haechan, your assistant, asked swiftly, sticking to your hip as you stepped out of the conveyor, pushing his glasses up. "Oh, can you tell him to print whatever he sent and meet me for lunch? I heard he's back in the city." He nodded before running back towards his cubicle to make the requested phone call. That's when you were finally able to enter the office. "So... The rumours are true, you did decide to visit." You grin like a Cheshire cat plastered onto your face, you made long strides beside Yuta, who was staring into the traffic abyss below you two. He hummed before turning over to you; "How is my favourite person doing today?" He asked cheerfully before inviting himself to sit on your chair. Dragging yourself yet again, towards Yuta. You stood in front of him before seating yourself on top of the desk. He watched as your posture slumped and brows knit with a childish frown displayed. "Not well," He decided to sit up in his seat, hands combing through his dirty blond locks. "John's back in town, I'm pretty sure he brought Gyunghui." You roll your eyes unknowingly at the mention of your elder brother's proclaimed girlfriend. "I mean, who gets married after dating for 6 months?!" You groan, disappointed in your brother's decisions. Yuta's eyes crinkled at the corners before he threw his head back in laughter. Was this the reason you were so upset? "Y/N they've been friends for 10 years, I think it's safe to say they'll be okay." He responded with a smile. Straightening up, you huff and look the other way, crossing your legs. "Ugh, Whatever..." You look back down at him, "How is Jin Nyun?" Yuta's face fell, 'Can't we go one conversation without mentioning her?' He pondered momentarily before looking up at you with a soft smile, "She's amazing. She went out of town for work," He sighed, "Again." Your brows furrowed for an instant. He seemed upset. Why wouldn't he be? You'd be furious if your lover set off on multiple business trips every week. That's when it hit you, "What is she again? Job?" You question. "She's a photographer." Now that's bullshit. You knew for a fact, she wasn't big enough in the industry to leave on trips on multiple occasions for a photoshoot. "Why?" He asked, and you couldn’t explain the sense of innocence you felt from him, so oblivious to the situation he's in. "N-Nothing just wondered." You stutter out. He observed you quietly but decided to leave it like that. Raising your wrist, you glance towards your watch, "It's nearing noon." You whisper, Yuta looks up, "Plans?" he questioned with a brow raised. You nod "Lunch with Johnny," Smiling you reminisce back to when you and Johnny ruled overtop Seoul, with two successful companies in powerful industries. "I'll walk you out then," Yuta chimed, jumping from his seat, bringing his hand out for you to hold. "Oh! What a gentleman." You giggle, watching his cheeks tint in a shade of red.

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"You sure there isn't going on between you and Yuta?" Your brother asked playfully, watching as Yuta walked you towards the small cafe at the end of the street. "He has a girlfriend, John," Can't a man and woman simply be friends? What's with him? "So?" He shrugs laughing before whining from the sharp pain in his calf where you managed to land a hand kick at. "What? From what I've heard from Taeil and Mark," Mark is Yuta's closest friend. "She's not all she says to be," He brushed it off his shoulder, "Maybe she's just a workaholic?" You suggest, "We both know an amateur photographer like her isn't that busy." The two of you erupt in a fit of knowing laughter. "You're too dangerous, Johnny," You kiss your teeth before being served the lunch you had Johnny order earlier. "But on a serious note, you should find a boyfriend." He makes a disgusted face, looking you up and down. "Before you age, aren't you almost 24?" He questioned, "Yea, but-" "Mom was pregnant with you at 24." He finishes, before receiving a well-deserved step on his big-toe. "What?! I just want what's best for you!" He barked, "You think that's Yuta! He's my friend and not to mention a business partner!" He lifted his hands, trying not to engage in an argument that might have you ignoring him (again) for months. "Alright, I know!" He sucks in his breath, "Lunch is almost over, kiddo. Try getting in that office and doing something extravagant as always." Johnny grabbed your empty plate and stacked them on top of one another, cleaning up as much possible. "You should have dinner with Gyunghui and me tonight? I'm sure you don't have plans." His eyes lit up at the mention of Gyunghui. It almost warmed your heart. "I wish! I gotta help Yuta clean his apartment tonight," Way to go Y/N! You just made the worst excuse possible. Yuta was probably going to be spending his evening kicking back and relaxing without Jin Nyun. Now that you've told Johnny this, you'd have to go through with it. "Oh?" Johnny's face turns into something more sinister. But you laugh it off knowing he's probably thinking of something perverted. "Okay! Gotta go!" "Not so fast," He grabbed the back of your arm, seating you back down, "You pay today." He smiled before grabbing his briefcase and jacket, exiting happily.

You slump into the cushion before grabbing your purse from the inside of your jacket pocket. After you pay, you pull out your phone, dialling Yuta's number. The call didn't even reach the first ring before he picked up, "Hello?" He was first to speak too. Weird. "Hi, It's Y/N-" "I know, we've had each other's numbers for three years now." You chuckle, "Okay... We have plans tonight, my friend." You can hear the evident groan on the other end. "When and where?" He asked. "After I get off around four and your place!" You cheer before silencing, waiting for a response. "Okay, good." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I need to clean this place up anyways, you can help out." He stated. "Perfect." You replied.

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Who would've guessed that your evening is being spent by scrubbing a sink with floral gloves? "You know," You started. "We could've gone out for dinner and hired someone for this," Yuta, who was behind you wiping the kitchen counter. "Yes, but it's unnecessary." He says. You groan, "Can't we watch something on Netflix? This place was already clean when I came in!" You whine, stomping your feet like a child. "No," He simply replied.

"Okay! Let's see what's on Netflix..." You mumble, before looking over to Yuta beside you on the couch. He seemed tense, uninterested. It was odd to see him like this, "Are you okay?" You tediously asked. He murmured something under his breath before sucking it in. "This is weird," He said, "Why are you trying to hang out with me while my girlfriend is out of town? Are you into me or something? I just find it weird!" He finally let out. So this is what has been bothering Yuta. Did he feel uncomfortable with you? He's acting like a completely different person from who he was earlier today at the office. "I'm sorry? I don't know what to say..." You exhale, "We're friends, and friends hang out. Plus, I needed an excuse to get out of dinner with Johnny and Gyunghui." His face fell, a pang of guilt waving over him. Did he seriously think you were trying to get into his pants (He's not wrong)? God, who did he think he was, making such assumptions. "Oh- Fuck. Sorry Y/N. I don't know what got over me." He throws the blanket to the side before leaving the living room towards the bathroom. It wasn't supposed to hurt. I mean, you've always had these hidden feelings for Yuta, but you still treated him like you would to a friend. "Hey, I think I'm just really stressed with Jin Nyun. She's never home." He bellowed, pumping his fists into the air before letting out a stressed groan. "She's really getting under your skin, huh?" You say, "Deeper than I thought." He made his way back beside you. "Let's- Let's just play this movie." He massaged the back of his neck, now focused on the movie displayed on the flat-screen TV.

⋆

"Y/N!" You pull the phone from your ear for a moment. Johnny was exceptionally loud at ten in the morning. He sounded like he had something urgent to tell you. But, you out of everyone had no time to listen to his girl talk, especially when you're in a meeting room with ELLE magazine staff, discussing your new line of clothing and having your collection featured in this month's issue. "You won't believe-" "Johnny! I have a job to do!!" You screech, hearing his apologies moments after. Ending the phone call, you enter the meeting room, "Sorry, where were we?" Assistant editor, Myeong-Ko set this meeting up with you to discuss your fall collection. "Since you've gained an audience over the past five years, we'd like to include you're best fashion pieces on our models and October issue."

Finally, you thought you'd be stuck in that meeting for ages! It's a little past noon, you are positive that Johnny's at home relaxing on his day off, you decide to call him back on your way to your late lunch with Yuta and Taeil. "Hello?" You are greeted by Johnny's panting voice with Gyunghui's giggles heard; not wanting to know what was going on the other end of the phone, you cut to the chase. "Johnny, what'd you want to tell me earlier?" You hear the 'Ou' loud and clear as he remembers and laughs aloud, "Guess who asked Doyoung out at a club in Ilsan?" You wrinkle your forehead, looking up at the sky, thinking. "No clue," "Jin Nyun!" Johnny said. Now, this was a disaster. You thought Jin Nyun had been smart enough to not cheat on her boyfriend with his old drinking mate. Did the news reach Yuta? "Did he tell him?" You asked hesitantly, "No, he told me to tell you to tell him." And with that, big brother Seo ended the call to return to doing god knows what with his wife. That's when you reached the front door of this eatery. Yuta gave you directions to this new Tteokbokki place, a ten-minute walk from the main street. You walked in, recognizing the blond from a mile away, eyes glued to his phone in the corner booth. "Y/N..." He said, standing up and brushing off the crumbs of what seemed like a cookie off his lap. He looked awful, the ache in your heart wondering who caused him such discomfort flamed the anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?" You watch him slumped back into the seat, not bothering to sit in front of him, you went into the seat beside him. No matter how weird it looked, to be seated in a booth beside each other, it looked like he needed someone right now. He wore a Nike sweater with basketball shorts and sneakers. You bring your hand to his cheek to lift it and get a good look at him. A sharp pain filled your body, seeing his tear-stained cheeks. He wasn't okay. Looking all worn out and out of place wasn't Yuta. He was always looking ethereal to everyone else. Why did he look so helpless? "Let's go to my apartment, I live a few minutes away." You whisper, watching him nod softly.

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It's nearing seven in the early hours of the evening. Yuta hasn't left your living room couch since he just had his heartbroken. It seemed to be that Jin Nyun broke up over text with Yuta telling him he wasn't enough to satisfy her needs. He also mentioned her telling him she met someone a couple of months ago and has been seeing him, but didn't she try sleeping with Doyoung? "Yuta, stop sulking over a girl who doesn't even have her priorities straight." You said, closing the freezer door with another tub of green-tea ice cream. "One year." He mumbled, almost incoherent, "I gave up a year of my life to be cheated on for god knows how long!" He barks. You hand Yuta the ice cream, before standing there, thinking. What could cheer him up? "Oh! I know!" You run into your bedroom, walking out with a bowl. "Suki, say hi to Yuta. He's feeling down... Make him happy, please?" You ask the Betta fish in the bowl before placing her on the coffee table in front of Yuta. "Wha-What?" He expressed his amusement from your odd liking towards this redfish. "Say hi to Suki, Yuta!" You cheer before pointing at Suki. "You're kidding me?" You turn to look up at you, with your hands placed on either side of your hips, 'She wasn't kidding' he turns back and hunched over to look into the bowl "Hi Suki."

"Are you still thinking about her?" You ask, nudging Yuta. "Surprisingly, no," He said, staring into the black screen. You raise a brow, curious. "I've been thinking about you." He sighs before looking at Suki, who was moved to the table beside the couch so she could 'get a better look at the movie.' "Oh?" This was interesting. Why would he think of you? Were you that significant to him now? "It's just that, you just took the day off... To take care of me." He mumbles. "It's not that big of a deal, I- you was hurt. Of course, I have to be there for you!" You fiddle with the blanket, "You're really important to me." The now tongue-tied boy's head shot up, turning to look at you. His bewildered face softened in moments before he gathered the courage to reply. "You're really important to me too." You rip the blanket off you, throwing it in Yuta's direction. "It's almost midnight. I think we need to eat dinner before bed." You tell him, making your way into the kitchen. "Before bed?" He asked. "You are spending the night, right?" You asked, stopping in your tracks. "Oh, Are you okay with that?" He asked, getting up and trailing behind you. You throw a quick 'Duh?' towards the boy earning a couple chuckles your way. He sat on the island stool, watching you pull together something some-what edible for you two tonight. "I want to apologize for the other night again, I shouldn't have assumed or acted like that," 'He said that out of the blue.' You though before scrunching up your face before cracking an egg, "I hope you like French toast." You say, dodging the unneeded apology.

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Nakamoto Enterprises. Never thought you'd walk into Yuta's building with a pair of jeans and a sweater. Most of your trips here were business-related, and you often showed up in a suit. "H-Hi Ms.S-Seo!" Yuta's assistant, Jungwoo, said, greeting you. "Hey Jungwoo, is Yuta out of his meeting yet? He promised me tacos," You said, rubbing your belly enthusiastically, earning a couple of giggles from the tall-boy. "Ah! I heard him mumble something about tacos earlier while fixing his dress-shirt." He said, remembering. Just then, you see Yuta walkout, Jungwoo covers his mouth, tilting towards you. "I heard he dyed his hair and got all dolled up for you Y/N, don't mess up." He said before waving goodbye and wandering off towards his associates. "New do?" You said, combing your fingers through Yuta's rosewood locks. "Just for you." He smiles before walking out with you. After his breakup with Jin Nyun, oddly, he's been on top of his game. You'd think you would have to take a week off to help the pain go away. You knew how much he loved her. Now? Now it was like the two of you had this new sort of bond.

What you weren't aware of was that Yuta has a new spot for you in his heart. Somewhere he held dear. Yuta never expected to move on that fast, but he knew you were always there, just waiting to break out and roam freely in his mind. You made his insides twist in a way Jin Nyun couldn't, but something in him knew it was too soon. "Something wrong?" You asked the boy zoning out at the red light, "No, I'm good." He replied, hand gripping the wheel. Although his mind was flooded with innocent, pure thoughts of you. Tonight, something in him wanted to tear you apart in his penthouse. Always chasing after something that didn't want to be chased after, or so he thought. "Can we get ice-cream... I finished the one at home." He contemplates what to do for a minute before answering proudly, "Nope!" He said. He looks so confident but, he almost melted when you called his place home. "Why not?!" "I'm cooking dinner." He replied, now focusing on the road. You huff and sit back in the seat, staring out the window. The beating in your heart, drumming loud in your ears. Is it possible he feels the same? Or is this way of coping without Jin Nyun... If you thought this evening couldn't get any better- you were wrong! Mark and Taeil decided to drop by while you hung around Yuta's suite. The four of you were feasting on the take-out the two boys brought over. Guess Yuta doesn't have to cook. "So, Mark, you're a producer?" You asked before taking a bite, "Yea, Johnny helps out sometimes." Oh? Johnny helping make music? I guess you could see that in a way, he does have a few specialties in the Arts. "Y/N! Congrats on ELLE, by the way!" Taeil interrupted loud and cheerfully. Your eyes crinkle at the sides while you show him a toothy grin. "I'm proud," Yuta said, bringing his hand up to ruffle your hair.

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The winter chill settles in, as the streets were now covered in a thick blanket of white, footsteps and paw prints being crisscross along the sidewalks. You sported a simple city chic black coat pairing it with a white turtleneck long-sleeve sweater dress. You admit, though the layered clothing appeared to keep you all warm to the naked eye, your exposed legs seemed to be coated in goosebumps as you speeded towards the tall building. "No pants?" Haechan asked, handing you a coffee. "My mom's coming in today," You confess, Haechan's facial expression remained still as if he was already aware of your guest. "She's in your office, let me take your coat." You thank the younger boy before skipping into the elevator beside the main lobby. Before you reached the top floor, the lift stopped on the tenth floor. "Taeyong?" You ask, the man wearing a black mask with his suit. "Y/N? Oh my god, hey." Taeyong was a good friend of yours. He even works under you. Though you'd think having a comrade by your side while you are at your job, it had driven you two apart, both of you only meeting during promotional seasons. He was hired as one of your models and editors. Being successful, he often modelled for Taeil and Kun, another business associate of yours. Though losing a friend hurt horribly, you were still happy for Taeyong and his newfound profession. "Oh my god, I forget you're my boss sometimes," He said, removing his mask. "Haven't seen you in weeks." You chuckle softly before speaking, "We need to catch up, I heard you were the model for our ELLE issue, and you are going to star in an advertisement for Kun?" He nodded. "Kun wanted me and someone, named, Ten to star in the advertisement for his new diamond sets." Your mouth goes slightly agape at the mention of the name, immediately squealing to yourself. "Ten?! Ten Lee?!!! I've been begging his agency to have him model for us! How come Kun gets him that quick?!" Taeyong threw his head back slightly before erupting into a fit of laughter. You seriously were jealous, and it entertained the boy. The elevator stops on the 20th floor. "My stop. Good luck getting Ten. I'll tell him your hot. Maybe then he'll consider..." Taeyong joked before waving goodbye. The rest of the ride up was quiet. You made sure to fix the end of your dress before meeting with your mother. Exiting the chute, you made your way to make your mother a quick cup of coffee from the instant coffee machine. It was no macchiato but it'll make do.

"Why are you late?" Your mother questioned once you walked into the room. "I was just getting you coffee," You voiced before walking and taking a seat in front of your desk. Taking files and shoving it out of the way. Handing her the coffee, you finally take a sip on your drink, which was now as cold as the snowfall this season. "So, Mom. What brings you here?" You asked. "Can't I visit my daughter?" She replies, offended. "No, you can't." You scoff, "What do you want?" You interrogate, and that's when you see her shoulders drop as she grips the coffee cup. You knew it. "Listen, sweetheart..." You hum, she continues. "It's ... It's just that you're almost 25! An unmarried chairwoman is humiliating. I don't want Johnny or your father to be ashamed of you, so get your shit together is I give your hand in marriage to another man." Your mother scoffs, the innocent facade fading. Though she had no right to talk to you like that, it felt like a slap in the face. You thought that was the end of it, but no. She had more to get off her chest. "You're friends with Mr.Nakamoto, Mr. Kim, Moon, and that model kid Taeyong. All single. Yet you're still single. Get your shit together, Y/N. I can't always run after you-" "Leave." You were now standing up from the little office chair, pointing towards the door. This was wrong. You shouldn't be disrespectful to someone attempting to fix your own mistakes right? "Farewell then, Goodluck." Unfazed, she exits while you stood in the empty room, the silent room. The only detectable noises were the sound of hurried footsteps, the squeak of doors and the printers from co-workers.

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Saturday nights were known for the shenanigans Yuta, and you pulled. Though tonight, the two of you decided on dressing like sophisticated businesswomen and men, like you weren't already! Come on, you two are multimillionaires. Now, heading to Ryunique, a Fusion restaurant along Gangnam-gu. Today, you squeezed into the most elegant dress in your wardrobe. A black short tulle-skirt lace dress, the double-layered stand-up collar. Especially with your partner in crime who decided on wearing a black satin button-up dress shirt with black pants and his long hair slicked back. You two were the main attraction of the night for sure. "What if we pretended to have American accents?" You joked, exiting the car. "We don't even know English Y/N." The two of you broke into small fits of laughter. "All right, enough jokes. Let's head in." Patting the ends of your dress, you fix the watch on your wrist and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good evening," The tall man at the front desk immediately greeted, standing up and walking towards you two. "Hello, we've got reservations." He clicks his tongue before grabbing the laptop on the desk and placing it on the counter. "Name?" "Mr. and Mrs.Nakamoto." Okay, maybe you two took it too far, to look like a dirty rich couple coming to shower money on these restaurant folks, but it was all in good fun!

Did wealthy people seriously come here to spend hundreds on Pork Belly, Jowl and Shrimps? Damn right! It was delicious, "Yuta. Give me a bite, please...!!" You beg him. He ordered Beef and Salmon. In other words, tonight's special. "Finish what's on your plate first, Mrs.Nakamoto." He tells you, smiling, before cutting a piece of his Beef and placing it onto your plate. Since when were you so spoilt. By Yuta out of everyone. "I can't believe you made it seem like we were married," You said snickering. "I wasn't going to do that at first, but something about 'Mr. and Mrs. Nakamoto' sounded nice." He plays with the leftover salad on the plate, "It has a nice tone to it, right?" If you weren't in a five-star restaurant, you would've choked, but in attempts to keep your cool at Yuta's shameless behaviour in public, you look up and give a smile. "Mhm! Perfect, we should use it more often!" There you were, fighting fire with fire. "Y/N- You can't just-!?" He stops in the middle of his sentence to fill his mouth with the salad. "Check!" He calls out, as you sit there playing with an olive. You sure do have him wrapped around your finger. Sadly, even Saturdays come to an end. "Shouldn't the guy be walking the girl home?" Yuta asked. "Right? I was thinking that. I guess I'm the man here." Playfully Yuta nudged you. Before pulling you close, his arm envelopes around you. "I'm a man." He assures more to himself than you, "Sure..." Dragging your feet towards Yuta's doorstep, you let out a yawn. "Oh god, I gotta play the man role now." He mumbles before unlocking his front door. "You're sleeping over. Can't have my damsel walk out alone in the dark." He whispers to your half-asleep figure leaning on the doorframe, dozing away.

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Your nose scrunches as your eyes take in every ray of light, and without a doubt, you know you've slept in today. What day was it? Was it still morning or past noon? Where is your phone? Wait, where were you? It took a little adjusting for your tired eyes to realize you were in Yuta's bedroom. Oh, you must have slept over. Looking to your right, you see shirtless Yuta, sprawled across the bed. Hold on. Catching a double-take on what you are looking at... shirtless Yuta... God is on your side today. He turns his head over, an evident smirk displayed. “Like what you see?” He asked, “As if!” You reply, taking the pillow from underneath your head and throwing it at him. “I’m gonna shower, make breakfast will ya?” You request, before marching into his bathroom. ‘What's that smell’ you wonder, skipping into the open kitchen. You’ve always admired the interior of Yuta’s place. Modern yet cozy. “I hope you’re craving egg fried rice.” Yuta said which you happily replied with a hungry growl. “Hungry as a hippo today!” You make your way behind him. You have this urge to back hug him, to wrap your slender arms around his waist, indulging in his scent. “Wh-What are you doing?” Yuta asked. He felt a shock when you wrapped around him, nuzzling yourself into his neck. “I don’t know..” You confess, before it hit you. “Oh my god..! I didn’t even know if you were okay with that! I am such a perv, why’d you go hug him Y/N! Stupid, Stupid, Stupid...” You didn’t realize it there but Yuta turned off the stove when he turned around to grab your wrist from leaving, pulling you back into his embrace. This time he wraps his arms around you, pushing your head into his warm chest. His hand made it’s way to pet your head for a moment before he broke the embrace, the two of you got a glimpse at one another, safe to say he feels the same right? Yuta turns to reach up at the cabinet to serve the two of you. Walking over to his dining table he places the plates while you get some water. “Eat up Mrs.Nakamoto” He chirps, before sitting.

“Yuta I’m gonna wear your sweater!” You shout from his closet, “Mkay!” He replies. Yuta and you decided on skipping work, and spending your Sunday relaxing in his suite. Grabbing his basketball shorts and sweater you tie an extra tight knot on the waist so you didn’t have to hold it whenever you needed to move settings. “Wow, so cute.” He flirts watching you being swallowed by his clothing. “C’mere,” He pats a spot beside him, which you gladly accepted sitting cuddled up beside him. The two of you have still not confronted one another with the fact your feelings were now out in the open. He knew how deeply in-love you were with him, it was getting so hard to hide.. It kind of just, spilt. Yuta only confirmed his by hugging you back. It was more so a silent confession between the two of you. The promise to be with one another till the end of time being hidden somewhere in that heartwarming moment in the kitchen. “So, are we like?” You start, looking up at him to see him nodding with an eye crinkling smile. “Good.” You state, punching the air in victory. He places a kiss on the top of your head. A thank you.

⋆

A year ago, today. You and Nakamoto Yuta came clean about your growing feelings for one another. Now you were happily in love. Work was the same as always. Only a few changes this year had occurred. Johnny, finally becoming a father. Taeyong had been promoted and was now working more flexibly, letting the two of you hang out. Lastly, but not least, you and Yuta. Not a peep from your mother since that day at the office and no word from Jin Nyun either. You've noticed her attempting to rekindle a spark on multiple occurrences, but as foretold, Yuta steered clear. Now you were living happily, right? Wrong.

It’s not everyday that your best friend comes back from the dead. On April 23rd, 2011, 15-year-old, Jaehyun, had been announced dead in a fatal car accident. The car drove off the Banpo Bridge in the middle of the night, which led the authorities to believe he was drunk driving. There was hope he was still out there, but as the years progressed, you lost hope. Jaehyun’s dream was to become a designer. Though you’ve always wanted to become an interior designer, in a way to pay your respects, you’ve followed his desired path. But, to say the least, you learnt to love this path. It’s where you met Yuta and the people you can call your closest. Now, almost ten years later. You receive a call. "Hello?" On the other end of the line, you could hear soft breaths. Feeling a little uneasy, you call Yuta. Who was idling on the couch, silently over to listen to whatever was going on? "Hello? Who is this?" You ask once more. The breathing halts and, you hear a flimsy cough, "Is this Y/N?" You look over to Yuta, who seemed concerned. "Y-Yes." You answer. The man laughs wholeheartedly for a minute too long before a pause. "Who is this?" You asked, "Jung Jae-" "Don't even finish. Is this some sort of cruel joke?! Who are you!?" You were furious. Yuta backs away to watch from a distance, but ready to comfort you if anything. "Who said I was joking? 66-2 Gongpyeong-dong, Jung-gu, Daegu. Thursday night." He finished with a smooching noise at the end of the line. He ends the call, and you adjust your seat on the island stool. "Jaehyun's dead, right?" You mumble to yourself, still audible to an oblivious Yuta. "Baby? Tell me what's on your mind. You know I'm here," He doesn't know Jaehyun. In fact, he has no clue about how you were in the past. The heartbreaks you've had. "Jaehyun." Yuta furrows his brows. Who is Jaehyun? A past lover, perhaps? Hopping off the stool, you make your way towards the master bedroom. Pulling out a duffle bag from underneath the bed. Although this phone call seemed like some sort of sick set-up, you couldn't help it. A small portion of you knew there could be a chance Jaehyun was still alive. 'Johnny and Jaehyun were friends too,' You thought. He must've been informed about his whereabouts if he was alive. Ding. Perfect timing, such an emotional time, being interrupted. Yuta calls you from the door.

"It's Johnny!"

The timing couldn’t be any better. Just in, that your elder brother had gotten a text, similar to the call you received. He ran into the bedroom, seeing you packing. Turning around, you noticed his suitcase in hand. “Did he?” Johnny questioned. How could he believe a mere text from an unknown number? You scoff, “Yea, I got a call, I don’t buy it though. He’s dead.” You fumed. “Then why are you packing?” He interrogated. He’s right, why were you? “I-I-I don’t know! Just- Just get in the car.” You throw the keys of your minivan off the bed towards Johnny, who catches it, happily. “Apparently I don’t exist. What the hell is going on!?” Yuta roared. Stopping your actions, you walk over to the boy standing behind Johnny. “Jung Jaehyun died in a fatal car accident in 2011. Someone is claiming that he’s alive.” You answered, watching his expression change from dumbfounded to intrigued. “Why does his death concern you guys?” He asked. “He is-was, my best friend.” Yuta brings his hand down towards your hand, grabbing to caress it with his finger. He could only imagine how dreadful this might be, “When he died... Did they find his body?” He asked. Cautiously. You suck in your breath in realization. No, they didn’t. Looking up to Johnny with a glint of hope glistening in your eyes. Was he really alive? “Go, I’ll take care of work.” He says after wrapping his arms around you. “Thank you." You whisper before grabbing Johnny and walking out. Yuta sighs, "She forgot her bag." He said to himself.

"We have to catch the next train Daegu." You say to Johnny, driving. "I booked our tickets as soon as I got the text. We board in two hours." Prepared as always. Johnny drives over the highway, lights on full beam. You watched how the bright lights played in the pouring rain. This was going to be the only time. You'd be close to relaxing before the next chain of events. But all your mind wandered to was Yuta. How Yuta was doing was your main concern as of now. You're nowhere near understanding how he must feel right now. "He's fine," Johnny interjected, knowing that face you made. "I hope so. We went from watching Netflix to this." You whisper. "It's Yuta, Y/N. He understands." He assured.

Now, here you were in a small but nicely decorated cafe on the outskirts of Daegu. It was Thursday morning, you weren't meeting potential Jaehyun until later this evening. But to take extra measures, you came by earlier to rent the cafe for the evening. Paying was generous. Johnny mentioned he'd be visiting his friend, and for you to fill him in on what went on tonight. He wasn't being selfish, leaving the work to you. It was more selfless than selfish. Johnny knows how much of a role Jaehyun paid to your life before and after. So leaving your first meeting after ten years to just the two of you was all you could've asked for. "Excuse me! Ms.Seo?" The cafe owner calls for you. "Since your guest won't arrive until later tonight, why don't I make you some brunch?" She offers, "Please? Haven't eaten since last night," You two share a small laugh before she heads off into the kitchen.'You're early.' A shiver ran down your spine as you read the notification. Jheez, couldn't Jaehyun just enter like a human and not some creepy pedophile. Came all the way from Seoul to see you, can't you be normal? 'Come in?' You hit send. Good thing you were meeting on a full stomach, or else you’d be a little over emotional. What’d he look like? Did he still had the shy boy persona? Or has he grown out of it? The questions that flooded your mind were interrupted by the chime of a bell, indicating someone has entered. “Y/N I missed you”

Meanwhile, at Nakamoto Enterprises. "Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun." The name lingered Yuta's mind. Did he know him from somewhere? "Jungwoo!" He shouts for his assistant, who dashes in. "Yes?!" Yuta looks out the bay windows, contemplating his own move. "Jung Jaehyun. Who is he?" He asked, still gazing at the rainy window. "He is one of the three founders of JYX Co. He requested a meeting with you last month, something about investing." Jungwoo said, reading off the tablet in hand. Impossible. If he died, then why? He must've been trying to score a meeting with Yuta after hearing about his relationship with you. But that’s not where he knows Jaehyun from, is it?

Sitting in an empty coffee shop with your proclaimed dead best friend was horrifying but still patched up a hole in that broken heart of yours. “Can’t believe it's you...” You said happily, towards Jaehyun. He grew. Going from the lanky fifteen-year-old to a well built and sophisticated man. After rekindling the friendship, he mentioned what happened that night. "Everything you heard is correct, I drove off the Banpo bridge." He started. "But I was pulled out by this older man by the shore. He took me in and brought me to his place in Daegu." He stops to look up at you. "So, you just decided to start new?" You ask. He nods. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to come home. I'm sorry for what I put you through." He apologized. Though a regular person would've been fuming at the fact he just up and left. You were just relieved. "It's okay, Jae. You're here now." You smile, continuing. "I became a designer for you, and frankly, I'm loving it." He laughs, grasping your hand resting on the table. "I know, I've been keeping tabs on you." He confesses. "So, Nakamoto Yuta." He says, watching your cheeks redden. "What about him?" You huff, in a childish manner. "One year? When is he gonna put a damn ring on it?!" He joked, watching you cover your face. "I don't know..." You mumble, "Anyways, Johnny's at Minhyuk's place. Wanna go?"

⋆

"I knew you sounded familiar," Yuta spoke, seeing Jaehyun walk-in with you this afternoon. "Huh?" What was he going on about? "That's the first thing you say when you see me? No 'I miss you'?" Jaehyun mused but laughed aloud when Yuta hands him a strawberry shake. "No, but is that enough?" He threw a wink, "Still remembering my favourite drink too, huh?" Jaehyun said. You stood behind, dumbfounded. "Hold on... You two know each other?" You question amazed. "Oh yea, Yuta was my roommate in uni." Yuta made his was beside you, making sure to give you a tight hug before a kiss, which made Jaehyun and Johnny gag. You sit on the large living room couch, Yuta's arm wrapped around you. Jaehyun on your other side, sharing a bag of chips with you. A film you were definitely not paying attention to playing on the screen, too distracted in your thoughts. Jaehyun was home. You were home in Yuta's arms. The two most important men back in your life. If you heard this was how you'd end up, you wouldn't believe it. The chances of getting together with Nakamoto Yuta. A name with millions of dollars tied to it, and finding your best friend again, Jaehyun, whom you thought was gone forever. Whatever you did in your past life, seriously paid off.

This is my happily ever after.

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mmmichyyy · 2 years

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thanks for tagging me @mickeysfreckles & @lethargicmick 💫

nickname: mich 😌

zodiac sign: scorpio

height: 5"3

last thing I googled: 'can i eat passionfruit seeds' (the answer is yes lol)

followers: wouldn't you like to know

song stuck in my head: i hate u - SZA ❤️

how much sleep do I normally get: 4-6 hours which explains why i'm always tired lol

lucky number: 3 and 8

dream job: bookstore owner - i just wanna chill in my own shop and read all day

currently wearing: sweater and lounge pants, full on chill mode at home

aesthetic: ummm i like wearing black and floral print things? also i like weird knick knacks lol i have no idea

favourite song: somewhere only we know - keane & perfect places - lorde ✨

favourite author: haruki murakami

favourite animal noise: whatever sound a sloth makes

i think mostly everyone's been tagged already so i'll just tag @spoonfulstar 🌟

#tag game

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aespawpaq · 3 years

Text

Netflix and Chill (3)

IMAX and CLIMAX

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; sh is an avid history channel viewer, sh hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, sh goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

Sunghoon sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Sunghoon’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

Sunghoon scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Sunghoon greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Isa swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Isa, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Sunghoon picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Sunghoon’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Sunghoon invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Sunghoon not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Sunghoon is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Sunghoonie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Sunghoon was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Sunghoon rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Sunghoon, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Sunghoon’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Sunghoon apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Sunghoon’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Sunghoon laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

——

You rarely use the key Sunghoon gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Sunghoon’s house were either the result of Sunghoon picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Sunghoon inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

His mom was going to kill him.

“ Sunghoon?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Sunghoon had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, hoon, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Heeseung would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Sunghoon goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Sunghoon doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Sunghoon’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “hoon, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Sunghoon’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Sunghoon sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

Sunghoon scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Sunghoon sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Sunghoon crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Sunghoon’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Sunghoon quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Sunghoon clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Sunghoon will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Sunghoon is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Sunghoon has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Sunghoon scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Sunghoon falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

Sunghoon says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Sunghoon sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Sunghoon laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Sunghoon teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Sunghoon has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

Sunghoon groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Sunghoon preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Sunghoon, you always came first. Sunghoon’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Sunghoon was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Sunghoon grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Sunghoon’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Sunghoon kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Sunghoon was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Sunghoon rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Sunghoon’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

Any other day Sunghoon would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today… well.

You were playing a different game.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

The action makes Sunghoon scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Sunghoon, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Sunghoon never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Sunghoon had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Sunghoon gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

Sunghoon was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Sunghoon leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Sunghoon smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Sunghoon sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Sunghoon hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Sunghoon doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Sunghoon adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Sunghoon‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Sunghoon, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Sunghoon finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

Sensing your uncertainty, Sunghoon tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Sunghoon kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Sunghoon takes your wrists in his hands.

Sunghoon mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Sunghoon that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Sunghoon smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “hoon!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Sunghoon’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Sunghoon either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “ Sunghoon, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Sunghoon wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

Sunghoon chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Sunghoon reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Sunghoon’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

Behind you Sunghoon tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Sunghoon scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

“And?” Sunghoon asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Sunghoon snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Sunghoon barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “hoon— Sunghoon!”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Sunghoon nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Park Sunghoon, maybe Isa was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Sunghoon is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Sunghoon responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your hoon now.”

“My… hoon,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Sunghoon chases both your second orgasms.

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Sunghoon hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Sunghoon catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

Sunghoon laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don’t wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Park Sunghoon,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Sunghoon’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 2: You Can Run Around Infinite In My Head]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make.

Potentially a better love story than Twilight (we’ll let @killer-queen-xo decide when it’s all said and done 😉).

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Rome by Dermot Kennedy.

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Missing In Action

I wish she would stop staring at me.

Lucille sat at the Lees’ usual table and apathetically picked through a heaping salad. (Friday was salad bar day, which I appreciated considerably more than the chicken finger obsession that marred Mondays at Calawah University.) Every once in a while, Rami nudged her and Lucille would spear a cherry tomato with her fork and bite it in half with perfectly even, white teeth. But her large blue-green eyes—they reminded me of webs of seaweed tumbling in the cold, frothing La Push waves—always found their way back to me, strangely focused, inquisitive, perhaps accusatory.

Ben probably told them how much he hates me for whatever nebulous reason and now they all hate me too and I’m going to spend the next two years being death-glared by five ridiculously attractive and somewhat incestuous foster kids.

Chemistry was a three times a week class. Ben hadn’t shown on Wednesday, and I was 99% sure he would skip again today. I spotted him around campus periodically, always from a distance: dropping quarters into a vending machine, clandestinely vaping behind dorm buildings (what self-respecting pre-med student VAPES?!!), browsing YouTube videos in the library next to a tower of unopened textbooks, biology and chem and physics and calculus. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t sick; there was no attempt made to construct any sort of pretext. He was patently avoiding me.

I stabbed moodily at the serrated disks of cucumber in my salad. Jessica was blathering away about the latest season of The Bachelor and ranking the contestants’ eyebrows from best to worst. “...Like seriously, has she never heard of microblading?!”

“For real,” Angela offered, not especially invested but forever a good sport.

Lucille’s eyes settled on me again as she sipped a cup of steaming tea, staring until her forehead crinkled with the effort, staring hard, almost leering.

“What’s her problem?” I muttered.

Jessica shot a glance towards the Lee table and slurped her Sprite. The great mystery surrounding her potential Mormon-ness persisted. “Who? Lucy?”

Only Lucille’s friends called her Lucy. Jessica, a shameless aspiring socialite, presumed she was everybody’s friend unless they explicitly informed her otherwise, which of course no one ever did.

“Yeah,” I answered glumly.

“Maybe it’s your dress.”

“My dress? What’s wrong with my dress?”

Jessica wrinkled her nose and surveyed me as if I were a bug, and not a cute bug like a roly-poly bug or The Very Hungry Caterpillar or whatever. Like a really hideous bug. Like one of those spider-cricket hybrid things that hopped straight out of a hell dimension and into the dark, drippy corners of your basement. “It’s, like, very 1960s. But not in a sexy Woodstock way. In a ‘I’m about to join a hippie murder cult’ way.”

“I got it at TJ Maxx. It was on sale.”

Jessica snorted. “Probably for a reason.”

“That’s it. I’m giving all the hippies in my new murder cult your address.”

She and Angela laughed. Mike and Eric, the missing pieces of our daily lunch puzzle, were preoccupied with a campus protest to convert fried fish day (Thursdays) into tacos day. I sympathized with their efforts, but didn’t feel that my one-week tenure as a Calawah University student gave me much right to go around overhauling the dining hall schedule.

“I doubt she’s actually offended by a dress,” Angela said, nibbling on French fries that shed grains of salt like snowflakes.

Jessica sighed dreamily. “But Lucy’s just so fashionable...and that accent...” She drifted off into some daydream which began—I could only assume—with Lucy’s invitation to go shopping together and concluded with marrying Ben on some lush tropical island in the South Pacific.

Lucille was definitely fashionable, especially today: short black dress with sheer sleeves that ran to her fragile wrists, black polka dot tights, black heeled oxfords, dangling ruby earrings like beads of blood. She would have blended in perfectly at Paris Fashion Week. Rami was wearing a cardigan and khakis, per usual; Joe was in dark fitted jeans and a roomy U Chicago hoodie despite the fact that Forks was at minimum a thirty-four hour drive from the Windy City. What did Angela say his major was? Finance? No, Mathematical Economics. So he’s probably aiming at Chicago for an MBA or Econ PhD someday. Angela had told me that Joe was wicked smart. He better be if he’s entertaining fantasies of grad school at the University of Chicago.

Scarlett had come straight from Fencing Club and was wearing bright pink yoga pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sprinkling Hot Cheetos into her open mouth, her blonde hair secured in a tight French braid. You know those girls who are so irrationally, gluttonously, unfairly beautiful that it doesn’t seem possible the genetic lottery could spit out so many winning numbers at once, and you comfort yourself with the certainty that there must be some set of circumstances that would level the playing field—I bet she looks like anyone else without all that makeup, she just has a really good sense of style and knows how to maximize her assets, there are definitely some goofy oversized ears hiding beneath that hair and that’s why she always wears it down—and then one day you run into them wearing sweatpants and a ponytail in the tampon aisle at Walmart and they’re still so perfect it stings you, baffles you, makes you feel like there must have been some divergence in the evolutionary chain because there’s no freaking way you’re the same species? Yeah, Scarlett was one of those girls. Scarlett was the queen of those girls.

Ben was conspicuously absent from the table.

Scarlett’s pink leopard-print iPhone rang and she answered. “Hello?” She turned to Joe. “Dad says you left your phone at home. Do you need it?”

Joe was gnawing his way through his third slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

Scarlett relayed the message. “Dad says he’s going to bring it by just in case.”

“Oh my god, ScarJo, I’m fine! Tell him not to!”

“Dad says he doesn’t trust you and he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. He’s also bringing the Game Theory homework you left by the hot tub.”

Joe groaned and rolled his lively dark eyes as Rami grinned at him; Lucille was still watching me and entirely oblivious.

“Isn’t it weird that Ben and Lucille have accents?” I asked Jessica. “That they’re from the U.K.? I didn’t think fostering kids was an international thing.”

“It’s not that weird. Dr. Lee is British too. Maybe there’s some kind of exchange system, I don’t know. But you know what I do know?”

“What?” Now my interest was piqued.

She smiled. “That the British accents are hot.”

“Ugh,” I exhaled involuntarily.

“Please get a hobby,” Angela begged Jessica. “Start a YouTube channel. Make care packages for orphans. Grow marijuana. Adopt a cat. I have a shift at the animal shelter this Sunday morning, you want to come with me?”

“Sorry, can’t. I have a temple thing.”

Temple on Sunday. The mystery is solved. She’s a Mormon for sure. I mentally resolved not to let her set me up with anyone unless I was still single on Valentine’s Day. Which, obviously, assuming I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, I will be.

I gathered up my trash and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, well this has been a bizarre lunch to be completely honest, and now I have to go to Chemistry so I’ll see you later and hopefully we can brainstorm some more alternatives to Jessica’s current life trajectory on Monday. Because I am not looking forward to being a bridesmaid in these impending Lee nuptials.”

“Oh please!” Jessica lamented. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You, on the other hand...”

I scoffed. “Yeah, he wants to kill me. I truly have a gift.”

They waved as I left. I could feel Lucille’s eyes on me until I reached the door.

Sure enough, Ben wasn’t in Chemistry. I tried not to notice. I drew my atoms, wrote my equations, took my notes diligently and in my favorite sky blue ink. But I felt the emptiness in the chair next to me like a black hole, like an immense and dragging weight, like a snag in the fabric of all those interwoven strands of physics that orchestrate the universe like an immortal puppeteer. Why can’t I forget this guy? Why do I still feel like I’ve met him before?

Halfway through class, I hauled my emergency sweatshirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my dress, floral and flowing and golden yellow like the sun, the sun that never shines here in Forks. I had liked it plenty under the florescent lights of the fitting room at TJ Maxx, and I had still liked it this morning; but Jessica’s words hummed around in my skull like wasps. The zipper of the sweatshirt was broken, but it accomplished the task of obscuring my dress well enough.

After Chemistry, I journeyed to the campus library to find a book I was supposed to read and present for a different class. I looked it up in the computer catalogue, spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how the Dewey Decimal System works, eventually wound up finding the book on the highest floor of the library...and, to add a little extra peril to the mission, on the highest shelf. The book mocked me from its lofty, unattainable stronghold. The title was embossed in gold letters down the crimson spine. The Walruses And Me: A Transformative Experience. Idiotic title, I’m aware. It’s about some marine biologist who spent months alone in the Arctic studying the lifecycles of walruses. A noble pursuit, sure, but still a terrible title.

There wasn’t a chair or stepstool in sight. I tested my weight by stepping up onto the second-lowest shelf. The metal immediately squealed and shifted in protest. I retreated back down to the carpet, defeated by gravity. I scowled up at the book and sighed melodramatically. Ugh.

“Need something?”

I spun around to see Joe in his University of Chicago hoodie and pale flawless skin and intangible magnetism, that bewildering trademark Lee ethereality. I instinctively crossed my arms, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shrinking inwards like a startled armadillo in the Arizona desert.

“Are you, uh, anemic...?” he ventured.

“Oh no, I’m not cold. I’m just trying to hide my dress. My friend said it was too hippie-murder-cult 1960s.”

I figured he’d laugh, make a snide comment, maybe just blink in confusion. Instead, he glimpsed down at my dress—what could still be seen of it, anyway—and shook his head. “The neckline isn’t right for the 60s. And you seem like you’ve showered at least once in the past two weeks, so definitely not a hippie.”

I smiled, completely unexpectedly. “I didn’t realize Econ majors knew anything about leftist counterculture.”

“Disparaging it is our favorite pastime. Are you trying to get a book or are you just disrespecting university property for entertainment?”

I pointed. “The big red one.”

“The Walruses And Me...?”

“I know, it’s a horrible title. Not my personal preference. It’s for a class.”

“Bestiality 101?”

“Good guess. Marine Mammals.”

“Ahhh.” He glanced up and down the aisle, tapped his chin with agile fingers, pondered something I wasn’t privy to. “Turn around for a second.”

“What? Why?”

He waved his hand mysteriously in front of his grinning face. “It’s a magic trick. I’m going to make your problem disappear.”

“You can’t climb that,” I warned. “You’ll fall and break your neck. Or you’ll knock the whole shelf over and cause a tragic domino effect and the university will withhold your diploma until you pay them restitution.”

“I’m extremely athletic.”

“Are you sure?” I appraised him with exaggerated skepticism for comedic effect. “My dad refers to you only as the spindly annoying Lee.”

Oh my god, WHY did I say that?

Now he would definitely hate me. Now I’d have two mortal enemies on one campus. I mentally calculated how humiliating it would be to transfer to some Florida college, any Florida college, after only one week at Calawah. Hi mom, yeah I’m coming to live with you and Paul, a gang of hot pasty foster kids wants to slaughter me.

Instead, Joe threw back his head and cackled wildly. A librarian—mid-fifties, angry red hair from out of a box, fuzzy cat sweater—glared into the aisle and shushed him.

“Chief Swan...he actually...he calls me that? Really?!” Joe managed, wiping his leaking eyes. “That’s hilarious. I’m so glad my life is in his hands. Okay seriously, turn around.”

“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.

“That’s just what I do. I’m a friendly guy.”

“This friendliness must not run in the family.”

Again, Joe’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter. “You mean Ben? Forget about Ben, he hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.” Then he added: “Plus, as I’m sure you know, we’re not biologically related. No overlapping genetic material whatsoever. I didn’t get the male supermodel gene, he didn’t get the irresistibly charming gene, life’s not fair but the world keeps spinning.”

“It sure does,” I agreed softly. Unexpected wisdom from my new favorite Lee. I turned away from him. “Fine, I’m not looking, go ahead and dazzle me with your supernatural friendliness—”

“Done.”

“What?” I whirled around. Joe held The Walruses And Me in his hand. “How...did you...?!”

He passed me the book as I sputtered incoherently. “I told you. Magic trick.”

“I don’t....?!” I gawked up at the top shelf, at Joe, back to the top shelf. Sure enough, the space where The Walruses And Me once lived was now just a vacant slit in the row of dusty books. How could he have climbed up there that quickly? How could I not have heard anything? “The shelves didn’t even creak,” I murmured shakily.

“Yes, well, that’s due to my conveniently spindly physique.” Joe winked. “Any other problems I can help you solve at the moment, Baby Swan?”

“No. And don’t call me Baby Swan, or I’ll push this whole bookshelf over and tell the feisty librarian lady you did it.”

“That’s cold, ma’am.”

I liked that Joe didn’t make me feel like Ben did: unworthy, unloved, infuriating. Joe made me feel something else, something lighthearted, casual, buoyant; like the world didn’t have anything in it worth worrying about, regretting, agonizing over. Like unadulteratedly myself was all I ever needed to be.

I heard a muted buzz and Joe slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. Dr. Lee must have successfully delivered it. “Whoops, I forgot that Ordinary Differential Equations existed. Got to go. See ya.”

“Bye,” I replied. And then Joseph Lee was gone, very quickly, a little too quickly, the same way that Ben had vanished on that first afternoon after Chemistry.

Forks is weird. Calawah University is weird. And the Lee kids are super fucking weird.

Long Walks On The Beach

“Can I ask you a random question?”

“You just paid me $100 for an oil change that took fifteen minutes. You can ask me anything you want.” He grinned, flashing bright teeth and deep dimples.

It was Saturday afternoon. I had shoveled down a Chipotle veggie bowl as Archer changed the 1999 Accord’s oil in a small garage with a cracked concrete floor and the searing pungency of gasoline fumes thick in the air. He had apprenticed all through high school and rented his own shop after graduation. Archer now had a loyal clientele that encompassed virtually the entire Quileute reservation and a growing chunk of Forks...including Charlie and me, of course. Archer was the only child of Larry Foxchild—Charlie’s best friend since they worked together at Dairy Queen as teenagers—and the closest thing to a son my dad would ever have. I guess that made him like a brother to me, something that seemed intuitive now that I’d thought of it.

After the Accord was serviced we drove it down to La Push to walk on the beach, climb the salt-lashed rocks, toss pebbles into the roiling surf, reprise our childhood enthusiasm for poking dead washed-up marine creatures with shards of driftwood.

“Do you know anything about the Lees?” I asked Archer, investigating a deceased green shore crab.

His brow furrowed. He looked so serious like that, suddenly so much like Larry: the same tan skin, jet black hair, umbral eyes like oil wells, strong jaw overlaid with the stubbled shadow of a beard. We really aren’t kids anymore, are we? “The doctor and his kids?”

“Yeah. The foster kids. They’re really pale and strange and half of them are British.”

Archer chuckled. “I know who you mean. They’re hard to miss.”

“Are they...” Just eccentric rich people? Traumatized from abusive childhoods? Government experiments? CIA agents? Secret murderers? The image of Ben in that first Chemistry class came roaring back to me, including the adjective that had flashed red behind my eyes like an emergency exit sign: fierce. Finally, I decided: “Dangerous?”

Now Archer full-on laughed, gripping his belly, shaking his head. Drops of saltwater flew from his short hair. “Seriously?!” he exclaimed. “Come on, they’re freaks but they’re not, like...that kind of freaks.”

“Are you sure?” I was starting to feel better already. Of course they’re not actual demons, you fucking idiot. This is Washington, not The Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Not goddamn American Horror Story.

“Yeah.” Archer skipped a grey pebble over the water, something I’d never been able to do. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know them all that well. They usually keep to themselves. But I’ve never heard anything bad about any of the kids. And everyone respects Dr. Lee and appreciates him for taking the pay cut to come to some bumblefuck town like Forks. He’s insanely highly credentialed, has degrees from Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that. Super impressive. We’re lucky to have him. I definitely sleep better at night knowing he’ll be the one to fix me up if I ever get a few fingers ripped off on the job.”

“Don’t even say that. Then who would I grossly overpay for oil changes?”

Archer smiled, then sobered as he peered out over the Pacific Ocean.

“What?” I asked, feeling a plummeting in my guts like primal fear.

“Well...okay, so there is one thing that’s always bothered me. You remember Grandpa Foxchild?”

“Yeah, of course.” He had been an impossibly ancient man with long grey braided hair, a low rumbly voice, gnarled arthritic hands, ceaseless wrinkles. I remembered Charlie calling me when he passed away last spring. Renee and I had picked out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral.

“So,” Archer said slowly, like he was still puzzling it out himself. “Grandpa used to say things like ‘That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.’ Which of course makes no sense, the Lees moved here like two years ago. And I’d tell Grandpa that, but he completely ignored me. He would just keep repeating it. ‘That Dr. Lee shouldn’t still be here.’ ‘That Dr. Lee should go on home to where he came from.’ ‘That Dr. Lee isn’t right.’ Creepy shit like that. My dad and I always assumed it was the dementia talking, but...I don’t know. It just bothered me. Because Grandpa...he wasn’t just being gossipy or suspicious. He was angry. And he was afraid. Grandpa was at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima and he would talk about that no problem, mention landmines or flesh melting off a soldier’s face like it was nothing. He was a tough guy. Immeasurably tough, I’ll never be half the man he was. But if you mentioned the Lees, Grandpa got scared. Why the hell would he be so scared of them?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not a single word. I just stared at Archer, my eyes growing huge, my heart sprinting, blood pounding in my ears. He knew. Grandpa Foxchild knew there was something off about them, and now I know it too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Archer tittered nervously. “Anyway, that was genuinely disturbing. But like I said. It was probably just the dementia.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“It had to be,” he insisted. “There’s no other logical explanation.”

“I guess,” I agreed, scooping up the green shore crab corpse with my bare hands. I hurled it out into the waves, imagined it sinking through murky water and suspended grains of sand, the body settling into prehistoric silt, the scavengers descending upon it, the inescapable wheel of birth and death and resurrection through those who unwittingly carry our atoms with them into the next generation, into the perpetual future.

That night my dreams were full of pale skin and scorching eyes, Ben and Joe and Rami, Lucille and Scarlett, crashing waves, cold water and bleached bones; and Grandpa Foxchild’s mistrustful refrain: That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.

Benjamin

I soared down the staircase and through the dining room. Gwil was working late at the hospital, Mercy outside tending the animals, everyone else presumably scattered throughout the house. I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I had to get out without Rami or Lucy knowing.

I yanked open the door to the back porch. Rami was waiting there.

“Good evening,” he greeted me in that slow, thoughtful drawl.

“Stay the fuck out of my head.”

“You know how it works, Benny Boy. I can’t ignore the loud thoughts. And you’ve been having some very loud thoughts lately.”

I stared down at my shoes, all black Adidas. Black is good. It doesn’t show stains. For example, purely hypothetically, splatters of human blood and organs. “I can make it quick. I can make it painless.”

Rami’s aura flared maroon; not enraged, no, not quite that, but certainly revolted. I was always finding new and horrifying ways to revolt them, whether I was trying to or not. “She has a family, Ben. A father. You know Chief Swan, you’ve seen him around town. He’s a good person. She’s a good person. You really want to do this? You really want to relapse like this?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. Hearing thoughts is a tricky thing, and not a gift that I would ever want; unspoken words are rarely a steam and usually a storm, disjointed and twisting, interrupting each other, bottomless layers of whispers and screams. But I was sure Rami could catch the important parts: that I didn’t know the difference between good and bad people, that I didn’t know what to think of people at all, that for me her blood was not a desire but a compulsion. I couldn’t stop envisioning it spilling over my tongue and teeth, down my throat, hot and pulsing erratically and fading. “Why can’t you hear her? Why can’t I see what she’s feeling?”

Rami shrugged, characteristically placid and restrained. It was maddening. “There are seven and a half billion people on this planet. So maybe every once in a while you get one that lives in our blind spots, there’s something chromosomal or psychological that puts them on a different frequency. I don’t know. How the hell should I know? All I know is that you definitely shouldn’t be seriously considering...well. What you’re considering.”

“Have you ever met someone whose thoughts you couldn’t hear before?”

“No,” Rami admitted; and was that a ghost of unease that crossed his face?

“Please, Rami. Let me go. Pretend you never saw me.” My words come out strained, hushed, like a spilled secret, like a confession. I’ve never wanted anyone’s blood like I want hers.

He heard that; I could see the dismay in his eyes. Now his aura is dark grey, almost black. Disappointment. Resignation. Mourning. “I told you what Lucy saw.”

“What she saw is impossible and you know it.”

Again, Rami shrugged. That blind, mindless faith. I wished I knew what it felt like. “She’s never wrong.”

“Have you told him?”

“Who, Joe?! Of course I haven’t told Joe. He...”

“He wouldn’t believe it either?” I snapped, like it was a victory.

“No,” Rami amended carefully. “No, he would believe anything Lucy saw.” Lucy had visions: flashes of the future, the past, the present. They were rare and unpredictable, often fragmented, snapshots rather than arcs. But they were always true. Or, rather, the other Lees claimed they were. The real Lees. “I don’t know what he would do about it,” Rami said finally. “So I’m waiting it out. And killing one of the primary participants is definitely not waiting it out.”

I seethed as I glared at him, hating him in that moment, hating myself only slightly more; and he heard that too. But then that wispy, fleeting haze around him was a pink like the last threads of sunlight sinking into the Western horizon. Forgiveness. Attachment. Love.

“Come with me, Ben,” Rami said gently, opening the door. “Come back inside. You can beat this. You’re better than this. You’re a good soul. You wouldn’t be with us if you weren’t.”

I tried to laugh. It came out like a snarl. “I haven’t had a soul in a long time.”

#joe mazzello fic #joe mazzelo x reader #borhap #borhap fic #borhap cast fic #twilight au #twilight #supernatural au

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indigoh4ze · 3 years

Note

This is long. Sorry in advance.

girl said I could vent so i’m going to. 😐 Gosh okay so I have this friend that’s WEVE been friends for four years and we just met recently too, she’s my online friend & im also way better friends with her other friend which is also my online friend I just met them at the same time. We will call annoying girl Tina and not annoying girl Kimchi. Well Kimchi & I have mutual feelings about HOW ANNOYING TINA IS I know I use tumblr but this whore cannot get out of like black floral prints, weed 420, PINTEREST QUOTES! She’s ALSO such a pick me girl and I am going to be ruthless because she ignites so much anger IN ME! DUKAS okay it’s sooo obvious that I don’t care about half the things she tells me. I DONT TRY TO HIDE IT! But she can’t take a hint and she tells me OMG “I cried at work today in the freezer 🥺 Kimchi is so bossy at work!” GIRL first of pathetic that she cries at work… secondly, KIMCHI isn’t bossy she’s just working? Tina wants to chat and play games. Miss girl, working IS NOT A PLAYGROUND You get money? That’s the point! And I tried telling her that because I have no idea what she wanted me to say, and she’s like “ITS NOT ABOUT THE MONEY!😭” 😐😐? Mofo, theeeennnnn why are you working? Shut up! And the other day she saw her ex in the DRIVE -THRU JUST THAT he didn’t even see her and she quote had both a panic and an anxiety attack and she called me when she got home and she was like “I can’t help that he just ignites fear & anxiety in me🥺” shut your mouth. First of he is so ugly, I can’t BELIEVE people stoop that low. Or are just that god damn ugly. 🙄🙄🙄 So if he ignites so much fear WHY WAS ALLL YOU TALKED ABOUT WAS HOW AMAZING YOUR RELATIONSHIP WAS???!!!?!? For how ugly he is how could it be anything BUT?! Anyway, she also sent unsolicited unasked for bare nudes to this dude… with a girlfriend and quote said “I want to ride you into the sunset” I PEED MYSELF when I heard that. WHERE DID SHE LEARN THAT?! Sorry. GOSH and she is so jealous of Kimchi & I it’s not even funny IDK WHYYYY SHE DOESNT JUST SAY IT! And she is so mean to me all the time because I always talk about how i’m h word all the time and I love fanfiction and smut AND DRACO! And she’s like “Gosh is there anything else you talk about?” When I DONT even tell her any of that I just post it on my story… Which when do I have to start posting things to are solicited? FOR HER?! And when we do talk SHE NEVER EVER LISTENS The amount of times i’ve had to explain my situation to her and this dumb whore still can’t get it through her slick skull is unbelievable truly. She’s a TERRIBLE friend. And she is also a gamer girl. 😐 completely pointless if you ask me. And she talks to people on discord. Sorry only boys* AND SHES SO ANNOYING “BAH oh my goddddd Johnny! 😆” 😐 Hoe stfu. And she’s like “addicted” to drugs and nicotine and she lives in florida so she has like a bunch of the vape things idk what they’re called but she’s always like “I want some nic.” Or “I want weed” IF SHE was TRULY addicted she’d have it. AND SHE FLAUNTS her vape smoke EVERYTIME girl. I don’t care. I DO NOTTTTT CAREE I DONT KNOW how to make her understand that!! And Kimchi also does her vape things but I NEVER notice otp because she doesn’t care either. GOSH TINA IS SO ANNOYING AMD SO MEAN AND SO SENSITIVE. And i’ve been trying to tell her that iI don’t enjoy being her friend but she just wants to argue with me! and I am not about to argue with someone as dumb as her. She’s also OMG i’ll stop now but that’s all I GUESS. 😋

jeez this was a lot to take in

BUT PLS ‘I WANT TO RIDE YOU INTO THE SUNSET’ ??? IM SHITTING MYSELG WHAT EVEN-

but like i fucking hate ppl like that i used to have a friend who just showed off her vapes and shit like……

anyways just stop talking to her especially if she doesn’t wanna hear about fanfics and shit she seems rude and i dislike her if u do babe 😩

i’d just stop talking to her and fall in love with the one who isn’t annoying tbh 😋

#anon #long post #i love this #you guys should do this more

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idk-idk-idk-99 · 3 years

Text

i had a thing for costume jewelry,

the month of october,

hide and seek,

medicine cabinets,

cookie tins filled with needle and thread...

i was toffee-nosed,

i hid in corners of libraries,

and searched in between old books

with tarnished, tainted pages,

and let myself breathe in

that noxious smell of must

and let my fingers become mottled

with moon colored dust

while i read about the stars.

and when i left

my eyes would coat over with black glass,

i would unwittingly swallow the key to my throat’s diary,

and i would become aware of my arms,

just a little too much,

casting spiders out my

mouth that was scorched

by the wind

and vacant promises.

i tried to knock on you

but you never invited me

both feet in,

or,

one foot out,

for that matter.

months pass,

in my free time my eyes follow raindrops

to the ground

and my echoed prayers seem to slumber.

well you tell me,

it’s not the same when she kisses you,

and you miss me.

but i can’t be your rainy day pennies anymore.

i know you said you’re tired of men

and in love with women.

and i’m no man,

but i’m no woman.

and i’m sorry i wasn’t what you wanted

and i’m sorry i can’t be good enough

for you or for anyone else,

and i’m sorry my sentences

come out in ditsy riddles

that even i can’t solve.

but when i write it down,

it’s a self diagnosis,

it’s necromancy

on my own living body,

and i’m wrapped in the snug sheets

of printed words and rapture,

so i can finally tell u

everything i meant to say.

(2021)

Hair that captures celestial shine,

Skin that veils heart and runs deep like water,

Eyes that greet lovers and passerbys,

Lips that curl like spellbound petals,

Arms that cascade like amber honey flows,

Hands that hold and catch falling rain,

Thighs that could support satin moon,

Stomach that expands like butterfly wings,

Black lace running up your legs,

and I try to find where it ends.

(2018)

You were once softer,

yet always you were steel.

I made you sandwiches

with Sunbeam and white chocolate chips

and you bought me My Little Ponies.

When I could ride without training wheels

and read from left to right,

you blew down the house

with shouts like thunder knocking on a trembling door

or an heirloom baby rattle shaking off dust.

You destroyed each layer of him as I grew older—

he could not walk without hesitation and

a beckoning to look at the sun.

And air mattresses and leftovers

never made your wars stomach ceasefire.

You said he was stealing money from you

and treating taxes like an old wives tale.

But getting sick in the rain

isn’t the same.

Sometimes I replay that recording

of you saying you hate me

and you wish that I were dead.

It’s funny how you only said I love you

when the doctors were around.

And now you sit on my shoulder with red horns on your head,

but I have no angel yet.

(2018)

This is not a love poem,

Because love means

A tv show on repeat

With the volume on low,

Marked by

Couches engraved with

Hours of bodies sewn together

Like the sun-bleached, floral

Patches of a family quilt

The bright sky notes of a

Melody and a harmony

In a piano solo.

It means counting

The tick of the hour hand,

Raindrops,

Your fingers,

The petals on a daffodil,

Until a knock on the door

Casts an incantation

Into the air,

And

Releases them into your arms.

It means a bottomless

Kaleidoscope of color-coated

Memories,

Laughter that pains-

Pain from unfunny jokes

And childhood anecdotes-

And walks that cannot be

Without your hand

Shielding and interlacing mine

To crown the puzzle.

Love poems

Await golden and rosy

Nostalgia that beckons

No ignorance on the matter,

But we have experienced none-

Not yet.

(2019)

In 50 years of

Creases and lines

And ocean rise,

The girls will not remember my name.

My torn,

discolored yearbook

photo will be

The keys,

A parking spot,

The cable bill,

An anniversary.

My name will be

A new rosetta stone of

Undeciphered tongue,

And the scrupulous

Struggles they etched

On my heart of jade altar

Will go unnoticed.

This will stay

The same as it was

When I brought my lunch pail.

(2017)

strawberry jam tasted off a finger,

sappy sweet blanketed toast,

tucked in by buttery notes,

freckles playing connect the dots

on a blushing cheek

of strawberry pink,

and tea kettle screeching

like the back door,

lavender winds tickling noses

burning fireplace

and

cozy chair

and

warm cookies

and

soft music

and

strawberry jam

(2020)

📷

#poems #poetry

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Text

So on the incredibly rare occasion that I do write romance, I have the ability to write one (1) single romance and that is all, and that’s Dumb Fools in Love. Which hopefully fits here, because it’s Glass Girl’s namesake day, so i gotta at least try for @speedythecat, it’s what she desERVES.

(happy valentines this is disgusting fluff anyways i love u speedy)

Lloyd likes the way construction paper sounds. It’s kind of therapeutic, the sound it makes as he drags the scissors through the middle. It’s even more satisfying when he uses them to start stabbing gaping holes through the paper, because he went and ruined the stupid heart shape again, and now he’s running out of pink and red construction paper that doesn’t look like he took a vicious katana to it and went crazy.

“Stupid scissors—”

He doesn’t know if Rain even likes pink or red that much, Lloyd reminds himself dismally, as he untangles his fingers from the scissors. Just that they’re thematically appropriate to the essence of the holiday, or whatever, and they apparently must’ve been the only two colors that existed when whoever came up with Valentine’s Day was around. He hasn’t even found actual purple in any of the little cards he’s seen, just some floral lavender.

Lloyd glances down to the pile of pink and red paper strewn across the table in front of him, then back to the instructions he’s printed out for himself. Then back to the paper.

Maybe he can just like, die instead.

Lloyd is about ninety percent sure that he can’t be the only person to ever look up “how to make Valentine’s Day cards” on the internet before, but it still feels like a crushing blow to his pride and an overall dumb move in general as he does.

But he’s only slightly desperate right now, and he really doesn’t want to reach fully desperate, so he’s willing to suck up his pride if it means not totally ruining his girlfriend’s hopes and dreams by giving her a sub-par and ultimately disappointing Valentine’s Day card that looks like he doesn’t even understand the holiday in the first place.

To be fair, though, he kinda doesn’t.

Like, Lloyd knows what Valentine’s Day is, obviously. He’s not an idiot. He’s just…never really participated in it…as a person. It seems like all the others have cute little stories of getting paper cut-outs and candy hearts in grade school (which he can get behind, if there’s candy), but Lloyd’s experience in grade school was general scorn toward anything love-related at all. Valentine’s Day was well out of the question. Lloyd didn’t even know it existed until he walked straight into a street stand that looked like red and pink had thrown up all over it, before being drowned in like, twenty-dozen bouquets of roses.

He’d been an awful brat of a child then, so at the time, he’d dealt with it by kicking the stand over and being totally grossed out. Now, however, he’s left wondering if those bouquets are worth the money, or if he should invest in the slightly bigger ones they sell over on the east side stands.

How the tables have turned, Lloyd sighs miserably to himself, struggling to peel another stubborn strip of glitter glue from his hand where it’s dried there, sparkling mockingly at him. Finally digging the glue free, Lloyd brushes his hands off and glances down at his paper.

Go for handmade.

Well, that one’s easy, ‘cause there’s no way Lloyd’s physically bringing himself to walk into a store and buy Rain some cheesy card with a bunch of generic hearts on it. This, of course, leaves the problem that Lloyd now has to come up with the card, and the only thing that’s coming to mind are generic, cheesy hearts.

Hmm. Lloyd taps the edge of the table, humming beneath his breath. He can draw pretty well, but he’s not like, an artist. Not like Cole is, or anything. Lloyd is a lot better at cartoon characters and funny little caricatures of the others than he is, say, detailed roses or something.

Rain likes cats, right? he muses. He could draw a cat, and then maybe have it holding a heart, or something. That’d be kinda cute, maybe. And then he’d get to make some awful pun like “you’re paw-sitively purr-fect”—

Lloyd slams his head down on the table. Nope. This is why he’s not allowed to come up with the idea himself. He’s worse than all the awful grocery store cards put together.

Something in his nose tickles, and he sneezes, sending up sparkly dust all around him. Lloyd blinks, then bites back a moan. Belatedly, he realizes he’s just dunked his head in glitter dust.

It could’ve been the glue, he tries to comfort himself.

Figuring he’s already doomed, Lloyd makes peace with the fact that he’s just going to live the rest of his day resembling a blond disco ball, and lifts his head to return to task, squinting at what’s next on the list.

Make it personal.

Again, that one should be easy too, because it’s Rain. But what’s supposed to count as personal? Is it like, I-love-you personal, or here’s-a-reference-to-inside-joke-number-fifty-eight kind of personal? Should he do both? He and Rain have too many inside jokes, though, it’ll take him half the day to pick one, and he’s already running out of time. Rain’s supposed to be back at noon, and Lloyd does not have that kind of time to kill.

He drums his fingers against the table-top, staring at the outlined drawing of Rain his fingers have absently started sketching out, right next to his doodles of little cats and a mini-Overlord raging terror on the glitter glue scattered across the paper.

Lloyd frowns at the last one. Oops. Well, he can’t give her this now.

“Is that supposed to be the Overlord? You can’t give Rain that for Valentine’s Day.”

Lloyd jumps half a foot out of his chair and slams his knee into the table just so that his entire leg goes dead, his shriek of surprise strangling off as he chokes on the erupting cloud of glitter dust.

By the time he winds down coughing, wiping the reflexive tears from his eyes and glaring, Kai is just staring at him, mildly concerned and whole lot unimpressed.

“A little warning, please.”

“I’ve been standing here for five minutes, bud, it’s not my fault you’re in dreamland.” Kai glances down at the table-top of scattered construction paper and glitter dust, and his mouth trembles, like he’s holding back laughter. “Are you…trying to make a card, or mass-murdering our construction paper supply?”

Lloyd feels his cheeks go scarlet, and he sputters. “I’m not — no, I’m just—” He waves his hands in the air, wishing he could disappear. “Valentine’s Day,” he finally says, haplessly. “Rain. Card.”

“Ah,” Kai says, nodding. He eyes the butchered pile of paper. “It’s going…good, then?”

Lloyd buries his face in his hands, groaning. “I keep ruining it. I’ve never done Valentine’s Day before, Kai, this is a disaster. Rain’s gonna hate it.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Kai says, sliding into the chair next to him, patting him on the shoulder. “Rain’ll be fine with…whatever…you end up making. It’s not that big a deal.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like she’s going to get horribly upset because you butchered her favorite holiday and dump you for some chump with better taste.”

Lloyd freezes dead, his eyes widening. He has not yet considered this option. What if he does ruin Rain’s entire holiday with his awful gift? What if, by completely disrespecting her last name’s namesake — thing — she does get horribly upset and runs off with like, Ariya to the desert or something, and—

Kai blinks, then his eyes go wide. “Lloyd, wait — no, it was a joke, Lloyd, don’t get that look on your face — Nya!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

And that’s how Lloyd ends up cornered by his entire team at the kitchen table, covered in glitter dust and currently living out his worst life as they try to decide the best way for him not to totally sabotage his love life in one go.

“Honestly, I never really got Valentine’s Day,” Kai remarks. “I didn’t get the whole grade school experience as much, since we homeschooled for the most part. It’s just a lot of hearts and chocolate and flowers and stuff, right?”

“Um, it’s a lot more than that,” Jay rolls his eyes. “It was classroom warfare. Your like, entire life status was measured by how many Valentines you’d get. It was totally lame,” he scowls.

“I dunno, I always got a whole lot,” Cole muses. “I could never figure out why, though. I wasn’t super popular, or anything...”

They all stare at Cole for a beat, where he stands haloed beneath the kitchen lights in all his wavy-haired glory.

“Hopeless,” Jay sighs.

“This isn’t grade school, though,” Nya says. “This is Lloyd’s actual relationship, which we are helping him with, so let’s hear actual helpful stuff, please.”

“Again,” Kai shrugs. “Flowers. Chocolate. Hearts. Bam, you’re good.”

“For crying out loud,” Jay groans. “How do magazines keep labeling you the smooth one.”

“Hold on, he’s got a point with the chocolate part,” Cole points out.

“Of course, you would choose that part to focus on,” Zane sighs.

“Guys, enough,” Nya cuts over them. “I said helpful stuff, not the most generic ideas ever. I mean, chocolate’s nice, but Lloyd’ll probably eat it all before it gets to Rain anyways—”

“I would not!” Lloyd protests.

“—and the card’s gonna be the focal point, so hearts are covered.” Nya glances down the pile of butchered construction paper in front of Lloyd, and winces. “We’ll, uh, help you with that part. But first, let’s plan.” She tugs a half-torn piece of construction paper toward her, uncapping a marker. “What all does Rain like, for starters?”

“Well,” Lloyd pauses, thinking. “She does like flowers, and — no, no I am not going to ask Lief for help, no way, not a chance.”

“Just a suggestion!” Jay throws his hands up in defense. “He’s her friend, though, so he’d probably have some ideas, y’know?”

“So. Not. Worth it.”

“Okay, okay, geez.”

Nya rolls her eyes, but scribbles ‘flowers — not from Lief’ on the paper anyways. “Good, but that’s still pretty standard stuff. Anything else a little more creative? Something that really says Rain to you.”

“She likes rocks,” Lloyd nods.

The marker squeaks violently on the paper, and Nya makes a dying sound in the back of her throat. Kai breaks into snickering, and Jay whacks him on the shoulder, giggling.

“There you go, bud, perfect Valentine’s gift. Give her a rock.”

“No,” Nya says firmly, glaring at Jay. She then turns the glare on Lloyd, who immediately shrinks lower in his seat. “Rocks, Lloyd, really — okay. Okay, do you know anything else she likes? That’s not rocks?”

“Uh, she likes…glass?” Lloyd says, weakly. “And um, seashells. And tea, and — she really does like rocks, I’m serious! Like, cool ones—“

“You are not giving Rain a rock for Valentine’s Day!”

“A cool rock!”

“That doesn’t make it any more acceptable!”

“Ughhh.” Lloyd slides down in his chair with a dying moan, throwing his arms over his face. “You ruin everything. She likes those little paper cranes, I guess. And, uh…”

“You,” Zane reminds him. “She likes you. Therefore, she will most likely love anything you give her, since it’s from you.”

Normally, Lloyd would just scoff at that, but Zane’s voice is so sincere it actually helps, a little. Lloyd sits up in his seat a bit, his crossed arms loosening. “Well…”

“Yeah! So why don’t you just draw her a cat that says like, ‘you’re purr-fect’, or something?” Jay suggests. “That sounds like you.”

Lloyd slams his head against the table, once again accidentally dunking himself in glitter dust. He can’t bring himself to care this time, because the whole world apparently just knows him for terrible puns.

“Stop being so melodramatic, you’re going to remind her of her brother,” Nya clips. Lloyd chokes on his tongue, and dissolves into a fit of manic sputtering as Kai claps him on the back, encouraging him to breathe.

“—was just a joke, Lloyd, don’t take her seriously.”

“—time and place, Nya, time and place—!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It takes several disastrous attempts and more than a few marker wars — Kai in particular is sporting some spectacular pink sharpie marks along the side of his face, and Lloyd’s got streaking red marks across his forearms as the price for protecting his own face — but Lloyd end up with one brightly-colored, cursive-lettered Valentine’s card for Rain.

He’s feeling pretty confident in it, actually. It says everything he wants it to say, while looking pretty but dignified, and it’s only got one cat on it, so he’s — he’s pretty sure Rain will like it. A lot more than any of his other disastrous attempts, he assures himself. Now all he’s gotta do is grab the flowers Nya made him promise to get, and according to both Wikihow and his family, he’ll have the perfect Valentine. Armed with that knowledge, Lloyd strides confidently for the kitchen table to grab an envelope.

Only to freeze dead when he comes face-to-face with Rain, who’s bent over studying said disastrous attempts from earlier, that he’s left out in full view on the kitchen table like a complete moron.

Rain’s currently got one of his first attempts in her hands, her finger tracing the little design he’d drawn. Her hair’s down right now, all silvery and smooth and falling over her face, so he can’t see her expression.

Lloyd is highly considering running for the hills by like, hurling himself out the kitchen window, when Rain turns around, the end her nose still red from the outside cold, freckles standing out more than usual on her cheeks. Lloyd freezes in place.

She holds up one of the ruined cards. “Are all these...for me?”

Lloyd’s soul makes the executively wise decision to exit his body right then.

“They’re — I — no, they’re for, uh—”

Lloyd’s mind backfires. Shoot, he can’t say they’re for someone else, they’ve got ‘I love you’ and other sappy stuff all over them, what’s he supposed to do—

“They’re, uh, for my grandmother.”

Rain raises an eyebrow. “Your grandmother…named Rain,” she says slowly, reading the name that’s brightly plastered everywhere.

“Her name’s Rain too,” Lloyd tries, weakly.

Rain raises her other eyebrow. She wordlessly holds up one of the cards, pointing to where “Rain Allira Valentine” is highlighted. Lloyd mentally makes a note to murder Kai later as her finger slides down to the “Mr. Rain Valentine” right below, her lips trembling as she tries to hold back a snicker.

“Um.” At least she’s laughing, Lloyd tells himself. She hasn't run off to the desert yet. “I have a better one for you, I swear. Those are just — really, really bad first attempts, which you were never supposed to see, ever.”

Please forget they ever existed, is on the tip of his tongue, but Rain’s expressions softens, her eyes fond as she looks from the cards to him.

“I don’t know, these are…kinda sweet,” she admits, her cheeks going a bit pink.

“Oh,” Lloyd says, his own face heating. “That’s! That’s good, I guess. I mean, this new one’s — it’s a whole lot better, though, and uh…” He frantically rubs the back of his head, trying to get his brain back online and working properly again. Unfortunately, the action sends a tiny shower of sparkles raining from his hand, and Lloyd remembers in horror that he never got that glitter dust out.

Rain smirks, biting back a laugh. “Hold on,” she says, stepping in close. “You’ve got some — here.”

She pushes a hand through his hair, her fingers gently tangling through the thick blond strands before pulling away, leaving her fingers stained in glitter dust. She gives a tiny snicker, then brushes at his hair with her other hand, neatly sweeping a shower of glitter dust from it before carefully tousling his hair back in place.

“There,” she says. “Now you don’t look as much like a disco ball.”

“Maybe I wanted to look like a disco ball,” Lloyd says, petulantly. “Lloyd Disco Ball Garmadon, that’s me.”

“Then I’d have to make you another Valentine’s card,” Rain says, and Lloyd finally spots the envelope she’s been keeping behind her back. “Because I definitely messed up your middle name, if that’s the case.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “Wait, you got me one?”

Rain freezes, looking unsure. “Um…yes? That’s kind of…the point, right? You give Valentine’s to people you lo—like—um, love.”

Lloyd’s definitely red now. “I-I probably wouldn’t know,” he finally stammers. “Darkley’s wasn’t too big on Valentine’s.”

Lloyd immediately wants to hit himself, because Rain’s here being sweet and talking about love, and he’s bringing up Darkley’s like a motor-mouthed moron. And now Rain looks sad, and is it too late for Lloyd to pitch himself out the window—?

“Well, lucky for you, I know all about it,” Rain suddenly says, firmly. “You’ll just have to spend the day with me, so I can give you the run-down.”

“That I can do,” Lloyd grins brightly in relief.

“It’s a date, then,” Rain beams, before her smile hitches in laughter. “And you, um, you have more glitter. On your cheek.”

Lloyd wipes quickly at his face. “Oh, come on — did I get it?”

“No, now you’re just — okay, stop, I’ll get it, hold on.”

Rain steps nearer again, brushing her thumb across his cheek once, then again. “There,” she nods satisfied. She doesn’t move back, though, standing close enough that Lloyd can count her freckles, and see every shade of teal in her eyes. There’s a hint of a smile left on her face, and Lloyd swallows. This would probably be like, the perfect time to—

“For FSM’s sake, kiss her, you moron, she’s totally set you up for it—”

Kai’s voice cuts off in a strangled choking sound as Nya throttles him while both Rain and Lloyd go scarlet, and Lloyd makes another mental note to murder Kai a second time later.

“Wanna go out?” Lloyd suggests hastily, his face flaming. “The candy’s probably not gonna be on sale yet, but I bet we can get someone to cut us a deal.”

“Yes,” Rain nods fervently. “Let’s — out. Go out. Of here, sounds good.”

“Great,” Lloyd says, then snatches both their jackets from the hook before fleeing, Rain trailing behind him as they sprint past the others, stifling laughter as Lloyd desperately avoids making eye contact with anyone. Rain’s muffling giggles too, though, and Lloyd can’t help breathing out a laugh as he flings open the doors tumbling out into the chilly February weather.

“So, I have a question,” he says, as their footsteps fall into pace down the street. “What do you think of like, rocks as a present?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Is it like, a cool rock?”

“I mean, hypothetically? Yeah, a super cool rock.”

“Well, if it’s super cool. Then that’d be a good one, I guess.”

“I knew it—!”

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #rain #oc #this is the Worst of Sap #the rest of the team is here being...sort of...helpful too #anyways stan rain

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