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#mia.txt
electoons · 1 year
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oh m-...ahhh...my pockages
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girlardent · 8 months
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A lotta transfeminine resources tend to neglect that estrogen will give you the more stigmatised parts of having a female body as well as the cool stuff. Like. I have cellulite on my thighs. Stretch marks everywhere. Its so cool and pretty and neglecting to mention this to transgender women simply shows how stigmatised they are.
Its also worth noting that your body will be imperfect the way all women's bodies are. You'll never fit the patriarchal ideal. It took me YEARS to love my breasts in all their wonkiness and stretchmark-ness, and then I once mentioned to a cis friend I used to feel self-conscious about them and she said "All women do at some point"
Like my point is we are women, and we have the same expectations of unachievable perfection placed upon us. But learning to love your body and your womanhood with its imperfections, its cellulite its stretch marks etc. Is very good.
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meebles · 9 months
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codywan suddenly making it to #9 on the top fandom ships for this week after never being in the top 20 is SO fucking funny because i’m almost certain it’s just because of that star wars reddit migrant post
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tenderlyrenjun · 7 months
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Playing Video Games
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"Jisung, this is so difficult," you huff, tossing the control on the couch, narrowly avoiding his face.
Your boyfriend rotates his head 90-degrees on your lap, backwards, to look up at the deep frown settling in your eyebrows.
"I don't understand why you like it" you pout, sinking deeper into the cushions.
Jisung laughs (and you frown deeper) and grabs the controller before sitting up with you. "It's the thrill of the game, baby." He takes both your hands in his and adjusts them neatly across the joysticks. You wiggle them under his fingers, clacking them loudly until he laughs again. "See, you know how to move them. You just have to get the timing right."
"You just have to get the timing right," you mock, with an exaggeratedly high pitch that doesn't quiet match your boyfriend’s deep voice. You sigh and let the controller drop into your lap again as you bury your face in his firm chest. "Can't we do something else? I'm sorry for making you die in Wizard 101 last night, okay? Next time l'll patiently wait for you to fuck me in your bed after your tournaments."
Jisung laughs once more at you, the entire sound vibrating through his heartbeat, shaking you out of his arms. "First of all, baby, it was Overwatch." He squishes your cheeks in both hands. "And second, this is just me showing you something that I like - not Overwatch, but it's something I think is fun."
You scrunch your nose. "Now I feel bad for making fun of it." You slap his hands off your face. "How am I supposed to know the difference between Overwatch and Wizard 101? Are they the same thing?"
Jisung gasps. "Baby. I love you,” he says, almost as if reminding himself. He picks up your hands and stares into your eyes. "Please don't make us go through computer games tonight too. I don’t think we’d be able to sleep.”
And you snatch your hands back too, rolling your eyes to the ceiling.
"Jisung, I'm serious," you whine, drawing out the last syllable. “I don't get why you like these games."
"Remember when we had sex in my car?"
"What does that have to do with anything??"
Jisung kisses your knuckles. "Babe, please."
You roll your eyes again. Incorrigible. "Yes, I remember every time we've had sex in your new car since you bought it this year."
"’Cause it’s fun!" he reminds you. "It's like a video game." he emphasizes. "We're sneaking around and getting the adrenaline pumping."
"I get that" you tell him, "but I know how to have sex with you." You point at the TV. "I don't know how to play first person shooter games."
"Maybe, you're just not getting enough adrenaline."
"What is that supposed to mean - Park Jisung!" you gasp.
Jisung situates himself on the ground between your legs, his large hands pushing open your thighs. He gets your underwear off your ankles, leaving you in just a t-shirt and restrictive bra. Your breathing labors, just watching him, as he runs all his fingers up and down your pussy. His middle finger barely strokes from your clit to hole, leaving phantom feelings in its wake.
“Jisung, love, what - what are you doing?”
He puts one of your knees on his broad shoulder. Instinctively, you tighten behind his neck, dragging him forward.
“Giving you a little adrenaline,” he says with a boyish smile. Jisung gently pushes your other thigh more open and situates himself a little taller, breath exhaling through his nose onto your nerves. He really does have a perfect nose, perfect face - perfect lips that kiss and bite and pull at your clit, all so gently. You scratch your way into his bangs, brushing back all his hair until you can fist his crown. But he stops you. He pecks your wet pussy airily, giving you suction-less pressure before looking up at you with that same boyish smile. “Grab the controller.”
“Huh? What?” You close both your legs around his cheeks. “Jisung, you can’t be serious.” He just smiles at you, eyes sparkling like Puss in Boots. And you groan, picking it off the cushion. “What now?”
“Now”, he emphasizes, unzipping his own hoodie to show off his defined chest and yanking your hips to the edge of the couch, “you play the game.” He slips his third finger inside your hole, ring and all, knuckles hitting your lips. “You’ll see why I like you giving me head during my games, baby.” He wetly kisses your clit and slips in his middle finger as the video game music picks up.
You throw your head on the couch, shutting your eyes at the ceiling for a second. His two fingers find a steady pace, gradually sheathing all the way inside. And when he does, Jisung twists his wrist ceiling-side up, and chafes your roof with the pads of his fingers.
“Baby, you’re gonna die.”
“Huh?”
Jisung rubs your hip with his free hand and lifts off your cunt with a smack of his lips. “In the game, baby. You’re gonna die in the game.”
"Jisungie," you pout. There are so many better things to be doing right now, at this pressing moment.
"Come on, baby." Jisung mouths your pussy, hot breath evilly replacing his tongue. "You'll like it, promise. Just try. You’ll see why I like it.”
And see, you do.
You hate that he's right. Only a little though, because you make him swear that you will cum by the end of the round. He just smirked at you, saying something about how he wins entire tournaments before you even finish.
Jisung balances between directing you through the first campaign and fingering you. His words breathing hotly down your ear. He moved you onto your stomach sometime between your second respawn and your first orgasm, finding it difficult to help you win from the ground.
"Baby," he grunts, shallowly thrusting to get your attention. Jisung straddles behind your hips, pushing your ass cheeks up for a better view of your cunt taking him so well. “You have - you have to hide around the corner. There’s a chest there, too, and - shit, stop clenching, you need to heal.”
Your character runs in circles, almost glitching the game as your thumbs toy with the joysticks, simply flicking them back and forth. “Jiji,” you whine again, mouth parted. You pause the game and drop your forehead onto your arms. “Can I cum first? Please? I’ve already done so much. I think I’m better at the game now.” Or you would be, if you could focus. Though, now, you understand why he skips out on the winners' ceremonies and literally throws you on his bed; he is never really, otherwise, so rough with you.
"Just a little more, baby," he shakes his head. "You're so close to the end."
"I'm so close to cumming."
You bury your face in the cushions and dip your back a bit lower to push his dick further inside your pussy. Jisung only really has one thing to focus on right now: you. He guides you through the game, noting every detail about your game and body, telling you where to go and how to react. But it's hard. It's more difficult than when you first started - sitting on the couch with his head in your lap. He would kiss your knee every time you missed a shot or give you a slight praise whenever you respawned. And he keeps it up, while fucking you.
Jisung plants his fists close to your hips. He leans down to your ear, gently biting the helix before whispering, in his deep, raspy voice, "Pick up the game, baby. You're. Almost. There, fuck." He punctures every syllable with an inch of his dick until all of him rests inside you again.
"Jisung," you sniffle. "I'm gonna cry, please just let me cum."
He only smirks, pulling out slightly. "Cute."
Ugh. You groan into your wrists, biting superficially into the bone. Your boyfriend - the freak - would probably enjoy that - you crying, and you know he has no problem withholding those sharp dancer moves. So, you listen and obey, and pick up the damn PlayStation controller.
As you restart the game, someone steals the first aid chest that Jisung told you to grab, eliciting a snarky 'I told you so' in your ear and forcing you to endure the rest of the game on quarter health. You run around random buildings, biting your lip to not moan too loudly and ruin your own concentration. But still, you can feel your heart rate beat erratically and your cunt abrade the dip in the couch cushion. And fuck, he's right. Jisung is right. Each time you narrowly dodge an attack or finally make your own kill, your entire body tingles; your pussy throbs; your nipples get more sensitive, regardless of what Jisung does - not to say that he doesn't do much.
Your boyfriend steadily pounds your cunt, grinding his pelvis on your ass each time. His balls somehow sneak under your thighs, hitting your clit at each thrust. And he gets as affected by the game as you do. Often, when you are the one on your knees, under his gaming desk, Jisung will accidentally bang his thigh on the keyboard drawer, followed both by rapid clicking and shoving his cock deeper down your throat. You only partially understood it, that he wanted the game over as soon as possible to fuck you for being needy and impatient. But this shows you a whole other side. The urgency and thrill mix together, prompting you to find the metaphorical finish line. It's like a test of patience, and wow, your boyfriend has a lot.
You narrowly miss the last shots at your character and run through a nearby checkpoint, before throwing the controller on a decorative ottoman.
"Good job, baby," Jisung praises.
You quickly push him against the backrest, sinking down completely on his cock cowgirl style. He watches you with pretty eyes, lips parted slightly, waiting for you to fuck him the exact way he fucks you after his games. You grab his neck kiss him breathlessly.
"Oh, I am going to fuck you so hard tonight, Park Jisung."
You can feel him smirk.
“Wanna make it a game?”
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godspetdog · 6 months
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earthbound angel for @quickiecrucifixion
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henwilsons · 15 days
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eddie trusts buck with chris but he also trusts him with himself and both those things speak volumes about their relationship. in this essay i will
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fatestayyuri · 4 months
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Why are girls, and this is in absolute seriousness, so very very pretty
I can't stop thinking about them, meww ><
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duketomas · 4 months
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kinda loving hbomberguy in his bear era…yes daddy tell me more about plagiarism…your beautiful beard frames the truth of your words
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nuumenor · 1 year
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therapy is not enough i need to live in middle-earth and have a wizard force me to leave the comforts of my home to go on a life-altering adventure
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simdolls · 3 months
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Happy New Year 🤍
Happy New Year to all of you lovely people. May your year be full of only positivity.
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electoons · 6 days
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I love the college of winterhold. everyone there is casually deranged and there's like an alarming number of students and staff who threaten you immediately when they meet you. it's always one of the first questlines I do. which makes it even funnier when you get made the arch-mage of the college. I'm level 12 and got through this questline knowing exactly 3 spells. what do you mean you want me to lead the college. this school CANNOT be an accredited institution
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girlardent · 6 months
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god i love trans guys. im so st4t,,
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meebles · 9 months
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Honestly my biggest criticism with Revenge of the Sith is that Palpatine calls Cody by his name. That bitch most certainly did NOT bother to ever learn Cody’s name.
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tenderlyrenjun · 1 year
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7Dream and bouts of some relationship insecurity
I don't really know how to title this, but yeah ...
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includes ... making out, suggestive/implied sexual content, light swearing, references to fist fights, alcohol mentions, food mentions, jealousy/insecurity, vague choking; Juyeon cameo, hey babe ... also, I got carried away with one of these because I originally had it as part of a fic but I just deleted the fic instead so, yeah, sorry, you can ... really tell which one it is ._. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU GET BLOCKED AND REPORTED.
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Mark Lee
"Hey, man, come on. That's my girl."
The single sentence took less than a minute, but the conversation ended with Mark's fist through the guy's jaw and with security escorting all five of you - you, Mark, Jaemin, Renjun, and Yeein - out the back door. Everyone else opted to head home, since the entrance fee was, like, ₩50,000 to account for weekend tax.
Mark barely managed a quick good-bye over the driver's door before you slammed your own door shut. You probably should have driven, since his knuckles continuously cracked along the steering wheel, but driving relaxes him, something he needed, especially after that incident. Some guy kept chatting you up, standing way too close, borderline touching your ass, even though you redirected away from him, several times. And Mark knows, and trusts, that you would never leave him, much less cheat on him; he has the upmost faith in you, if his constant words of affirmation are anything to believe, but that does not mean he has to trust everyone else, epsecially when alcohol comes into the mix, heightening emotions too much. And he didn't blame you - doesn't blame you. You look hot, something on which he commented ... very enthusiastically before even going to the bar, with your satin mini-dress, a small (literally) article he bought while thinking about you on a work trip.
But as he sped down to your apartment, you - his passenger princess - pointed your knees at the window, just generally looking away from him. He cramped his fingers on the steering wheel that time, flooring the gas pedal. Then, you, silently, guided him into your apartment, sitting him down in the bathroom, where you, now, wrap his knuckles.
Mark watches you take a salve, applying it via cotton swab over the dried blood, accidentally reopening the would, much to his grimace. Though, he says nothing. The frown embedded between your brows and the heavy breathing in the room prevents him from opening his mouth. So, he lets you paw at his hand, only letting out soft grunts when you overextend his thumb (it got caught on the guy's jaw after Mark went in for a third punch). Eventually, you finish with the salve, wiping away the excess with toilet paper, and you get up, walking out the small half-bathroom.
"I'm sorry," Mark calls softly. He half hopes you don't hear him, over the blaring air vent, because you still have yet to even look at him, in the eye, since you got in his shiny, red car. But, still, you return; eyes trained on the ground though, waving a beige roll of adhesive tape. And he repeats it, even gentler, saying your name this time, "Babe?"
"Hmm?"
"I said I'm sorry."
You stare at him, for awhile. He sees your eyes scan his face, probably lingering at the one or two cuts from when that guy landed a blow, and your fingers slip, accidentally fastening the bandage around his abductor muscle. And Mark resets his jaw, with his prettier hand, just thinking about the bar incident all over again. But then, your face drops, into your lap, and his face drops.
"No, yeah, I heard," you return, sighing, then unwrap his hand to fix your mistake. "I," you swallow thickly, licking your lips, refocusing on his fingers. Gingerly you turn them over in your polished hands, grazing his purpling skin comfortingly. "You don't have to be sorry," you say softly, "I just ... I didn't ..." You pause, dropping his hand back in his thigh, and kneel between his legs. "I didn't know you could be that kind of hot," you confess, smile fighting its way onto your face. You let out a breathless chuckle, cutting it short when you bite your lip. So, Mark pulls it from your teeth, palm brushing into your cheek. "You ... were really ... sexy." You run your hand up and down his inner thigh, and his knee twitches. "Normally, you, um, you use your words." You look up at him through your lases, teetering on your knees, still wearing that short, satin dress he bought, the loose neckline swaying teasingly. "And you're really good with your words."
Mark bites his lip this time, shifting his hips down the toilet seat on where he sits. "Gotta - Gotta defend my girl, yanno?"
You stand on your knees, taller, and Mark gets even closer, the two of you a magazine-width apart. His palm lowers down your cheek, down your jaw, settling above your collarbone. He presses, gently, at first, then squeezes around your neck, entire upper body shuddering. You breathe upward, on his lips, seam of your mouth breaking with each gasp, then move first, straddling his legs, drawing closer - yet so far - to his face.
"Well, you got your girl," you whisper. And his hand squeezes again, holding you at a distance to hear what you say, even though he keeps tilting his head across your pretty collar. "What are you gonna do now?"
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Huang Renjun
You take off your couple bracelet, leaving it in the key dish by the door, before heading to work, and Renjun found it, an hour later, when he was running late to the office. He said nothing, that night, collapsing in bed before you even finished your evening skincare routine. Then, you changed your phone case to some new otterbox, replacing his matching universe one, as you both went out to dinner with Juyeon and Jun. Still, Renjun said nothing, holding the elevator door open for you and a few older ladies. The following weekend, he plucked up the courage, before a brunch date, to bring up another couple accessory before you could show him its absence:
"Are you going to wear your ring today?"
You pause, in front of the vanity mirror, steel makeup spatula a hair away from your cheek, and look at him through his reflection. Renjun gnaws inside his bottom lip. He stands at the foot of your shared bed, his coat strewn over the neatly pleated duvet. Oppositely - as oppositely has you have been from him this week - you sit across the room, at the small dressing table, still wearing your bathroom, hair wet in the front where you have yet to blow dry. Eventually, after an eternity, you turn to face him, placing the spatula, elevated, on the open foundation cap.
"I don't know," you confess slowly. "Should I?"
Renjun inhales sharply. "It's your choice," he emphasizes. But he shows you his silver ring on his right hand, the accessory pinched before his pinky. "I'm wearing mine."
You turn back to the mirror and finish applying the sunscreen, simply nodding at him, acknowledging his statement - neither confirming nor denying your own end. He thinks you might continue like that - passive aggressive - for the rest of the day, through the entire date even, but you surprise him, rotating again. You sigh, once, breaking the seam between your lips, then close them again, tongue cleaning your teeth, obviously. He waits another second, giving you the space to organize your thoughts. And you finally speak.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, staring at the ground. You swallow thickly, just once, then look at him, repeating, "I'm sorry, Junjun." You swallow again, blinking more rapidly, and Renjun crosses the room to hug you, your hands instantly climbing around his waist as he cradles your head against his stomach, your tears ruining his button-up shirt. "I know that I've been impossible lately," you confess, "I just ... Seeing someone else hit on you last week didn't ... It didn't feel good."
"I didn't know," Renjun admits, "that you felt that way."
"I didn't want you to know," you muffle, pawing his shirt.
"But you have to tell me," he says, "when I do something that makes you feel bad, especially if I don't catch on in the moment. I love you, only you." He kisses the top of your head. The hostess, at dinner last week, hit on him when she thought he came alone, but he was just reserving the table for you two; then, she persisted through the dinner, only stopping 30-minutes later, after you and he stayed later than her shift. But still, she left her number for him, much to both your annoyances. Though, it seems as though his annoyance wasn't evident enough. "Next time, I'll stop it sooner, I promise." He detaches your face from his shirt and cups your cheeks, thumbs brushing away loose tears. "Do you still want to go to brunch?"
You shake your head, no, and apologize, "Not really. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," he whispers, pecking you quickly. "I'll order us some fried rice from the restaurant across town and make it up to you in bed."
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Lee Jeno
It happened a couple days ago, last weekend, but Jeno has been ruminating - through all the car rides to work, all the mundane chores around the apartment, all the lonesome meals he has to eat while you work from your office - about that barista who asked for your number.
You didn't hand it out, obviously, only shooting a raised eyebrow until you got your card back. And Jeno ... he kinda just clung to you the rest of the date - making you sit in his lap, head on your shoulder, arms tight around your waist, which had you asking to use the bathroom. He knows that his behavior persisted home, over, essentially, the week, creating this ... this distance between the two of you - during drama marathons when you would otherwise cuddle; during dinners alone together in your apartment, during sex, but he can't help it: he got in his own head about it. Not even rebuilding his LEGO bonsai tree could mediate his thoughts.
And he tried.
Jeno ended up going through the motions, blindly attaching turntables to tyres, while he stared more at the coffee table than pieces. Then, you came home, as he finished assembling the cherry blossom stems (he did the green foliage, too, not yet having a preference for either), and sat on the floor with him, leaning your cheek on his shoulder, nuzzling into his hoodie.
"I missed you."
Jeno shrugs, not enough to shove you off though because your cheek rolls a little further on his chest, immobilizing his left arm. "You saw me this morning."
"Yeah, but -" You slide into his lap, resting your head over his thighs. He lifts his elbows a little higher, as you squirm around, nudging your face toward the ceiling, though you stare at him, only him. It gives him some comfort, and his hand moves automatically, coming down to caress your face. "- I don't know," you confess, "I guess I just felt a little ..." You scrunch your nose, and he rubs away the lines in your cheeks, making you grab his wrist, dragging him onto your stomach, twiddling with his long, nimble fingers. "... insecure? Lonely? Maybe?"
"Is that a question?"
"No," you shake your head. You turn on your side, burying your face in his abdomen. Jeno drops the remaining LEGO pieces and threads his free hand in your hair, matting it backwards. You sigh, deeply, "I guess I might just need some extra support, or something, right now. I love you, you know."
"Mmhmm," he nods, because he does know, that you love him. "I love you, too." It's just that Jeno doesn't like the idea of someone occupying your time the way he should. So, he lays down on the ground, too, scooting back a bit until you're face-to-face, albeit upside down, like a Spider-Man kiss. And he blinks up from your lips to eyes, seeing you watch him. "I'm sorry," he apologizes first.
You offer him a small smile. "You don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault." Tentatively, you stutter a hand toward his hair, only digging your fingers in his scalp after he nods an okay, though he also confirms that he thinks it's his fault, from how much he has been pulling away this week. "I just need some extra support, if you're able."
"And if I'm not?"
You tilt your head to the side, and Jeno frowns.
"If I'm not enough?" he clarifies.
"Then," you kiss him quickly before he can respond, elongating it for another moment, "we can support each other." You hold his chin still, staring him in the eyes. "But you are," you enunciate, "enough, more than enough."
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Lee Haechan
You should have stayed home.
Really.
Haechan didn't even want to go out, didn't even want to come to the restaurant. He was content staying at home, drinking wine from tumblers rather than these elongated goblets; he already bought you flowers. You don't need to hold a glass stem and drink wine over an unreasonably exorbitant dinner. He has the same wine at home(!), the exact same Boudreaux you ordered, and he can make a steak just as well.
Okay, maybe not, but he can have Jaemin make a steak for you just as well as the chef at this restaurant, or he could order it to home. Or you could eat the really good lobster that his mom made him take yesterday. And you could pop open the rosé, over rose-scented candles, instead of the cheap taper candle - a single one - decorating your current tablecloth. There are people, too, sitting so much closer than he would like, preventing him from having an actual conversation with you.
Oh, and it got worse when the waiter started flirting with you.
At first, neither of you noticed, focused more on the menu, debating between steak or mushroom bruschetta to pair with the Boudreaux you love. Then, you laughed at some stupid joke, politely, probably, if Haechan were more level-headed, less peeved, and the waiter started flirting more enthusiastically.
"Babe?"
"Hmm?" You tilt your chin at him, still swirling your wine, reading off the drinks list.
"Baby," he tries again, whining the last syllable further. And you toss him a short glance, smile extending longer than your gaze. "Baby," he sighs, "can't you pay attention to me?"
"I am," you answer, and finally put down the small menu, but you stay there, far away from him. So, Haechan stands up, halfway, pulling your chair next to his until he sits down with his arm behind your shoulders. Haechan touches his forehead on yours, making you maintain eye contact, noses brushing together. "What's wrong, my love?" you ask him, rubbing his free arm.
In lieu of an answer, he drops his hand down your knee, curling under your skirt.
"My love?" you try again.
And he stops moving his hand up your dress, stopping as far as your thighs separate, fingers itching toward your underwear. He exhales once, twice, breath shaking, then looks at you through his glasses. "I like it when you call me that."
"What? My love?"
Haechan nods. "Makes me feel like I'm yours," he mumbles.
You giggle at him, patting his arm. "Because you are, dummy." You peck his lips, falling back into your chair before he has the chance to deepen the kiss. He feels like he lost you again tonight, or like he has the potential to lose you, so he tenses his fingers between your thigh, opposite hand incidently rocking your chair up so high that you slide into his lap. "My love," your breath hitches again.
And Haechan nods, kissing your neck a little longer, tongue tracing his name in your skin.
"Yours." ♡
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Na Jaemin
Honestly, he shouldn't be staring. But Jaemin could burn a hole in your head, or obliterate that guy you're with - Juyeon, or Juhyon, or something.
It was a coincidence that Jaemin even sees you here, at this nightclub, with an absurd ₩70,000 entrance fee. Mark only convinced him to go after promising to do his scut for the weekend.
That, and Jaemin may or may not have been stalking your Instagram; especially after you removed him from your close friends story - he knows, because Renjun is still on your list. You pushed him onto some other list with more people he couldn't see, not that he knew anyone on your following; you're not even really friends, just met through Renjun at some hookup party. And you do hookup with him, whenever he calls, which isn't as often as he thought, evidently, he considers now, since he apparently doesn't know what you do the other days of the week.
Like wear that black mini-dress while dancing on Juyeon, of all people.
Jaemin rolls his eyes and sips his beer, wincing in the same second when it touches his lips (Haechan is a liar, and he is not taking beer recommendations ever again). He has been waiting for about 15 or 20 minutes, for you to notice him, just acknowledge that he is here, in the same space as you, but you remain oblivious, sliding your arms in the air, shimming in front of Juyeon, who keeps trying to bring your waist close. It takes another ten minutes before he slams his empty glass on the bar, spinning around to trudge the dance floor.
Except, as he spins around, narrowly missing a line of Kamikaze shots placed a little too close to the edge, he bumps into you, literally. His arm swerves over your head, and he takes a step back to avoid making the both of you fall down. And you catch his waist, with both hands, a short leg stepping between his, for balance, his spinning head tells him.
"Jaemin?" you call, standing on your toes to whisper in his ear. Instinctively, he steadies your waist, toppling your heels down to the ground, leaning his ear to your lips. "Did you hear me?"
The Jaemin in question pulls back, slightly, his nose grazing yours. He flickers his eyes up and finds you staring at him, granted less intense than he had been, breath hitched at the back of your mouth, slowly scanning his entire face. Jaemin brushes your hair behind your ear, needlessly, most of it tied up. The glitter stickers highlight the actual makeup high on your cheekbones, under the blue false lashes mixed in with brown ones. His hand lingers over your face, wrist tilting head back, chin up, long fingers making you stand still, gaze dipping back and forth between your lips and eyes. And fortunately, all the other couples - whether they came together or hooked up - blend you two with the rest of the crowd, little bubbles of intimacy keeping everyone separated. You all ignore each other, per atmosphere, so Jaemin takes the opportunity to kiss you.
"No," he confesses, pecking you quickly, once, twice, three times, dragging your neck along with every move he does to deepen it. "I wasn't listening." Jaemin breaks first, squeezing your waist tighter, because you might have to get back to Juyeon on the dance floor. And he closes his eyes, leaning in again, lips ghosting a breath over yours. "Come home with me," he asks, and he squeezes again. "Just ... come home with me."
"Jaemin ..." you start, but he kisses his name off your lips, even quicker, replacing it with a soft moan. He bumps you against the bar, his knuckles taking most of the blunt force, against the wood, holding you steady as he waddles impossibly close. You seem to respond, fingers dipping into his bicep, puckering back. Then, you shake your head, knocking him away. "Jaemin, I'm here with someone else."
"Don't be. Come home with me." Jaemin's voice cracks, "Please? Just be with me, not him." He squeezes you again, stuttering down your lips, slotting his leg between your knees. Jaemin peeks both his eyes open, just a crack, and finds you nodding at him.
"Okay, let's go."
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Zhong Chenle
"Your shirt looks so nice," the girl at his left compliments, fawning over the empty seat, even though she probably can't see the full Go, Go, Power-Rangers logo under both his bomber jacket and the dim club lights. The sole light source comes from the shelves behind the bar on which Chenle leans, only his brown hair shining obviously as he nods, slowly, eyes trained on the path to the bathroom. "I'd love to see it more," she tries, leaning even closer, almost touching his arm.
Then, he raises his hand, sliding further down the bar.
And you walk toward him, waving, "Hey," all the way until you take the stool he saved for you on his right. You also grab the glass of wine he kept not-so-subtly hidden behind his elbow and eye the meniscus without looking at him. "Have you been drinking my wine?"
Chenle just smiles at you. His arm snakes under your arms, high on your torso, as he nuzzles into your neck, chest prepped to laugh, but you smack him.
"You can order your own!"
He kisses your jugular, just once, briefly, giggling more animatedly than he had been talking to the girl, who is still there (!) by the way.
"I did," Chenle answers, "but I think the bartender likes you more. He didn't pay any attention to me while you were gone those whole ten minutes," he pouts.
"Umm," the girl interrupts, "Excuse me?"
"Mmm," you swallow the remaining ounce of wine and put it back behind Chenle on the table, tapping the rim twice at one of the bartenders for a refill. You extend your arm for a handshake, across your boyfriend's chest, but she just stares at it, at your fingers, at the matching, dainty watch adorning your wrist, until you retract, both hands now resting on Chenle's shoulder. "Did you want to drink with us? We're just waiting for our table." You lean in closer, like giving away a secret, and Chenle laughs into the air, catching your waist before you fall off the stool. "We got here early for the cucumber martinis because they stop serving them at 7, and this one -" You point at Chenle. "- can't mix a drink for shit."
"Hey!" He pulls you upright, standing full in front of you, back toward the girl as he fixes the straps of your dress. "I spike your lemonades just fine." The bartender, who ignored him earlier, gives him a suspicious look, to which Chenle tries to wave off, showing that you are his girlfriend who frequents his home and has sex with him willingly. And he brings you down the stool, under his wing, incidentally flashing his inappropriate-for-a-Michelin-restaurant Power Rangers t-shirt. "Plus, I don't have to mix the Sauvignon Blanc when I cook you dinner."
"No," you crinkle your nose, pushing his face away, laughing at his pout. "You just make me wash the dishes." In the minute beat, you look back, over his shoulder, and see the girl finally gone, then you settle back onto the stool, pulling Chenle, by his open jacket, between your legs. "Oh, no," you feign, pouting and running your hands down his sides, "Your new friend left. Do you think it was my fault?"
Chenle kisses the top of your head, giggling into your hair. "Were you jealous?" he teases. You don't answer; you just bite your lip and trap him tighter, heels almost making him plié before you, fists wrinkling his shirt. "You don't have anything to worry about, princess," he whispers and pecks you quickly. "You're my one and only. I wouldn't do anything to create a misunderstanding like that." He kisses you deeper, attaching his hands down your waist, rubbing circles with his thumbs, as you wrap your arms around his neck, half standing off the chair to kiss him better, the sweet red wine taste staining your tongue. "With anyone," he clarifies, palm caressing your cheek, to stop you from jumping his bones in this very public bar-restaurant. "You know you're my girl."
He kisses you again, pressing your back into the bar, folding your neck 90-degrees against your spine. Your chin rolls around, letting out a silent open-mouthed moan, and Chenle slips his tongue down your throat, dissipating that sweet, dry flavor off your lips, gently breathing life back into your mouth. He rubs the hair in front of your ear, thumb growing outward to draw his three-letter initials on your cheeks. You kick your leg up, inner thigh resting on his outer one. He feels your dress slip up, shorter, over his pants, and whimpers a small praise about your soft lips.
Then, the bartender who shows you a little too much favoritism comes back, tapping your cup on the counter, and Chenle, panting, shields you away from the new glass of wine, frowning at all five ounces.
"On second thought, maybe we should just go home."
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Park Jisung
Jisung pulls you into his chest, around your shoulders, spinning you until your back faces that bartender, the one at whom he glares.
"How's your drink, baby?" he asks through shaky breath, teeth gritted. Jisung puffs out his chest too, while you finish another sip, nearly moaning, and pushes his thumb into his pocket, readjusting the front of his leather pants that you hide.
"Mmm, fresh,." you answer, obliviously, wiping the corner of your mouth with your index finger, platinum couple ring shining a few digits down under the colorful changing lights. You smack your painted pink lips together, loud enough for him to hear above the club music. "Can't even taste the vodka, really, and -" You raise the small glass to his lips, prompting him to sample your free drink, too, which he does, tongue pushing back on the rip before you spill all over his white shirt. "- the cucumbers are still crisp."
Jisung nods, a slice hitting his top lip. He has to hold your wrist still when you start trembling, splashing a drop of alcohol on his chest. You do nothing about it, simply curling into his torso, an arm belting behind his waist, feet waddling around his, resting your cheek between his open jacket zippers.
"Better be," he mumbles, chest vibrating.
"What was that?" you ask, almost innocently, staring at him through your eyelashes, cucumber martini glass finding your hand behind his back. And he wonders whether you looked at that guy - the bartender - like this, wide-eyed and pouting, tongue poking through the seam of your lips, when you got this free drink, never mind tonight's sample offer over the experimental martini. "Ji...sung," you hiccup between his name, placing a hand over his chest, his heart.
But he frowns, even deeper, and takes down your hand. A little too forcefully, given the way you step back, on your own, wobbling backwards over your heels. You tilt your head to the side, not-so-subtly checking him out, and raise an eyebrow. Jisung doesn't bother to look at you, simply inhaling, raising his broad shoulders taller. He rolls his eyes to the right, incidentally at the bar, with the bartender. And he glares again.
Jisung tightens his arm around your waist. And he knows - he knows how this looks: possessive, possibly overbearing, protective, which is what he half-wants. He also knows that he indirectly tells you not to touch, despite holding you closer, his fingers clenching into a fist that pushes you deeper into his wide chest. You hand balances over his pec to keep you both balanced upright without anything behind him to catch either of you from falling.
But he mumbles, "Don't touch," teeth nearly scraping each other, individually, and, again, he takes your hand down, making you frown as equally deep, though your brows furrow as high as your gaze. You wrap all your fingers around your cup, and he curls his hands into your dress, digging toward the hem, incidentally pulling the material up, just below your underwear. "I don't like you flirting with other guys," he confesses, eyes fluttering shut.
Jisung's hands grab you simultaneously, in the same way, one at your waist and the other at your neck; your own hands bracing your cup against his chest. He sighs, dropping his chin down your cheek, pressing a kiss behind your ear. Your drink is still an inconvenience. So, Jisung takes it, placing it on a random table, then drags you into a private room and jostles you against the door, accidentally increasing the distance. He just moved too fast, and you still comply, not touching him. In the wait, you lick your lips, chest heaving high. And he pushes you backwards again, slower this time, by your hips, guiding you onto a firm surface as he descends. He stops halfway, drawing back a millimeter on his next breath, flickering his eyes at yours. They're already closed. So, he leans in.
"You should only be flirting with me."
And he almost closes his eyes, too, pausing halfway again to watch you anticipate his kiss, teetering on your toes, fingers twitching toward him. The urge to blink forces him to look away before he sees you pout, equally. But he feels it.
Jisung feels the way you roll around your head as he opens his mouth wide, searching for the best angle to kiss you. He puckers his lips sideways, simply pressing on your mouth, almost cutting off your response (if you were going to say anything). And when you gasp, silently, letting him sneak his bottom lip between your teeth, he cracks open his eyes, only slightly, enough to make sure that you're enjoying this, enjoying him, only him. You bite him on a close, barely using your teeth to keep him from leaving again, and he runs his thumb along the side of your face, outside your ear, long fingers supporting your head when you falter.
But you don't pull away.
Instead, you fist his shirt, incidentally pulling it from his pants. And he drives you into the wall, changing the slope of his nose, reflecting it over yours on the other side, brows falling further. Jisung catches you right as you lick your lips and sucks your tongue in his mouth. You mewl, breathless, something audible - although incoherent - finally escaping. And he returns it, moaning an mmmh. His hand at your waist, hits the wall, bracing himself from going too far, moving too fast. You drag him closer, one thigh between your legs, fingers touching his Adonis belt.
And he has to pull away first.
"I don't like you flirting with other guys," he repeats, more winded this time.
"You're the only guy I want to flirt with, Jisung."
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godspetdog · 6 months
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angel + gore for @angelwail
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