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sweetblinginrose · 24 days

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𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 | 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔,

(OS Eddie Munson x fem!reader geek)

summary: The girl goes in search of answers and ends up with the metalhead's cock in her throat... who would have thought…

word count: 8,3k +

warnings: obv +18, rivalry, ingestion of alcohol and joints, almost gave Sinclair a withey, spanking, blowjob in public.

a/n: hey guuurls, i wrote a second part since @alastorssimp asked for it and i reconsidered it. not sure if it’ll be as good as you said the first part was, but i think it’s alright, ig. the problem is the translation. if there’s anything you don’t get, let me know.

oh, and sorry for taking so long, i’m busy with my exams hehe.

kisses!!

oh and don't copy my idea, it's my own huh 🦄

masterlist

before reading this part, you have to read this one!

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

In the darkness of the room, you and the long-haired boy lay in an oasis of intimacy, surrounded by an ocean of sheets that kept the secrets of your most vulnerable moments. The sheets, wrinkled and disordered, were a canvas of memories, impregnated with the aroma of tobacco that mixed with the freshness of the night and the sweet vestige of recently consummated sex.

His room, a sanctuary of orderly chaos, exuded warmth despite its disarray. Magazines with their folded pages and worn edges lay scattered on the floor, testimony to many nights of reading and lively discussions. The posters, hung with a nonchalance that bordered on art, danced on the hard plastic walls of the trailer, each telling a story, each a window to a different world.

The laughter you shared, free and genuine, rose and filled every corner, weaving a melody exclusive to your duo. The night breeze, complicit in your union, slid through the half-open window, shaking the faded and torn curtains that hung like banners of a forgotten kingdom. The air carried with it the characteristic aroma of the Forest Hills Trailer Park, a mix of freshness and adventure, which caressed your bare skin, causing a shiver that was both anticipation and delight.

But then, reality knocked on the door in the form of insistent knocks. It was Tom, his voice filtering through the plastic like a discordant melody, his tone a mix of confusion and amusement. His question, thrown into the wind with the nonchalance of someone who has enjoyed the most earthly pleasures, broke the spell of the moment. "Hey, lovebirds! What are you doing in there that your hair can't be seen?" He exclaimed, his laugh a laugh that mixed with the smoke and foam of the shared beers. It was a reminder that, although the outside world continued to spin, in that room, in that moment, only the two of you existed.

You stood up suddenly, as if propelled by an invisible spring, in the middle of the darkness that hung over the room like a thick blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest with the force of a war drum, each beat an echo in the vast cavern of your anxiety. The room, previously a sanctuary of laughter and whispers, now seemed like a mausoleum of silence and shadows, only interrupted by the gasping of two souls that had danced on the edge of the abyss.

Your eyes, two desperate beacons in the night, opened wide, capturing the pale moonlight filtering through the window. The reality of your nakedness, and that of Eddie at your side, hit you with the rawness of an inescapable truth. You remembered, with a clarity that hurt, each step that had led you to intertwine your destinies in the most intimate way. Fear, that old acquaintance, slithered across your skin, a cold snake that threatened to strangle your thoughts. The senses, now sharp as knives, tensed as they captured every whisper, every creak that the old house decided to give away. Fear had transformed into panic, a savage beast that threatened to devour what little composure you had left. You could feel, almost see, your friends' questioning gaze through the closed door, their imaginary eyes piercing the plastic like x-rays.

In an act of desperation, your eyes searched frantically for something to cover your nakedness, but the room offered only the promise of deeper exposure. The feeling of vulnerability was overwhelming, a giant crushing you to the ground with its mountain-like weight. The certainty that something shameful was about to happen paralyzed you, a pillar of salt condemned to look back.

You and Eddie looked at each other, and in his eyes you found the reflection of your own fear, a mirror where anxiety danced with shame. The footsteps outside the room echoed with the certainty of an approaching doom, and in that moment, you understood what it meant to be truly trapped, like on Elm Street, in a true nightmare.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you propelled yourself upwards, attempting to defy gravity and the circumstances that had brought you to that unforgiving ground. But your legs, betrayed by exhaustion and accumulated tension, did not respond as you expected. Instead of standing tall in triumph, you collapsed, your knees hitting the worn and stained carpet that told stories of countless encounters and disagreements. The sharp pain that shot through your knees was a cruel reminder of your humanity, an echo of the vulnerability you had tried to ignore. Your legs trembled, shaken by spasms that robbed you of any illusion of control. Still, in an act of desperation, you extended your arm, looking for the garment that would restore a minimum of decorum, but you only found emptiness. You couldn't find your favorite panties...

With your heart pounding in your chest, you resigned yourself to the urgency of the moment and focused on putting on your bra, feeling the cold sensation of the bonding metal against your bare back. Every click of the closure reminded you of the stark reality of the situation you found yourself in.

Embarrassment mixed with urgency as you wrapped yourself in the bra, feeling the stretchy fabric hug your torso tightly, offering you a modicum of protection amidst the chaos around you. The absence of undergarments increased your vulnerability, but you had no time to hesitate.

In the midst of the mess, your gaze drifted to Eddie, who was awkwardly struggling to put on his pants. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, an expression of determination etched on his face despite the hair tie he held between his lips. With each tug of fabric, his face reflected a mix of urgency and desperation, as he struggled to regain a bit of dignity in the chaos of the situation. The mess you were in was palpable, but you were both determined to deal with it in the best way possible.

Tom's thuds and drunken screams intensified, reverberating against the bare walls of the room, each impact an echo of the tension building in the fog-thick air. The atmosphere was saturated with chaos, each discordant sound a note in the symphony of nocturnal anarchy. In the eye of this sonic storm, the voice of one of your friends emerged, a thread of sanity in Tom's madness. His tone was a mix of concern and drunken sarcasm, imploring him to moderate the force of his against the door, that the noise might wake the neighbors and bring consequences unwanted. His words, although tinged with alcohol, managed to cut through the chaos, granting a brief respite, a moment of calm before the storm continued. Tom, distracted by the presence of your friends, walked away from the door, his unsteady footsteps guiding him back to the dining room. There, his voice rose again, a drunken shout trying to be charming, seeking the attention of anyone willing to listen.

Meanwhile, in the stillness of the room, you stood up from the cold, hard floor. Your knees, marked by the pressure of your fall, showed a redness that spoke of the subtle but persistent pain. With movements that belied your newfound vulnerability, you grabbed your skirt and t- shirt, dressing with a haste born of necessity. Eddie, next to you, imitated your movements. He gave a dry clearing of his throat, an attempt to impose some order on the chaotic scene. Unlike you, he avoided your gaze, his attention focused on piecing together his appearance, making sure every detail was in its place. Without looking at you, his voice cut through the silence, "Everything's cool, right? Can we go out now?" You nodded, although you knew he wasn't expecting your approval. With a discreet gesture, he opened the door just enough to enter. His exit was marked by a forced smile, a façade of normality that sought to erase any hint of what had happened.

When you returned to the living room, not so welcoming, everyone's eyes focused on you. Luckily, the known animosity between the two served as a distraction from any suspicion. Tom, impatient, asked in a voice clouded by smoke and alcohol, "What took you so long?" Next to him, one of your friends was trapped in a casual hug, the smell of marijuana and alcohol permeating the air. Eddie, with the skill of a veteran in these affairs, made up an excuse on the fly, something about an item lost in a bet. The explanation, although weak, was accepted without further ado. The others, absorbed in their world of laughter and drinking, dismissed the importance of the matter and plunged back into their feast of joy and excess.

The night unfolded like a dark blanket, dotted with stars that blinked indifferently at the tension that was brewing between you and Eddie. The gazes that had previously danced together in perfect harmony were now diverted, colliding with familiar faces in the crowd. Discomfort clung to you, a second skin made of silences and unspoken words, a transparent shield that isolated you from the human warmth that surrounded you. The bustle of the small gathering became a distant hum, as each one was immersed in a sea of silent reflections and imprisoned feelings. The tension that had floated between you, a dance of veiled contempt and hidden desire, had brewed over the years, growing silently until it became an invisible giant that now separated you.

There you were, at the epicenter of an oppressive silence, as Eddie's laughter and exclamations filled the space, a sharp contrast to your internal stillness. His happiness, so pure and overflowing, was a rare sight, a light you hadn't witnessed in a long time, and the brilliance of it left you with an empty feeling, as if a part of you had faded into the darkness. "I have to go now, guys. I had a great time today, see you on Monday..." you announced, with a voice that seemed to come from afar, from someone that wasn't you. You didn't dare to look back, to face the surprise or the perplexity that could appear on their faces. You felt the weight of her gaze fixed on your back, trying to pierce the armor of your most secret thoughts.

As you left the trailer, the cool night air hit your face, a cold blow that sought to shake you out of the emotional lethargy in which you had immersed yourself. Your steps began to lead you away, each one resounding like an echo in the solitude of the night, marking the rhythm of your retreat from a world of silent confessions and secrets that would never see the light.

It was then that Lucas appeared, his presence so sudden that he almost seemed like a ghost emerging from the shadows. "I'll accompany you," he said in a voice that brooked no reply. His company was unexpected, almost uncomfortable, but there was something comforting about his presence. He was nothing more than an acquaintance, a friend of your sister, a member of the Order of the Sith, but at that moment, his presence was all you needed.

The night had become a blanket of uncertainty and unanswered questions. Lucas, with his unbalanced gait, seemed the only constant in a world that was reeling. You didn't understand why he had decided to accompany you and not Mike, who also shared the proximity of his steps to his house. The age difference between you and Lucas was an abyss of experiences and experiences, three years that at that moment seemed like an eternity.

The silence stretched between you like a suspension bridge, fragile and tense, until Lucas broke it with a simple, "Hey...". His voice was a whisper in the night, but enough to capture your full attention. Looking at him, worry washed over you; his dark skin glistened with night sweat, and his normally lively and alert eyes were half-lidded and tinted a deep red.

"Yes? Are you okay, Sinclair?" you asked, stopping in your tracks. The possibility that he had smoked marijuana assaulted you, and with it, a protective instinct you didn't know you had. Lucas looked at you, and in that moment, the vulnerability he showed was palpable.

"No, it's just... I think you're very pretty..." Sinclair's confession came with shaky honesty, his voice a fragile thread on the night breeze. He was visibly affected, dizziness painted his world with tones of uncertainty, and his body trembled slightly, although adorned with a naive smile that failed to hide his state. You ignored his words, it was not the time for flattery or the vulnerability they exuded. You approached him, noticing how he towered over you in height, a difference that now seemed trivial. “Have you smoked anything, Lucas,” you asked, worry coloring every syllable of your question.

Lucas tried to respond, but his rapid blinks and difficulty swallowing revealed more than his words. He looked around, perhaps looking for a way out of his confusion, when he suddenly lost his balance and fell to the ground. "Shit!" You exclaimed, as you crouched down next to him. You lifted him enough for him to sit, holding him steady. His eyes closed, surrendering to the sleep that called him, a dangerous mixture of alcohol and drugs had brought him to that sorry state. You looked around, searching for a solution, a refuge in the night for Sinclair. That's when you saw the 24-hour restaurant, an oasis of light and calm in the darkness. It was completely empty, as if it was waiting for you. Without hesitation, you decided it was the safe place to take Sinclair and help him recover. Carefully, you guided him towards the establishment, each step a silent promise that you wouldn't leave him alone in his time of need.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you crouched down and wrapped your arms under Sinclair's shoulders, feeling the dead weight of his body. "Come on, Sinclair, don't do this to me," you mumbled, your breathing labored by the effort. The dirt clung to your hands, and you could feel the wetness of the grass through your bare legs. "Sinclair, for the love of God, move something!" you exclaimed, as a vein on your forehead threatened to burst. Finally, with a groan that sounded more like a growl, Sinclair gained some consciousness, his eyes slowly blinking back to reality. With a superhuman effort, he managed to stand up, leaning heavily on you. They began to walk, each step a battle against gravity. “You weigh more than my sins,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood as his body tilted dangerously to one side, forcing you to compensate for the weight.

The cafeteria is filled with the hum of an old refrigerator as the only soundtrack of the night. The flickering lights from the neon sign outside filter through the blinds, casting dancing shadows over Lucas's exhausted form. His head, heavy as lead, oscillates on the edge of the abyss of sleep, leaning more and more towards the table that supports his weight.

The clock strikes 3 am, and time seems to have stopped in this forgotten corner of town. You, with a gesture of concern that you cannot hide, decide to intervene. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with eyes that have seen too many early mornings, walks silently over and places a steaming plate in front of Sinclair. It's an onion soup, with its comforting aroma and melted cheese that stretches with every spoonful, promising warmth and sustenance. Next to him, a large, cold glass water bottle lands with a thud on the table.

Lucas, shaken by the sound, raises his head with a start, his eyes blinking, trying to focus on the reality around him. "You have to eat and drink the whole bottle," he insists, with his arms crossed and a firmness in his voice that brooks no reply. It is not your responsibility to take care of him, but your conscience does not allow you to leave him to his fate.

As Sinclair obeys, he begins to regain the color in his cheeks and the lucidity in his eyes. The soup works its magic on him, and little by little, life returns to his eyes. Outside, the town is still asleep, oblivious to the small miracle that occurs inside. And you, despite your initial revulsion, can't help but feel a pang of satisfaction at seeing that, at least for tonight, you've made a difference in someone's life.

Lucas, with his mind still cloudy, clung to the fork as if it were an anchor in the middle of the storm. His eyes, glassy and distant, were lost in the abyss of the half-empty plate, where there had previously been a pile of comfort food. The cafeteria, plunged into a dead silence, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his next move. Was Sinclair who broke the spell, his voice tearing through the silence like paper thin. "Why did you leave there? It's because you don't like Eddie, right?" he asked, as the water swirled in his glass, reflecting his still trembling hands. Your face, a canvas of contradictory emotions, was contorted into a grimace of discomfort. Memories of what had happened just an hour or two ago assaulted you, forcing your lips into a tight smile, a clear indication of your discomfort. You were convinced that you had made a mistake, that something in your behavior had caused Eddie's averted gaze and silence. "I say this because... he doesn't dislike you, quite the contrary..." Lucas continued, dragging his words with the same slowness with which he cleaned his plate with a piece of bread. The bread, now soaked in the last vestiges of soup, disappeared in his mouth, as if with each bite it could erase the tension in the air.

Surprise appeared on your face when you heard Lucas' words. "What do you say? But Eddie hates me, or at least he did," you exclaimed with an incredulous laugh, as if the idea was so absurd that it could only be cause for a joke. Your eyes drifted for a moment to the waitress, whose curious gaze rested on the both of you. With her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, she looked like a statue, a silent observer of the strange dance of your conversation. Sinclair shook his head, her gesture was firm, denying your words with a seriousness that contrasted with your joking tone. He leaned forward, closing the distance between you, as if every word she was about to say needed the confidentiality of a whisper. "Look, I'm going to tell you, but if you tell Eddie, I'll kill you before he kills me..." His voice was a thread of tension, his eyes sleepy, as if the weight of what he was Sharing would burden him deeply.

Your confusion was palpable, but you nodded, giving Lucas the signal that he had your attention. He cleared his throat, clear preparation for what was to come, and leaned even closer, as if he feared even the walls could hear. "Long before us and your sister got to high school, Eddie was already crazy about you, so it's nothing new," Sinclair whispered, with a seriousness that made you question if it was really a joke. Despite your doubts, you decided to give him your full attention. It was a hard statement to believe; your interactions had always been marked by fights and teasing, a constant push and pull that left no room for deeper feelings. But after the recent sex, you found yourself reconsidering every look and word exchanged with Eddie. What if he was trying to flirt instead of bother you? Sinclair spoke with a rapidity that reflected the urgency and nervousness of sharing secrets that should not be revealed. "Ever since we started sitting with their group at lunch, they made jokes about you, I mean, about how hot you are and all that," his words flowed like an overflowing river, full of confidences and murmurs that had been kept with him. suspicion. "Although without knowing that your sister was your sister," he continued, a wry smile playing on his lips as he remembered the collective surprise, "so, when we were offered to join The Hellfire Club and she said she belonged to The Sith Order, Eddie was perplexed." He readjusted himself on the couch, which seemed to hug him with the comfort of it, and looked you directly in the eyes. It was evident that every word he said was another piece of the puzzle he was trying to put together in front of you, a puzzle that, once completed, would change the way you viewed Eddie and possibly the entire dynamic of your social circle. Lucas looked at you with a knowing smile, his eyes. They shone with a gleam of amusement as you imagined your sister. "And since then your sister no longer sits with us, since Eddie considers her a rival of his," he said, his voice tinged with his humor. It was known that Sinclair had always been in love with her, and his tone suggested that he still harbored romantic hopes. "What I'm getting at," Lucas continued, pausing to take a long sip of water. "It's just that when Eddie wanted to see you, since, just as he said, you graduated before him because of his bad grades, he was talking to your sister so that the battles between the groups would start." His words flowed with the ease of someone sharing a long-kept secret, and you realized that your sister's constant bets were more than just games. "That's why your sister proposed so many bets," he added, with a gesture of understanding. Lucas lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "And always, after we left the games, he would stare at you as he went, commenting on how beautiful you were, what good taste you had, and how intelligent you were." He paused dramatically, making sure you caught the importance of his next words. "Eddie is totally into you."

The revelation had left you speechless, a whirlwind of emotions washing over you as you tried to process what you had just heard. Eddie, the same Eddie that seemed like a constant in your daily life, was now intertwined with your feelings in a way you hadn't expected. A few years ago, every time you crossed the school cafeteria, your gaze unconsciously searched for his figure. Eddie, always alert, stood up as if he were waiting for you to pass, leaving a clear space for you to pass. You wondered if it was a coincidence or if, in some way, he also felt that invisible connection that united you. You remembered that time he called you a witch with a voice that was intended to be harsh, but his eyes betrayed the truth. It wasn't hate you saw in them, but a spark of fun, a lopsided smile that bordered on flirtatious. It was a game of looks and unspoken words that only the two of you seemed to understand, even though apparently, you didn't.

In the role-playing games you shared, Eddie transformed. He became the supreme narrator, his voice filling the room, creating worlds and adventures with astonishing ease. But when it was your turn, everything changed. His tone softened, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that seemed to want to decipher each of your thoughts. It was as if, in those moments, there was no one else in the room, just you and him.

Now, as you remembered those moments, you felt a shiver run down your spine, causing an involuntary blush to stain your cheeks. Sinclair's words echoed in your mind, giving you the courage to believe that, perhaps, what you felt for Eddie was reciprocated. It was a terrifying and exciting thought at the same time, a possibility that opened a new chapter in the story of your life.

Sunday slipped through scattered thoughts, like leaves blown by the autumn wind. The week became a countdown, each day marking one step closer to Friday, that day that promised practice with your group and, more importantly, Saturday, when you would have the chance to face Eddie once again.

The cabin, with its walls that whispered stories of ancient victories and defeats, welcomed you on Friday. The practice went without a hitch, each member of the group immersed in their role, building a parallel reality where anything was possible. But Saturday came with a bittersweet taste. The Hellfire Club was full, everyone except Eddie. His absence was like a vacuum that sucked the energy out of the room. You had taken care of your appearance, hoping to capture the magic of that previous night, but instead, you were met with words that fell like cold drops on your spirit. "Eddie said he didn't want to see you today," Dustin announced with a nonchalance that hurt you more than you expected. The screams of his friends echoed, a cacophony of reproaches rising like a storm. "What?" The surprise left you speechless for a moment, a pause that felt eternal. "What?! No! It's not what you think!" The boy you had helped was trying to repair the damage with hasty words. "Yes! Eddie literally said that!" Dustin insisted, causing gestures of frustration in the others, hands on their foreheads, mouths covered in an attempt to silence the truth. You didn't want to admit it, but the words affected you, a lot. After Sinclair's confession, you expected something more, something different. You then decided to put on the mask of indifference, pretending that Eddie's absence didn't matter to you, that his presence or lack of it were equally insignificant. You focused on the game, on the chips and dice, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in a maze of 'what ifs'. The game continued, but your heart was playing its own game, one where the rules were unclear and the only opponent was yourself.

Sunday dawned with a gray sky that seemed to reflect your mood. You got out of bed with the heaviness of someone carrying more than the weight of the sheets. College assignments were piled up on your desk, a mountain of words and numbers demanding your attention, but your mind was somewhere else, lost in the echo of a revelation that still echoed in your ears. With every page you turned, every problem you solved, Eddie's image was superimposed on the text, blurry and persistent. Night fell without you realizing it, and with it, the promise of a new day.

Monday came without classes, a small relief in your routine. Your mother, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, asked you to pick up your sister from high school. You accepted, almost grateful for the distraction, for the chance to get outside and breathe fresh air. You arrived at the school and parked calmly. Soft music filled the space of the car, a melody that tried, unsuccessfully, to calm the waves of your heart. You got lost in your thoughts, looking towards the small forest that stretched like a green blanket beyond the institute, remembering the moments of hanging out with your friends to smoke while hiding from everyone. That's when you saw it. Eddie, accompanied by a girl, entering the forest. Alone. The scene hit you like a punch in the stomach, mixing alarm with sadness and, above all, with anger that burned through your veins. How could he be with another girl after what they had shared just less than two weeks ago?

The car clicked off, the keys still dangling from the ignition, forgotten. You got out of the vehicle, driven by an anger that blinded you. You left behind the responsibility of waiting for your sister, each step towards the woods fueled by the need to confront Eddie, to demand explanations, to understand why he hadn't shown up on Saturday, why he had left you with a heart full of questions and no response.

You walked with a determination that seemed to emanate from every pore of your skin, your fists clenched so tightly that your nails, long and sharp, dug into the palm of your hands, leaving small marks that would be silent witnesses of your contained fury. Your boots, faithful companions of so many days, hit the wet ground with a force that seemed to want to leave a mark not only on the earth but on destiny itself. The mud, stubborn, adhered to the edges of these, as if it wanted to stop you, but nothing could stop your progress. The girl, the one who had come out of the forest, passed by your side, her presence just a fleeting shadow in your visual periphery. For an instant, doubt made you recalculate, but it was just that, an instant. Your determination strengthened and you continued forward, towards the place that Eddie had made into his personal sanctuary. The bank in the middle of the forest was a silent witness of transactions and secrets. Worn by time and the stories he had endured, he proudly displayed his growing moss and cigarette burn scars on the picnic table. The trees surrounded it in an almost perfect circle, as if nature itself had decided to protect that space from intruders. And there was Eddie, oblivious to the world, with his only Walkman for company, moving his head to the rhythm of music that only he could hear. He counted dollars and cents with a precision that belied the apparent nonchalance of his posture.

You approached him, who had his back turned to you, oblivious to the storm of emotions that brought you there. With a decision that admitted no turning back, you turned him around forcefully, forcing him to face you, to look into your eyes. Surprise was drawn on his face, an unexpected and unmanly scream escaped his lips, while he took off his helmets with a speed born of bewilderment. "Shit, what are you doing—?" He began to say, but his question remained suspended in the air, interrupted by your hand that closed on his shirt, bringing him closer until the space between the two of them was almost erased. "Listen to me carefully, Munson, I think you have to explain a lot of things to me..." your voice was a thread of annoyance, but also of a determination that he didn't expect, feeling a tickle in his stomach. Eddie looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that disconcerted you. It wasn't fear, or even surprise. It was a glow, a spark of something that seemed dangerously close to taste. Did he like that intensity, that fire you had inside? Or was it just another of his facades, another game in which he pretended not to be vulnerable?

"Explanations?" he replied, with a crooked smile that you didn't know if you wanted to erase or deepen. "What exactly do you want to know?" His tone was challenging, but there was a curiosity in his gaze that you couldn't ignore. "Besides, what are you doing here? Didn't you finish high school a year or two ago?"

The tension between you and Eddie was palpable, like a guitar string about to break. "What the fuck do you mean by what explanations?" you repeated, keeping your tone firm and defiant. Eddie's confident smile faded, replaced by an expression of surprise as he realized the seriousness of the situation. "We fucked, Eddie. We fucked, so I thought you liked me, but at meet-up time you don't show up and tell the guys you didn't want to see me? Are you stupid or something?" The words came out of you like bullets, each one loaded with the confusion and pain of feeling rejected, something that never happened, so it hurt your ego. You let go of Eddie's shirt, your hands finding his place on your hips, emphasizing your defiant stance. You were dressed to impress, or perhaps to confront. Your tight, ripped and slightly flared jeans were typical of the time, a cry of rebellion and style that adhered to your figure. The belt, an accessory that marked your waist, seemed to capture Eddie's attention, who was lost in contemplation of it, taken out of his thoughts by the intensity of your reproaches. Eddie blinked, coming to, and for a moment, he seemed to search for the right words. "It's not what you think," he began, his voice a little lower, a little more serious.

The tension in the air was almost tangible, like electricity before a storm. "Oh, right? So what is it, huh? Excuse yourself," you demanded, your words sharp as the red fingernails that were now pointed at him, a perfect contrast to your small maroon jean jacket. Eddie seemed lost, unable to find the right words. “It's just...that...” his voice trailed off, and with each syllable that trailed off, your frustration grew. Your brow was furrowed, a grimace of disgust was drawn on your face, and without thinking about it, you grabbed him by the cheeks. Your nails, now weapons of your anger, dug lightly into his cheeks, scratched by the shadow of a stubble. Eddie had never seen you like this, with such fierce passion, and that, somehow, seemed to light a different fire in him, a desire that grew with each gesture of your discontent. "Speak up, Eddie! You have no right to leave me like this, with doubts and no answers," you continued, your voice a crescendo of mixed emotions. "After everything that's happened, you avoid me and send messages through others? It's unfair and you know it!" Munson finally raised his gaze, meeting yours. There was something in his eyes, a flash of something that wasn't just surprise or fear of your reaction. It was deeper, a mix of regret and something you didn't dare name. "It's not what you think," he said finally, his voice firm but soft.

Eddie looked at you with eyes that seemed to seek refuge in yours, his voice trembling slightly as he confessed, "It's just that I'm a loser and you mean a lot to me..." The words hung in the air, loaded with raw sincerity. and vulnerable. "I didn't pay attention to you after fucking because I didn't want to be discovered at that moment, otherwise we would be the subject of ridicule." He paused, as if each word cost him a piece of his pride. "I didn't show up to the meeting because I knew I would get hard and it would be weird, which I didn't think you would see very well, so I excused myself to the boys with the excuse that I didn't want to see you." His confession was a labyrinth of emotions, a clumsy attempt to protect something that he himself didn't fully understand. And then, with a look that drifted toward the ground, he added, "And I haven't been able to contact you because my uncle has had problems with his diabetes and the only times I've left the house were to sell, you know, as you can see right now. I swear..." His gestures were limited, restricted by the pressure your fingers exerted on his cheeks.

Hearing him, guilt took over you, you let go of his face and looked at him, this time with an expression that mixed understanding with remorse. Eddie felt the cold on his skin where the warmth of your hand used to be. "No, no, you can leave your hand here, if you want... ..." he teased, attempting a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a forced laugh that desperately sought to relieve the tension of the moment.

Eddie stood up with a slowness that seemed to measure every second, his commanding height creating a shadow over you. You looked up, following the contour of his figure until your eyes met his, half-closed and shining with a mischievous light.

His smile, that familiar curve of his lips, enveloped you in a spell that you didn't want to escape. With a softness that contrasted the roughness of her skin, her hand found your neck, sliding to the back of your neck in a possessive gesture. "Let me clarify that that wasn't just one night, really..." The confession came out of him in a whisper, his voice a thread of vulnerability intertwined with the firmness of his words. For an instant, his gaze averted, as if the emotions he carried inside him sought to escape. But you weren't about to let him walk away from her, not now. Your hand acted of its own volition, drawing his attention back to you, demanding the connection you both knew existed. A knowing smile appeared on his face, a reflection of yours, while a part of him longed for you to repeat the gesture, to maintain that contact that seemed to be the only anchor in the whirlwind of feelings that surrounded you.

The atmosphere around them was a mixture of tension and electricity, as if the air itself was charged with the intensity of their emotions. The forest had become a private sanctuary, the tall and majestic trees formed a natural roof that filtered the sun's rays, creating a play of light and shadows on them. The ground was covered in fallen leaves, which crunched softly under their feet, a reminder of the fleeting nature of time.

The physical contact between them was its own language, a wordless conversation where each touch and each gesture had its own meaning. Eddie's hand on the back of your neck wasn't just a touch; It was an affirmation, a silent promise that what was between you transcended the everyday. His rough skin contrasted with the softness of yours, creating a sensation that made you want to get even closer.

Your hands, although they had been weapons of your anger moments before, now became explorers, tracing the contours of his face, feeling the texture of his skin, the firmness of his jaw. The pressure of your fingers was an echo of the pressure in your chest, a mixture of desire and need for understanding.

Eddie responded to your every touch, his body instinctively reacting to yours. There was a dance in their proximity, one step forward and one step back, as if they were on the edges of an emotional precipice, seeking the perfect balance between confession and reserve.

The boy remained waiting full of impatience, his eyes fixed on you, shining with the expectation of what was to come. It was as if he had cast a spell, and you, responding to that silent call, grabbed onto a strand of his long, dark hair, tugging at it with a playful but determined gesture. In one fluid motion, you pulled him towards you, and your lips met in a kiss that sealed all the unspoken words, a kiss that was a promise and a confession at the same time. Eddie's hand, which until then rested on your neck, began its slow but sure descent, tracing the contour of your collarbone before settling on the curve of your waist. His fingers, strong but careful, caressed the skin exposed by your shirt, exploring every inch with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his gaze and exchange of saliva. It was a caress that spoke of possession, an intimate connection that united you beyond the physical, but right now it was what you were looking for.

The metallic melody of Eddie's headphones, now a persistent hum, becomes the backdrop for a moment that feels suspended in time. The wet whisper of your kisses transforms into a secret language, communicating unspoken desires that only you can understand. Eddie, with a determination that leaves you breathless, he spins you around with gravity-defying skill, leaving you with your back to the bench, where your butt rested on the surface littered with tobacco flakes, adding a rough texture to the scene. You were trapped between that cool surface and Eddie's firm crotch, which pulsed with desire, sending shivers down your spine, which was caressed by Eddie's hand. A shared sigh escaped your lips as you felt the reconnection of that pressure, fueling the erotic tension that intensified with each moment.

Eddie's tongue lasciviously explored from your mouth to your neck, tracing a trail of sensations that made you sway slightly, sliding back onto the picnic table, followed by your neck, giving him just enough room. While Eddie concentrated on his task, he firmly grabbed your sturdy thighs, lifting you up and placing you on the table, causing the money counted earlier to slide on the wet grass on the floor, a detail that added a note of chaos to the scene, increasing the intensity of the moment. Each bill and coin was lost in the undergrowth, as a metaphor for the debauchery and overflowing passion that consumed them.

"I want to fuck you right here. I want to take that stupid belt off you and choke you with it," Eddie said, his voice hoarse and heavy with desire, his words reverberating in the tension-laden air. You gasped as you broke the kiss for air, his hot breath brushing against your wet neck, leaving a new electric trail on your skin. His hands, eager and determined, slid down your lower back, searching for the belt that promised to release the pent-up desire.

Eddie ran his hands anxiously down your abdomen, urgently undoing your belt as your eyes were fixed on his desperate expression. Around you, the world seemed to fade away in a swirl of colors and sounds, leaving only room for the electricity that flowed between the two of you. With a quick tug, Eddie undid your belt, making you wobble slightly as he looked at you with a devilish grin, nimbly folding it. The rustling of the leaves in the wind intermingled with the accelerated beating of your hearts, creating an atmosphere full of tension. "What would happen to that eyeliner of yours if I smacked you in the face?" he asked sarcastically, each word ringing with defiant energy. "Would he cum from your tears, or would I be the only one who would?"

Your playful response brought a flicker of desire to Eddie's eyes, which burned brightly as he watched you. "Why don't you see for yourself?" you challenged with an innocent but mischievous look, causing the tension between you to reach a new level.

Eddie obeyed with a malicious smile, giving you a sudden spank on your cheek, causing you to emit a moan of pain mixed with a hint of pleasure. The sound echoed through the air, mixing with the rustle of leaves moving in the nearby breeze. A slight redness appeared at the site of impact, marking your skin with a warm, burning tone, while your breathing quickened, full of anticipation. Meanwhile, the palpable tension between them increased, making each brush of fabric against skin feel more intense. Eddie's cock, imprisoned in her boxers, pulsed with a exquisite sensitivity, as if she were eager to break free and join the game they were both playing.

Eddie, almost instinctively, pressed his erection, imprisoned by his rock jeans, against your groin, eager to free himself. There was a tangible electricity in the surrounding environment, as if nature itself was aware of the burning desire manifesting between you.

“You look like a bitch in heat,” you teased Eddie with a mischievous smile, as your delicate hands slid to his skull-adorned belt buckle, undoing it with deliberate slowness. Each click of the buckle resonated in the air, generating a slight tremor in Eddie, who awaited with anticipation what was about to happen. His erection rubbed against the fabric, causing involuntary movements that did not go unnoticed by you, unleashing a mischievous laugh that escaped your lips, full of complicity.

You released Eddie from his belt, letting him fall nonchalantly behind you as you focused on pulling his pants down enough to show his erection, remaining careful that he could quickly pull them up if someone showed up.

Seeing his covered but noticeable cock, you licked your lips in anticipation, reveling in the sight. Eddie's white boxers were soaked with precum, revealing the level of his arousal. Your gaze fell on his crotch, where his erection was begging to be touched and pleasured. Without further ado, you pulled down his boxers, leaving light marks on his thighs from the rubbing of your nails, which caused his arched cock to release completely, hitting his clothed abdomen with a light sound. The arousal in the air was palpable, and his cock throbbed eagerly, twitching slightly in anticipation of what was to come.

Determinedly, you wrap your hand around Eddie's firm erection, beginning to pump at a slow but steady pace. A content sigh escapes her parted lips as his body tenses at the contact, letting out a barely audible moan that is lost in the air charged with excitement. His trembling hand finds its way to your hair, gripping it firmly as his mouth curves into a mischievous smile. Every movement you make provokes a response in his body, a slight contraction of his muscles, a ragged inhalation that adds to the ambient noise.

The sound of skin rubbing against skin mixes with the rustle of the breeze rustling nearby leaves, creating a symphony of pleasure and anticipation. Your hand continues to move skillfully, gradually quickening the pace, as Eddie's breathing becomes more labored, his moans more audible.

Every time your thumb brushes the sensitive tip of his member, his body shudders involuntarily, and his moans intensify, filling the air with a heady mix of arousal and desire.

With provocative elegance, you slide from the table you were sitting at, moving gracefully until you are on your knees in front of Eddie. From that lower position, you look at him with a look full of desire and eagerness to please him, while a playful smile curves your lips. Leaning forward slightly, you open your mouth in a clear sign of your intentions, indicating your willingness to take his cock in your mouth. Anticipation shines in Eddie's eyes, his breathing becoming more labored as he watches you with a mix of desire and arousal.

Without warning, in a provocative act, you playfully open your mouth, inviting him to immerse himself in the pleasure you offer him. Eddie's hand, which was firmly gripping your hair, pushes you decisively, forcing his cock forcefully into your mouth. You feel the sudden onslaught of his member, causing a strong tremor in his body as he experiences the humidity, heat, softness and tightness of your mouth. The intoxicating sensation of having him inside you awakens a wave of pleasure that runs through every fiber of your being, noticing how those jeans that you considered favorites began to get wet due to the transfer of your panties.

A deep, desire-laden moan escapes Eddie's lips as he pronounces your name between broken breaths. His voice, full of passion and desire, resonates in the air, further fueling the fiery moment. “Ahh... fuck...” he moans your name, revealing the overwhelming effect you have on him. You give yourself fully to the act, letting desire and arousal consume you completely, as you dive deeper into the pleasure of giving Eddie exactly what he craves.

Eddie’s hands grip the sides of your face with palpable determination, like he’s eager to explore every inch of your mouth. He begins to move at a frenetic pace, fucking your mouth with an unbridled passion that leaves you breathless. Little by little, his member reaches the beginning of your throat, causing an intense sensation that makes you shudder. A gag escapes your throat, caused by Eddie's deep intrusion, but he doesn't stop, instead continuing to thrust hard, causing pleasure mixed with slight pain that makes your moans intermingle with his. The feeling of his tip lightly crushing your palate only intensifies the ecstasy shared between the two of you, causing louder, deeper moans from Eddie.

You could feel Eddie getting closer to climax, his ragged breathing and higher-pitched moans indicating he was on the brink of release. However, something else was seeping into your consciousness: close footsteps, a sound that didn't fit the intimate atmosphere you shared with Eddie. Worry began to bubble inside you as you continued to do your duty, but unease took over. The desire to find out who was interrupting this private but at the same time public moment grew with each closer step, but Eddie's firm grip on your face kept you trapped, preventing you from moving away. With concentrated effort, you fought against his hold until you finally managed to free yourself enough to separate yourself from his cock.

You pulled away from Eddie's cock with a sharp movement, feeling his cream slide between your fingers. Your eyes met those of the step holders, two figures who looked at you with a surprise that seemed carved into their faces. "Eddie?" the Sinclair's voice cracked, revealing his bewilderment, while your sister remained at his side, a motionless silhouette in the chaos of the moment. "Sinclair!" you exclaimed, your voice rising above the murmur of the forest as you realized he was holding a used and tied condom, a crucial link in the chain of events unfolding before you. The long-haired man's erection, now abandoned by his misfortune, collapsed, and a torrent of almost translucent white liquid spread across your face, hiding your shocked expression.

Eddie's deep moan that followed this echoed through the forest, marking the end of one act and the beginning of another. Eddie, Sinclair, and your sister looked at you, their expressions a mirror of absolute shock. None of the four of you knew how to react, trapped in a moment of mutual transgression, a game of secrets and silences that had been broken by Eddie's cum on your face.

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lostmykiliel · 3 months

Text

MileApoBasTong Live

[29.02.2024]

There were so many cute moments that I need to share:

It was announced as Tong hosting the IG live but instead Apo hosted, which confused Mile as well. [Translation]:

Shortly after Apo praised/teased Mile again, with something like 'The person who just became a friend of high jewelry brand is so cool and good looking':

Then Bas & Tong joined and third-wheeled throughout the whole live, like here where Mile is trying to use the same filter as Apo:

Followed by two moments where Mile is entirely smitten:

A little brand promotion:

Tong speaking nothing but the truth:

Bas (about Mile's reaction to Apo's cuteness): 'Look, P'My likes it. Haha. Look at the smiley face and love it hahahaha! I'm sorry':

And last but not least this:

Apo (trying to be flirty with fans): 'Previously we say “Do you want to see the cat in my room”, but now we say “Let’s watch Netflix in our room, watch Mansuang”'

Mile (intervening, from fans perspective*): 'I don’t go, I answer I don’t go because I have the same app (on my hand)'

Apo: 'Ahhh, if they say watch on the phone. It’s ok. If you’re not watching in the room, I’ll take…then I’ll take you to watch it everywhere. Aye~ cause you can watch it on the phone right? Going on the plane or anywhere, you can watch it, right?'

*Explanation:

Not his smile vanishing and replying for us, so we won't get any weird ideas...

#mileapo #tong and bas being the thirdwheel #and spilling the facts

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imsofthelp · 2 months

Text

Word count: 2.7k

Category: Angst, Smut

Warnings: smut, a bit of rough sex ig, reader is sad tm, cult leader geto, an awful lot of dog metaphors, veeeery slight masochism but not really explicit. Takes place eight years after Geto left but reader's age is not stated.

Summary: When Suguru left, a part of you went with. It's not a surprise, that eight years after, you still come crawling back to him.

***

When Suguru left, a part of you went with. The school years spent together passed by in a flash and then he was gone without saying goodbye. No words, no letter, not even a short message to your phone. The wallpaper was still set to the picture of the two of you. He wasn’t smiling in that one. When was the last time he did? The more you study the phone screen, the more your hands tremble. His skin looks pale, the bags under his eyes holding all the colors of the night sky. How could you not notice? How could you possibly be that stupid? How were the signs so glaringly obvious yet slipped past your radar?

You were too happy, your brain suggested. Lost in the bliss, living in the soft summer days, only noticing that you had nothing warm to wear when winter came along suddenly. Shoko had told you not to blame yourself, yet you noticed that she had started smoking way more often. You were often with her, when she allowed the nicotine to surround the air around you, letting the bright red cherry tip burn right to the filter. Those moments were quiet most of the time.

Satoru didn’t say anything to you, during that time. You often wondered if he was hurting more than you. If the guilt completely ate him completely instead of chipping away as it had on you. You wondered if he had any tears left to shed. Yours seemed never-ending.

You also wondered what your friends (if you could still call them that, after so many years of no contact) would think of you if they saw you like this. Hair matted with sweat and sticking to your forehead, skin clammy and flushed, eyes rolled to the back of your head and countless loads of cum decorating your pliant body.

Right now, Suguru had you on all fours, back arched harshly, his large, unforgiving hand aiding the pose with a harsh grip on your hair, the other resting on your hip with a bruising grip. His hips were unrelenting in their pursuit of his pleasure, almost punishing with how harsh they were. Your body bounced back and forth with each mean thrust, your hands fisting the silk sheets until the knuckles turned white.

You squirm forward a little and his strong body chases right after. His lean, toned body leans on yours, more weight landing on you, his soft hair forming a dark halo around you.

“Not trying to run from me, are you, darling?” His voice is dark and a little breathy.

A soft grunt slips past his glossy lips and you still, taking and taking and taking until there’s nothing but him. His clean, woody scent surrounding you, his silky hair tickling at the sensitive skin of your neck and his huge cock tearing away at your insides.

“N-no. Sorry.”

You’re surprised by the breathlessness of your own voice, sounding so far away. Geto rewards you with a content hum as he kisses the shell of your ear with befitting gentleness. The only sound besides your own deep breaths is the loud squelching of your awfully wet cunt.

It’s not like he hasn’t prepared you. He spent what seemed like hours between your legs, dark hair pulled into a bun because he didn’t like distractions while doing the thing he enjoyed most. He dangled your pleasure just in front of you, only allowing you to cum when you begged real pretty and tear tracks embedded themselves into the soft skin of your cheeks. After that, he had stretched you out with his fingers, cooing at you almost mockingly when three seemed to be too much. And they were, they really were with how long, thick and calloused they were and yet-

Nothing ever prepared you to take his cock, not even when you were dripping, messing up his expensive sheets. He was massive — long, and thick and slightly curved to the side, hitting all the right spots instantly yet never fully fitting inside.

“No? Seemed that way, doll.”

Another kiss, this time to your exposed neck, before his thrusts pick up speed. It’s nasty and loud, yet missing the usual sound of hips connecting that most often came along with sex. Those two last inches never did fit, much to his displeasure.

Suguru angles his hips in a way that hits that spot deep inside, the one that despite countless times of trying, no else was able to hit in the way he was. You keen loudly, burying your head into the bedsheets and sniffling loudly, hands clawing around in search of reprieve.

Suguru grants you that one relief, the hand that was knit tightly into your hair finally leaving and intertwining with yours, fingers squeezing tightly, as if he was the one afraid to let go. His thrusts are still mean. Now, that he had finally granted you the pleasure of feeling his cock against that one sensitive spot, he abused the newfound power over and over and over again.

“You close, love? Tell me how it feels.”

His voice is sweet and as smooth as honey. The word “love” feels like venom dripping from his perfect lips. Another mean thrust and you’re keening, thoughts jumbled in your head, saliva dripping down your chin as if it’s your brain leaking out.

“Feels, ngh- Feels soo- Suguru!”

He actually laughs, sound melodic and heavenly. He’s a god above you, a vision of utter perfection, and you’re a mortal, on your knees in his temple, begging for reprieve, for pleasure, for him.

“Use your words, dear. Can you do that for me?”

It’s completely condescending. The only thing that’s betraying how tight you’re squeezing him is the slight grunts he allows to slip past. He had nothing to hide from you, anyway. Who would you tell, when you were so afraid of admitting that you shared your bed with him?

“M-mhm, wanna be good. Feels, ah, feels good-“

His thrusts slow and you can’t find it in yourself to feel bad for actually whining at the loss of friction. He’s a henchman and you’re the victim, willingly walking to him and laying yourself under the shining silver of the axe. Nothing seems to matter anymore, save for your pleasure.

Your hips buck back, trying to get him to speed his thrusts back again, but Suguru is not the one to give in that easy. His hand still on your hip tightens, fingers curling in a way that’s sure to leave bruises, that’s sure to leave his mark.

“You can do better. You want to come, don’t you, darling? Yeah, you do… So do better for me. Talk all pretty, okay?”

And how can you refuse Suguru, when he asks like that?

“You’re s-so big and n-no one else can fuck me like tha-that. I love your cock, love to fe-feel it in me, love the way i-it hu-hurts and lo-love you, ah-!” words tumble past your lips as fast as running water, afraid to disappoint him, afraid for him to leave.

Finally, finally his hips pick up their speed, the hand that was just squeezing your hip now slithering under your body and finding that little bundle of nerves in an instant. He seems to have no trouble playing you like an instrument, his practiced fingers drawing tight, fast circles on your clit. You just do your duty, keeping your back arched, your hips thrusting back to meet his movements.

It doesn’t take long for your vision to completely black out, screams and moans and little ramblings leaving your spit-soaked lips. Suguru aids you through your orgasm, never ceasing his movements against your clit. He gifts you with a couple more shallow thrusts before he’s pulling out with a soft grunt. In a moment, you feel the warmth of his cum hitting your back and your knees finally give out, body splayed out on the bed.

Suguru rolls over in order not to crush you, his own breaths labored and loud. You spend a long moment just catching your breath, head turning to the side and drinking in his painfully pretty features. The arch of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, his tired, dark eyes and his mused hair.

“You confessing your love for me was not something I had expected tonight.” He answers with a chuckle, your name slipping past his lips unprompted. No matter how soft it is, it still sounds foreign.

“It was just a slip of a tongue.” You reply, still studying each movement of his body. He was still so coordinated and delicate in his maneuvers, as if the intense session before didn’t tire him out at all.

“Some phrase about a cat and it being out of the bag seems to come to my mind.” Suguru chuckled, before standing up and disappearing for a moment.

He comes back with a wet towel, wiping away at the mess between your legs and then carefully caressing your back, removing all evidence of what has happened before. He puts it away immediately, always the one to stick to neatness and tidiness.

“Why didn’t you just finish inside? It’s less messy and I’m on birth control.” You find yourself mumbling the words. Perhaps you just missed his warmth, craving it to be so deep inside you that even after you left, some part of him still lingered.

Suguru hums softly, pulling you into his strong arms. His skin is warm against yours. He’s still naked, his chest pressed up against your back. It feels right. Like that’s the way it should have always been.

“Admittedly, I am not that possessive, darling. You can fuck whoever you like, someone who fits your moral compass and all that. I don’t need to cum inside to prove that you’re mine.”

He’s always so nonchalant about this. Like he’s absolutely sure that you would always come crawling back, even if it resulted in bruised knees and absolute banishment of your dignity. It hurt that it wasn’t exactly wrong.

“It seems that no one fits my moral compass nowadays. Perhaps I am getting too picky.” You answered quietly, softly. The smell of sex was still heavy in the air.

Suguru brushes figures into the skin of your arms, making your body instantly relax in his strong arms. It shouldn’t feel so safe. Not when the blood of so many people stain every inch of his skin. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. He had never hurt you, at least, not physically. The emotional damage was something you preferred to think about over a nice bottle of wine, alone.

“Perhaps you are. Or maybe we are just two sides of the same coin. I cannot seem to find someone who’s presence satisfies me as much as yours, either.

His words never fail to make you blush. You’re not a school girl anymore, it shouldn’t affect you at all, let alone this much and yet, when it’s Suguru, nothing is off the table.

“We are not the same and never will be.” You find the strength within yourself to answer. The words are weak and uncertain.

“Oh, are we not?” He answers immediately, the movements of his nimble fingers ceasing for a moment before continuing their path down your arms. He’s soothing you, you realize. How stupid. As if you ever needed that. As if he actually know how much you did.

“What are you implying, Suguru?” You ask, and your head finds it’s way to rest on his chest. Suguru finally relaxes, as if it was him who craved it instead of you.

“I will never change my ideals and yet you still crawl back to me like an obedient little dog.” He lets the words linger in the silence of his bedroom for a moment, “You will never change yours and yet I welcome you back into my arms each time.”

“Comparing me to a dog now?” Is all you manage for an answer.

The words have no real bite behind them. A metaphor of a dog with no teeth comes to your mind briefly. You are a scared animal, cornered in somewhere, just waiting for a hand that will feed instead of hitting. Suguru embodies both.

“That’s not what you should be focusing on. And that wasn’t even my point.” He waves you off with a gentle flick of his wrist.

“Spit it out.”

“We were doomed from the day we first met. It was meant to be happen this way.” He begins, and you can’t begin to understand what he’s getting at. Suguru often got philosophical after sex, “I believe it was Emil M. Cioran, who said “If you are doomed to devour yourself, nothing can keep you from it: a trifle will impel you as much as a tragedy. Resign yourself to erosion at all times: your fate wills it so.”

“Are you saying that there was nothing that I could have done to prevent you from leaving? That you are devouring yourself?” the words taste bitter on your tongue.

“I’m saying exactly that. The guilt is ridden all across her features each time I see you. Not only because you feel bad about us sleeping together. You can’t let go of it even eight years after, you carry it with you like a deadly weight. It’s going to drag you down one day, don’t you know?” He asks so nonchalantly, like he’s not expecting an answer. You offer him one anyway.

“And the part about devouring yourself?”

“Exorcise. Consume. Repeat it until everything inside you aches. My fate was written down on the day my cursed technique developed.” He’s quiet as he tells you this. Honest, for the first time in a while.

“And for you, that is synonymous to devouring yourself? Your technique?”

“More or less so. The rest of devouring is me reaching for a goal that is impossible to reach. Icarus flying too close to the sun, Laika trying to reach the stars.” He’s silent for a long moment after that.

You don’t really know what to say, either. The need to ask about why he was still doing this if he knew what the outcome was, dies down on your tongue. Instead, you hold onto his hand still tracing shapes on your arm. He gives your fingers a squeeze. The atmosphere of his bedroom is heavy and dark, melancholy weighing down heavy on your bones.

“You’re bad at pillow talk, Suguru.”

He offers you a small laugh, sound melodic and airy.

“And you’re trying to evade the topic. There was nothing you could’ve done, okay? And I don’t have plans for returning.” Your throat burns. The harsh reality that you have been trying so hard to avoid comes crashing down around you, “It’s not that you’re not good enough for me to turn my back on all of this. The thing is, you’re pretty, and caring, and your laugh, and your touch are the only things that can soothe my tired body.”

“You’re pouring salt into the wound.” You answer, and your voice is hallowed. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. Deep down, you know that it’s the latter.

“My goals just always come first.” He adds, as if that wasn’t obvious, as if it hasn’t been the thing that’s haunted you for years, borrowing it so deep inside your body, soul and heart that it’s become familiar.

“Your goals always come first.” You echo, “You’ll die a selfish man, Suguru.”

He rearranges you into a more comfortable position, laying you down onto his chest and enveloping you both in a soft, warm blanket. His breathing matches yours and you feel yourself teetering along the edge of unconsciousness.

Suguru presses a kiss to your hairline, chuckling softly, before closing his own dark eyes. Can you even hear him anymore? Ah, no matter. He can always tell you the next time you come back to him.

“Don’t I know it, dear. Don’t I know it.”

#jjk smut #tw angst #tw smut #jjk x reader smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader smut #geto suguru x reader angst #geto suguru smut #jjk x reader #geto x reader smut #jjk x reader angst #tw masochism

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

AITA for locking an ex-friend out of a long-time gaming account?

[Context]

I (F16) had a friend, who we'll call V (F30s). We met on an online chat game, with the main focus being decorating rooms and playing mini-games with other players. She had been playing for well over ten years at that point, while I was still pretty new (about a year or two, in comparison). I had a pretty large friend group on that game, and when I met her, I kind of brought her into this group.

Several months (6+ ish) later, the group and I decided to create a knock-off room of some of the most popular rooms on the server. We had mostly all met in these popular rooms and just wanted one of our own for the friend group and others like us. This was largely my idea, along with my best friend, R (16M). R contributed the most in terms of financial support, and we both took on designing the room. Everyone else pitched in ideas, but were largely unhelpful in the grand scheme of things. V was the most unhelpful, as she would get pissy about small things that didnt go her way, even when she wasn't contributing to the creation of this room.

Eventually, the room was completed how R and I wanted it, with some input from the others. V did a 180 and was soooo happy with how everything turned out. Everything was back to normal with her.

Now, our room was not successful. We did not end up one of the popular ones. While a little disappointing, it was fine because we were still hanging out with our friends and having fun. About a month or two in, I got a message from R telling me to log on quick, bc the room was in disarray.

I logged in and people were telling me V had trashed it (all of us in the main group had complete access to the room, so could make changes as needed). While it wasn't "trashed" per se, it was a mess and it did take me a couple hours to fix everything.

Friends filled me in and told me V had apparently been secretly making her own room (another knock-off like ours, but worse) with a guy who had said some disgusting things about me, and several friends joined her in tarnishing ours before leaving to be with her.

This was an utter betrayal as I loved them all and had trusted them with something R and I worked very hard on for all of us. There was never any indication that V was unhappy with anything, as we spoke every day and she was always saying how much she loved our group and how we were definitely gonna be the most successful eventually and blah blah. I mean, I recognized that she was just saying what I wanted to hear, but still. I thought of her like a big sister.

[End Context]

A few days went by, and R and I were talking about everything that had happened. I was finally over the shock, and I was just angry. R said he wished there were some way we could get back at her. I remembered that V had given me her password months prior for an event she couldn't complete, and I had logged in and done it for her. I told him that she said it was the only password she'd ever used, since she was young, and I bet she hadn't changed it.

I was wrong, she HAD changed it, but she had also given me her email for the login information, so I tried the password on her email. I got in. So I changed her game password through her email and logged in.

She had been online, but this game would kick you off if someone else logged in while you were online, so I knew I had precious little time before she'd change the password back and I'd be kicked off.

So I went into her room, mass-banned everyone in there (including some of my former friends, one was the gross guy I hated), destroyed the room as much as possible, and then privated it so no one could enter (idk why I didn't just delete the room, wasn't thinking clearly ig). I then typed in as many censored words as I could so the auto-filter would flag her and get her account suspended.

Her account DID get suspended (and the game team was notorious for having the worst support ever. Once your account was suspended/banned, you almost never got it back), and I was auto-logged out. I logged back into my personal account, and R and I freaked out, just super giddy. V used an alt account to confront us, and ofc we denied having any involvement, but laughed at her anyways.

She did eventually (a month or two later) get her main account back, but before that she had lost all of her stuff, so she couldn't reopen her room. I was pretty satisfied with this, but some of the former friends who sided with her told me it had taken a toll on her mental health. I told them that all of their betrayals had taken a toll on MY mental health, so why should I be bothered, especially when I hadn't DONE anything (wink).

All in all, I felt justified, and she did eventually get her main account back, and I stopped playing not too long after that, but I'd still like to know what other people think.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 1 year

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Could I request a little ‘A got roped into a blind date by their friends. They don't want a new relationship and plan to make themselves as unlikeable as possible to dissuade any further possible setups. All of that goes through the window when they see how gorgeous B is.’ with Santi as person A

(if you get this twice I’m sorry I can’t remember if I sent this irl or not because I saw the post when I was hazy and delusional at 2 AM)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 912

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests! First time writing for Santi, very very excited about this one! (And don't worry ab requesting twice, hun! It was a very inspiring prompt)

Warnings: fluff, santi thinks he's unlovable, a bit angsty ig?, frankie morales is a good bro, poorly edited (author has BDE)

Santiago really didn’t do the whole dating thing.

The flowers and the small-talk and the footsies over cheese-stuffed appetisers.

He had a long-term relationship with running away, that strange, filtered aeroplane air making him feel closer to home than any of his mother’s cooking could ever hope to do.

Better put, he wasn’t relationship material.

It wasn’t a deliberate choice from his end.

It sort of just…happened.

Life had morphed Santiago into the jagged, crooked, ugly thing that he was now.

In all of his attempts (three) at the real thing, all his tries at the dart board called love, it usually always ended in the same fashion. He’d take her to meet his friends, she’d realise sooner than later that she’d drawn the losing hand out of the four of them, and it was downhill from there.

One of them had been kind enough even to enlighten him to exactly what he lacked.

You just need to be more…Frankie, Santi.

Though it hurt, it was good to get out in the open like that. The plain, mumpy truth, in all its glory:

Santiago wasn’t relationship material because of the amount of ‘Frankie-ness’ that was lacking in his blood and DNA, because he was the losing hand, the cracked skipping stone in the middle of a torrential river on the way to the safety of land and love, true love.

And so, in what would be considered a sociologist’s dream case study, Santiago did what he did best, self-fulfilled then self-destructed.

He was the intermediary for girls before they managed to find their Frankie, Benny, Will.

It was a tough truth to chew, left a bitter taste in his mouth, that he’d only been created for people to recognize their self-worth and move on. There was a disagreeable insinuation behind it, if he thought about it too long.

Which was precisely why he didn’t.

And he ran away instead when things got too hard, too painful. Like a thumbtack in the heel of his foot.

But Frankie on the other hand, Frankie thought about it long and hard. Too hard and too long, no matter how often Santiago told him to quit it.

From his seat behind the driver’s wheel, Frankie was able to watch everything with a keen, honed eye, his two ears moving back and forth like a great-horned owl’s.

And nothing was able to go past Frankie’s eyes without him picking it up and giving it a thorough inspection.

Which is why Frankie's been adamant about it. A real pain in the ass.

Santiago was the bachelor of the group now. The only single one left.

And Frankie was set on changing that.

No matter how much Santiago protested.

Will and Benny gave in to Santiago’s reality with a simple nod, the former’s eyes sad and sombre, the latter’s teasing a little light-hearted and half-hearted.

But Frankie and him had the strongest bond he’s ever experienced. Saving a guy’s life a couple times does that to you.

Santiago knows, if anything, that whatever happens in this god-forsaken world, that Frankie will always be his rock, the one constant in a world of possibilities and probabilities.

But it also meant that Frankie had some sort of gall that the others didn’t.

And tonight, he meant to put an end to it, swiftly and surely.

The sibling of a friend of a cousin.

That still doesn’t mean Santiago wants to be here.

Detached enough from them that if it all went to shit, the ripples would be minimal. Attached enough to them to make the small talk a little less small-talkey.

“You’re frowning.”

“That’s because I’m mad, pendejo,” he grumbles back at the baseball cap.

Frankie huffs and though he can’t see it, he hears the eye-roll.

He feels like a petulant child, like he’s being babysat to make sure he won’t act out.

Which is what he is precisely planning to do.

He’ll take care of it quickly. Despite his cynical, eighty-year-old with three cats schmick he’s settling into nicely, he still has a bit of heart. And whoever the poor person was that had been roped into this will be roped out just as quickly. No harm done and Santiago’s Frankie problem fixed once and for all.

With another huff, Frankie leans back in his seat and fixes him with beady eyes, “At least, try to be a little agreeable.”

He only grumbles in response.

It’s a white-and-red chequered tablecloth kind of place. Corny, romantic, candle-lit.

Santiago was hoping he’d never have to set foot in such a place again.

The door jingles open.

Show-time.

Frankie sends him another one of his glares, and Santiago sends it straight back, letting it settle on his face, deep into the grooves of it.

There’s rolls and rolls of nervousness fading off of you.

But you look nice-

Beautiful.

Gorgeous.

The air’s been swamped out of his lungs.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. This weird, fluttering thing that’s been going on his body since he laid eyes on you.

Santiago’s vaguely aware that you’re talking with Frankie, thanking him for arranging it all.

And there’s a lull in the murmurs.

He hastily gathers himself up, the angry little press of lines on his forehead all but gone.

He scrambles for the flowers Frankie made him buy you and holds them out, swallowing thickly, “Hi, I’m Santi.”

He hopes that this’ll make for a hell of a first-date story.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here, requests here.

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia x y/n #santiago garcia x female!reader #santiago garcia fluff #santiago garcia angst #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfic #santiago garcia fic #santiago garcia x f!reader #santiago garcia imagine #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

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nomeniko · 4 days

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hi :D for the ask game What do you wish more people understood about kazui? Which trial 2 MV do you enjoy the most, and why?

thank you for the ask i would grovel at ur feet in gratitude i hope the sun shines down and makes the light dance for u and you only today

1. if anything ive seen a few theories of kazui possibly revealing himself to be a two faced manipulator of sorts due to his self proclaimed liarness…. like ‘ohh u cant trust what he says he cld be trying to make himself look pitiable to the audience to get voted inno’ sort of theories which is. no he wont do that???

is he a liar? to a degree yes—liar not in the sense that what he says are direct falsities, but more like hes built much of his character to constantly disguise his true intentions/feelings as a defense mechanism. the lies he says are less of words from a schemer and more of redirections from someone who is, all in all, an insecure adult scared of what will happen if he isnt able to meet peoples expectations of him

as much as he calls himself a liar hes mad honest about where he thinks his capabilities lie, which is to say he doesnt believe in his capabilities at all lol. when amane asks him for help with her studies, he turns her down after some consideration bc he doesnt believe himself to be smart enough to help (despite having graduated from a university; sports degree or not credit shld be given where credit is due). when he talks to shidou post ktk attack, he refuses to admit doing any of the work in taking care of the situation and instead puts all the praise onto shidou. even his physical strength and skill (which is arguably the one part of him he does acknowledge and take some sort of belief in) is something he treats as less of something that he has achieved himself and more of an obligation of his—like, hes strong bc to him he HAS to be, bc it is expected of him to protect those who need protecting. he does want to protect others, sure, but much of that wanting comes frm how ingrained it is in him that thats what hes good for, thats what his strength is for (his timeline w/ yuno on her bday says as much nyway)

the way i see it, that self deprication of his plays back into his obsession with meeting the expectations placed onto him, or at least lessening the disappointment of others by lessening those expectations in the first place. if u tell someone that u didnt go to the right university, that u didnt do much to help anyway, that u were born so fundamentally wrong as a person that everything is bound to go to shit as long as ur there (he basically said this to es in his t1 vd im not even kidding), wouldnt that ensure the safety that youre less likely to ruin someone elses confidence in you? less likely to ruin bc in the small chance that u still fuck up, theres not much left to ruin at that point

in the end ig what i wish more ppl understood abt kazui is that hes a liar yes, but not a manipulator. he lies to stay safe, not to be a sadist or whatever. you cant take what he says at face value (in much the same way u cant do the same for any other prisoner tbh), but that does not mean u shldnt take anything he says srsly at all!!!

2. ok this one i have to give a bit of thought, mostly bc i cant pick just one

if the standards were which t2 mv do i enjoy for its direction music n visual wise, purge march takes the cake so quickly. the music itself is so bomb (which like, i cant even find a logical explanation as to why… its just so good to listen to) n the mv itself does such a great job at creating the right atmosphere, both in its flashy theatrics and the subtle uncanniness under it. mayb i have a slight bias bc tpm was the whole reason i got into milgram in the first place, but i stand by it idccc

aesthetic wise, def all knowing and all agony. the horror elements r genuinely disturbing, but not so overbearing that it overwrites the pop style that milgram has going on. i luove the use of amber for blood, plus the filters that remind me of found footage u usually see show up in asian horror movies. i think i was actually terrified the first time i watched the mv

symbolic wise, its cat always and forever god bless. it takes advantage of its aesthetics to hint at subtle secrets so well that it makes me giddy as hell. the use of colors as a part of the set, the transitions frm scene to scene having its own part in making the story, n honestly making the bg more blank than usual readjusts the focus of the mv on what matters p well. i cant mention every detail rn or else id be here all day

#asks #rambles #milgram #kazui mukuhara #sigh #idk how off topic this got i was a bit excited if u cant tell #thank u for this opportunity #<3

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live-laugh-lenney · 1 month

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i extensively think about george having a swiftie gf and not only does he sit and listen to her explain the backstories behind each song and the parallels in lyrics but he surprises her with eras tour tickets and his ig story the entire night is just videos of his girl having the time of her life screaming the lyrics to lover to him <3

this is so cute, oh my-

in the weeks leading up to the show in london, she's preparing outfits for them.

she's scouring the internet for inspiration, saving ideas on a pinterest account that she made specifically for her eras show she was going to attend with george, looking on every single website she can find online when she had a spare moment to get an idea for more than 1 outfit. sending screenshots to george to see what his opinions were, what he was planning on wearing and whether she could alter his outfit so it seemed fitting to the theme of the eras tour.

and when the day comes, it's like a second christmas day for her.

she's up early in the morning so she could enjoy the whole day, she's blasting taylor swift songs around the flat which wakes up the rest of the boys which they couldn't be mad at, for too long, because she was having so much fun singing and dancing around the kitchen as she made breakfast and she was so excited for the show that night that they could dampen her spirits, speaking about nothing else but the night to come.

george has a whole day planned out for her, too.

they spend all morning getting ready together. she plays her music during her shower (which george shares with her because it's the one thing he enjoys doing knowing the boys can't really hear them over the sound of the water), she laughs when george sings along to some of the music because he had definitely been learning a few of her songs so he didn't seem out of place at wembley, and she even goes to town on decorating his face with glitter and some fancy patterns so he really looked the part. and once they're dressed in their almost matching outfits, lots of sequins glistening in the sunlight filtering through the windows and a cowboy hat for both of them on their heads, they get arthur to take photos of them before they disappear out the front door for the day.

they go out for an early dinner where they consume cocktails and she posts it online because she's really having the best day of her life with the one guy she truly loves. the one guy she wanted there with her. in her eyes, he had truly given her the best gift and she was thankful for the effort he had put in to make sure she had a great time. so by the time they're in wembley, they're a little buzzed and she's even more excited when she realises he's got floor tickets for her... which was more than she ever imagined.

and people recognise them, once they're seen inside of the venue, of course!

so lots of friendship bracelets are shared and exchanged with his fans and photos are taken; she even agrees to be a part of someone's tiktok video that george finds absolutely hilarious to witness. where yn wasn't someone well-known or on social media as often as he was, it felt ironic for him stand back and watch his girlfriend take his place on the app. and it made yn feel loved and included amongst those who love george for his content.

there's one photo posted between the two of them...

... and it's on george's instagram. a photo of yn with her back to the camera, arms in the air, as she's mid-dancing to one of her favourite songs playing on the setlist. a photo that george wanted to keep forever because she was in her element. and he felt pride to know she was truly enjoying herself.

"that was the best night of my life," she cries softly, cheeks absolutely sodden with tears of happiness once the show had finished, standing in the middle of the almost empty floor space with confetti littering the floor, her arms wrapping around his neck as she presses a kiss to his cheek, "thank you, george."

"you're welcome, rascal," he grins widely, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her close to his chest, her cheek resting on his clothed shoulder, "i'm glad you had the best night, babe."

"it was even better spending it with you," she admits and looks up at him, "seriously, i have no idea how i'm going to top a surprise for you."

"i'm not expecting anything in return, silly girl," he laughs and shakes his head, "just seeing you happy is enough for me, yeah?"

she nods and looks around as the fans around them start to make their way to the exits of the venue, "we should start heading home. as much as i'd love to stay here all night, i can feel my throat has been ripped to shreds."

"let's go," george unravels his arms from her waists and slips his fingers between hers, "plenty of tea for you over the next couple of days." xx

#george clarkey #george clarkey imagines #george clarkey fics #george clarkey headcannons #george clarkey blurbs #george clarke #george clarke blurbs #george clarke headcannons #george clarke fics #george clarke imagines

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bloogers-boogers · 1 year

Text

I truly believe Kyle is a chubby chaser, the episode were he supposedly started ‘realizing’ (i still don’t believe he actually liked her like that) his feelings for Heidi she was already gaining weight, a chubby girl.

He’s into smart girls (rebecca) thats for a fact, cute (nichole; she’s smart but she was a new girl when Kyle asked her out so he didn’t know her like that), someone he can protect/help (Leslie) and lastly he’s shown to not care about a girl’s weight unlike *cough cough* Butters im still not over what he said to lisa boi got no filter (atleast he was honest ig)💀

Heidi had all those qualities! (Smart, cute, need protection/help and~ chubby)

You know who’s also smart? Cartman (he can be stupid and very ignorant in many things, but boi got brains when he sets a goal in mind)

Cute? Cartman (As much as we hate to admit it, the boy got that charming look, he literally manipulated chutulu with his ‘cuteness’)

Need of protection/help? Cartman (boy is messed up as it is, It’s obvious he needs help but he also needs someone to guide him in the right path/ be the one to give him that push for change (I’d say a ‘light push', but it’s gonna be a rough ride being fr here), but most importantly also someone he’ll actually listen; Kyle. Believe it or not Cartman does listen to Kyle and he also is the first Cartman looks firstly for reassurance (like in gluten free and in jewpacabra). Cartman never takes Kyle's word for granted.

We’ve seen Kyle protect him from snooki, save his ass by being frozen and drowned. (Kyle has a weak spot every time he sees a vulnerable Eric Cartman).

Chubby? Cartman (we all know he’s from a heavier scale than the rest of the boys but we’re shown Kyle doesn’t seem to care about that superficial stuff)

You cannot tell me most of the kids in that school aren’t shallow they literally have a table that separates the ugly kids from them. But Kyle has been shown to look into more in the depths of a person (getting to know them) things like that than superficial. Like the times the boys were complimenting the girls photoshop pictures and Kyle mentions about Annies eyes being beautiful while the others were talking about their physics.

These are all things Kyle is seen interested in a girl for what I gathered watching the show.

And we return to what i mean when I say Kyle is/possibly could be a chubby chaser. Theirs a trait about kids resembling their parents in some ways

Stan got addiction problems like his dad, he got them image/ego issues too, he actually kinda resembles Randy alot in the deep learning/ post covid episode/specials when it comes to his relationship with Wendy or his pessimistic attitude. I only conclude from this is that Wendy is Stan's 'Sharon' an Stan is Wendy's 'Randy'.

And it confirms for me with the last episode of season 26 when Randy calls Sharon cause he's just a wreck with out her, just like in the post covid special good ending Stan and Wendy meet up and seem to have a sorta thing still going on (she isn't even with that Darwin guy either, atleast he wasn't shown).

He’s very emotional and cares deeply for things that matter to him, he definitely got that from his mother (the school shooting ep we’re shown how emotionally wrecked sharon was bc of it but no one else seemed to care not even Stan himself, and just like with the whales no one else seem to care BUT Stan and that pissed him off)

Also, let's not shrug off the fact that Randy and Sharon marital problems have been a thing since the early seasons. There was points when they divorced/seperated two times (three house, assburgers episode), points were their marriage was on breaking points like with the shakeweight episode or times when we taught it'll be finally over between the two (when Randy was sent to jail) and in post covid good ending he's shown to still be apart of Stan's life and I wouldn't be surprised if both actually kept it together for this exact consistency.

Matt and Trey have a thing to keep adult parings with an interesting dynamics, it isn't all sweet and sugar coated, they tend to show these issues in many other marriages of sp aswell.

Like Kenny's parents (abusive alcoholics/ argue all the time), Butters (closeted man/ sad pyscho wife/ strict parents), Cartman's (single crack whore mom/ deadbeat absent dad (decease now)/ lonely and financially struggling while raising a psycho kid) and even Kyle's (asshole dad/ overbearing mother/ have intimacy issues).

Kenny, he resembles his parents, yes he does. The fact that he likes to get high (frustrated and gets angry/doesn't care, once his already influenced deep in it; cat piss, sexual healing ep) We've seen he's willing to push his friends aside when his already lost into that type of crap or cares little of what his family would go through once he technically kills himself for some 'great' orgasm or being giving a blow job (these are reasons for his curse ofcourse cause he knows he'll come back, but still, his addiction and attitude are still the same throughout the show) and is a porn addict (the magazines, and sexual knowledge he knows for his age).

We've seen these qualities in both his parents.

They don't care being seen drinking or taking crack, like Kenny who doesn't care to be seen by his friends getting high with cat piss. They're very oblivious/don't care about the worries their children go through when they get into it, Kenny doesn't care. I mean c'mon, once he was done with the cat piss he didn't learn his lesson there he straight up went to get high with some flowers infront of his already relieved friends back to square one getting them concerned again.

I suppose we could say he got addiction problems just like Stan, but in a different way. Stan's more of a genetic thing because of his family history/ depression. Kenny on the other side is more of the shitty household he lives in, a copping mechanism.

And Cartman resembles his mom in the artistic side. We're shown that both Liane and Cartman love to sing, Liane also likes to paint. Cartman is more of a photography lover, drawing, singing, song writer, instruments (violin, harmonica) these are all artistic qualities.

Liane is manipulative with the magic of pampering and food. Cartman is manipulative with a sugarcoating voice and has skill on knowing what would get somebody convinced.

And I have a suspicion that Jack Tenorman was some narcissistic lying bastard okay? If he cheated on his wife and was willing to lie about his true identity to his sad desperate son who just wanted to know who his dad was just for a broncos game, then he ain't good.

I'm gonna mention these, just cause these are the few couples I recall being shown in the show.

Tweeks; they're coffee addicts/ seem to be caring and understanding (sorta). (He's very emotional/caring, and a very stressful/nervous kid because of his anxiety/coffee addiction)

Tuckers; they got that same 'I don't give a fuck' attitude literally flipping themselves off at the table. (Craig definitely resembles his dad the most, and in post covid his appearance aswell)

Blacks; they're chill people don't seem to want to get into much trouble. (Tolkien doesn't like to get into conflicts he'd rather chill on the sidelines)

Donovans; dad is passive, while his mother was a little overbearing. (Clyde can be passive/emotional on times but they're times he goes overboard like in the stick of truth game)

Now, with that said, it's Kyle's turn. We've been countless times reminded how Kyle resembles his mother the most. But when it comes to Gerald were only told that he looks like him. Atleast I don't recall anything else.

Kyle's parents are very opened when it comes to talking, experimenting. Have you seen how Sheila always ready to talk to Kyle about things he doesn't know? Or how comfortable she is talking to Gerald freely, that even Gerald had admitted to her that he likes to watch porn on his computer? How Gerald let Sheila have her way with chef (chef aid ep.)

It's shown their relationship is the strongest/ got their shit together among the four main parents. But ofcourse it's not perfect.

Gerald has this fear of pissing off Sheila, and Sheila well, as much as she's a good mother. She's overbearing and can go all crazy.

Qualities Kyle has. He fears his mom's wrath but also is the most similar to her.

He isn't like his dad who's some manipulative asshole behind his wife's back. Kyle's caring and wants what's right but has a temper so he kinda goes overboard and messes up sometimes.

This is were I come to the conclusion, that he may resemble Gerald in the fact that his in love with someone many wouldn't choose.

Like in the ups episode there was a ongoing joke that 'damn someone was willing to do it with Kyle's mom' type of joke.

Kyle's mom is overweight so the joke could be mostly aim from there, but if you think of it clearly. Many are afraid of pissing her off because of her 'bitchy' attitude. And she also has a past of being well, from Jersey.

Now. She's overweight in both that time and now, and I wouldn't be surprised that in the times we're she lived in jersey she was a complete bitch by the picture were shown in a jersey thing episode. She seem disastrous back then.

So meeting Gerald changed her. Gerald fell in love even when she was like that; a 'jersey monster'. They moved to South park and got away from that place, and Sheila has mellowed down from those jersey genes. I have no doubt he probably found that personality hot and thrilling at the time, he probably likes that sorta thing tbh. I feel like Gerald was a dweeb back in those college years, focusing on his carrier and stuff, taking things serious, being very uptight in a sense. Something I feel Sheila would be interested in, someone different, opposite of her. Cause we know she didn’t like that jersey in her but she couldn’t help it and being around other jersey folks just worsen her so it was inevitable for Gerald to stand out from the crowd. He was different. And for Gerald she was different; probably not the type of girl he’d pictured himself being with, yet still did.

(I also hc Sheila not being Jewish she was Christian until she met Gerald and got a wider view/ got closer to the religion falling in love with it.)

Being drawn to each other like opposite magnets.

And well, that redhead with brunette theory going on if u know you know;)

I feel I can resemble this with Kyle and Cartman. Cartman is disastrous, he’s a mess. And somehow Kyle's drawn to it, Cartman is a person not many would choose but I feel Kyle would. He’ll fall in love with both crazy Cartman and redeemed Cartman, cause i genuinely cant see anyone else help Cartman actually change for the better that isn’t Kyle (atleast to get a good ending for all main 4).

Cartman has also been shown to be in a mixture of being confused/ conflicted on what to believe when it comes to religion; switching between Chatolic, Christianity and Judaism it's been like that through the course of the show. Out of the four it's him and Kyle who are only shown to question their religion/ beliefs. It kinda feels like the show is trying to imply something?

And i also don’t picture their relationship to be all cute, it’s a well balanced relationship between healthy and toxic. If that makes sense?

Kinda like Gerald and Sheila’s, they’re not perfect but they balance each other out and yet even with those imperfections they’re still so in love with each other.

They also make a good dynamic.

Qualities i see a kyman relationship being.

Its funny to see Sheila being a bitch just like it’s funny to see Kyle be all pissy. Gerald is an manipulative ass? Guess who’s also a way worse manipulative asshole, yet still funny af and brings humor to the show? Cartman

It's funny to see Gerald be scared shitless of his wife just as funny when we see how scared Cartman is to actually piss Kyle off.

Kyle and Cartman are the perfect mixture of both.

But in personalities; Kyle his mother and Cartman Kyle's dad. Atleast relationship wise and how I feel the pairing dynamics work.

Cartman being Kyle's "Gerald" and Kyle being Cartman's "Sheila".

Technically the main dads (main fours) are the boys insight of what could be of their future partners, atleast that's how I view both Randy and Gerald's similarity on to Stan and Kyle (who are the main boys): both best friends, have a respective partner (Sharon, Sheila) along their side and fathers (Stan and Shelley, Kyle and Ike).

Post covid good ending gave me some more fuel to this about how Kyle only had TWO children; one boy being the eldest and a little sibling while Cartman had three instead of going full on stealing Cartman's past family. Gerald also had two children Kyle was the eldest son a boy and had a little sibling and I have no doubt if Stan were to get with Wendy they'll have two children aswell; their first born being a girl too like Shelley and a little brother like Stan.

Anyways my mind is kinda on a brainrot rn I need help, this ship is gonna end me

I just don’t see a good all flowers and rainbows actual healthy relationship in south park universe. Not only isn’t it realistic but it isn’t the type of dynamic i believe matt and trey would aim for.

If it isn’t either good/ but kinda chaotic sometimes or it’s nothing but down bad toxic/ bland/ has no real attachment to the characters.

Even creek has had their fair share of course they’re not toxic but like in the buda box theres some small ups and downs yk. I feel like some personal space would be the issue here cause Craig seems to not always want to deal with tweek's shit. But yk that’s just Craig not knowing how to establish it. (Yet their relationship has no affect in the course of the show/ main four dynamic)

Stendy relationship has communication issues. (Has no affect in the sidelines)

Clybe relationship has more of a complicated label. Bebe using Clyde for shoes or Clyde being an uncaring asshole using ai for convos. (Has no effect in the show/ main four)

Kennys relationships are only seem to last little but kinda okay until Kenny wants to escalate things further while the girl’s completely oblivious about it. (Has no effect in the sidelines/ use as a joke)

I think butters relationship with Charlotte is fine until Butters misogynistic side comes out. (No affect in the sidelines)

Heiman relationship was a toxic relationship. (Did have an affect on the show/ main four dynamic; Kyle) there was a lot of shifts in Cartman's personality that it was just painful to keep watching for both Heidi and Cartman.

Kyman relationship wouldn’t be just a neat-o relationship, i see it being very flexible in that aspect and I don’t see it changing their dynamic between the two or the main four. Cartman also wouldn’t change for the sake of keeping a relationship he’d actually change for good reasons. Having someone who already knows him wont make him feel like he’s cornered or forced to change/lie about being a good person, but being around a good influence (kinda) in his life could shape him in different ways. Healthy in a sense.

Their relationship could be use in a humorous way and a serious one!

#south park #eric cartman #kyle brovlofski #kenny mccormick #stan marsh #kyman #sp kyman #random shit post ☆#i hate myself for this i wasn't in my right mind writing this down srry💀#i guess technically he isn’t into chubby girls but more into someone whose opposed to him he's attracted towards #lmao this rant went everywhere to absolutely nothing 😂

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