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not-neverland06 · 2 months

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One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps.

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you.

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting.

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house.

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety.

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you.

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs.

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom.

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it.

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come.

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time.

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor.

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table.

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with.

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys.

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants.

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo.

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up.

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for.

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely.

Alright, you’ll take that.

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go.

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours.

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody.

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow.

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others.

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works.

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls.

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you.

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about.

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them.

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out.

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it.

Your one act of rebellion.

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like.

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this.

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming.

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out.

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful.

Or she would.

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her.

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something.

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood.

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly.

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound.

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand.

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken.

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this.

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life.

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them.

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms.

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten.

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move.

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself.

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could.

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it.

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this.

You could hardly believe it yourself.

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down.

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past.

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day.

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down.

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag.

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser.

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it.

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable.

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them.

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing.

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence.

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body.

Maybe he had won.

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you.

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted.

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too.

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it.

#bo sinclair x reader #Slashers x reader #house of wax x reader #house of wax 2005 #Slasher x reader #slashers x y/n #Slashers x you #bo Sinclair x you #bo Sinclair x y/n

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iridescentpull · 2 months

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Pac’s fingers hurt.

It’s night, and he can hear the quiet rush of air and the soft rustle of grass. Pac sat on his blue armchair, right hand holding a sewing needle while his left held onto the green cloth. A bag of cotton sat on the small table beside him along with colorful cloth. Pac hummed to himself as he pulled the needle through the fabric.

It’s been a while since he has sewn anything that weren’t clothes. The last time he did was back in prison, during the classes they offered as a way to help pass the time and get better at basic life skills. He had sewn a small and wonky creeper plush he’d gifted to Mike, hoping it would cheer him up a bit.

After they escaped, he only sewed clothes.

Now though, he’s sewing something different. He saw Ramón eyeing that sniffer plush when they were at spawn, but once he realized it was not for sale, the dragonlings expression changed. Pac could tell he was trying to hide how disappointed he was, but Pac noticed.

So he decided to sew the plush for Ramón.

He had wanted to give something to Ramón for so long. Pac had seen how he’d been anxious all day, playing with the sleeves of his sweater as he thought about his dad. Fit had decided to sleep the day away, preparing for the transmission the next day. And Ramón was worried.

Pac’s hands are getting tired, and the light of the lamp on the table is starting to irritate his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. He grabs one of the legs he made earlier and sews it onto the body of the sniffer, making sure it stays on and does not fall off.

The Brazilian’s eyes scan over the plush, making sure all the legs are sewed on, and when he sees that everything is okay he smiles. The little sniffer is almost done, he just needs to be stuffed with the cotton and sewed close.

But first, he needs to put the black buttons on for its eyes.

Pac takes the two black buttons from the box and sews them into the sniffer. His vision is a bit blurry, and his hands feel clumsy as he pulls the needle through the plush and sews the buttons. It’s a little messy and wonky, and it makes him feel a bit frustrated, but at least it works.

He looks down at the plush, and smiles. Pac grabs the cotton and starts stuffing the plush, trying to make cotton be spread evenly. Once the sniffer is stuffed, Pac starts to sew it close. He’s exhausted, but damn if he isn’t gonna finish this plush before he goes to sleep.

He finishes the sniffer, and places it on the table, admiring it. The eyes are a bit crooked, and the stitching isn’t very clean, but it works.

A knock comes from the door, causing Pac to jump and sit-up straight. The knocks keep coming, and the Brazilian is quick to stand up, grabbing the plush and placing it inside his chest, hiding it.

He’s quick to walk to the door, and opens it, revealing Ramón.

He’s surprised for a moment, not expecting the kid to be awake at this time, and the two stare at each other for a bit. The kid is wearing his usual yellow sweater and pajama pants. Pac can see his tail slowly swish behind him, and his ears perked up.

And that’s when Pac notices Ramón’s tearful eyes.

“Oh nenê.” He says, leaning down and opening his arms. The kid rushes into them, wrapping his arms around the Brazilian. Pac does the same, holding him tightly. He picks him up and closes the door of his house, starting to pace around the room.

His heart hurts as the kid sniffles against his pajama shirt. Pac starts running his fingers through his hair, shushing him and humming that lullaby he sang to him when he put him to bed a few weeks ago.

“What’s wrong?” Pac asks softly, looking down at the kid.

Ramón pulls away. ‘I had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep.’ He signs with a shaky hand. ‘I’m sorry for waking you up.’

“No– don’t be. Don’t be sorry for that.” He presses a kiss to his forehead, and Ramón hugs him tighter, tail wrapping around the older’s waist. “I was already awake, don’t apologize.”

He continues to pace around the room, still humming the lullaby. He glances at the chest where the sniffer plush is hidden, and his eyes soften.

“I think I have something that’ll cheer you up.” Pac says, and Ramón looks up at him curiously. He places him down on the sofa and walks to the chest, opening it and grabbing the sniffer. He hides it behind his back and turns to Ramón, grinning at him. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

The kid is quick to do what he’s told, and Pac gives him the sniffer. He giggles at Ramón’s shocked chirp. “Open your eyes.”

And when he does, Ramón’s eyes light up.

“Do you like it?” Pac asks. “This is why I was awake when you came– I was sewing this.”

Ramón stares at the plush in shock, before hugging it close to him. It’s almost as big as Ramón himself, but the dragonling can’t seem to care. Eventually, he pulls back and stares at Pac with a tearful look.

‘Obrigado, pai.’ He signs with a shaky hand, tears falling down his face. Pac smiles, and pulls him in for a hug. Ramón wraps his arms around the older, hugging him tightly.

“De nada, filho.” Pac says, kissing the crown of the dragonling’s head. “Te amo.”

When the sun rises, the two are sound asleep, curled up against each other on the blue sofa, with Ramón clutching the plush sniffer against his chest and Pac wrapping his arms around him.

#qsmp #qsmp pac #qsmp ramon #pactw #qsmp writing #aynee writes

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florencemtrash · 3 months

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Brown Eyed Beauty — Lucien x Reader

Fond, childhood memories are few and far between for Lucien. But he's reminded of every good thing when he looks at you.

Author's note: DAMNIT! Brown eyes deserve to be treated with the same tender reverence as any other color. This one is for all the brown eyed beauties (and Lucien lovers) out there.

There was a hidden stream Eris had taken him fishing once, back when he was a stringy child with two eyes and soft hands.

“You’ll need to build up your strength and the calluses on your palms, then the fish won’t be able to slip out of your grasp so easily.” Eris told him, standing up to his knees in the gentle current, pant legs rolled up with the ends dripping. His body was slim as a reed, but strong, and on the cusp of adulthood. Pale bruises were scattered across a pale, freckled chest, purple, green, and yellow.

Lucien watched with bated breath as Eris tracked a shiny, silver-pink body darting between the rocks, his eyes untricked by the bending of sunlight as it dove into the water.

There.

Eris leaned down and dipped his hands into the stream with lightning swiftness. “Gotcha.”

His hands broke the water. The salmon writhed, fighting with every gasping breath and splashing water onto Eris’s already soaking trousers.

“Here.” Eris stretched his arms out to where Lucien stood in the shallows. The salmon was giving up, the rhythm of its whipping body slowing. “It’s tired. Try holding it now.”

Lucien held on for five seconds before the tail slapped him across the face, startling him so much he dropped the fish and its scaly, sleek body began to race downstream.

“No!” Lucien dove for it, red hair slipping under clear waters. The current was stronger than he expected, or maybe it was just that he was weaker than his brother. He felt something pulling downward, keeping him submerged.

His first response was to panic, to flail his arms and legs out uselessly. But then he stopped. It was peaceful down here, the water so clear that he could catch every grain of sand splashed over brick-brown rocks like stars. Tiny fishes, silky smooth with beady eyes, darted in and out of crevices. Light behaved differently underwater, fragmenting and casting lovely golden shapes on stones the color of fresh-pressed coffee.

Here it was calm. Here was a place where Beron’s power couldn’t touch him. Here he was safe.

A strong hand grasped the back of his shirt, hauling him up soaking and sputtering with a brackish taste sliding down his throat.

The bruises on Eris’s cheekbones stood out on his pale skin, the fright in his eyes turning to anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Eris yelled and all but tossed his sopping body onto a yellowing patch of grass.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien mumbled. He sat, shivering in the Autumn chill until Eris caught another salmon and assembled sticks in a neat circle of sand, lighting it with a snap of his slender fingers.

“Tomorrow we’ll come back,” Eris promised as Lucien sank his teeth into the juicy, pink flesh. The skin was perfectly crisp and grease dribbled down his chin hot and slick. Eris wiped it away with a soft swatch of moss. “I’ll teach you to swim properly.”

He didn’t seem to mind the descending cold, and for that Lucien was grateful. It meant he would get to keep Eris’s shirt until his was finished drying on the cracked log.

But unbeknownst to them, Beron had come home earlier than anticipated with their other brothers. Eris was whipped ten times for leaving the Forest House unattended and Lucien was locked in his room for three days. They never went back to that stream — at least not together — and Lucien learned to swim on his own in less forgiving waters.

Lucien still clung onto the memories of that day. Good memories from his childhood were far and few between.

“You’re staring again.” You sighed contentedly and shifted in the little cradle of earth you’d claimed for youself. Yellowing, waist-high grasses swayed above you, occasionally bowing down with slender fingers to tickle your cheeks. A hundred yards away the Sidra tumbled over stones, rolled onto gray-sand beaches. The air tasted of salt and seaweed. Crisp, tangy, clear.

“How did you know?” Lucien asked, and you could hear the gentle caress of his smile in the words.

You cracked open your eyes against the sun’s assault high in the midafternoon sky. Sure enough, Lucien was staring at you, golden eye whirring. You ran a languid finger down the bond, light and airy as a kiss. He braced his arms by your head, sinking down until his body was pressed flush against yours.

You smiled. “I can feel it. It’s my special talent.”

“Oh?” Lucien chuckled.

“I’ve cultivated it over the years. A product of having a brute like you chase after me like a hound goes after a fox.” Not that you’d ever gone far.

Scarlet strands of hair slipped out of the braid you’d arranged hours ago. They hung around his elegant, scarred face like liquid fire, casting a warm glow onto his already tanned skin. You tucked them back behind his sharp ears. Traced the curve of his bones until he was leaning into your touch.

“You wound me,” he murmured, kissing your palms.

You blushed, feeling the brush of his full lips against your sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean it.”

He smiled — a crooked, boyish smile. “I know.”

He looked into your coffee eyes. The light bent differently when they touched your irises, curving around the bends like honey, cutting amber crescents at the edges of their rich color. You closed and opened them slowly, letting the light pour in like cream into coffee, swirling and setting them aflame.

Lucien was back in that stream. The world was still. There was nothing that could hurt him. Just clarity, peace, and the riverbed glittering beneath him.

“I love you, Y/n.”

#lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #lucien acotar #eris vanserra #you know I couldn't help but include a scene between the only two good Autumn Court boys #Eris Vanserra has untapped potential to become the next Rhysand and no I will not change my mind #this man is a goldmine and has done everything to protect himself and his family from beron #fuck beron he can rot in hell

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im-yn-suckers · 4 months

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could you pls do nikixfem reader with 32a bra size? sfw, ofc!! likes shes insecure, but niki absolutely loves them!!!

wait, this is actually like nawww not my exact size dude too

warnings-bras, kissing, BOOBS, (im straight iswear) hugs, not fully nude but nude? ig, lmk what else

you were walking around the mall with your boyfriend. walking past victorias secret you, stopped. "wait! i need a new bra" tired of your cappuccino-colored bra with frayed edges, you were going to treat yourself with a new one you saw online, a super cute beige-cream colored one with strawberries printed on it.(i actually wish they had one like this ive never seen one)

you walked to the aisle with the strawberry bras and frantically checked for your size, "babe, its kind just a bra" "no, its not 'kind of just a bra' its super cute and have you seen the brown one, big no-no''

you were unpleasantly surprised to find that that there were non of the bras in your size. oh well, time to go home, with the same old cappuccino colored bra with the frayed edges.

you were changing into pajamas (nikis t shirt and sweats) in his room. now, the two of you were comfortable with anything, and literally anything.you twi moved in together and tonight, you were going to have a pj party!

looking at yourself in the mirror, you saw a body. with a pair of oversized, grey sweatpants, a cappuccino colored bra with frayed edges, and a long face.

cupping your breasts, you look down at them. 'why arent i at least a b cup? thats so pathetic.' you thought to yourself as you kept staring down at your chest. suddenly, you felt hair on your neck, skin against your back and cold metal near your bellybutton.

his silver rings sending shivers down your spine, meet your warm skin. 'whats the matter baby, why the long face?'

'nothing, just looking at how the pants fit'

'in just a bra, with your hands on your boobs? i dont think so. are you alright, youve been like this since we left victorias secret'

'im sure, just disappointed.' at this point you were turned around, with your arms around his bare neck

'm'kay, just checking' he pecked your lips holding your waist.

'come on, lets go to the living room.' he seemed rather eager to get to the living room

'i dont have a shirt on'

'and? its our house, no guests tonight. alright, tell you what, we can wear matching sweat and neither of us will wear a shirt'

'alright' you laughed and headed to the living room, without a shirt

a movie , two spilled drinks, one dropped cupcake and approximately 35 kisses later, he pulls out a small box from the corner closest to him.

'hey, i got you something' you open the gift with a smile on your face.

you smile and feel tears gather in your eyes. before you pull out the gift, he pulls you into a hug. you break the hug and laugh. 'where'd you find these'

'bought it online, i knew you'd like it.' 'thank you' 'now, you wont have to wear this one, i know you hate it. thats not why you were looking to the mirror though'

you avoided eye contact very awkwardly. no words were exchanged, only hugs. no words were needed

many movies later, there were two sleeping potatoes on the couch and netflix asking if you were still watching. no you werent, how were the potatoes sleeping, ask you may, definitely not with niki sleeping on your boobs. nope, not it.

no bc why is it actually o hard to find bras in my size

169 notes · View notes

five-rivers · 24 days

Text

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 2

For @greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“How is this organized, anyway?” asked Daniel. “It isn't alphabetical.”

Clockwork shuddered. “The debate about which alphabet to use would be interminable. No. The list is arranged from eldest to youngest, with groups being averaged.”

“So, the oldest person is on top and the youngest person is on the bottom.”

“That is correct.”

Daniel hummed and wiped up the last of his syrup up off his plate with the last piece of his pancake. “This Jasmine person is the youngest person who wants me. Ick, that sounded wrong somehow.”

“She is the youngest person,” said Clockwork. He was doing something strange with the plates in the sink.

“Is she, like, really into plants or flowers or something?”

“Are you really into Daniels?”

“I mean. I don’t know. My memory’s been erased and all. For all I know, my name isn’t even Daniel. It could be William. Or David.” Still, he got the point. He shook his head. “Ghosts just picking random names. What is the world coming to?”

“You could always choose to go by another name,” said Clockwork, mildly. “You are not trapped in it.”

“I know,” said Daniel. “I’ll keep it for now, though. Is, um, is the…”

“Her section of the file is colored teal.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel. He flipped through. “These aren’t in the same order, you know.”

“I know,” said Clockwork. He sounded very put upon.

“You’re not the one who does the organizing, huh?”

“If only I were.”

Daniel looked over the teal pages. There wasn’t a lot of information on them. The name, Jasmine, her height, hair color, eye color, a few lines about interests.

“Not a lot here.”

“You are meant to form your own opinions,” said Clockwork.

“Enjoys pushing forward the boundaries of knowledge?” he read from the page. “Interested in modern psychology and brain surgery?” He looked up at Clockwork. “This sounds like mad scientist material.”

“You can always skip her, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be fair. So, uh, let’s go. Let’s do this.”

“In your pajamas?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else, do I?”

“In fact, you do. There is a closet in your room upstairs.”

“With clothes that are mine?”

“With clothes in a variety of styles in your size. They are all new, acquired for this process, although you can keep them afterward.”

“So, no way to figure out my style except for experimentation. Cool. Great. Another mystery to solve.”

“Think of it as an interesting puzzle. An amusing way to pass the time, whilst you are experiencing the various persons who wish to gain custody of you.”

“Uh huh,” said Daniel, pushing his chair out. “I’m going to go get changed. Do I need to pack a bag, too, or what?”

“What, in this case. Any clothing and toiletries you need will be sent to you.”

Daniel nodded and climbed back up the stairs to ‘his’ room. There was a closet there that he hadn’t noticed before, across from the bathroom. He opened the door and started to shift through the different outfits.

That one was too complicated… ugh, weird texture… too much body exposure… ooh, gothic… but also complicated… nice skirt… robe… kilt? He prodded at the maybe-kilt a little. He wasn’t sure that it was a kilt. Well, whatever. Jeans. T-shirt. Hm. Tempting, if only for its simplicity. But maybe he wanted something that vibed with his tail a bit better. Ooh, Egyptian.

Eventually, he hit on a combination of loose pants, long shirt, and fringed wrap. Yeah. That would look good. Comfortable. He took off his pajamas and fluffed his tail. That did feel good. He put on the pants, then the shirt, and then discovered he did not have great skills with wraps. So. He probably didn’t wear them on a daily basis. Still, with the help of the bathroom mirror, he managed to get it into a more or less presentable arrangement. He thought he looked good, anyway, and that was all that mattered. After all, if they already were getting into fights over custody of him, he didn’t exactly have to dress to impress.

He went back down the stairs, to where Clockwork was waiting, staff in hand. “Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

“Dressed,” said Clockwork.

“Helpful,” said Daniel.

“I am to please.”

“So… How do we get there?”

“Through this,” said Clockwork. He held up the staff, and a portal spun off the clock at its top. Then, he held out a small pocketwatch. “When you want to return, merely click the button on top.”

“Okay,” said Daniel, taking it and looping it's chain around his neck. “And… I just go through? No other tricks?”

“No other tricks. It is the journey of a single step.”

“Right,” said Daniel. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The transition between places really was smooth. One minute, he was in Clockwork's purple kitchen, the next, he was in what looked like a completely normal entryway.

There was a girl there. She looked human, and was about half a foot taller than he was. Her hair was red and her cardigan was the same teal as her paper in the file. Her eyes, too, were blue. She… really didn’t look like a ghost at all. She didn’t particularly look like him, either, except for her skin color. Unless maybe some of her facial features were similar? Nose shape, perhaps? He didn’t really remember what he looked like well enough to say.

But, definitely, what stood out the most about her was the fact that she was a girl. A teenager. Not a woman, not really. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than he was.

“Danny,” she said, jumping out of the chair and starting to smile at him. “Hi, I’m–” She stopped.

The girl stared. Daniel stared back.

“Danny, what are you wearing?” she asked.

“Clothing,” he said. He didn’t think this kind of outfit had any particular name. At least, if it did, he didn’t know it.

“Oh.”

“And… you’re…”

“Oh! I’m Jazz! You… really don’t remember me?”

Daniel shook his head, slowly.

“Well… They did tell me that would happen…”

“I knew you before?”

“Yes! Yes. I… was your mother. Am your mother!”

“Uh,” said Daniel. “You’re, like, seventeen. Eighteen, maximum.”

“Time travel was involved.”

“Time travel.”

“Time travel. You know how things are in the ghost zone. You get a natural portal, and then, boom! You’re fifteen years in the past, or the future!” She laughed, nervously. “But I’m here, now! This version of me. Who is definitely your mother.”

Daniel realized, then, that just because the memory wipe meant that he couldn’t know what his prior connections were, that didn’t mean that other people couldn’t try to capitalize on them. Or lie about them. Or lie about them badly.

“Time travel,” said Daniel, again.

“I mean, you’re staying with Clockwork, right?”

“Uh, yeah, so?”

“So, he’s sort of a major player in the time travel scene, right?”

“He is?” It’d explain the clock theme, at least.

“He is.”

“Oh. Cool.” He still didn’t believe her time travel story, though. “So, like. If you were time traveling, who raised me?”

“Your, uh, grandparents. But they can’t really, uh, do it, anymore. For reasons. And I’m back! In the proper time! So I want to take care of you now. And this will start our bonding bonanza! We can start with a tour of the house!”

What. She did not just say that.

“Are they the ones who’re disputing your custody? Because it is a dispute, right? That’s what this thing is all about.”

“I mean, um, there are seven groups, right? Counting me? So, no, it’s not because of them.”

“Right,” said Daniel. That didn’t rule them out, though. Maybe they were the ones at the top of the list.

“So, obviously, this is the entryway… At least, you know, when there’s a door.”

Daniel looked behind him. There was, indeed, no door. “What?”

“Something about the rules to these things. We’re not supposed to leave for the duration.”

“What about food?”

“It’s brought in, the same way you were. So, over here is the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a long, galley affair, with tile countertops and cute floral backsplashes. It was much more normal than Clockwork’s, at least in terms of colors. There was a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, and a dishwasher.

“Do you know who the other six groups are?”

“I mean… I have a guess about some of them, but I don’t really know. I’d thought Clockwork would be one of them for sure, but…”

“What, really?” That, at least, didn’t seem like a lie. “But he’s the neutral party?”

“Yes,” said Jazz. “But I thought that the two of you were close. But maybe it was more along the lines of being, I don’t know, work friends.”

“Huh,” said Daniel. “I… Okay.”

“Yes. Okay. So, the fridge is completely safe, no biological or ectobiological samples stored in it. Just food. Normal, edible food. We’ll do the dishes together, of course. Cups are in here, dishes, pots and pans–”

“Your profile said you were interested in brain surgery,” said Daniel.

“Oh, yes, that’s one of the things I’m thinking about studying in college! Once I get into college. Which will be soon.”

“So, you don’t have, like, a mad science lab in here where you do brain surgery or something like that?”

The girl stared at him. “Are… you sure you don’t remember anything?”

This was not a promising question. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re assuming that I have a mad science lab in here. I’m a high school senior.”

“Which means it’s weird that you’re here with a house at all.”

She made a face. “It’s… I had some help getting it. The house, I mean. But there’s no mad science lab. There will never be a mad science lab. Unless you want a mad science lab. I could probably make some calls.”

“I don’t want a mad science lab. Why would I want a mad science lab?”

“I don’t know, to tinker in? You used to do some, um, tinkering. Mechanical engineering stuff.”

“That’s more of a garage thing, though, isn’t it?”

“I… don’t know. You only ever did it in the lab.”

“So, we used to have a mad science lab.”

“That’s– I mean– No.”

Definitely a lie. They totally had a lab. Or, at least, Jazz used to have a lab. What was going on that they had a lab? Something sinister, doubtlessly.

“Did you dissect brains in this lab?”

“No! Like I said, I’m only a student. A student that is interested in a lot of things, but right now, my thesis is about Ghost Envy.”

“You’re a high school student with a thesis?”

“I’m a high achiever. Have to make up for all that time lost time traveling. You’d think you’d gain time! But. Yeah.” She smiled tightly and nodded. “Living room next! We have a, er, one of those consoles. For video games. I got it from a friend.”

Daniel let Jazz drag him around the house. It was kind of nice, except for how nervous she got whenever he probed about his past or her supposed time travel. He didn’t really feel threatened by her, per se, but the lying… it definitely gave him a bit of, how should he put this, anxiety.

“And here’s your bedroom, Danny!”

The bedroom was actually really cool. Unlike the rest of the rooms, it had a very clear, very obvious theme beyond just house people can live in. The theme was space. The walls and ceiling were painted with constellations. There were model rockets on shelves. The desk had an astrolabe and a small model solar system on it, alongside astronomy books. There were also some novels, composition notebooks and sketchbooks, alongside a variety of markers, but those were tiny points about the overwhelming amount of space. Even the decorative throw cushions on the bed had galaxy patterns on them!

Danny… he really liked it. He guessed he had to admit that, at least, Jazz had known him before, and had known him reasonably well. Even if she wasn’t his mother.

She’d also turned around to play with a deadbolt on the door.

“It locks from the inside, because, well, I figured you’d be a bit nervous, staying with someone you know nothing about, and a lock might make you feel safer.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. “Hey, speaking of safety, you’re still, like, alive? Human?”

“Yes?” said Jazz.

“Isn’t it a bit weird, trying to get custody of a ghost?”

“Oh, um, I suppose it’s a bit unusual, but you’re my b– My son. Definitely my son. So, it’s worth it. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a ghost or a human or– Wait, Clockwork told you, right?”

“Told me… what?”

“That you’re not, you know, a normal ghost.”

“I… he might have said something about that. About being an unusual kind of ghost.”

“So he didn’t tell you that you’re only half ghost?”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing. You can change back and forth between a human - more human - form, and a ghost form. Like this.” She gestured at him.

Danny stared at her. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is! Oh, jeez, I can’t believe Clockwork left it to me to explain.” She crossed her arms and turned away. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

“Wait, does that mean my dad is a ghost in this story? Are you saying that you, as a human, and a ghost–”

“No. You died. That sounds terrible. I mean, you, um. You sort of died.”

“How did I die that I managed to die only halfway?”

Jazz opened and closed her mouth several times. “I didn’t witness it–”

“But you know.”

“It was– Do you really want to know? I mean, regardless, I’m still your– your mom. And I want to be. And that kind of thing is really traumatic.”

“What was it?”

She looked like she didn’t want to answer. Danny poured all his effort into a forceful, expectant stare.

“It… was a lab accident.”

Silence.

“Like, um. A ghost lab.”

More silence.

“Okay,” said Danny. He bit his lower lip. “Right.”

“I’ll just leave now,” said Jazz. “Make yourself at home. Because it is!” She stepped out.

“Yep,” said Danny. He closed the door and slid home the deadbolt. Then he put his hand around the pocketwatch, lightly touching the button on top. “Okay. I’ll be okay. I can always leave if she tries to examine my brain, and… I should give her a fair chance. Right.”

#danny phantom #phic phight

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, extreme fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), anal play (f receiving), fingering (v & a), p in v, praise kink, breeding kink

chapter twelve (epilogue): late bloomer (14.5k) | playlist | AO3

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #37-40. #37, the title song, is not featured in the text, so you can play it whenever feels appropriate. Here is a female version of 'Passenger.'

He’s a late bloomer

He lives in the in-between

But he’s getting it right

First she started a seed

She proceeded to cut the weeds

And she’s facing the sky

'Cause late bloomers still rise

Late Bloomer — Mereba

The salt you scrape from your sneakers leaves tiny pink crystals on the welcome mat, and even before your numb knuckles rap against worn wood, the plastic bag dangling from your fist announces your arrival to the man inside.

"Coming!"

The call comes from beyond the door, and muffled footsteps follow. You step back off the mat in preparation for the door to swing open. When it does, revealing a mop of unruly golden-brown hair above clear blue eyes, you greet one another pleasantly, your enthusiasm calmed by weeks of following the same song and dance.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply, sticking out your arm, your plastic bag held aloft in offering. His brows quirk in a silent question which you answer readily. “Mexican again this week.”

The blandness of his voice sparks with genuine enthusiasm then. “Sweet!” Gareth takes the bag, peering into its contents as he abandons the threshold to wander back toward the living room. You let yourself in, closing the door behind you and toeing off your sneakers next to the scuffed black Docs and Vans belonging to the apartment’s occupants.

It’s quiet inside except for the low murmuring of the television and the crinkling of plastic as Gareth drops your food delivery onto the coffee table. As you head directly to his bedroom, he doesn’t spare you a glance, already pulling apart the contents of the bag as he plops onto the couch. You’re peeling your scrub shirt over your head without bothering to close the door when you hear him call hopefully from the living room, “Are the nachos for me?”

“Yep,” you call back, smiling to yourself when you hear him rip the plastic lid from the package without any further adieu. You shuck your pants, riffling in the top drawer of Gareth’s dresser for a change of clothes. Inside is a tangle of blacks and soft blues, deep grays and creams, threadbare t-shirts and soft sweaters— a drawer relinquished to a friend in need, filled first with Eddie and slowly acquiring bits of you as your weekly visits continued for one month and then two. You dress for the December chill in soft leggings and a slouchy sweater, folding your wrinkled scrubs as you shuffle out of the bedroom in your socks. You quickly drop them in a neat pile by the door before skirting by Gareth’s knees and curling up on the opposite side of the couch. You settle into that familiar nook, passing the time unwrapping your dinner and watching whatever show Gareth has chosen. The tacos are crunchy, all salty shredded pork, crisp lettuce, and mild cheese, though you chew and swallow mechanically; the show is engaging, a mystery-thriller with an attractive leading man, but its colors are dull and your eyes drift from the action.

Because where you’re nestled now is in the shade. Your blooms are lazy and half-closed, your leaves soft and lax, drooping downward towards fertile earth. You’re eating and watching, but really, you’re waiting— waiting for a brightness that doesn’t come until you hear distant heavy bootsteps that grow steadily louder before halting just outside the apartment. There’s the briefest pause and then the jiggle of the doorknob.

And when Gareth’s front door opens, only then do you bloom again.

Eddie shoulders his way inside in his dirty coveralls and his workboots and with his wild hair balled into a low, greasy bun; even when filthy as all hell, he still manages to suck all the light from the room. When he tugs his boot laces loose, you unfold your legs and straighten your spine in anticipation of his approach. As Eddie pads over, he and Gareth exchange casual greetings, and you wait patiently for him to turn amber brown toward you. That’s where all the room’s light is because when he meets your eyes, it bathes over you like the warmth of the summer sun emerging from behind a cloud.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie says.

“Hi, Ed,” you reply, and your face tips up automatically, knowing how he’ll greet you: a warm, broad hand resting on your shoulder for leverage as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead.

The tang of motor oil and sweat envelops you, and Eddie’s lips are chapped from the winter but warm as he presses them to your skin. He hums contentedly when you lean into him, and your love wells up from the bottom of you, rising up your green like sweet water as your vines plump, your leaves rise, and your flowers glow white in the sun. You’re craving so much more the second he pulls away, and you know from the curve of his lips and the look in his eyes that Eddie feels the same, but you both refrain for Gareth’s sake, sating yourselves with loaded glances and fond words for now. “How was your day?” Eddie asks you, squeezing your shoulder three times deliberately before he’s straightening up and rocking back on his heels. You smile at the secret meaning behind his touch, snatching his wrist before he can turn away and squeezing three times back.

“Oh, you know,” Gareth drawls, flapping his hand, “same ol’ same ol’. Thanks for asking, baby.”

Eddie shoots Gareth a flat look, but you giggle as your boyfriend shoves one dirty hand into the food bag on the coffee table, rooting for his dinner. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you, dipshit,” he says, though his lips twitch with a repressed smile. He pulls the remaining item from the bag with an air of triumph: an overstuffed burrito wrapped in shiny foil, looking fit to burst. Exactly how he likes it, you think, pleased when you see his eyes gleam eagerly as he starts to peel it open.

“It was fine.” You squint, derailed from your typical follow-up question about his day as Eddie steps around the coffee table, still unwrapping his dinner. “Are you not gonna eat with us?”

“Gotta shower today. I’m disgusting,” he says, tacking on quickly, “more disgusting than usual” before Gareth can open his mouth.

Your squint turns to a confused frown. “You can’t eat a burrito in the shower, Ed.”

By this time he’s peeled back enough foil to expose the bulging tortilla, and Eddie descends on it like a man starved, cheeks bulging as he replies through the mouthful. “Can eat it on the way to the shower,” he muffles through beans and rice, grinning cheekily as best he can when your eyebrows pinch in fond exasperation.

“Dude, do not drip sauce on the floor,” Gareth shouts after him, and you look over the back of the couch to see Eddie waving his hand dismissively without looking back before he disappears into the bathroom. From the other side of the couch, you feel Gareth’s eyes on you like a heavy presence, and you settle back against the cushions, crossing your legs again before glancing at him. He’s looking at you dully, almost accusingly, and you grimace sympathetically. “Soon,” you whisper. “I promise.”

It’s another familiar song and dance. Any time you’re over and Eddie does something, well, Eddie-ish, you promise Gareth that you and Eddie would be getting your own place soon, and Gareth grumbles that you’d said that last week. You know he doesn’t really mind that Eddie’s become his impromptu roommate these last two months since getting kicked out of the apartment he’d shared with Chrissy. Gareth has done his faithful best to accommodate Eddie though his apartment is a one-bedroom and barely bigger than a studio, so Eddie’s nights are spent on the couch, and his belongings are fitted into spare drawers and whatever unoccupied crannies could be found. They’ve known each other for years, and Gareth is happy to help his friend and bandmate, but as the weeks drag on, some friction has formed between the two men as they share such a small space.

To cut Gareth a break, you and Eddie try to spend most of your nights together at your place, only opting for Gareth’s when Penny has Charlie over to give them some space. She’s been very understanding about Eddie being over so often, and you’re already well aware that your sister hadn’t signed up for a package deal when you’d asked if you could move in.

You’re hoping that by this time next month, barring any unexpected expenses, you and Eddie will be ready to move in together. It isn’t a matter of commitment; you know he'd want nothing more than to get a place with you now, and you feel the same way, but the two of you haven’t saved up enough to make that decision practical yet. There’s the matter of a deposit and two months' rent, plus utilities, insurance, new furniture… it all adds up, and though Penny had adamantly refused to let you pay partial rent with her, you know Eddie had insisted on splitting half-and-half with Gareth. It doesn't matter that he just sleeps on the couch. Eddie Munson is never going to take any handouts.

Penny and Eddie are stubborn and more alike than they realize, you’d thought on more than one occasion.

The couch dips, and when the warmth of Eddie’s body settles against you, you welcome it wholeheartedly, shifting into him instinctively. His arm is a heavy but comforting weight slung over your shoulders, and he smells of smoke and apples when you snuggle against him, lifting your knees to fold towards him. His curls are cold and damp as they brush against your neck, and you shiver but don’t pull away. You’re rewarded with the heat of his stubbled jaw when he leans it against your temple. Your hand settles automatically at the soft of his waist, thumb trailing along the little pudge of fat below his navel, stroking over his threadbare t-shirt, and Eddie’s fingers ghost against your upper arm, scratching slowly in time with your movements.

In this way, you and Eddie can steal subtle touches and relish in each others’ presence as he and Gareth bicker over what to watch. They settle on a comedy movie, and while you don’t really mind either way what they choose, secretly, you do prefer these comedy nights. Though sci-fi and fantasy hold your interest the most, and horror provides opportunities for Eddie to comfort you, which you enjoy, comedies are by far the most fun to watch with him because he’s at his wildest and, frankly, his most joyful. You grin when Eddie’s stomach leaps under your hand as he throws his head back and laughs without restraint, squeezing you tighter against his side. You giggle when Eddie jostles you as he leans forward and gestures widely with his free hand, spouting off complaints and eager observations alike, flopping back against the cushions and dragging you with him. You glow when Eddie murmurs commentary into your hair, remarks for only you to hear— observations about how so-and-so reminds him of something you've said, or questions he wouldn’t want to ask Gareth for fear of looking stupid, or little whispers of affection, sappy nonsense to make you blush so he can nuzzle his nose against your cheek and call you cute.

And that’s how you spend the evening: belly full, tucked into your boyfriend’s side, watching a movie with him and his best friend until the hour grows late. It’s the same as it goes every week, a song and dance you’ve come to know so well you could hear its phantom notes in your sleep, a melody you’ll never tire of singing.

By the time the movie finishes, Gareth is rubbing his eyes, flinging a sleepy wave over his shoulder as he shuffles off to the bedroom. You and Eddie mumble your goodnights to him, lazing against one another for a moment before moving. You breathe deep and stretch as Eddie’s weight leaves you and he maneuvers onto his knees, craning over the cushioned back. His shirt rides up, and your eyes are drawn to the wide sliver of pale skin as he drags his blanket up from behind the couch, piling it in your lap for you to straighten out as he leans even further to reach his pillow. That gets plopped at the opposite end as you stand and tug the blanket over your shoulders, waiting for Eddie to flop down, lanky legs splayed and arms open and ready for you to join him. Eddie’s hair is dry now but still fragrant, smelling of apples as he enfolds you in his arms and it tickles your cheeks. You shimmy together, tangling your limbs and finally sating the desire for closeness you’d been assuaging all night with small touches that would never be enough.

Eddie buries his face in your neck, huffing against your skin as he burrows into you insistently, and you know he wants affection. You love it when Eddie gets needy like this— dragging you greedily against his body, almost manhandling you, flopping his leg over yours and wiggling until he’s comfortable. You tuck your fingers into his curls and scratch his scalp in big circles, smiling softly when he melts into you, boneless and lax as you lavish him with attention. Humming contentedly, you reach up under his t-shirt to feel his hot skin, dragging your nails over his back. He stretches against you like a cat, arching into your touch and pressing his lips to your throat in a mute thank you.

He tries to reciprocate, calloused fingers stuttering over your side as he attempts to stroke your skin in return, but Eddie is nearer to sleep than you are. When you feel his legs twitch, that tell-tale sign that he’s about to drift off, you pull your hand from beneath his t-shirt, smoothing it down as you rest your hand against his lower back. You don’t anticipate the low whine he muffles into your throat, and you chuckle when he shimmies to communicate his dissatisfaction. It almost seems antithetical that this man, typically clothed in ink and leather and chains, typically sharp and wolfish with eager flashing grins and a teasing black-smoke rasp, now whines unabashedly for your touch and pouts up at you with hazy brown eyes and pooched pink lips, soft white underbelly exposed for you to do with it what you will.

You love Eddie’s black, but his white is only for you, so you can’t help but covet it even more.

Your hand tucks obligingly back under his shirt, tracing random patterns, and as Eddie sighs against your neck, a question floats up, one that’s been hovering on the edges of your mind for some time now. It's a question that causes pins and needles of nervousness to prickle low in your chest, but in the dark hush of the living room, it feels possible to voice it.

“So, I’ve been thinking—”

“Always dangerous,” Eddie mumbles, and when you huff and your fingers stall on his back, his head pops up, eyes holding yours contritely as he rests against the pillow instead so he can look at you. He’d be a vision of innocent devotion with those beautiful curls and big brown eyes if it weren’t for the amused dimple threatening at the corner of his lips.

"So,” you repeat, “I've been thinking.” That prickle of nervousness surges again. “We’ve been dating— officially, I guess— for a couple of months now, and… well, there's been something I wanna do. Someone I wanna—"

“Uh-uh.” He cuts you off with a sharp shake of his head, and your heart falls. Before you can say anything, you’re being flipped onto your back as Eddie covers you with his body, hips pinning your pelvis to the couch, brown eyes glittering with intensity. Your eyes dart between his, wide with alarm as he says, "Oh, fuck no. Never again.” Your lips part in confusion, but Eddie barrels on, brows jerking up in emphasis. “You're all mine now. You’re my sweet girl. I'm not sharing you."

His meaning hits you all at once, leaving you winded and incredulous as his name strangles in your throat. You think he must be joking, must be pretending to be serious— but when his fierceness doesn’t subside, your incredulity transforms into something resembling offense.

You scoff disbelievingly. "Eddie!” You hush his name in an outraged exclamation, a little miffed that he’d actually think you’d be suggesting you swing with someone else, but nonetheless a little fluttery at his immediate possessiveness. Still, as you push at his shoulders, you frown petulantly. “That's not what I was gonna say at all! What the hell?"

Eddie doesn’t relent as you resist him, though the fierceness in his expression finally melts away at your unmistakable shock; instead, in a whiplash mood reversal, he wrestles you playfully, tickling you with his face and hair until you’re no longer at the edge of anger and are filled with giggles instead. "What then, hm?" he snaps teasingly from underneath his hair, shaking his head like a dog until you press your hands to his ears, holding his head steady between your soft palms.

You clear the hair gently from his face, feeling a little shy again as his eyes are revealed from the curtain of his curls, staring at you curiously. "Well, I was trying to say that we’ve been dating for a little while, and you’ve already met Penny, and I was thinking….” You push through your nervousness at the potential for rejection, voice quiet in your throat. “I wanna meet your uncle. If you want me to."

Eddie visibly softens, amber eyes going gooey like honey. His smoke voice is deep and rich and sure. "I'd really like that."

Your wings flutter at the gentleness in his gaze, warmth spreading to soothe the prickle of nerves. “Yeah?”

Eddie tucks your hair behind your ear and drags his thumb down the shell to your lobe, which he pinches three times slowly and deliberately. “Yeah, my sweet girl. I want you to meet my family.”

You take his hand, brushing his knuckles with your lips and squeezing three times back. It’s a quiet way to communicate when words aren’t needed or can’t be used. Three presses, slow and deliberate, a gesture that always means the same thing.

I love you.

It's snowing in Hawkins, Indiana, and while Forest Hills Trailer Park typically isn’t much to look at, it’s a wonderland in white.

The tires carve deep grooves in that white as you pull down the lane, and all— every flat roof and rusted car, every trashcan and skeletal flowerpot— is covered in a thick blanket of delicate powder. When Eddie turns the key to cut the engine, the silent stillness feels different from usual. Magical, almost, suspended in time and space as fat, dry flakes drift soundlessly down from a dove gray sky. As you dismount the vehicle with your host’s bag of gifts in hand, even the slam of your car door doesn’t echo quite as far. It’s muffled by the surrounding blanketed forest, where every piney branch is covered in a hush of snow, shifting occasionally like wings unfurling when powder falls into the sea of white below.

Eddie clomps up the worn porch steps first, leaving imprints for you to follow in. You match his stride with your smaller feet all the way up to the front door, eyes caught on the lumpy couch shaded by the awning, its front face dusted with white that clings like powdered sugar to the rough fabric. Eddie's rings rap against the plastic frame, and it’s then that your heart starts to pound. Nervous anticipation flutters in your stomach, borne of desperate yearning— a yearning to make a good impression on the most important man in your boyfriend’s life, to be deemed good enough for the most important man in yours.

Wayne Munson’s aging face is grizzled and creased, but the dimple in his cheek and the softness of his nose are so familiar they kick you in the chest. The sound he makes when he locks eyes with his nephew is husky and full, the bark of his laugh matching the smoke of Eddie’s when he clasps his nephew in a rough and eager embrace. His hands are tan but broad like Eddie’s, also worn from years of toil as they clutch at the back of your boyfriend's leather jacket. The men rock for a moment in the shared contentment of their reunion, and you wait behind Eddie, nearly fidgeting with the anticipation of meeting his uncle for the first time. But when they finally part and Eddie steps aside to reveal your shy smile and soft hands carrying your bag of offerings, the way Wayne Munson looks at you makes one thing abundantly clear:

You needn’t have worried.

“This is her,” Eddie says, and the audible pride in his voice floods your cheeks with pleased but bashful warmth. You’re ready to meet him where he is, but Wayne steps down from the threshold of his doorway onto the porch, his crooked smile widening as his blue eyes meet yours.

“It’s a pleasure t’meet you, sweetheart.” He pulls you into a much more careful hug than was bestowed on his nephew, and his worn denim shirt is soft beneath your chin and smells of laundry powder and cigarettes. The paper bag knocks against his back, and when he pulls away, he eyes it curiously. “That f’r me?”

You nod, shyness still gripping your tongue, but Eddie’s palm on the small of your back is grounding. “Just hold your horses, old man,” he gripes. “Let us inside before you stick your nose in.”

Wayne grumbles but obliges, stepping up first and leading the way into his home.

The indoor heat glows pleasantly against your cheeks as Eddie pulls the front door shut behind you, closing you in the cozy clutter of his childhood home. The place is cramped but well-kept, messy in the way you’d expect from a single man, but not dirty. There’s much to look at; the decor is quite eclectic, walls and surfaces covered with items both practical and sentimental. The most interesting is the ship wheel ceiling fixture in the kitchen, loaded with mismatched bulbs of different colors that cast the space in varied shades of light. The effect only adds to the charm, and you can nearly see a younger Eddie bounding down the narrow hallway from the back of the house, smoke voice high with adolescence as he calls out a goodbye to his uncle, curls bouncing against his forehead as he rushes past you out the door.

“So—” Wayne’s gruff voice startles you from your imaginings, and you catch his twinkling blue eyes as he jerks his chin toward the bag in your hands. “You gonna gimme that or what?”

The tease in his voice has you giggling despite Eddie’s huff. “Ungrateful,” he mutters under his breath, but you pull out the first item obligingly— a square box wrapped with paper to conceal what’s inside. You pass it over to Wayne, who shakes it, you suspect, just to make his nephew scowl. “You know what it is,” Eddie says, trying to be stern, though when they share a look, a smile can’t help but crack through. “Just open it.”

Your confusion over Eddie’s insistence on this particular type of gift has eased now that you’ve seen the primary decor adorning the trailer’s walls, but you watch Wayne carefully nonetheless, curious as to how he’ll react as he peels the paper back to reveal the picture on the front of the box.

Wayne’s brows contort in a mixture of confusion and amusement as he stares down at it for a moment before a guffaw rips from his throat. “What is this, kid?!” he turns his accusatory gaze toward Eddie. “You sayin’ I’m old and sickly?”

“You are old,” Eddie quips back, plush lips slanted in a smirk. “But, no.” His amber-brown eyes flash to yours. “It’s ‘cause of y/n.”

Wayne’s crinkled face swings to you then, and you smack Eddie lightly in the stomach in silent chastisement of his vagueness. “It’s ‘cause I work in healthcare.” You speak for the first time, voice small, gaze dropping to the picture in Wayne’s hands. It shows a mug in the shape of an orange pill bottle, complete with a white ridged rim to depict the child-safety lid and quite accurate in its mimicry of a prescription label, though the patient’s name is a clearly fictional ‘Mr. Java Joe Espresso.’ “It was Eddie’s choice,” you defend, pursing your lips against a smile when your boyfriend knocks you playfully with his elbow.

Wayne lifts the box closer to his nose to peer at the writing, finally huffing amusedly through his nose. “All right,” he concedes, and as he places it on the island counter behind him, you pull out his second and final gift. At the sight of the crumbly peach cobbler, Wayne looks considerably more enthused. “Now that’s more like it.”

Eddie helps you gather three plates, loading them with slices of cobbler as Wayne sinks into what must be his preferred armchair with a bone-weary sigh. You pass one to him, thumb on the spine of the fork to keep it from slipping as he takes it. “Thank you, darlin,’” he says, and you settle next to Eddie on the couch, sinking into his side.

It begins, you suppose, the way all introductions to family typically begin. “So, how’d you two meet?”

You nestle into Eddie’s side, fork playing with golden crumble and soft fruit as Eddie’s smoke curls gently against your cheek. “Through a mutual friend,” he says, and his voice is so calm and even that you feel the tightness in your belly ease. Eddie’s palm finds your knee, a comforting weight that warms your skin through your jeans.

“The first time I saw him, he was on stage,” you pipe up, one finger running against the textured bottom edge of the ceramic plate, the lip upon which it rests. “He was…”

You pause as you remember it: that black and white, the gash of red, the aggressive ink of his torso against pale quartz, the press of his lips to the mic, the enchanting smoke of his voice. You hadn’t known how to describe your impression of him that day in the dressing room when you’d met Eddie for the first time, but you know now. “I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard,” you say, sweet as the peach cobbler you’d brought his uncle, and Eddie’s fingers tighten against your leg, squeezing slow, pressing once, twice, and then again.

The curve of Wayne’s mouth gentles beneath his grizzled salt-and-pepper beard. “Ain’t he something, though. My boy.”

You nod your keen agreement. Though you’re angled toward Wayne and Eddie is behind you, you can feel the warmth of his blush without looking. “Y/n works in pediatric medicine,” he says quickly. “She helps sick kids all day. And she can sing, too. Got the voice of an angel.”

Now it’s your turn to flush, and what ensues is a fierce competition of deflection as both you and Eddie brag on each other to his uncle, trying to divert the attention from yourselves. It’s a valiant effort that leaves Wayne positively tickled as he looks back and forth between you until he finally holds up his hands for mercy. “Look, I get it,” he interrupts, “you each think the sun shines out the other’s ass. Consider me convinced.”

Eddie snorts, wrapping his arm around your bashful shoulders as they try to scrunch up to your ears. Unable to concede without winning, he plants a loud smacking kiss to your cheek, grinning manically as he leaves you positively burning. “Eddie!” you hiss as Wayne chuckles, squirming your discomfort but oh, so sweetly blooming nonetheless.

You’re surprised to find that the afternoon spent in Wayne’s company slips by as quickly as snow melts from sun-drenched branches. The man is gruff but so easy in his way that you’re comfortable before you know it, sinking deep into Eddie’s side to swing your foot idly and suck sweet pie filling from your fork. You’re perfectly content to listen to them banter through updates about Wayne’s life and Eddie’s, about the shop and the band and the friends Wayne remembers from Hawkins. You’re a little worried the sudden absence of Chrissy might come up, considering how she was such a long-time fixture in Eddie’s life, but Wayne is far more tactful than Eddie can sometimes be, and your concern never comes to pass. You’re both fascinated and thoroughly delighted by the anecdotes they share, silly stories of Eddie's childhood and recollections of times long past but fondly remembered. You talk about yourself when prompted, telling Wayne about your family, your work, and your interests, falling so far into the contentment of this exchange with the Munson men that by the time the sun has begun to wane, you find yourself genuinely disappointed that the visit is over.

Wayne tries to send you off with the remains of the cobbler, citing his nephew’s sweet tooth, but Eddie is adamant in pointing out that Wayne's is just as big. Well wishes are exchanged; soft plans and promises are made to see one another again soon. "You should come and see us next time," Eddie throws over his shoulder on his way to the door, "once we have our own place."

"Yes," you add eagerly, "We can take you to the bakery where the cobbler came from. They make really great cannolis, too, if you like those."

Wayne claps an open palm against his nephew's shoulder, eyes crinkling with his grin. "You better treat 'er good, son," he says sincerely. "She's a keeper."

Your voice is so firm, firmer than it's been all afternoon, that the Munson men nearly startle with it. “No.” They both blink at your vehemence, but you turn your resolute gaze to dark curls and quartz skin, pink lips and amber eyes. “He’s the keeper.”

You look at Eddie, and you know what your eyes are saying: that he's the only one that can make you flutter and bloom, that every sweet drop of succulent fruit spilling from your tongue is for him. You know you've peeled back your layers and shown your green. And when that gentle pink spreads over his cheeks— when Eddie's expression softens, glowing with bashful pleasure, pride, and adoration— you find it's quite alright that you’ve let these two men see all the way down to the center of you.

The asphalt of the bar's parking lot is worn and cracked, but you know it so well you don't have to look down to avoid the potholes when you skirt around the side of the building, heading towards the back. Your eyes quickly find where Eddie's van is parked alongside the wall, but you don't approach it; that isn't why you've ventured here. Instead, you head right for that gray door set into crumbling brick, the one with the light that floods it from above, illuminating its chipping paint. Your duffel brushes against the flakes as you rap quickly, glancing around tensely until the door cracks open to reveal a familiar dirty-blonde mop and blue eyes.

You pass the bag into Gareth's waiting hand, voice low and intent. "We still good?"

"Yeah," he says a little breathlessly, darting a quick look over his shoulder before his face whips back to you. "Head back during 'Around the Fur.' Tania will show you where to go."

You nod, and in a flash, he's gone. You twist the handle, bracing against its weight, and with your careful guidance, the door thumps gently closed.

A handful of minutes later and you're seated at your normal spot at the bar, sipping on soda water mixed with grenadine for color to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Your normal spot is in the front corner directly beside the hinge-top, so you can sit up there when the weekend crowds make it difficult to see from a barstool. Thursday isn't typically a busy day, but tonight's occasion is special, so the place is already buzzing even though the performance isn't supposed to begin for another forty minutes. You're facing the bar rather than out towards the crowd, chatting idly with Jimmy as he makes drinks for customers. You're trying to distract yourself from the bouncing of your knee and the nerves making your leaves shake restlessly, but it's hard when your eyes keep catching on the black streamers behind the bar.

You'd spent winter, spring, and summer watching Corroded Coffin slowly grow from regular performers at a single bar to a healthy rotation at half a dozen, from averaging one show a week to four, from modest crowds of screaming fans to immodest crowds of a whole lot more. Eddie was beyond pleased, as were Gareth, Jeff, and Brian, and you'd relished in their success with your consistent presence at their shows at least once a week, more if you could swing it. Of all the places Corroded Coffin plays, this bar— despite its dingy, seedy visage— is still your favorite because it had been the first, the beginning of everything for them and for you. It makes sense why Eddie had chosen here for the festivities tonight, and you were grateful for it because of that intimacy. Still, even with all the shows you've seen, you've never been as nervous as you are for this one.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention from Jimmy to green eyes shimmering with iridescent powder, and despite your nerves, you beam as you spin on the stool to embrace your friend, muffling your eager greeting into her auburn hair. She shimmies you in her grasp, squealing her enthusiasm as you rest your chin on her shoulder, meeting familiar hazel eyes beneath an artfully disheveled fringe. Tan fingers run through the strands as Steve waits to greet you with a broad, lopsided smile, though you’re both diverted when his girlfriend steps away to survey you, her nose wrinkling in confusion. “Is that what you’re wearing up there?”

You look down at your cream dress with its sweetheart neckline, extending a foot to examine one delicate ballet flat. It’s very in line with what you’d typically wear, both to Eddie’s shows and otherwise. You squint at Karoline skeptically, about to explain when Steve beats you to it. “Kar,” he says, fondly amused, “it’s a surprise, remember?”

Steve looks to you, and you nod your confirmation, holding up your virgin drink as you add, “All for the illusion. I worked everything out with the guys. You’ll see.”

In typical dramatic fashion, Karoline actually smacks her forehead. “Duh,” she says, chuckling self-deprecatingly, and you surge with admiration for her ability not to let anything embarrass her. She leans into Steve’s side, who wraps an arm around her comfortably. “Of course you have it all planned out. It’s gonna be the best birthday present Eddie’s ever had in his life.”

You smile, though you feel your nerves mix with bashfulness. “Well, I don’t know about that,” you hedge, but you pout when you see Steve shaking his head in exasperation, hazel eyes locked on you. “What?” you ask, crossing your arms tight in your lap, feeling a little exposed under his gaze.

But that hazel isn’t dulled like briny mud or sharp with bitterness. Instead, Steve just huffs a wry laugh as his lips curl knowingly. “Yeah,” he says quietly, fondly, and it pierces through the self-consciousness. “She’s right, y/n. He’s gonna love it.”

Though you don’t reply, your gaze softens, and you know Steve can read the gratefulness there. “Come on, Kar.” He nudges his girlfriend gently, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand one last time before they head off into the gathering crowd. You squeeze back, taking strength from their support before they slip away.

Steve and Karoline aren’t your only friends here. As you sip your drink and the sweet fizz of the flavored soda water dances on your tongue, you remain facing the room, eyes scanning the sea of bodies that buzz with impatient energy as they await the start of the show. Slowly, some other beloved faces emerge from the anonymity: Tara and Lisa nestled snug in the middle, Penny in the back corner, as far from the stage as she can manage to avoid the potential of Eddie spotting her. Their presence is a temporary balm for your nerves, offering silent support despite the distance. Part of you wishes they were right beside you, but you’d told them to stay away; you didn’t want to risk tipping Eddie off, valuing the sake of your surprise over the comfort they’d provide you.

It hadn’t been easy keeping your plans from Eddie, though you’d been determined to do it, knowing the payoff would be worth it. It took weeks of frantic last-minute meetings with the guys you could only swing when Eddie was working overtime (which he never remembered to tell you about ahead of time), weeks of singing the same song over and over in your empty apartment, snatching moments of opportunity in those tiny gaps before Eddie’s return would have you falling mute. You practiced relentlessly, knowing you’d chosen a challenging song, one that would not only showcase but stretch the limits of your skill. You wanted your performance to be perfect, but not for the crowd, though that was, of course, a factor. Mostly, you wanted to impress Eddie, to show him how tall you’ve grown with his tending. And after all those weeks of scheming and sneaking, weeks you’d spent on edge knowing one small misstep from anyone involved would have Eddie— blessedly, cursedly intuitive Eddie— poking at you relentlessly until he’d pried the secret from your clamped lips and ruined everything… somehow, he’d never caught on. And now, as the bar’s lights dim almost to darkness and the stage billows with haze that drips like liquid smoke onto the floor below, it’s finally time.

Watching Eddie perform always takes your breath away, but this time feels different. When he mosies up to center stage, strumming the two chords of the song they’d chosen to open with tonight, the crowd’s raucous cheering matches the broad, wolfish grin on his face, sharp and black and utterly delighted at the electricity in the air. The energy stirs you too: blood thrums hot in your veins, washing you with heady anticipation as Eddie’s dark eyes find yours like they always do a moment before he presses his plush lips to the mic. “Hey,” he purrs, and feminine shrieks fill the air, mixing with the clash of drums and the grinding of Eddie’s guitar. This is familiar, too; when he knows you’ll be there, Eddie always starts the set with the same song. “This town don’t feel mine,” he croons, and the flutter of your wings surges from the pit of your stomach up to your ribcage, stirring your green to restlessness. Not just because of what this means to you— it always means something that Eddie begins with the song you’d told him you liked most the first night you’d met— but also because you know that tonight, you won’t just be looking up at him, watching him from below. You’ll be joining him up there, allowing yourself to be perceived.

Nonetheless, you smile at him, hoping the curve of your lips doesn’t tremble before he looks away. Once he releases you, your shoulders sag, relief rushing as you reach absentmindedly for the dainty gold chain around your neck, rubbing your thumb against the textured object hanging there as you watch the guys perform. There’s rarely a moment you aren’t wearing the red and white shell, so the gesture has become nearly automatic, a soothing repetitive motion you turn to whenever Eddie isn’t near. It doesn’t quite settle your nerves now, but it carries you through the next couple of songs, keeping your fidgeting from becoming obvious. And your nerves are almost forgotten completely when Eddie turns around for the first time to show off the new ink on his back, an early birthday present to himself he’s debuting for his fans today: a pair of dragon wings curving across his shoulders and down to his waist, shifting as he continues to strum during the breakdown. The screeches that accompany the reveal are nearly feral, and you giggle when you see the tell-tale quiver of his shoulders that tells you he's trying not to laugh.

You’re okay until Gareth whips his sweat-damp mop of hair, beating out the distinctive hits that begin Around the Fur. No amount of self-soothing could quell the wave of adrenaline that rushes through you then, rustling your green like a gust of tumultuous wind. You take a deep breath before you slide off the stool, and your legs are nearly jelly beneath you as you press through the sea of bodies, cutting a laborious path toward the back of the crowd. Resisting the rising claustrophobia, you make a large circle around to the other side of the stage, slipping into the corridor that leads to the bathroom. It’s blessedly wide and empty, cavernously echoing with the reverberations of Brian’s bass and Gareth’s kick drum. You savor the relief of being freed from the crush of damp bodies for just a moment before striding down the hallway, bypassing the bathrooms and heading directly to the door that leads backstage.

Sure enough, just as Gareth had promised, his girlfriend Tania is there to collect you, her eyes wide with focused intent as she leads you to the dressing room she’d prepared. You rush after her, heart pounding as she ushers you inside and closes the door. “We’ve got about five minutes before you need to be at the side stage,” she says, striding over to the rack as you step out of your flats and lift the hem of your dress at the same time. You shed your clothes hastily, eyes locked on the outfit that hangs from the bar, the one she’d helped you pick last week. It's all black and comprised of a mix of textures, some tight, some sheer, topped with leather and accents of silver to match Eddie’s chains. More daring than you’ve ever worn and perfectly curated for this moment.

Expertly, Tania gathers the fabric of your thin tights in her fingers, rolling them down for you to step into. Together, you clothe your body in the rest: the short, tight dress, the sheer mesh turtleneck that layers beneath it, the tall boots that tie over your knees. You swap your dainty gold studs for dangling silver swords, lifting your arms so Tania can clasp the buckles of your harness belt over your chest and around your waist, tugging gently on the straps and stepping back to ensure it’s sitting right. She nods sharply, satisfied, glancing at her smartwatch. “Two minutes for makeup,” she says, and though your face flashes with nervousness, obediently you sit, folding your hands in your lap as she snatches up the eyeliner from the beauty counter beside you. With a tightly-knit brow, she lines your lids using quick, fast strokes, smudging the liner expertly with the side of her thumb before twisting open a tube of burgundy lipstick. She takes her time with your lips, surveying you clinically afterward before her black lips split in an eager grin.

“You’re ready,” she says, and the surety in her voice almost makes you believe it.

Backstage the floor is a mess of wires which you step over carefully like they're landmines. You hover in the wings with a fluttering heart as you wait for your cue, the muted mic growing slippery in your hands. It feels suddenly surreal to be here, gazing at the band from this new vantage point. You can see Gareth wailing on the drums, Brian’s thick fingers working the bass, Jeff’s head bobbing as he hunches over the keys, but your eyes are drawn time and again to the front lights glowing on the sweat-slick skin of Eddie’s back, burnishing his dark curls to deep, rich brown as the wings on his back shift and roil. Beyond him are blurs of movement, the undulating shapes of indiscernible bodies captivated by his performance. As you see the flash of hands reaching from that sea of dark, you feel a sudden shiver of doubt prickle up your spine. Eddie’s been performing for years; he commands the stage with ease. What if you, in comparison, are lackluster? What if the crowd is disappointed by your sudden intrusion? Doubt settles heavy in your stomach.

What if they don’t like me?

The sudden thought has your head spinning, but there isn’t time to dwell on that because Gareth’s beating on the cymbals, and the song is ending, and Jeff is speaking, voice hoarse with exertion but forming the words that seal your fate.

“—as you all might know, today is a special day. Today, this motherfucker right here turns twenty-six.” Eddie’s curls whip as he looks at Jeff, a shared manic grin splitting their faces as the audience whoops and hollers for him.

“You’re fuckin’ old, dude!” Gareth shouts, loud enough to be heard even though he isn’t mic’d, and there’s a wave of laughter.

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Eddie’s amplified voice is sharp and loud, nearly startling, and you duck back slightly so he won't see you, heart hammering as he twists to give Gareth the middle finger. The words could be angry, but he’s smiling, and his voice warms to match it. “No, but honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather celebrate one more year of dodging the grave than right here with all of you, in the place this whole fuckin’ mess really took off, with the guys who made it happen—” From behind, you see Eddie’s head turn towards the bar, towards where you’re always sitting. “And—” when his voice falters, you know he’s noticed you aren’t there anymore.

Jeff cuts in quickly. “And we’ve planned a special treat for you.” He pauses dramatically, teeth flashing into a smug smile. “A special treat for you, Ed,” he clarifies, and you don’t have the luxury of watching Eddie’s head whip toward him again because that’s your cue.

You lift your chin, and as you move out of the shadows, each successive step allows the glare of the front lights to illuminate you more and more: every dip and curve of your body, every sway of your ample hips as you approach your boyfriend from behind. It takes a moment for the crowd to realize what’s happening, and once they do, you hear the realization wash over them in a tittering wave. You thought you’d known what it would be like to be on stage, to have all those eyes on you, staring, boring down to the most minute details of your appearance. But it’s one thing to know it and quite another to experience it. And the doubt, the nervousness, the fear, the self-consciousness— they’re suddenly all laid bare in the harshness of the unforgiving spotlight you’re walking into.

You keep your eyes fixed on black and white, the reason you’re here. They run over Eddie’s slack arm hanging at his side, over those chunky rings and ruddy knuckles, over the tapestry of dark ink, the way the curve of his shoulder slopes into the cords of his pale quartz neck, the curl of his damp hair against his cheek. The moment feels longer than it lasts in reality, the time between the audience’s noticing and Eddie’s, and you use it to caress him with your gaze, to memorize the flutter of his dark lashes and the rise of his bare chest as he finally starts to turn.

The moment whittles down to nothing but the look in those honey-brown eyes as Eddie finally sees you, a look powerful enough to wither the depth of your doubt. You flick the switch on the side of the mic as you walk toward him, illuminated fully now, light gleaming off the smoke and silver of your armor, armor that matches your beloved’s. The armor is his, but your voice is all your own when you finally speak.

“Hi, Ed,” you say into the mic, and your voice is velvety like a hush of wings but also rich like sweet, ripe fruit.

Eddie’s plush lips hang open as his eyes dart over you, unable to settle, his face slack and stupefied, brown eyes impossibly large in his pretty face. There’s a moment of silence before he replies almost dazedly, “Hi, sweet girl.”

A wave titters through the crowd again, murmurs of recognition, encouragement, and disappointment alike— disappointment, perhaps, from some of the girls that didn’t realize Eddie was taken— but they don’t matter now. Because the whole reason you’re here is staring at you like he’s trying not to pinch himself to check if he’s dreaming. In the face of Eddie’s slack-jawed awe, you smile. “Happy birthday, Eddie,” you say, and Jeff starts the track for Passenger.

It seems to take a moment for Eddie to understand what’s happening— that you’re not only on stage with him, dressed the way you’re dressed, looking the way you look, but that you’re holding the mic to your lips, not retreating as the song begins. He misses the first strum but scrambles to catch up as Gareth starts the drumbeat, fingers moving but eyes locked on you. And you’re looking back at him, looking back until your eyes slip closed so you can sink into that familiar headspace and let the rest of the world— the stage, the lights, the stares, the crowd— fall away. Until it’s just you, your voice, and Eddie’s song, the song you’re singing to him.

“Here I lay, still and breathless; just like always, still I want some more—”

It’s exactly how you’d sounded in the quiet of your apartment, breathy and haunting, but even better now with the microphone’s vocal effects. You sink into the comfort of your weeks of practice, letting that carry you through to the final line of the verse, the last moment of gentleness before the song intensifies.

“Now to calm me, this time won’t you please—” your brow scrunches and your voice surges up as you drag out the words, “—drive faster!”

The grinding of the guitar, the thrum of the bass, the fury of the drums— they fill you up like Eddie’s smoke voice, like the light in his eyes and the rasp of his calloused hands against your green. You channel it all as you sing the chorus, pouring out your passion for all to see.

“Roll the window down, this cool night air is curious. Let the whole world look in, who cares who sees anything? I’m your passenger. I’m your passenger.”

With Eddie, you’ve grown tall and strong. For Eddie, you’re blooming right open, finally unafraid to be perceived.

You’ve given Eddie a precious gift, and he intends to thank you, to ensure you know that you belong to him.

He’d been on you the moment you both walked through the front door, hasty and needful, fisting his broad hands at your inner thighs and ripping your thin tights to shreds to expose your heat. Your desire rushed hot and thick as he dragged you down to the ground, burying his face in your pussy right there on the dining room floor, too hungry for you to wait for the bedroom. He devoured you, relentless despite the writhing of your hips and your fists tugging at his curls in a grip that must have been painful.

You came the first time on his tongue.

Afterward, he’d lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bed you share, laying you gently across the down comforter as your chest heaved with your panting. He undressed you tenderly, working you back up unhurriedly, pressing teasing kisses to every inch of your skin until you were squirming and needy again. Then, when you were ready, Eddie fucked you deep and slow, tucking your knees to your chest, his guitar pick swinging to brush against your skin with every grind of his hips until you came a second time on his cock, shuddering and whimpering.

And now he has you on all fours, face down, arms curled atop the sheets as his hips smack against your ass, making your doughy flesh jiggle. He’s clutching your hips so tight you know there’ll be marks tomorrow, little oval bruises that act as evidence of his passion for you. It only makes you burn hotter for him. As do his words— his smoke that you inhale eagerly with heaving breaths until it coils rich and heady in your belly.

“—so fuckin’ sexy up there, singing my song like that. Got me so fuckin’ hard, babe, I could’ve fucked you right there on that stage—” You whimper, pushing your hips back, his praise motivating you to take him deeper. “Oh yeah,” Eddie groans, raspy with approval. “That’s it, sweet thing. Bounce that perfect ass on me.” He starts to fuck into you harder as you obey, rocking back against him until the claps echo alongside your whimpers and his low, breathy sounds of pleasure.

It’s fairly commonplace for Eddie to make you cum twice, but your third orgasm has long been elusive. You’ve typically found yourself too sensitized for it, your clit too puffy and raw for even Eddie’s light, careful touch to be pleasant. But something seems different tonight. Maybe it’s the thrill of performing successfully on stage with him, or the patience with which he’s playing your body so expertly, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s not touching your clit directly, that it’s just his heavy balls swaying rhythmically against your lips, a slight slap that makes you tingle every time you push back to meet his steady thrusts. Whatever it is, you can feel the cinders of your arousal build back up again under his faithful attention, and you drag your teeth against your bottom lip, relishing in the feeling of him behind you.

His fingers had been pressing bruisingly into your hips, but now Eddie’s grip softens and shifts, his broad, calloused hands rubbing wide circles over your ass as he praises you again. “Have I ever told you,” Eddie says musingly, his voice low and edged with teasing, “how goddamn gorgeous your ass is?”

He plays idly with your cheeks as you chuckle. “Only all the time,” you say, and the sound of your laugh hitches when he grabs two handfuls of your pliant flesh, pulling your cheeks apart as he continues to fuck you steadily. When he continues to hold your ass like that, and you hear a low groan, you rush with heat as you realize he must be watching himself disappear into your heat. You imagine what he sees: his cock, thick and flushed pink, engulfed over and over down to the hilt by your slick, puffy pussy. Your entrance is stretched tight, dragging with him slightly as if reluctant to let him go when he pulls his hips back. You flutter at the thought, squirming in his hold as your cinders catch to a low flame again, now for the third time. You can feel your thighs sticking to his on every thrust, can hear how wet you sound, and you’re suddenly envious of his view—

“Shit, baby,” Eddie breathes, and the heat in his voice makes you pulse. “You’re so fuckin’ messy, coating my whole dick. Pussy’s so creamy, just wanna—”

You’re left with no warning before his thick length is suddenly and abruptly pulled from you, leaving you mournfully empty as you feel the bed shift and lurch behind you, jostling your knees. Eddie isn’t gone from you long, though, as you quickly feel his breath puff hot against your skin before he licks a broad stripe up your pussy.

You sigh at the feeling of his tongue on your puffy lips, which is so gentle it’s almost a relief compared to the, admittedly, delicious pounding you’d just been receiving. Eddie groans his eager satisfaction as he tastes you, and you answer back with a moan of your own, widening your knees and settling into the new sensation. Your hips jerk slightly when his chin bumps against your sensitized clit, but Eddie doesn’t linger there long. Instead, after laving your entrance thoroughly, tasting you until he’s satisfied, he merely starts at the apex of your heat, dragging his tongue briefly along your clit on his journey up to your entrance. Up, slowly and steadily and deliberately— up to your entrance but then past it, because Eddie just keeps moving up, up, up, and he doesn’t stop until his tongue has dragged across the tight pucker of your hole.

You burst instantly with flutters, with fire that licks your belly and leaves your head rushing at the unexpected feeling of Eddie’s tongue there. It’s not something you’ve never done together, but it’s not something you do all the time, and the novelty of it feels both naughty and profoundly thrilling. Your breath deepens as you wait, muscles tensed as you feel Eddie’s breath puff warm against your skin again, but this time at that delicate, sensitive spot between your cheeks. The anticipation is torturous, and involuntarily, you feel yourself clench and flutter at the feeling. Eddie hums low in his throat like he’s both satisfied and amused at your reaction, and you’re near to a whine when you feel his tongue— broad and firm, warm and wet— as he licks your ass again.

Your whine melts to a breathy gasp as Eddie’s calloused hands land on your cheeks, his thumbs prying them apart for better access as he pushes his face closer. The way he’s licking you here isn’t the same as the way he licks your pussy. With your pussy, Eddie varies the pressure and the rhythm, sometimes swirling and sometimes sucking as he plays with your lips and your clit. Now, each stroke of his tongue is even and consistent, predictable almost, like he’s slowly devouring an ice cream cone.

But oh, is it effective. Before long, you’re whimpering, a high sound of feminine need, louder when you feel one hand leave your cheek and Eddie fills your pussy with two fingers, curling them deliciously so your hips buck. He ignores your clit, working you with his fingers in time with his broad tongue which swipes against you again and again, dragging warm and wet over your puckered hole. Your fingers fist in the bedding as your hips begin to shift, tiny circles that match his movements. His fingers continue, but you feel his tongue pause so he can croon, “Aw. It's like that, huh?”

Eddie’s voice is smug, knowing, and it only twists you tighter, making the flame of your desire burn brighter for him.

“Fuck, Eddie, that feels so—” you break off in a desperate whine, very undeniably affected by what he’s doing.

"I know, baby, I know.” Eddie chuckles, licking your ass through his laughter, and the breathy sound of his amusement shouldn’t be arousing, but it is. “You were winking at me back here. Couldn't resist.”

He keeps licking you, long, measured strokes that he times with the push and crook of his fingers until you’re desperate for him to stretch you open again. This feels good, really good, but the flame growing in your belly— the burn of your need— can only be sated by one thing. “Ed,” you plead, “please, please fuck me again— need your cock now, need you—”

No matter how much he might tease and play with you, Eddie can never resist the sweetness of your voice when you beg for him.

You feel the bed shift behind you again, Eddie’s knees brushing the inside of yours as he straightens up and shuffles closer to you. You feel his head firm and spongy against your puffy lips, and though his length has been left neglected for a while, if anything, he’s even harder now as he pushes back inside you. The thought that Eddie was just as aroused by licking your ass as you were to feel him do it makes you shiver, pleasurable tingles racing up your spine as he slides thick and hot back where he belongs inside you. The stretch is delicious, as is the rasp of his wiry hair against your clit when he grinds in slow and firm, pressing as deep as he can go.

“Mmm—” you push back into him, widening your legs to lower the angle just slightly, and Eddie hisses as he nudges against the end of you.

“Feel good?” he rasps, kneading your thighs as he circles his hips languidly, letting you enjoy the deep press of him inside you. “Is my cock makin’ you feel good, sweet girl?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “yeah, Eddie, I love your cock, baby. You make my pussy feel so good.”

He sighs harshly, and you flutter and tingle with pleasure as he pulls back and thrusts forward sharply, punching a delighted moan out of you. “Yeah, Eddie, like that,” you say, voice thick and sticky with your need for him. “Fuck me like that.”

He thrusts into you once more, slowly building up his pace until he’s fucking you evenly like he was before, holding your hips in his broad hands. His cock stokes the burn in your belly, filling you with steady pleasure that is making you feel good like you’d told him. But after his tongue, the air of your bedroom is cold on your hole, slick from Eddie’s spit. And you’re just realizing you really miss the feeling when something hits you there— something wet and warm that lingers for a moment before beginning to slide, guided by gravity to drip down the delicate skin between your ass and your entrance.

Eddie’s spit.

You’re just recovering from the realization that Eddie has spit on your hole when you feel the calloused pad of his thumb press against it, rubbing you there as he maintains the pace of his hips. You moan, arching your back and rocking eagerly into the feeling of him massaging you with his thumb while he fucks your pussy. Before you know it, you’re panting, nearly squirming with your desire for more— more cock, more thumb, more touch, more something.

Your desire is purring within you, making your answer to Eddie’s question come quick and easy. “You want my thumb inside?” he asks, and immediately you’re nodding, the tingling fire of your arousal bursting to life again.

You know that nodding isn’t really enough to confirm what you want, but a little vocalization is all you can manage. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, voice wavering as your body rushes with anticipation.

“Shit, that’s so hot,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you whimper when he pauses in his movements, both his thumb and his hips as if he needs to stop entirely in order to concentrate. And then the pressure against your hole steadily and evenly begins to increase.

You arch your back further, encouraging him with your posture and the little breathy sounds you let spill from your lips as you pant. He pushes in steadily until the tip of his thumb pops inside you up to the first knuckle, and the breach has you clenching on him instantly. "That's it, baby. Take it,” Eddie husks, and the smoke of his voice settles low in your belly, mixing with the heat of your fire as he starts to thrust his cock into you again.

As he resumes his pace, splaying the rest of his fingers along one cheek to hold onto you comfortably, you find yourself nearly overwhelmed by all the sensations— the rasp of his wiry curls against your heated lips, the lewd shlicking sounds of your wetness as he pounds into you, the pleasant sting of his thumb and the delicious stretch of his cock, the feeling of being breached and filled by him in two places instead of one. Your flames twist high, flaring hotter and hotter until you’ve turned into a whiny mess— lips parted, brow scrunched, eyes screwed shut as you twist the comforter in your fists and bury your face in it. It doesn’t stop your whines and moans, though they’re muffled now, uttered into the soft fabric beneath you.

“Ah-ah—” Eddie’s rasp is chastizing as he bends over your back, his hot, sticky chest now flush with the breadth of your shoulders. As he does, incidentally, he presses further in: his cock bullies up against the end of you and his thumb slips deeper, stretching you as you stutter a moan into the comforter. He grips your hair to turn your head, pausing for a moment to press his palm lightly against the side of your face for emphasis. "Don’t do that,” Eddie pants, pushing himself up with one hand against the bed before grabbing hold of your hip and fucking into you again, his other hand still firmly gripping your cheek with his thumb buried inside. “Wanna hear every sound out of those pretty lips.”

You’re officially a wreck now. Panting, moaning with every breath, mouth open and drooling against the bed, face hot and flushed as he pounds you, brain empty of anything but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You look up at him, glassy-eyed and adoring, and he groans raggedly, face pinching as he sees just how fucked out you are. "Jesus Christ, you look so—” He breaks off in a grunt, dragging his teeth against his plush bottom lip before groaning, “fuck, m'close, but I want another one from you. Can you give me one more, sweet girl?"

Your nose skims the sheets with each thrust as you rock with Eddie’s movements, teary eyes locked on his pretty face: the flush of his cheeks, how his damp curls kiss them as they sway; the plush of his swollen lips as he swipes his pink tongue across them; the shadow of his jaw and the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows thickly; the look in his brown eyes, heavy and hazy, molten to deep honey as he watches you take him so well like the good girl you are. Your thoughts are sluggish, melty with the heat of your desire, the flames that lick up your abdomen. It takes you a moment to realize Eddie has asked you a question.

Can you give me one more, sweet girl? Will you let me make you cum again?

Your focus hones to the stretch of him filling you, his cock pumping hot and thick in your pussy, his thumb and splayed fingers holding you in place. And as you think about it— think about how pretty Eddie looks, how his cock feels inside you— you find yourself wanting one thing. You want Eddie to cum. You want to see the way his brow pinches and his mouth falls open, to hear his smoke voice high and tight as you make him moan, to feel the way he holds you as he twitches and pumps warm cum deep inside you, claiming you as his.

Your bottom lip drags against the comforter as you close your drooling mouth, and you bite it through a tiny, petulant whine of protest at the realization that waiting for your orgasm means having to wait longer for Eddie’s. “Eddie,” you whine, brow crinkled pleadingly, trying to urge him toward what you desire. “Want your cum in me.”

Eddie huffs, cheeks pinking further, eyes darkening at the petulance in your voice. “Yeah, baby?” he husks. “You want my load?”

Your eyes widen hopefully, an expression of earnest, cock-dumb need. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, whimpery and urging again. “Please cum in me, Ed.”

Eddie can never resist your pleading, but this time, your words make his brown eyes flash. He chuckles breathlessly, expression lighting with mischief. And you should have been prepared, but you’re too gone to notice, so it takes you entirely off-guard when Eddie purrs, "I know what you really want, y/n. You want me to fuck a baby into you.”

Instantly, you burst with tingling flutters; you gasp sharply as goosebumps rush along your back and arms, racing up your spine to tingle in your scalp, tightening your nipples and leaving you reeling. It’s not something you and Eddie have discussed before, and you aren’t expecting how affected you are by the thought of Eddie giving you a baby. You shudder, a full-bodied and unmistakeably obvious physical reaction to his words, one you have no hope of stifling.

Eddie groans, deep and low in his chest as he feels and sees your reaction to his words. “Shit, you do, don’t you? I fuckin’ knew it.”

He sounds smug but excited, and you can’t help but feel embarrassed by the strength of your sudden desire. Because you do want that— in just the same way as the first time you had your mouth on him, when Eddie asked you if you wanted his cum. Though the suggestion hadn’t consciously occurred to you before, you realize it has been there, buried deep down like the seed that has since sprouted and grown tall under his careful tending. A hidden desire that now has been exposed, leaving you open and vulnerable.

But then Eddie’s smoke voice gentles, sounding so sincere as he says, “I can't wait to see you, y/n.” The fingers clutching at your hip ease, and your breath hitches as Eddie slides his calloused hand down to cup the soft of your stomach, holding you, supporting you in an embrace seemingly at odds with the way he’s fucking into you. “Gonna be so gorgeous. Belly all round, tits so big… beautiful, sweet girl.” You feel your green quiver and bloom with the strength of your love, but also with this poignant, sharp longing that floods you.

He’s right behind you, holding you, inside you. Eddie couldn’t be closer, but you still want more.

His voice is growing huskier, grittier, hoarsening with desire as he keeps talking. “I want everyone to see you. To see how incredible you are. They’ll see you, and everyone will know…” he breaks off in a grunt, chest heaving, words a little shakier as he continues, “they’ll know I fucked you full of my cum. I want everyone to know you’re my girl. I want them to know you’re mine."

That’s the more you’re yearning for: Eddie claiming you, filling you, marking you not just with bruises from his fingertips and his kisses but with his seed, with the evidence of your shared love growing inside you, sheltered by your body. A piece of Eddie and a piece of you, forever entangled. And as you hear each successive word, your longing twists tighter and your flame burns brighter and hotter until it’s tingling between your hips, driving you toward that elusive place you’ve already visited twice tonight.

Eddie’s fucking you hard and fast now, wound tight, seemingly stirred by his own words. “Is that what you want?” he pants. “You want me to give you a baby, y/n?”

You do. You really do. You want it so bad you can’t even speak beyond a broken, keening noise in your throat. “Tell me,” Eddie urges you, brown eyes nearly desperate. “Please, tell me you want it.”

Through your gasps and whimpers, you force out the words in a choked sob, only for him. "I want your baby, Eddie, I want—"

Your orgasm surges up so quickly your words cut off in a scream, and you cry out desperately, high and hoarse as it rushes through you. Longing and pleasure, desire and devotion, a combination so intense that you lose control of your body, swept away by an all-encompassing wave that has you twisting your fingers in the sheets and writhing, twitching, spasming on Eddie’s cock. You don’t even notice when he pulls out his thumb; your pussy flutters wildly as he holds on tight to your hips, wide-eyed and nearly overwhelmed by the vehemence of your reaction.

The illusion of his control shatters. Eddie’s hips stutter as he starts to whine, and now, he’s almost as much a mess as you are, though you’re too far gone to notice it. As you start to come down, all you can hear is his wavering smoke voice, choked and raw. "Oh, my God— good girl, you’re so— so good, my girl, oh shit, g-gonna make me cum, oh fuck, I-I’m—"

Eddie keens desperately, whiny and high, a beautiful broken sound of desperation as he finally spills inside you, filling you and filling you and filling you.

In the aftershocks of your pleasure, the warmth of Eddie’s cum brings a sense of peace and completion. When he chokes on a moan, rutting his hips against your ass as he shakes and trembles, you press back into him, sighing as you feel his cock twitch and jerk rhythmically with his release. If you had the energy, you’d push yourself up so you could press your back against his chest and thread your fingers in his curls to cradle his head, but after three orgasms and more than an hour of intense love-making, you’re feeling utterly exhausted. Luckily, Eddie’s feeling the same desire for closeness as you are— you hum, eyes blinking heavy-lidded as he drapes his sweaty torso over your back and wraps his firm arms around your middle, holding you close.

You relish the press of Eddie’s chest against your back, the frantic beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath, though his weight quickly becomes too heavy for your trembling, boneless arms. You push out a whimper and he gets the hint, pulling out and collapsing onto the bed in a heap beside you. Quick as you can, you turn towards him, fighting against the protest of your sore muscles to shimmy closer until you’re enveloped by his heat. You tangle your limbs together, ignoring all else: the sweat that makes your skin stick everywhere it touches, the mess of cum leaking from your pussy onto the comforter as you shift, the slightly-uncomfortable poking of his half-hard cock against your soft tummy. Because you don’t care about those things when you can gaze into the tired, sated eyes of the man you love, caress his cheek, kiss him softly, and hold him close, knowing this moment can last as long as you like.

You lay there basking in the glow until Eddie begins to untangle you, choosing to ignore your petulant grunt aside from a quick fond chuckle he huffs through his nose when he rolls off the bed. Your head flops back to the mattress, and you drift into that place just at the edge of dreaming, the distant sound of running water a fuzz of pleasant white noise in your ears. When the mattress dips, it pulls you out of it, and you stretch luxuriously across the bedding as you feel a warm, damp cloth against your inner thighs. You hum, rolling onto your back and spreading your legs for him, smiling up at Eddie as he cleans you gently. “Thank you,” you say, voice quiet and sleepy and sated. Eddie’s curls tickle your cheeks when he ducks to press a kiss to your lips. You frown suddenly in realization. “Hey,” you say, still quiet but a little more awake now as his lips pull away, dragging yours with them slightly. “Wait a minute. It’s your birthday— I should be taking care of you.”

Eddie flops down next to you, eyes sparkling as he grins, and you wonder how he can still have so much energy after fucking you for hours. “You’re right,” he says, “it is my birthday. And I wanna take you somewhere.”

Your frown turns from consternation to confusion. “You wanna take me somewhere for your birthday?” When he just nods, gazing at you hopefully, you soften. “Okay,” you hush through a smile, playing with a lock of his curls. “Of course. Where do you wanna go?”

Those plush lips twist a little sheepishly. “Well, it’s kind of far. Not that far,” he rushes, “it’s within driving distance, but… it would take a couple hours.” You don’t understand his hesitance until he adds, “And we’d need to leave soon.”

You squint. “How soon, Eddie?”

He grins, and there’s an edge of intentional charm in it, like he knows you can’t resist him when he’s being cute. “Um, in like… three hours.”

Your brows flash up. “You mean we’d have to leave at three in the morning?” When he looks at you, those pretty brown eyes all big and wide and pleading, it’s almost disgusting how quickly you relent. “Let’s do it,” you say, and the sparkling, crinkly-eyed beam that lights his face is an instant reward.

You and Eddie weave back together to steal a brief naked nap, waking with snuffles and pulling on warm comfortable clothes before rubbing the crust from your eyes. You make a pitstop in the living room so Eddie can check on Smaug the bearded dragon; you smile fondly as your boyfriend croons over him while Smaug blinks lazily, looking up at him from inside his elaborate glass enclosure.

“We should feed him before we go,” Eddie says, and your lips curve with a smile.

“How about a treat? Then we can give him his mealworms when we get back,” you suggest, giggling when Eddie wraps you in his arms, shuffling you forward with little steps over to the fridge. You pass him the small container of mushy strawberries, watching as Smaug snatches them up with his pale tongue, mashing the fruit with little smacks of his tiny jaws.

And as you prepare to head out, a sense of childish giddiness overtakes you at the fact that you're leaving in the middle of the night when it feels like the rest of the world is asleep, off on an impromptu adventure to who-knows-where. You turn to Eddie to see him bundled in his sweatshirt and thick joggers, lanky frame covered by swaths of soft fabric, his feet stuffed in his untied Reeboks. He jams a beanie over his wild curls, tugging until it’s arranged how he wants it, snug but not quite straight. You consider asking Eddie where he's taking you, but as he carefully fits a second knit beanie over your head, tongue poking between his lips as he adjusts it against your forehead, you decide you’d rather leave it a surprise.

You don’t need to know where you’re going; it’s enough to know who you’re going with.

Still, you can’t say you’d expected to end up where you are.

By late September, no one is looking to visit the beach. Certainly not at five in the morning, and especially not when the gate to access the park at the edge of the island is closed.

No one except Eddie Munson, that is.

To be fair, he hadn’t expected it to be gated off, though that was, in fact, his own oversight. But you had driven two hours to get here, and it is his birthday—well, the day after his birthday now— so it doesn’t take much coaxing at all to convince you to let him park on the sand half-concealed behind some scraggly trees and help you hop the gate.

It's quite a bit colder here at the shoreline than it was in the city; the salt air is gritty and harsh against your cheeks, and you're glad for the beanie keeping your ears protected as Eddie slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his warm side. It's cold and dark, but luckily, Eddie seems to know where he's going, illuminating your path with the flashlight on his phone. When the lighthouse looms out of the dark, towering red and white and still as a silent sentinel at the edge of the ocean, you assume that's where he intends to take you. But instead, Eddie skirts around it, leading you from concrete to sand before hopping spryly onto a low, flat rock that leads to the jetty.

Only then do you become wary. You'd been faithfully following along after him so far on this adventure, but the thought of feeling your way along giant rocks in the pitch black with nothing but the stars and your phone to guide you is unnerving. You squint, trying to gaze down the line of large, dark stones to see how far they go. They seem to stretch on almost endlessly. You shiver with apprehension as you imagine turning around to see the distant pricks of civilization at the shoreline, surrounded on both sides by the rush of the undulating sea, entirely exposed to the unknown.

But Eddie is holding out his broad hand, silver rings gleaming in the moonlight. Even in the dark of twilight you can see the rough callouses on his fingertips, the familiar scars of toil and dedication to his craft. You see the leather bracelet that wraps around his thin wrist, the strong tendons that disappear under the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

You look from his hand to his face, and even in the dark, there's light in Eddie's eyes.

"Come on, sweet girl," he says. "I got you. We'll go slow, okay?" His lips tilt with an earnest smile. "It'll be worth it," he murmurs. "I promise."

It is so worth it.

Every uncertain step, every slippery rock, every gap, Eddie guides you over with patience and care. Eddie's fingers hold yours tightly, growing slippery with the salt spray on the wind but never faltering in their firm grip on you. Carefully, slowly, you step from flat stone to flat stone, following in Eddie's steady, sure footsteps until the tightness in your chest eases. The jetty extends on forever, but you and Eddie tackle it bit by bit. You watch the sea play in the divots between stone as gradually, the sky lightens. It softens slowly from deep, dark velvet until, by the time you've reached the end of the jetty, it's bloomed into the cool, pale blue of approaching dawn.

Eddie goes before you, scuttling down the last few steps and holding out his arms for you. His hands close around your waist as you hop from the jetty to the sand, and you take his hand as he guides you to the strip of beach at the end of the island, edged by untamed green. You know deep down that you and Eddie are not the first to be here, but it almost feels that way. It feels as though you’re both removed from it all, claiming a little oasis for your own at the back of the world.

Cold seeps through your leggings as you sit, and Eddie flops ungracefully to mirror your position: legs bent, sneakers digging divots into the pliant sand, forearms resting on knees. The sea breeze plays with your hair beneath your beanies, but you’re used to its chill now, and you can feel the warmth of Eddie’s body right beside you— not quite touching, but close enough to keep you from shivering. You sit there quietly for some time, sitting side-by-side with Eddie, staring out at the sea. There is peace in watching the waves crash into foam that spreads thin across the beach, carrying delicate stones that dance when it recedes back into itself, only to return again and again.

As the pale blue of the sky begins to deepen to orange at the horizon line, you finally speak, your voice quiet and creaky from disuse. “Sunrise on the beach, Ed?” You slant a teasing glance at him. “This is a pretty sappy birthday gift.”

In the deepening light you can see that Eddie’s soft nose is stung pink from the cold, and he sniffles and wrinkles it before returning your glance. The sea wind is playing with his curls, turning them frizzy and wild and free. “Well,” he says, just as quietly, because in this oasis at the back of the world, there’s no need to raise his voice. “A while ago, I took a walk on the beach with this chick in Miami. Thought I might wanna do it again. See the sunrise with her this time.”

You try to bite back the wideness of your smile, but Eddie sees right through you, down to the heat in your cheeks and the sparkle of adoration in your eye and the verdant green of your soul. He shows off his dimple, grinning at you, pleased as he unfolds one arm to pinch your chin in his strong but gentle fingers. He looks at you for a moment, dark eyes dragging over your face in a soft caress before his thumb draws across your skin. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you say, thick and melty like honey. “I love you, Eddie.”

There’s soft pink on Eddie’s face. There’s the orange light of dawn in his eyes. “I love you, too,” he says. “I love you more than anything.”

You don’t try to stifle your smile that time. Instead, you direct it toward the sea, toward the rising sun, the cleft of brightness that emerges from the dark toil of the water. You lean your temple against the soft plush of Eddie’s shoulder, and he straightens his elbow to rest it again on his knee. You extend your arm, and he extends his, sliding his rough palm along your soft one and shifting his fingers ‘til they’re intertwined with yours.

Dawn is breaking, and you’re thinking about the beginning of things.

You don’t turn to look at him, because then, your courage might fail. “Earlier,” you say, small and quiet, almost a whisper, “was that just dirty talk? Or…?”

You don’t need to clarify further; Eddie knows what you’re referring to. His smoke voice is quiet when he answers, but it isn’t unsure. “No,” he says. “Not just dirty talk, sweet girl. I do want that.” His thumb strokes across the back of your hand, and its rasp leaves tingles in its wake. “Soon, if that’s what you want.”

Your blooms sigh. Your fruit is plentiful, more than enough to share. “I do,” you say, and Eddie turns his face to rest gently against your beanie.

His chin skims cold along your forehead, but his breath is warm as he murmurs, almost to himself, “Just wanna marry you first.”

The sun rises, and as you watch the new day dawn, the promise of the future has never tasted quite so succulently sweet.

#blueywrites #tkym #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction

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wannabelife · 6 months

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love shot – bsk

pairing: seungkwan x fem reader

genre: smut, a bit fluff

synopsis: you get to meet your boyfriend's childhood friends in his hometown but the way you look so shy and nervous around new people just drives him crazy.

warnings: corruption kink, semi public, fingering, oral

you are starting to get way too self-aware, which leaves you to realize that you and seungkwan are actually wearing similar clothes. he had comfy clothes on, while you have a summer navy dress just like the color of his shirt.

you laugh to yourself because for a minute, it looks like you planned this. like you wanted to go out with couple matching clothes. you think it's cute and funny at the same time.

seungkwan can feel you smilling beside him, which makes him smile too "what are you thinking?" he whispers next to your face, and you just ramble "nothing" before leaving a peck to his lips. he laces your fingers on his, holding your hand while you two get back to the conversation happening at the table.

seungkwan came to his hometown with you. you already know jeju and his family here, it's so beautiful and always so nice to come visit. but you've never met his childhood friends before. that's where you are now, on a cafe table, his three friends in front of you two as you chat.

the conversation is going well, and everyone seems to be having fun. you still have a bit of a stiff posture. somehow, his friends approval of you, of your relationship, means a lot to you. and you're sure that means a lot to him, too.

he's staring at your side profile while you are awkwardly smiling at one of his friends. he knows you too well not to notice your behavior.

he slides his hands under the skirt of your dress, stroking the flesh of your thigh.

"babe, are you ok?"

you gulp, feeling surprised at his sudden motion "im fine, thank you" you smile.

he watches your subtle reaction and keeps going further down your skin. he is provoking you now, you're red but also enjoying the thrill.

you mimic saying stop to him, but all he does is pinch your inner thigh slightly. you close your eyes, you suck on your breathing without realizing.

not feeling like being the only one anymore, its your time to place your hand on him. what he didn't expect was for you to go directly on his cock. he jumps a little, his hips moving to the front of his seat. you smile at him once again, enjoying the reaction. luckily enough, his friends were all distracted in the conversation to realize.

he doesn't stop, cupping your core through your panties. you give back, stroking him lightly through his sweater pants as his eyes get big.

"that was a warning. stop teasing me" you whisper close to him, so only seungkwan can hear. unattaching your hands to his skin.

"i just want you to relax. i think they already like you from everything i've said about us"

all he does is smirk after affirming. his hands cupping your core again, a bit more pressure on it this time, making your mouth slightly open in shock but also because of the pleasure that is threatening to show.

"cant you just wait for us to get home?" you silent say.

"i cant wait" he whispers back.

you gasp and excuse yourself to go the bathroom, your cheeks burning so much that you can feel it. seungkwan smirks to himself, he thinks you're cute.

you look at your reflection on the toilet mirror, trying to calm down your breathing. you imagine seungkwan is probably smirking, enjoying all of this, and suddenly, you dont feel like playing innocent anymore. you shamelessly caress your fingers through your cunt, you gasp a little at the bare contact. rubbing your entrance for a bit as you get wet, you collect a bit of your arousal after opening your phone front camera.

you start filming your wet fingers before you bring them up to your mouth, you briefly play with it on your lips, smirking against them before sucking your digits. you finish the video hitting send to your boyfriend right away.

the video was short, and just a few minutes passed before you saw typing on the screen.

"come on out, im waiting for you"

its all his reply says, and it's enough to get your stomach to twist. you come out, and seungkwan is waiting by the door, your purse on his hands. it all happens fast, he takes a quick look around before pushing you back in and locking the door after him.

"what are you doing?" you say giggling when he throws your things on the marmore sink and hugs your waist.

"are you crazy? somebody could have seen your little show, dont you know?"

"i- " you try to say something, your smile fading.

"would u like it?" he cuts you off, his brows shut.

"no! i-

he shushes you with a kiss on your lips, it doesnt take long before it gets messy. he backs you until you are pressed against the wall. he gets closer, making you feel the hardness on his pants poking your center.

"look you've done" he says and you whimper in his mouth with the sudden friction. but he keeps his mouth occupied, kissing down your neck.

"seungkwan... babe, wait, stop"

stopping when you said so "what's that?" he asks, searching your face.

"we have to go back, your friends are going to notice it" you say caressing the end of his hair.

he just smiles, pecking your lips one more time. you look so innocent like he hadn't already taken care of it "they think we are already heading home, babe" he says and a wonder face forms on you "lets say you're feeling a bit sick and i have to take you home" he whisper diving right back to kissing your neck.

"seungkwan!" you scold him but it dies down when he licks a long strip on your skin, sucking it right down your ear. you gasp, not helping a moan "i cant believe you" you say already out of breath again.

"better start believing" he looks at that little pout on your lips "that face makes me want to ruin you, y'know?"

you start sliding your hands down his torso, slowly getting under his shirt. you caress his nipples, scratching your nails down his stomach as he hisses at the feeling "you were scolding me, couldn't help it" you play along his words.

he goes on his knees in front of you, and your pout turns on a shocking face "does that position make you feel better?" he says, placing a kiss at your clothed lower belly. you dont say anything, just stare at him with red cheeks as he smiles at you.

"cute" he whispers "looking all innocent and shy, they dont know you were handing my cock just now"

something in the way he says it to you, the way he is on his knees in front of you, his eyes on yours, makes your pussy clench.

he slowly starts to push your dress up, caressing your bare thighs, making you relax against his touch. when his eyes meet your lingerie, he feels his cock twitching on his pants. the white lacy that goes well with your skin tone, makes him go feral. he kisses your center through the material, making you whimper. you fastly put your palm over your mouth, not wanting anyone to hear you.

seungkwan takes your panties off, taking one of your legs up to his shoulders, salivating at the view of your bare pussy.

"kwannie, we are occupying the public bathroom for too long" you say breathlessly, trying to reason, knowing its already too late.

"i promise i'll be fast" he says attaching his lips to your cunt right away.

he licks it up and down, sucking your clit in the end, you moan bringing your palm to your mouth to silence yourself once again. he keeps playing with your entrance, you have to bite your lips not to be loud.

seungkwan get his hands behind you, pushing your hips closer to his mouth as he goes back to your clit. your hands automatically meeting his scalp, pressing a bit at the flesh.

"kwan... oh my god!" you are able to say.

a muffled sound comes out of you when he enters with his tongue on your cunt. he tongue fucks you, grunting when he feels you clenching. the vibration hits right in as you mewl, pressing your core on his tongue, making his nose reach your clit.

"aah- fuu- uck" its your time to grunt as he moans between your legs.

he leaves you to catch his breath, his mouth and chin all smeared with your juices. messy hair decoring his face, he looks so good, you think.

doesnt take much before he gets right back in. sucking your clit again.

"more, kwan, please, i need to cum" you whisper

"fuck, pussy so good. wanna stay here the whole day" he bites your inner thigh as you cry out.

he slowly enters a finger on you as he kisses your thighs. you moan throwing your head back and eyes closed "i can't stay silent like this..." you plead.

"yes, you can. be a good girl for me, hm?" as much as he would love to hear you, he knows he can't right now, maybe another time.

he goes back to your clit, sucking and licking it nonstop as his fingers work into you. when he feels you're getting close, he adds another finger in, curling it inside as he sucks on your clit for a longer time.

you want to scream, it feels so fucking good, and if he do it again, you feel like you could squirt right there.

he trusts in one more time hitting your g spot before leaving a light spank on your sensitive clit with his other hand. that's the end of you. you come undone on him, cumming all his fingers, dripping down your skin. you place your hands on your month again, biting the skin to not make any sound, even though there's some coming out in a raspy manner. your eyes watering from the intense orgasm.

he pecks your clit making you moan again as you're calming your breathing from the high.

he gives you a minute, ecstatic by it too. eyes small and lips bumped, he looked like he could be high.

when you finally open your eyes, seungkwan takes some toilet paper to clean you up. starting from the cum licking down your skin, he cleans his face right after, smirking to you as you look him working on it. he slides your panties right back on you and puts your dress in place before getting up from the floor.

you're smiling, afterglow shining on your face, that doesn't go unnoticed by him. he kisses the tip of your nose "i love you" he says. you smile making sure he knows you love him too.

he is staring at your face, still very close to you, like he hadn't gotten enough. seungkwan looks so pretty that you can't help looking him up and down. your eyes tracing his line, the one between his legs marking his sweats from the hard state. you look back at his face with a sorry look, but he's smirking, seeing what you just did.

"lets go, im not done with you. let's finish up in the car"

#yn #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt smut #svt ff #seungkwan #seungkwan smut #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan fic #seungkwan scenarios #seungkwan seventeen #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios

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svndaysaweek · 1 year

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Enlightenment (Prequel to ‘Homicidal’) — {Feat. Karina, Somi}

7.1k words

A/N: Hi, I'm 7daysaweek! This is a prequel to my very first fic, 'Homicidal'. I don't know how I got to write this long. Big big thank you to @dnd-writes and Delphi for editing and proofreading (and rewriting) this!! And thanks for liking my stuff y'all...

TW: Sexual Harassment (Rape), mentions of death.

Tags: Creampie, anal, choking, bondage, master-slave, squirting and a lot more...

——————

"Fuck, fuck, fu-bbb...!"

"Quiet, Jimin."

You palm her mouth with your right hand and hug her waist with the other then push her sweaty back onto your body.

Your hand on her mouth goes down to her bouncing tits as the other thumbs her anal entrance then you double the pace and the slapping sound of your flesh almost evens her scream.

"Aaah, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Her head falls down as her neck loses its strength but you bring it back up with a handful of her hair.

"Do you see anyone looking at us, baby?"

Almost everyone is, in fact. It would be even harder not to notice a loud couple fucking in an outside parking lot, upon the poorest attempt to hide behind a car. However, you are not looking for some normal passerby, and for your predatory hunger, Jimin spots a proper prey.

"Fuck–Ah, there! That–that tall girl noticed–ahh–us,"

Her finger points somewhere but helplessly limps down on the car. You follow her finger and spot a girl looking your way. The color of her name tag indicates that she's a 1st grader—two years junior to you. As soon as your eyes meet she quickly avoids it by turning her head away.

Good. She's going to be your target.

You're hunting for another clumsy slut to tame and fuck, and this is the best way you've ever discovered.

"Great job, Jimin,"

You slap her ass and duck your body to bite on her ear. She lost her last drop of consciousness—you know she already came countless times. You can tell by her shaking legs and convulsing walls. Jimin is now nothing but a limp moaning mess dumped on some car, taking relentless assault on her pussy.

"Here's your reward."

Yes, please, Jimin begs with her eyes. You see the neediness in them.

"Oh, please... Aaaah it's so good–fuck!"

A brutal bite is marked on her white shoulder as you color her walls white. In between the car and your tired body, hers is periodically lifting yours up and down with heavy breathing—let alone the irregular spasms matching your throbbing cock.

"You're a fucking slut, Jimin."

You breathe those words out right into her ear. They obviously were insulting words, but only worked to make her smile and even giggle a little bit.

"You love me like that,"

You squeeze Jimin’s tits for the last time then put your pants back on. You buckle your belt and nonchalantly ask Jimin, who is still struggling to descend from her high..

"Do you know her name?"

Jimin breathes heavily as if even her lungs convulse from the sex that just happened.

"Uhh, Somi maybe? Haa, yeah. It's Somi."

"Is she popular?"

You flip her body to button her shirt back up and put her jacket on. Not necessary but at least you let her look presentable.

"Yeah, quite. Among first graders. She's got nice tits and a pretty face but doesn't socialize often. Not sure she has a boyfriend around."

You nod throughout her speech. A popular girl who's introverted, that'd be perfect to play on. Prey on.

Alright, so that Somi girl is up next.

******

You're intentionally on the same bus as Somi, with Jimin accompanying you. The bus is packed with a lot of people returning home but you two are the exceptions to that. You push through the people in your way as you approach Somi from behind.

You then purposefully push your body on hers, making sure she notices you by rubbing your crotch on her clothed ass. Somi gets startled by a sudden touch on her ass and apologizes to you.

"Oh! Oh, I'm-I'm sorry,"

She recognizes you. You catch that split-second moment when her eyes widen at you. You, however, to her apology, don't give a shit and raise your hand to reach for a bar to hold onto, of course making sure you touch her breasts by accident. Somi this time doesn't speak but shrieks a bit at your touch, throwing an embarrassed glimpse at you then quickly looking down at nowhere.

To your eyes it's only a horny girl acting innocent because you saw it in her eyes—the burning sensation. Her face is visibly red, hands have lost their destination, legs can't just stay calm. Moreover, she doesn't even try to avoid the contact on her ass.

See? It's just too easy. It's not even gonna be a one-sided rape—her inner slut might be begging for it anyway.

So this is the plan: You heat her up on the bus, get off at the same stop, stalk her and then fuck her somewhere creepy. That'll make her give in completely. That'll draw a complete obedience out of the most basic instinct inside her.

The bus arrives at the stop where Somi gets off so you and Jimin follow her. As soon as she enters a rather deserted alley, you snatch Somi by her wrist and push her onto the wall.

She squeals out loud at the sudden hostility only to be silenced by your hand gripped around her neck hard.

Somi resists you but Jimin ties her arms behind her back with her own necktie. Somi then starts to kick your legs and you start to feel a little bit pissed off.

Slap.

You slap her cheek hard and her swinging legs stop moving. Somi looks up at you weakly with her eyes as a teardrop runs down her reddened cheek. Those legs settled, you pull down her skirt and panties in one sway. Jimin chokes Somi with her arms as you insert your dick inside her pussy with no resistance.

"Gah, hagh-!"

You can see her knotted arms struggle for freedom. Regardless of that you rip open her buttoned shirt to reveal a jiggling pair of voluptuous tits waiting for your attention. You tug down Somi's bra and slap her tits hard. Her moans then gradually turn into painful yelps and ecstatic screams.

"Ahh! S-stop, please-ah!-stop it! Hikkh-"

Jimin tightens her choking arm around her neck. Somi's face starts to redden even more furiously.

"Shut up, I know you want this."

Somi shakes her head. She shapes her mouth to say "no" but her voice is no longer available. Her mouth is now agape for more air. You up the pace of your thrusts and slap her cheek again.

"Then let me fucking make you."

Somi's eyes are half-closed due to orgasmic sensations and lack of air. As Somi approaches her high she loses her consciousness. Somi's last desperate efforts to escape from your grasp and Jimin's arms are nothing but a cute thing to watch.

You slap on her tits several more times—you like seeing her shiver every time you do. Actually, it's just your sadistic, psychopathic taste that you just like to hit, slap, choke and fuck.

Squeeze, slap, squeeze, slap. That pair of meaty flesh is such a good toy to play with.

Somi's empty gaze is locked on your eyes. Tears are now everywhere on her cheeks. Her wet juice is all over her thighs too. You rub her clit with fingers and she shudders—strength in her legs already long gone. Her voice is long gone. Somi's lips keep moving but it doesn't even shape any word. Only the lips down there feel alive.

Despite the lack of air, her walls are working properly—they convulse hard and soon she cums. Somi's eyes roll back to her head as she passes out, before falling down limply on the ground.

"Dirty fucking slut. I didn't even cum yet,"

You're talking to yourself, but at the same time you weren’t only to yourself.

Jimin grins as she looks at your throbbing cock then she kneels down in front of you and starts to suck it. The moment her lips sealed the head, you grab on to her head and begin fucking into it.

"Holy fuck, Jimin. Always a good slut for me, aren't you?"

You always talk like that, but you're no different from Jimin in that you're a good, perfect dick for her, and she knows it because once she hears thatshe looks up at you with those teary eyes and smirks. Not surprising at all that her hand is already working diligently on her soaking cunt.

It's not been long since you began facefucking Jimin, but the growing orgasm from the previous session is approaching. Without warning her, you pull her head inward for your balls to hit her drooling chin then cum straight into her gulping throat.

"Phaah, you're fucking delicious, baby. Bet she wants me to share a bit."

With remnants of your cum still inside her mouth, Jimin spits it out onto Somi's mouth and face. While you're arranging your pants, Jimin opens Somi's mouth and kisses your cum on it into it.

"Jimin, that won't wake her up,"

You laugh and tease Jimin kissing Somi.

The title Sleeping Beauty sounds about right on Somi. Those tits, that midriff, those slender legs, that cunt, and above all the attitude taking all of your assault. All virtues you consider appropriate is inside her, your potential slave for sex. Besides, Jimin seems to like her too.

You carry Somi to her home. Opening the door with her fingerprint, you step in to find the inside neat.

"Inside's quite nice,"

Jimin says as she sits on the bed after she opened the door to Somi’s room. You toss Somi's limp body on it then look around.

A frame on the nightstand and the photo inside catches your eyes. There's Somi smiling next to a guy as they hold each other's hand.

"Hey, you think this is her boyfriend?"

You ask Jimin as you show her the picture. She laughs and answers.

"Yeah, he looks dumb though,"

Jimin's hands drag you to the bed. She hugs you from behind and whispers into your ear.

"You could just take him out."

Jimin's big breasts push into your back, and there you grow impatient and push Jimin down on the bed. With a light squeal she lies down. You get over her body and kiss her.

There's brute in the kiss. There's violence in it. Jimin pulls back to breathe and you can see it in her eyes.

There's lust in them. You're no different, anyway.

"My little girl is getting horny, huh?"

Of course, watching you fuck another girl and being facefucked doesn't help her patience.

Needy words come out of Jimin's mouth.

"There's not even a second I'm not horny when I'm with you."

Jimin's mind is totally conquered by lust solely for you. Nothing new for you, though.

"I like that,"

You thumb her cheek softly—opposite to how you're going to treat her.

"Let me fuck your brains out, Jimin."

A declaration that earns you another slurpy kiss. Your right hand makes its way straight to her crotch, and her hand brings your left hand to her clothed tits. You can feel her taut nipples through her uniform.

"Mmm..."

Jimin moans into your mouth and the sound reverberates through your skull. You've always liked the quick reactions from Jimin. Her moans, screams and sometimes yelps tell you how well you are doing—how good you are.

You push the button to play her moan. Your fingers are now rubbing on her clitoris. Under her skirt you can feel the heat radiating from the very core of her body. The heat that you yourself provoke on her body. An aphrodisiac in the form of a human. That's what you are to Jimin.

That's what every man is eager to be, and you use it as a weapon to just pick a girl and enslave her. Jimin is no different from Somi's case—it's just a little more intimate between you and Jimin. And that makes you feel the massive pride to have the influence reach her. A perfect fuckbuddy with slight obedience.

"Ah, shit–Mmm yes...!"

You push your fingers into her cavern. You don't bother counting how many—two or three, it doesn't matter. She'll even accept your fist happily.

Your whole body and Jimin's are shaking by the pistoning of your arm. The bed is too, and Somi's body next to you obviously is too. As if intended to wake her up, you are quaking the bed, and Jimin under you is providing auditory stimuli—screams, yelp, squelching sound. The room you're inside is full of the sound of sex, and it hits the walls and ceiling in every direction possible—it echoes as it does, too.

It's been long since her eyes were shut. Jimin's lustful intention to concentrate all her nerves and senses on the sensations of sex she is receiving. Only a slight bit of excess will be enough to tip her over, and you can feel that you're almost on the verge of it.

"Hey, eyes on me,"

You choke her, an action that serves as the opposite of your direction to open her eyes. Somehow she manages to open her eyes, but still fails to follow your order.

"Haa, haa, fuck..."

Her eyes are not on yours. You can see that she tries her best to look at you, but your fingers—both on her neck and in her pussy—keep her eyes inside her head.

"I'm-I'm...Aaah—!"

Both of her hands dig into the mattress as she cums hard—Jimin always does, in front of you. At that moment you quickly undo your pants and boxers and hastily start rubbing on her reddened pussy lips, to gain some wetness on your dick for lubrication. Also while lubing your dick, you don't miss the chance to slap on them, which makes Jimin's trapped throat vibrate from her desperate efforts to let out moans. Seeing that your dick glisten with Jimin's nectar, without warning you insert your dick into her asshole, also resuming what your fingers were doing.

Your hand over her throat goes down to harshly squeeze her tits. They deliciously jiggle whenever you move inside her, whenever you touch it, and whenever you slap on it. Your hands aren't choking her anymore but she's still breathless—the sex itself is doing it.

Her eyes slam shut again as her squirt swashes on your fingers and the bed, as soon as you pull your fingers out. Jimin bites her lower lip and she hisses out her moan.

"Ffff–! Huh..."

You just chase your own pleasure, regardless of her tipped over state. Even if she yells stop you will. It's an unprepared anal session, but she's taking it very well. So tight and warm. And with her own fingers inside her used cunt she is making it even wetter.

"God, you're so fucking delicious,"

Yeah, delicious. That's the only feeling forming up inside your mind. Yoo Jimin underneath you has surely been seismic—on your mind and on the bed.

She certainly hears you but can't find any way to respond, still in the middle of orgasmic haze. You are still anally destroying her to the end—a close end for now. Your climax is approaching, and you never want to delay it. Actually, your pace even goes up as you cross the line. Jimin screams and even without any help her pussy squirts wildly.

"Fuck, I'm cumming...!"

You do in her ass, making sure her plump ass is filled up from the inside. The bed stops creaking and you feel like the world has also stopped—to you it might have, for a second..

The only remaining sound is Jimin's uncontrolled breathing and your heavy breath. You can see her abs convulse and flex, with her entire body spasm wildly because of that. You lie next to her on the damp mattress, almost throwing yourself onto it. Then Somi falls from bed onto the floor.

Yet she's unconscious.

"You must've choked her really hard, huh?"

You say looking up at the ceiling, and as a response Jimin giggles weakly.

"Yeah,"

Then she puts her arm over your body softly. Her fingers are fidgeting on your skin.

"Hey, can you pass me the cigarettes? I can't move now."

You get off the bed and take the cigarettes and a lighter.

"Here,"

You put one between her lips and light it.

A long puff and she smokes out. As you're lighting yours she taps the ash off onto the floor. Your eyes meet each other but you two stay silent. Cigarettes after sex feel so cozy, as you and Jimin do nothing but inhale them and smile at each other.

When you're done smoking you dress up and prepare to leave Somi's house. Her room is filled with smoke, but you couldn’t care less.

Half an hour has passed since you entered her house but she's yet to come back to consciousness. Having packed all your stuff you open the door.

"Ah, right. Almost forgot it,"

You walk back to Somi next to the bed and untie her arms. They both slide to the floor with a silent thud.

"My clumsy lady,"

You bring it to her neck and tie it around her neck tidily for her, which earns you a loving kiss from Jimin.

Her daring lips are hindering your actions—an interference that you would always welcome. Both of your mouths still smell like smoke but you don’t care at all. This time is just for your tongues to explore each other's mouth, not any other senses, just like your hands are now exploring each other's body.

It continues for a few dozens of seconds then you manage to grab hold of your sanity.

"God, we should get out of this place or we'll spend the whole night fucking."

She laughs in agreement.

"But I kinda like that idea,"

"Oh, you're gonna pass out like her,"

You say stepping out of the door.

"I like that too."

You spank her lightly, laughing. It's just fun to see how that subby girl in bed turns into this adorable little baby. But–

But are you no different from how you are, who you are in bed? You certainly have two faces—you are now Jimin's lover, but in bed you become reckless, ruthless, conscienceless, even psychopathic in front of sex, like your blood burns for violence. You're just thanking god that Jimin is the perfect partner for you to take in all of these.

"You're insatiable,"

You say as if nothing crosses your mind.

"You like it, don't you?"

Jimin starts to run towards the bus stop without giving you time to retort, running with a smile on her face looking childish and cute.

See, this is your problematic personality. You just raped a girl into unconsciousness, fucked your girlfriend in that girl’s bed and have no guilt on your mind. You might be right, because you know Somi didn't hate it. But would it still be right if you continue living like this?

******

The bell rings to officially announce the lunchtime break. You are waiting for Jimin at the parking lot as usual, as you see your girlfriend accompanied by another girl. It's Somi.

"Jimin, why did you bring this bitch here?"

You ask her after planting a light peck on her lips.

"I didn't. She came to me and asked me to."

Somi surely looks shy to make eye contact with you. Her hands are grabbing each other on her belly and she's looking down on the ground.

"You did, little girl?"

You kindly ask her, bringing her hand to yours. She gasps at your touch but accepts it to go on.

"You have a boyfriend, right? I saw his picture yesterday in your room,"

Jimin continues instead of you, as she unties Somi's necktie.

"Well, you're gonna have to make a choice, Somi."

You tell her as you bring your hand down onto her crotch, under her skirt. You can feel the heat—another slave for your cock is ready for you.

"Wh-what choice is it...?"

You grin. Jimin this time ties Somi's necktie around her neck very tight, successfully choking her.

"Your boyfriend,"

You pause for a second to bring her hand to the bulge on your pants.

"Or this."

Somi's shaking eyes look at you—she's becoming hesitant. But you are certain that it'll be an easy choice for her after all—she already did come here at her will, didn't she?

"Make your choice,"

You tighten the knot around her neck and she shrieks and stumbles toward you.

"I-I don't need my b-boyfriend anymore. I'll choose you,"

You slap her cheek as Jimin undoes Somi's shirt and skirt.

"No, you don't get to choose it. It is my decision to let you serve this cock."

Her tears drop down her cheeks but you know she's loving it, because not only her face is getting wet..

Her panties are damp. Juices drip down her thighs and you can see it.

"Sorry...Please let me serve your cock sir..."

You discontentedly bring her face in front of you powerfully and she stumbles and falls down.

"Uh-uh,"

Somi realizes what you mean and follows.

"... Master,"

The scenery in front of you is a sight to behold—a girl in such a heat kneeling in front of you, looking at you, calling you master with a makeshift leash around her neck. You feel like you want to choke her to death right now, and you also feel like she'll even let you.

"Wow,"

Jimin sounds shocked.

"Even I don't say that,"

Well, you'll see.

"Nice. Now show me how you are going to serve me, slave."

Somi gulps as you let your cock spring out of your pants. It hits her face and she loves it. You give her no time to admire and shove it right into her throat to the hilt, with the first thrust.

It's not surprising at all that she gags and coughs wildly, but that only provokes your fiery instinct to punish her for it.

And that punishment is you ramming your cock down her throat in a neck breaking pace—even faster than when you fucked her yesterday.

Somi's hands have long lost their proper position as they wander on your thighs, slightly pushing you off. But the more she resists, the more you want to devastate her.

"He's not gonna stop until he cums down your throat, little slut. You'll have to adjust to it."

You know, Jimin was just the same at first. She was nothing more than a gagging, coughing amateur, just like what Somi is now.

She grabs the leash and chokes Somi, but that makes no difference—that's just what your cock is doing already. Somi’s drool gathers on her cleavage—her tits are as big as Jimin, as you can confirm. And it falls down to the ground from her chin and your balls.

You can feel her every gag and it feels divine. You've unearthed another diamond by yourself. Somi's lack of air is bottoming out as she tries to pull out.

"Wrlk, glrk...!"

No way you're going easy on such a slut. Somi frowns from breathlessness but the only thing you care about is your own pleasure, not her safety.

"Nnngh, fuck!"

Thankfully, you soon unload your thick liquid down her throat, straight into her stomach. You stay there for about ten seconds and then pull out. Somi falls completely down on the ground as she breathes heavily for her system to recover properly. She can't even swallow it all, and it sprays out as she coughs several times.

"Oh, what a shame,"

Jimin pretends to pity her, but her hands are bringing the exhausted girl up to your arms.

"He's not done yet, little bitch."

Somi has not enough power to gulp down your cum in her mouth, but that's nothing to worry about at all—Jimin's mouth seals Somi's to keep it from spilling out. Somi irresistibly lets Jimin take her hard-earned load from her mouth, and Jimin's tongue moves hungrily inside Somi's mouth as she kisses her. Somi hurriedly gulps some down but there isn’t much left. She moans to Jimin to give the load back.

"Huh... Please–Uuuww"

Jimin then forces Somi's mouth open with her fingers on Somi's cheeks and spits your cum into it. Somi immediately widens her mouth out and gratefully savors the mixture of your cum and Jimin's saliva. After that Jimin lightly slaps on her cheek a couple times with a satisfied smile.

You have fully recovered your erection by now, seeing your two girls snowballing your cum. Without wasting any time you slam Somi’s pussy with your cock from behind. She hasn't still recovered enough to stand yet, so you rear choke her to support her body. As soon as you do that, both of her hands cling on your arms for her dear life, but the careless fucking you're giving her doesn't even let her resist.

It's a dejavù. Somi's choking out again, you are fucking her harshly again, and again she can't even let out any sound—her mouth is agape, but no matter how desperately she tries to scream, no words come out. There’s only one difference this time: she came to you of her own free will.

Slap.

Jimin hits Somi's cheek, only to redden her already blushing face. You release her from your choke and grab on the leash on her neck again. Somi's arms are now on the car in front of her to support her shaking legs.

It is not only her legs that are malfunctioning—her arms, her lungs, her well-fucked brains also are. Nothing but the orgasmic pleasure provided by you is traveling through her whole body, as if even her heart stopped sending blood for the veins to become vessels of the high you are injecting into her body directly.

"Ffff...Ugh-Aaah...!"

She can't even scream fuck. Now her neck gives in as her head falls down on the car with a thud.

Jimin lifts Somi's head and kisses her—it's a one-sided kiss of course, as Somi can't process what's happening to her at all, except your ramming cock.

No matter how hard, how many times you spank her, she can't react. No matter how hard or how many times she cums, she can't fucking stop. You grab a handful of her hair and bring her head next to yours—her back arches wildly. You growl into her ear, through the gritting teeth on her ear.

"I'm cumming, Somi. I'm gonna fucking mark my slave as mine."

"Go ahead, straight into her womb, baby. C'mon."

Jimin pleads you and you finally finish inside her womb. Somi's whole body reacts to your orgasm with violent convulsions.

You have to spend almost half a minute to get yourself back. Then you pull out. You swiftly bring your pants back up and leave Somi there and walk away with Jimin, like nothing ever happened.

"She's great,"

Jimin tells you and you immediately agree with a nod.

"Yeah, you found her first anyway so, good job."

You put your arm around her hip and continue.

"But my number one is still you, baby girl."

"Of course,"

Jimin says like she knows it, walking ahead of you and turning back to you.

"I'll fucking kill that bitch if she even tries to replace me."

She's smiling like it's nothing, but it doesn’t sound like a joke, you know she really means it.

"I know you would, but you won't have to. I just love to see you two sluts get down for me."

You grin at her and Jimin rolls her eyes.

"For your cock."

She corrects you.

"Actually, I think there's more of myself in my cock than in my head."

That earns you a funny giggle from Jimin.

"You're insatiable,"

******

You're on the bus again. You can spot Somi easily, thanks to her height. Seems she somehow managed to look normal enough to present herself in public. Somi keeps looking back as if she's looking for someone. You keep your eyes on her until her eyes find you. She then quickly looks away in shyness, but her bitten lower lip tells you that she's been anticipating this, that she's been wanting this.

Another insatiable girl–

No. You don't even treat her as a 'girl', but rather some object you own—something subordinate to you. An outlet for your predatory instincts. The word "hunting" used before sounds too right.

It's like going back to being a savage, your barbaric inclination to be cruel, brutal, violent and instinctive. And at the same time being medieval—possessive, authoritative, feudal and patriarchal, meanwhile being modern—selfish, stressful and hedonic. An astounding aspect of a simple slut that makes you discover your inner self at every different angle, from side to side.

You know Jimin and Somi love you like that when having sex. They know you deserve their obedience for the perfect sex you provide them with every time. They would willingly die being fucked by you—and you would do it to them without any hesitation. You would even cum on their dead body, but that's too far gone. Maybe you have a weird kink for death or something like that.

The bus stops after several more times and outside is already your destination. You eye Jimin and you get off together. Somi's waiting for you two, and you notice it but pretend to neglect it and walk past her.

"Uhh, m-master…"

Somi follows you and calls you.

The way she calls you sounds so right to your ears, so you turn around simultaneously with Jimin next to you.

"My house is… It's empty now and–..."

Somi can't even look at you. You excitedly watch Somi fidgeting as Jimin directs her to go on.

"And?"

"I was... I was hoping that you would–"

"Ahh, I think I'm too tired for that right now,"

You stretch your arms and yawn, acting as if you're not interested, to draw out the inner animalistic instinct, which will make her more inferior in front of you.

"No no no, you can just... just release your stress and fatigue on me, master. I–I'm here to serve you,"

Jimin smiles it off and hugs your arm while replying to Somi. She's testing the newly found possession quite thoroughly, beginning right from the inside—the outside of it has already been tested out to be flawless enough.

"But he already has me, bitch."

Embarrassed and dumbfounded, Somi's eyes quickly travel between you and Jimin. Her face blushes, her fidgety fingers move lazily on the hem of her uniform shirt, her legs twist against each other, all indicating her thin patience is about be torn apart under the weight of her neediness.

"Ugh… You can use me for your own good, too. Please, I need you to fuck me, slap me, bite me, choke me until I pass out, and anything… Let me be your slave. I need it."

Hearing that, Jimin laughs amused. You too are grimacing at Somi. But not because it's funny or something.

"Dumb fucking slut,"

You say that only because Somi's been wanting it, needing it. Needing you to talk like that to her, treat her like that.

Who's the one that tried to kick me off? Who's the one that shook her head no yesterday?

Well at least now she knows the inevitable power of your cock over her, and obviously she's being overwhelmed by it.

"Alright then, lead the way, Somi."

"Thank you, master."

You still hear the shyness beaming out of her words, but seeing that her horniness toward your cock is even greater you feel very much satisfied.

You soon arrive at her house, and Somi hastily opens the door with the fingerprint of her thumb.

"Wait, register mine."

Somi looks up at you in surprise and stutters.

"Uhh, that's–"

You thought she was a quick learner, but maybe she's just–

"Of course, master. Put any finger you prefer on it please,"

You do so, looking at her working on the door lock.

You and Jimin step inside the familiar house and enter her room.

"Undress."

Jimin gives an order to her—Jimin's enjoying it too, you can surely tell. Not that you blame her for that. Who wouldn't, obviously.

Somi is now naked. Her bare thighs glisten with her juice that is forming up relentlessly, her sizable tits moving in synch with her slow breath.

You undo your necktie, and Jimin gathers hers and Somi's to her hand.

"On the bed."

Somi climbs on it and gets on all fours. You can see her wet lips contract from the anticipation. You bring your necktie with you and get on the bed.

"Give me your arms."

Somi presents them for you to tie them and buries her cheek in the mattress as an alternative support for her body. Half of her face is buried on the bed, but her other side faces up, while her ass is temptingly presented up, over the delicious arc of her back, pleasuring your eyes with quite a view.

Jimin hops on the bed to join you.

"She looks so fucking good,"

She spreads Somi's wetness over her asshole, preparing to drill it with her fingers. At Jimin's touch Somi shivers.

You can see her pussy twitching again at Jimin's rough touches.

"God, she's leaking even more,"

Jimin says, astonished.

"Ahh!!"

Somi screams loud when Jimin's finger enters her rear entrance. Even louder than when you slapped her face.

"What is it?"

You ask Somi, rubbing your cock on her watering pussy lips for lubrication, ready to penetrate.

"Nothing master, it's just... It's my first time doing anal,"

Oh, well. Can't miss this chance.

You directly put the head inside her ass instead, which draws a surprised squeal out of her.

"You know, giving a good first impression is always important,"

"O-okay–Oh my god, aah!"

You grab on her tied arms, put your right foot on her head, then make a rough thrust into her ass, letting your crotch meet her ass skin to skin.

There you start the ruination of her virgin ass. You see discomfort all over Somi's face, but that's to your least care. Besides, that's gonna change soon.

Jimin doesn't stay idle, as her fingers keep diligently working on not letting Somi's pussy empty.

"This is fucking tight,"

Squelching sound from Jimin's fingers and the sound of your hips crashing hers barely leaves room for Somi's moans and screams. You look down to check what's happening beneath your body, and you see Jimin's devilish grin spread as Somi squirts. You put more of your body's weight onto Somi's head like it's a pedal—it is, sort of, because the harder you step on it, the higher Somi's screams get. It's like an accelerator pedal, driving Somi's subby attitude even wilder.

"Wait,"

Jimin's fingers suddenly halt as she focuses on something. You stop and look at her curiously.

"N-no...fuck-"

Somi doesn't want you to stop, so she herself pistons her body on your cock.

"Do you hear it? The buzz?"

You do, but it'd be not like you if you stop here. You continue slamming into Somi's ass.

"Yeah. Can you-can you check who it is for me?"

Jimin walks to the table and picks up Somi's vibrating phone.

"It's a phone call. From heart emoji,"

There's a sudden shade of fear in Somi's dazed eyes.

"What?!"

You angrily look at her and Somi's urgent look makes you even more displeased.

"It's-it's nothing! J-just ignore it, master,"

Jimin brings the phone to you anyway.

"I think he told you to end this,"

Jimin coldly says.

"And I think your answer was yes,"

You answer the call.

"You're fucking dead."

You furiously say to Somi. You turn her head face down on the pillow and push it with your feet hard, suffocating her.

"What? Who is this? Somi?"

You start moving your cock inside her again, at the same time talking on the man over the phone.

"I'm fucking her right now. If you show up again, I'll fucking kill you."

You can feel Somi struggling for air, by her trembling legs and twitch back. You start thrusting even harder than before, pull her head back up with her hair, and bring the phone next to her face.

"Tell him now. Tell him to stay away from you."

"H-hey... I'm sorry to t-tell you but–oh my god fuck...!"

"Somi?! What the fuck is going on?"

You intentionally fuck her when she starts speaking.

Slap.

Jimin catches it and slaps her cheek hard.

"Why do you stop? Bitch, fucking tell him!"

You see tears forming up in her eyes and there you feel another level of ecstasy. You then start to really fuck her ass and she is completely out of words. She opens her mouth to speak but upcoming orgasm blocks her words. Instead she desperately moans to her boyfriend.

"Hey–aah... You have to–fuck, oh my god...! Stay away fr–om me–fr–om–now–on–ho–ly–fu–ck...!"

Her hoarse voice cracks at your every pounding and you see a teardrop of mixed reasons roll down on her red cheek.

"Somi, Somi? Fuck, what are you—"

You end the call and toss her phone aside.

"Fucking dumbass,"

Jimin repositions Somi's head on the pillow face down, again suffocating her.

Her toes curl and her tied arms strain as your cock attacks her ass, almost at the level of breaking its function as an organ of digestive system but to function only as nothing more than a hole for your cock. Your foot again goes back to where it was, on top of her head.

You start your brainless fuck. Somi starts her breathless sex, and Jimin starts a wordless kiss with you. You squeeze her perfect tits and pinch on her nipples. Her mouth curls up sexily, knowing you're close.

"You're about to cum."

You two part away from the kiss, and Jimin gets down to Somi's ass.

"Fuck yeah I am,"

"Cum inside her ass, baby."

You feel Somi's anal walls contract uncontrollably and squirt again. She is cumming, obviously, and you are no longer different. You flood her ass with your seed. Some of it even seeps out of her deadly tight hole. You pull out and Jimin makes it gape to see Somi's dark hole whitened by your thick cum. Somi spins her head left to keep herself alive. But still her eyes don't open, and you of course know why.

Jimin eats your cum out of Somi's ass. Her magical tongue works inside Somi's ass, as if savoring the best cuisine in the world—maybe it is, for her.

Despite Jimin's work, your warmth still remains inside her ass somewhere deep, too deep for Jimin's tongue to reach for. She retreats and Somi limply collapses on the watery bed.

"Remember, Somi,"

You pick her head up with her hair roughly and say right next to her ear.

"You wanted this to happen."

Jimin hands you a cigarette and you take it in deep into your both lungs. You exhale the smoke right into Somi's face, making her cough several times.

"If you don’t break up with him, I will kill him."

Sadness fills Somi's eyes. It's the kind of sadness that makes you feel good. You like it when she suffers. The sadness itself is okay to you, but the reason she's sad—that just fucking pisses you off very bad. How dare she even attempts to keep two relationships at once? Too much for a toy.

"And I fucking mean it."

You pick your garments up for you and put them on, after letting Jimin clean your used dick off with her mouth thoroughly.

Last sip of your cigarette, before you kiss the smoke into Jimin's mouth. Some of it escapes through her nose.

"I enjoyed it,"

Jimin giggles and says.

You are aware, because you could see it. Pushing a poor little slut to a dead end. It's so entertaining for the two of you. Your dick is for sure too good for Somi to taste it just for once. After this she's going to keep wanting it, keep needing it.

"I know you did, Jimin."

You blankly reply, not focusing on what she is saying.

"You know, I didn't cum."

Jimin seductively tells you, bringing your hand to hers. That certainty turns all of your attention to her. Your eyes rise slowly to meet hers, which are gleaming with lust and desire, a submissive one for you.

Please, touch me, her eyes beg.

That's just for a brief moment but enough for you to form a grin and do what she says. You hook your arm under her leg and bring it up, while the other hand rubs on her lips for a few times before exploring the gushing inside.

"Well done holding back, Jimin. Now cum for me."

You start to piston your fingers in a dangerous pace. As soon as your fingers hit her sweet spot, her arms lock around your neck for support, with her face buried in your neck.

"Hmmph, fuck...! Just like that, baby–ah, fff...!"

Jimin's nails and teeth dig into your skin, indicating the intensity of the pistoning of your fingers and ecstatic sensation she's receiving.

"Do you love it? Do you love how my fingers fuck your needy little cunt, you slut?"

Her bites get deeper at your piercing words as if she wants more.

"Hnngh, fuck! I-I fucking love it, baby. You–ah!!"

You yank her hair backwards and kiss her tongue first. Jimin lets you in her mouth, biting on your lower lip sexily.

"Mmmph...! Mmmph!"

She cums.

Jimin cums hard on your fingers with a pouring squirt. Your eyes travel from her cumming core, bouncing tits, her agape, drooling mouth, to her white eyes. They are looking at nothing but the orgasm itself. Satisfied with her bodily reactions, you pull out your fingers, and Jimin stumbles only to be supported by you.

You keep your eyes on hers until they come back. They meet yours and the divine orgasmic smile of Jimin makes you grin in return. Then you bring your soaked hand up for her to taste herself, which Jimin hungrily devour with her swirling tongue, never breaking eye contact with you.

"This is why I fucking love you, gorgeous."

Hearing that Jimin lightly bites on your fingers playfully, earning a small giggle from you.

Yes, you love Yoo Jimin.

But you are not planning to give Somi love. She's only here to be the outlet for the most basic part of your sexual instinct. And for lust to cover for love, there must be plenty. That's what she'll look for, ask for, beg for.

Besides, Somi loves how you treat her during sex, anyway, so...

She'll be already looking forward to the next time.

******

That Sunday, you visit Somi's house to get her ass pounded—who's insatiable now, huh? You open the door with your finger, that's why you registered yours on it. To fuck Somi whenever you want.

You step in and hear a male voice.

This sounds so wrong.

"I think the door just opened, Somi? We're not supposed to be expecting anyone,"

That male voice asks. Then you hear hurried steps toward the door of her room.

You and Somi open the door at the same time.

"Uhh..."

She tries to block your vision, but can't stop the inevitable.

"Who's that, bitch?"

You annoyingly push Somi out of the doorway.

"Who the fuck are–"

The guy stands up but—

Thud.

You whack his face with your fist and he collapses limply in front of you and Somi. No sooner does she follow him on the floor as her legs give in to the fright of vivid menace of death filling up the room.

You squat down to level your face to Somi's. She can't even look at you, full of fear. Seeing that you raise your hand to wipe her tears with your thumb, Somi shrieks but you softly brush her tears off her cheek.

"I won't hurt you, Somi. I'm gonna need to use you quite often anyway,"

You bring her into a seemingly warm hug and continue.

"But this fucker, he doesn't know his place."

Dropping Somi onto the floor carelessly and stepping out of the room, you turn around and throw your words coldly.

"He's a dead man now."

——————

A/N(2): I think I see some phrases teasing what happened beforehand. Which means I might work on another prequel. Thank you so much for reading my humble writing!!

#kpop male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop smut #karina smut #aespa smut #somi smut

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dollyfl1rt · 2 months

Text

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, (pinv), supposed to be one night stand, my very vanilla definition of filth, and a wee bit of praising if you squint

you met dean in some dive bar in the middle of nowhere.

of course you were working a case and so was he. the night had so much in store for the two of you it was ridiculous.

talking, flirting, dancing, and a lot of drinking. you both being highly inebriated made the moment a thousand times better. “what? no no no no, no. scarface is wayyyy better than rocky” he spoke in his drunken language earning a scoff from you and an look as if he had shot you.

“how drunk are you? rocky, all versions; for clarification is like a gazillion times better than scarface..on its worse day” you shrugged sipping your third beer. “yeah yeah whatever…” he said shaking his head with a grin to die for just below his prickly facial hair.

“after this you have any plans?”the man in hunter green questioned rubbing the fabric above your knee, “i was gonna go watch rocky again” you snorted softly shrugging and tilting your head a bit “why? you were gonna ask me out?”.

“if i were, would you say no?” dean asked mocking your movements, his hands going just a tad higher. in your head, him asking if you would say no was the dumbest thing ever. look at him! but of course you still had to play cat and mouse.

“depends..are you always this flirty or is it the liquor?” flew out of your mouth as your hand slide onto his, simply holding it. once the man felt your warmth he looked down and smiled as his cheeks turned red hot.

now you don’t remember much from that night, but what you do remember is..

“mm” you moaned one that was muffled by his lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he tossed you onto the bed of the shitty motel he was staying at.

without thinking dean quickly pulled his black cotton shirt over his head and throws it onto the floor.

next was his pants, man oh man were you excited. he slid the dark wash denim down to his ankles as you started to do the same before he abruptly stopped you.

“nuh uh, i wanna” the man suggested as he began kissing your neck, switching from one side to the other. you cooed softly as his tongue worked its way up your neck and down again.

soon enough, he was down at the waistline of your jeans making a hickey belt. his words.

this continued on for awhile until he undressed you completely looking down at his artwork, a true picasso he was.

“are you sure?” dean inquired gently biting your earlobe as you nodded arching your back a bit. this received a low deep chuckle from him.

he then flipped you onto your back and rubbed himself against your plush lips. “gah” he groaned as you whined rocking your hips trying to get any friction you can “hold on baby” the man towering you told moments before sliding himself into you.

“shit” you hissed your back arching even deeper than before. the thrusting started shortly after. any innocent patrons of the hotel would’ve thought you were clapping. a very rhythmic pace he tried his hardest to maintain.

“mmphm” you moaned biting down on your bottom lip, “i wanna hear you, tell me how good you feel right now” he leaned down whispering into your ear causing an string of cuss words to roll off your tongue.

“shit right there please” you begged placing your hands onto deans hipbones in an attempt to stop him from bottoming you out. “move your hand” he stated swatting your hands away and pinning them above your head.

“damn you feel like heaven baby” the hunter growled as you felt his balls slapping against your ass. “you feel so fucking pretty, my god”.

that.

that was what sent you over the edge and into an very amazing orgasm. you began twitching a little and felt dean pull himself out as your hand flew to your throbbing cunt.

“open ‘em back up” dean told spreading your legs as he continued running his hand up and down his cream coated cock before hot milky colored strings of cum shot onto your stomach.

“fuck that was good baby” he praised as you smiled weakly and he leaned down pecking your lips.

@taylormarieee for my darling 🩷

#spn #dean winchester #supernatural #taylormarieee<33 #dean x female!reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester supernatural

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sweetfire01 · 2 months

Note

Okay but,,,, what if Daddy Howl,,, and little reader,,, and can't escape because moving castle,,, and being dragged to nest-bed by bird form Howl??? Yes? Yes??? YE S?????

Y E S

It's too long so I had to divide the fic into two part (for now, if I don't get more ideas 👀)

I'll talk about the nest in the next one!

Baby dove pt.1 (Daddy!Howl)

You couldn't stand staying here anymore. It was all becoming too overwhelming and disturbing, especially with Howl's overly protective behaviors. You didn't know how to describe it, but you had this strange feeling that you needed to get out of here as soon as possible, before things got worse. It was going well the first day he took you in, but the way he started treating you like a fragile little thing made you shiver. that's why today you took advantage of one of his long bath, trying to escape to the capital the moment he closed the door behind him.

You didn't have a specific destination in mind, you would have been chappy to reach the countryside, get on a farmer's cart and reach some remote village. You had only visited the city a couple of times and only the center and the streets around the house, but it wouldn't be too difficult, right? Wrong. Everything was more crowded than you remembered, you had to go around closed streets, squeeze into narrow tunnels, walk between stalls and almost risked getting arrested when you found yourself in the middle of the street during a military parade. The second time you passed the exact same perfume shop, you realized that you were lost. You didn't know how long you had been walking, you hoped that the Wizard hadn't noticed your escape yet. The fear of finding him behind you hadn't left your body since you went out. You forced yourself to walk again. Just in case he was on your trail, it was safer to blend into the crowd than to stay still. You had also tried going into shops to rest, pretending to take a look at the mirrors displayed inside or looking for a new wall clock. And every time you heard the people behind you commenting on your less than elegant appearance and wondering if you really had the money to buy that snakeskin belt. Rich people like them were able to buy expensive things. But you? Oh well, who care, a snakeskin belt wouldn't have improved an outfit as sloppy as yours. You were offended: you were only wearing a white shirt and light blue pants that paired with a vest of the same color. Pretty simple, sure, but not sloppy! When you heard the owner of a jewelry store muttering about how he had to keep an eye on you to prevent you from stealing, you stormed out. You were REALLY tired, running away from a crazy man, starting to get hungry, and you were called a thief? Fuck everyone. Fuck that shopkeeper, fuck this fucking city and its snobbish people, fuck Howl and above all fuck that Witch. And fuck Howl again. Fuck this sudden festival too. You didn't even know what it was for, but if everything hadn't been so chaotic today, you would have been able to get much further than this. How big was this city?? Only when the sun began to set the people head home and you wished you could take refuge in some inn and spend there the night. Unfortunately you had no money, just a few coins with which you hoped to be able to buy dinner for the evening. It had been a very unplanned escape. You sat on a bench. Damn, at least 5 minutes, your feet were starting to hurt. You prayed with all your heart that Howl was still in the bathtub. His baths were always so long, why did today have to be any different? But you couldn't get rid of the anxiety that he was behind you, ready to take you home. And now that there were few people left on the streets, you felt even more vulnerable. “Are you tired, baby dove?”

This was...HIS voice. You jumped up. There he was, off to the side, closer than you expected. You stared at him trembling, frozen in fear. He just chuckled. He didn't seem angry, not even irritated "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Come on, let's go home, it can get cold in the evening." He took off his jacket to wrap it around you. At that moment you recovered from your state of shock and now all you wanted to do was run, escape. But he didn't get upset, no, he simply grabbed your wrist and pressed it to his chest, stroking your hair. It was supposed to be an attempt to calm you down, but you were only getting more agitated, squirming in his hold. “Let me go, let me go!” "Baby dove, it's late, we have to go." "NO!" You gathered all your strength and pushed him away. You caught him by surprise and he almost fell backwards as you ran away. But your escape was short: you made it about ten meters before you felt your leg being pulled back, causing you to fall onto the road. You at least had the readiness to break the fall with your arms, even if your palms started to burn immediately after the impact.

"And that's why we don't throw tantrums and we don't run away." Howl scolded you, this time with a hint of firmness in his voice, though his tone remained condescending. Like a parent scolding a toddler. You wondered if that "don't run away" was meant just for now. Probably not, but you didn't dare to ask. He knelt down to see if you were hurt and, once he noticed that you had only grazed your hands a little, he picked you up. "If you were a good little fledgling, I would have made you walk on air with me. It seems like that will be for another time, hm?" And with that you felt his body change, filling with feathers while two powerful black wings emerged from his back, his legs transformed into bird legs and his arms into claws. If you hadn't already seen him in this form, you would have screamed in terror. It doesn't matter, you screamed anyway as he took flight and you held on for dear life, desperately squeezing your eyes shut. You were high, too high for your liking. "Don't worry, baby dove, Daddy will never let you fall." He whispered in your ear. You didn't processed it, too scared to listen.

It was a relief when you landed in front of the house. And the warmth of Calcifer that hit you when you two entered felt good. You didn't realized how cold it had been outside, despite Howl's jacket. He didn't let you go, taking you directly to his room and placing you in your bed. "Take a nap, baby dove. You're tired. I'll wake you up for dinner, okay?" he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. You laid there, legs aching, starting to cry silently. All the effort you had put in for nothing. And the fact that Howl didn't even recognize this as an attempt to escape made it worse. It made you feel pathetic. As if it were all a toddler's tantrum.

#howls moving castle #daddy howl #age regression #forced age regression

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noellerain · 9 months

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Antithetical ♡ [suguru x afab!reader]

noe: this man is living rent-free in my mind for days now so you can consider this fic a brainrot/love letter to this gorgeous son of a bitch.

Warnings: [ DEAD DOVE! ] dark smut, noncon/rape (reader to Suguru), somnophilia (reader to Suguru), femdom, babytrapping (reader to Suguru), profanities (vulgar words), intoxication, spitting, implied that Suguru is drugged but not by the reader, obsessive behavior (reader to Suguru), proofread once, Gojo has a cameo lol, just over all madness. [LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED SOMETHING! THANK YOU!]

+ BLOCK, DON'T REPORT!

[If you read the warnings then proceed to click/press the cut button, you consent on reading the dark material below.]

Suguru Geto is midnight personified. His jet-black hair reminds you of the night sky when it's void of the moon and the stars. His eyes are blackholes that can consume your entirety if you look hard and long enough. His scent smells like the Earth after rain: a unique, addicting scent that makes your stomach flip yet still brings you a sense of warm melancholia.

Suguru Geto is way out of your league. You know that. But while everyone is fawning over his annoying best friend, Satoru, your love-struck eyes are fixated on that enigma of a man. Just one look, whether it's intentional or in passing, can shake and blow you away like the flimsy petals of dandelions.

Tonight, as you stand in the dark corner of Satoru's living room while everyone else drinks and dances to the rhythm of the song booming from the speakers, the walls seem to close in on you.

There he is, sitting on the couch with his arm around a girl. His hair is up in its usual bun; tresses hanging on the side of his face. He's wearing a simple white shirt and black cargo pants. The simplicity amplifies his good looks.

They say that he and Satoru are two different sides of the same coin. Satoru's boisterous personality is on the face; one look at him and your alarm immediately goes off. Meanwhile, Suguru's serenity is the reason why he catches people off-guard when his true colors show.

He is a fucking mastermind. He plays the good guy role; carefully making the bed and patiently inviting his victim to lay down on it. Perhaps that's their difference: Satoru's always in a rush, his thirst never quenches. Suguru, on the other hand, takes his time. You conclude that it makes the game more enjoyable to him. That sweet, sweet reward of fucking someone dumb after all the efforts you exert may be Suguru's personal brand of drugs.

He leans closer to the girl, whispering something in her ear. She laughs and the bubbling jealousy in your chest tastes more bitter than the liquor you're currently drinking in a red cup.

It's a vicious cycle of his. For two years now, you've been nothing but a bystander. Always in the corners, watching. You've seen him lay out an elaborate plan, working his way down to different women's panties. When he finally gets what he wants, he puts his pants up and throws them away like ragdolls. Then he puts his façade— back to square one again and again and again.

Your face contorts into a frown when he smoothly puts his hand on the girl's knee. From your perspective, it looks unintentional; like his hand just happens to be there. She smirks at him, obviously enjoying the situation she's in. Your eyes narrow on his long, slender fingers, now gently rubbing her skin. It's fucking funny how life slaps you in the face over and over; there he is, the object of your obsession, sitting next to someone else, to anyone else, to everyone else but you.

His fingers slide up her thigh and give them a squeeze; the hem of her miniskirt bunches up on her lap. Your mind is beginning to go into overdrive. It's so unfair. So fucking unfair. What do others have that you don't? You take a big gulp on your drink.

"Oh? What a pleasant surprise!" Satoru's loud voice snaps your mind to sanity; your soul back to the dark corner where you're standing.

You look up at him as he strides lazily over to you, a red cup in his hand as well. He's wearing a tight black shirt and jeans that hang loosely around his waist. "I don't usually see you at my parties. What's a pretty girl doin' here in the dark?"

He leans against the wall and takes a big gulp on his drink. You don't humor his attempt for a chat. You can still feel your simmering envy as you look down on the brownish liquid in your cup.

"Not gonna entertain me, huh?" He laughs; an annoying sound that grinds your ears. "I understand, though. After all, I have a better vision than my best friend over there."

You whip your head to him, confusion all over your face. Heart beating loudly in your chest at the mention of Suguru, his one and only friend. Your lips are pursed and your brows are deeply furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He drinks again, his electric blue eyes glimmering with malice. When he puts down his cup on his side, he gives you an impish smirk. "Heh. Watch."

He pushes himself off of the wall and begins to walk away. But before he's beyond your earshot, he yells: "Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

You roll your eyes. As usual, Satoru is a menace. A baffling menace. You do not get a single word he says and you have no plans on trying. After all, guys like him are meant to be heard, not to be listened to.

Your eyes go back to Suguru. He's still on the couch but fortunately, his hands are now off the girls' body. Instead, he's pressing his forehead with his thumb while his eyes are shut tight as the girl next to him continues to babble away. The sight strikes some chords in your heart. You notice the creased skin between his forehead. It only goes away temporarily when Satoru appears and hands him a red cup.

You gnaw on your bottom lip as he taps on his forehead again with the pad of his thumb. You glare at the girl whose red lips continue to move. What is she even saying to him?

Your mind begins to wander. If it's you who's next to him right now, you're fairly certain that you won't be talking at all. You'll stare at him and listen to everything he says; hang on to every word. But Suguru is not selfish like Satoru. You know that it will be a conversation between the two of you; not just him yapping away like Satoru does.

Your heart skips a beat just by imagining how he'll look at you while you talk. He will nod, smile... Laugh. Gives you pennies for your thoughts. You pray to a higher power for the chance though you're certain that you won't be able to mutter anything coherent.

A few minutes pass by and the girl leaves. Suguru also leaves and a part of you dies inside again and again every time you see him with another girl. Where are they going? Is he going to sleep with her? Kiss her, touch her, claim her in places your mind does not dare to imagine? You finish your drink in one gulp before storming to the kitchen to grab more.

Your childishness tells you that your anger and envy are valid. After all, you've been pining over Suguru for two years now. Every time you try to move on, there is a pang of guilt in your heart. You never had him but he lives in the trenches of your heart, his name emblazoned in your mind.

But the rational part that's left of your intoxicated brain tells you that it's wrong. That you have no right to feel this way. Suguru doesn't even know you. How can you let him put a chain in your limbs and control you this way?

You wipe the liquor that dribbles down your chin. You look up and see through your hazy eyes that there are less people in the living room now. What time is it? You look down on the bottle of alcohol that you're cradling in your arms. Hiccuping, you realize that you drank half of its contents.

You stand up and the world around you begins to spin rapidly. Your knees feel like boiled noodles, unable to keep themselves upright. But still, you persevered. You leave the living room, determined to see Suguru. You decide that the madness has to stop once and for all. You can't live your life—

"Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

"Fuck you." you mutter beneath your breath as you hit your head with your fist repeatedly. For some reason, Satoru's voice decides to pop up out of nowhere.

You hiccup and begin your search to find Suguru. You look for him outside, trying to spot him in smaller crowds. At the pool area, staring at the people fucking on the water, the bathrooms… he's nowhere to be found.

You crawl your way upstairs, opening the rooms but either they're locked, empty or some people are fucking like rabbits inside.

You squint your eyes as you peek through the crevice of another door you opened. Another couple is fuck— wait. The jeans pooling on his ankles, the tight black shirt and the messy mop of white hair...

"Satoru," you drawl, inserting your head through the space between the door and the doorframe.

He whips his head, bullets of sweat dripping down his face as he smirks. "Hey. Anything I can do for ya?"

His breath is labored as he speaks; his hips continuously drilling against the girl's cunt. You can't see her from the angle but knowing Satoru, he's into beautiful girls. Beautiful, whiny girls. Her moans sound pretty, too.

"Where's Suguru?" You ask, blinking slowly.

"Told ya," he laughs. "Second floor, last room on the west wing."

"K," you sigh. You close the door and pray for the poor girl. You've never seen Satoru in action before but gods, are the rumors right. He is merciless and bursting with vigour.

You drag yourself to the last room on the West wing. Frankly, you don't even know what you're going to say to him. Does he even know you? Is he going to even hear you out?

Dread fills you to the brim when you stop in front of the door. What if he's not even here and Satoru is just messing with you? Worse, what if you see him fucking someone else inside? Gods.

You slap your cheeks to try and get a hold of what's left of yourself. It's a good thing that you're still somewhat sober despite drinking half of that bottle. You thought the liquor will make you forget but here you are, about to make the most stupid choice you've possibly ever done in your life.

Staring hard at the door, you take a sharp breath in. Your shaking fingers close around the cold knob before slowly turning it. The door finally opens and you feel your heart throb in your chest.

You peek inside then gasp in surprise.

"Su... Guru?" You whisper, pupils blown wide from the sight sprawled in front of you.

He's laying down on the mattress with his luscious long black hair spilling on the pillows. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving erratically. Bullets of sweat drip down his forehead and there is a deep frown on his face. He seems asleep but he looks far from being peaceful.

You enter the room; your eyes languidly take in the curves of his shoulders, the muscles on his arms and his chiseled torso that are illuminated by the shaft ray of moonlight pouring through the window. Suguru always opts for loose clothing; his naked image that you've sculpted in your mind is a drastic comparison to the real thing. You thought he's going to be built like the gods but... He isn't. There is still softness; a mix of godhood and humanity in his features and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch and hold him.

Your eyes travel down his black sweatpants. The poor garment is hanging on for its dear life on his prominent v-line. His lower abdomen has a pathway of light black bush that leads to his...

You swallow thickly. There is an indentation of his dick against the fabric. You know it's wrong but your body begins to feel that familiar warmth. Here he is, the source of your mirth. The destination of your late night adventures when deep-seated desires stir. The subject of your dreams, of your fantasies, the muse of your high as thick hot cum dribbles down your inner thighs while you gasp for air; reality settles and you feel pathetic with your fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt.

You should leave. But then what? Remain on the sidelines, longing for him, envying other girls and touching yourself to the idea of him? Here he is, served with his walls down. If you can have him once, just once…

You close the door. The sharp sound of the lock's bolt sends tingles all over your body. Slowly, you approach him. Shame burns your gut and makes your cheeks flushed. But you're here. You're here now. What matters is right now.

Slowly, you kneel in the space between his spread legs. The mattress shifts and you eye him nervously. But Suguru is still in deep sleep even when you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and his cock springs free.

"Ah..." You breathe out, calming your heart. It's beating in your ears now as you stare at his length that's resting on his lower stomach.

The picture of his dick that you've crafted in your head is similar to the real deal and that makes you uncharacteristically giddy. It's on the longer side and its bulbous crown is pinkish in color.

With shaking fingers, you reach for it. He stays still even as your hand closes in around the base and gives him a few pumps.

"Suguru…" you whisper. The normalcy of you whispering his name like a prayer is true only in your bedroom as you touch yourself. But right now…

You continue your ministries as you stare at him anxiously. Is he going to wake up? A part of you wishes he does. Hoping that you will get to experience the stories you've heard from the women he fucked before. For him to watch you as you serve him, the memory ingraining in his mind. Your chest burns with envy again but you get a grip of yourself.

Who cares? The pad of your thumb caresses his tip. Your experience will be different. Exclusive.

You lean your entire torso down, your ass hanging in the air. You purse your lips and gather a blob of saliva before spitting it out on his dick. You use your own fluid as lube, pumping him a little bit faster now.

"So pretty, Suguru," you giggle when he breathes deeply. His cock is smooth and it's now starting to take a rigid stance. "I'm sure you taste pretty, too."

You descend your lips and pepper his length with feathery kisses. Lolling your tongue, you give him a few kitten licks, particularly the tip that you find endearingly charming.

He smells so good, too. Sweet like warm vanilla. You open your mouth and shove his length in. He's a bit longer than what you can take so your hands wrap around what's left of his dick, pumping it simultaneously as you bob your head.

He moans in his sleep, tossing a bit. Tears prick your eyes when his length hits the back of your throat. Your hands instinctively squeeze his hips, putting him in one place. You hollow your cheeks and pick up your pace, tongue swirling and licking the tip that's now leaking with precum.

"Haaa…" he gasps and you freeze.

You look at him; your eyes widen when you meet his dilating pupils. "W-what…"

He seems at loss but he doesn't push you away. Suguru blinks a few times at you as he heaves. You can almost see the cogs in his brain turn as he takes it all in.

You quickly release his dick with a loud pop before straddling him by the waist. "Shhh… It's okay."

You cup his face as panic settles in your nerves. You stare deeply into his eyes but notice that they're… absent. It's as if they are somewhere else even though they're looking at you.

"It's fine," you whisper. "It's fine. You're good. Trust me."

His head falls back on the pillows and he winces. You take the chance to finally kiss him, your legs pressing against his sides. He lays motionless, his eyes now closed. Panic dissipates from your nerves… now replaced by the thrill of it all.

You cup his cheeks and forcefully slither your tongue in. You shut your eyes and moan into his lips; he tastes like peppermint. Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck on his tongue.

When you pull away, a string of saliva keeps your lips connected. He opens his eyes, whispering something along the lines of "Who are you?"

You don't answer. Instead, you kiss and lick his skin. Worship every nook and cranny of his flesh, marking him. Your hands are all over the place too, touching him, staining his body with your shameless, scorching affection that you can no longer contain.

Your mouth envelops around his nipple as your other hand kneads on the other. You look up at him while you suck like a starved baby. He groans, his weak body trembling a bit.

"You like it?" You ask, swirling your tongue on his perked nipple. "You like being sucked like this, Suguru?"

He mumbles something that you didn't catch and do not honestly care about. Your lips go south, reaching his happy trail and his cock again.

"S-sto…p," he sighs when you press your face against his dick. "Stop… it…"

"But it makes you feel good, though…" you reply. "See? You like it. You're hard."

You shove it in your mouth again. Suguru groans like an angel as his hips buck upwards; his dick reaching the back of your throat again. He says he wants you to stop but his entire body's reaction does not match his words.

"Stop!" He screams, trying to pull away. But you keep your head in place, gripping his hips. Greedily, you suck him off until his cock trembles and spurts hot ropes of milky cum in your throat.

You pull away and swallow hard— he tastes salty. You smirk at him. He's frowning while gasping for breath.

"Wh…"

"Shhh," you shush him, leaning down and kissing his cheek. "It's alright. You taste so good, Suguru."

The words spilling out of your mouth, as well as the desire that is overtaking your body are beyond the heavens now. Your mind is in a haze and your pussy pulsates with need. You want him. You want him so bad it hurts.

"You seem weak," you whisper. "What happened to you?"

"I…" he mumbles.

You coo and kiss him again. "Shhh. It's okay. You're safe with me. I love you so much, Suguru. I love you so, so much."

You sit up on his stomach and take off your top. Your breasts spill out of the garment and Suguru can only watch with droopy eyes.

"I've always wanted you…" you mutter as you lift your hips. You take his hand and bring his fingers to your mouth to suck them.

When they're wet enough, you guide them to your aching cunt. You hold onto his index finger and use it to rub your warm clit. You keep your eyes on him as he remains still, letting you do whatever you want. He looks confused and it makes your heart ache. What's going on with him?

"Gonna put 'em in…" you whisper and slowly ease in two of his fingers inside you.

A moan rips out of your lips when his slender fingers fit snug inside your walls. You move your hips— up and down, up and down until his entire fingers are coated with your cum.

You take them off, licking the middle finger before you align the index in his mouth. He whips his head to the side— a stubborn act of defiance that makes you annoyed.

"What the fuck? You did this with other girls, I bet. Other girls that don't fucking care about you," you angrily snap, cupping his jaw. "And you can't do it for the one who loves you? How dare you?!"

You squeeze his cheeks until his lips form a small opening. You shove his index finger in, coated with your cum. With a maniacal smile on your lips, you watch as he struggles.

"I taste good, right?" You laugh and kiss him on the lips, tasting your own essence on his tongue. "I taste so good."

"S…sto—"

"Sh," you hush him. "Don't say anything. I don't want to hear you talk. I only want to hear you whine and moan. Understood? Such a good boy, Suguru."

You get off of him. Hastily taking off your jeans and underwear, Suguru's eyes widen in panic. Before he can move away, you position yourself on his waist, straddling him again into place.

"I was so fucking envious of the girls you fucked," you laugh. "They say you're good in bed. I'm a bit sad that you're too weak to show me but don't worry, okay? I love you. I love you so much, I'm going to make you feel good."

Suguru shakes his head when he sees you lift your hips. He winces when he feels you drag his dick along your clit, using your cum as lube. You spit on the crown before finally shoving him in.

You hiss in pain as his bulbous tip bullies its way inside you. Suguru thrashes for a bit before you finally take him all in. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you quickly move to ease the pain; bouncing your hips on his cock.

You look down and see him completely helpless. He's too intoxicated to even think straight, moreso move. It delights you to see him like this; beneath you as you use him like your personal toy.

"Suguru," you gasp for breath, leaning closer to him. "Does it feel good? I feel so good."

He whips his head to the side again but you don't care this time. You're too lost in the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you; caressing your gummy walls perfectly.

You anchor your hands on his chest and pick up the pace of your hips. It's starting to strain your legs and thighs but you're determined to reach the highest of highs. Strings of whimpers and groans escape his lips. You laugh upon realizing that he doesn't have a condom on and you're not taking any pills.

"Hey, Suguru—" your breath hitches in your throat when he hits that particularly sweet spot inside you. "You're gonna be so mad at me when you wake up tomorrow. Might as well get my fill, huh?"

It's all getting in your head. You arch your back as you put your hands on his knees to anchor yourself. You throw your head back, sliding in and out of him with ease. The squelching sounds of your skins are music to your ears.

Your mind wanders as your legs begin to tremble. God. What happens if you get pregnant? Just the thought of carrying Suguru's baby makes your entire body tingle and the knot in your lower belly tighten. You look down at him and smirk.

If by chance, you get the privilege of carrying his child, will he stay in your life? That's uncertain. But one thing's for sure and that is you will have a piece of him with you forever. A laughter slips out of your lips as the knot in your belly loosens and turns into a mess— hot cum gushes out of you and sprinkles his lower abdomen.

But you continue to move despite your shaking body. You need him to reach that high. You need him to cum deep inside you and fill your womb. Suguru's hips stutter as he lets out a guttural growl. You laugh once again when you pull out and see his sticky cum drip down your inner thighs. Quickly, you gather the fluid and shove your fingers inside you, not letting a drop go to waste.

The reality sets in, akin to the times you spent alone in your bed. But this time, it's different. You don't feel pathetic. Matter-of-fact, you feel happy. Your dream is now fulfilled. This experience is yours and yours alone. And even if Suguru fucks other girls, it doesn't matter anymore. You have a piece of him in you now. You're certain that no girls had their ways with him until you. You were in charge and that made you feel powerful.

Suguru's eyes flutter until they finally close. Sweat drips down his forehead as his chest begins to heave deeply. His face does not look like he's in pain anymore and that makes you smile.

You lean towards him and kiss him for the last time on the lips before you get dressed. You pull up his sweatpants, his cock now flaccid. You don't bother wiping him clean. Even just for tonight, you want him all over you.

You leave the house with your head above the clouds; your throbbing cunt misses him already.

#suguru x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #tw: spitting #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk suguru #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #[noelle's works (⁠◕⁠દ⁠◕⁠)]#suguru geto x afab reader #suguru x afab reader #suguru geto x afab reader smut #suguru x afab reader smut #suguru smut

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mae-gi-writes · 10 months

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It's (Just So) Awkward | jungkook (bts) - one

“No way. We’re too different and he’s so—so black and white. A straight-up yes-or-no kind of guy. And I’m not.”

Genre: nerd! Jungkook x outspoken! Reader, university! Au, idiots to lovers au, kim changbin cameo (skz)

A/N: any mention of disorders/medical conditions are fictional and I do not own Jeon jungkook. I only own the plot. If you are sensitive to content that talks about psychological disorders, i would advise you to read at your own risk. Please do enjoy !!

Comment your username to join the taglist! 💕😊

Part One | Next >>>

———

“And I scream ‘for whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” — Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift

———

You and Jeon Jungkook have known each other for years.

You know him like the back of your hand, not because you wanted to, but because you were obliged to, with the god-awful amount of time that you spent together.

Everything started back in art class. You had been fifteen at the time and had enrolled in the Visual Arts IGCSE course, as did he. There were only five students in the class, which was the main reason as to how you got to know your classmates that well, considering that these were the sorts of people that you wouldn’t normally hang out with on a daily basis.

You’d taken a seat next to Jungkook on that very first day of class, your colored markers in one hand and your sketchbook in the other, when he’d first decided to pick on the state of your shirt.

“Your shirt is crumpled,” he’d stated matter-of-factly, as though he didn’t have any filter, as though he didn’t care that it might affect your feelings. Good for him that you weren’t the type of person to take things to heart.

You merely straightened and looked at him, “thanks for the observation.”

“Don’t you iron your shirts?”

“Uhm no, I forgot,” you eyed his very organized desk, noticed the straight angles of his own sketchbook perpendicularly placed with his ruler. His pens stacked at its side, parallel to the paper, and his hands poised onto the fresh page.

Your gaze then traveled up to his clean, crisp shirt, hair parted to the side and glasses perched on his nose.

Your eyebrows raised in curiosity as he said, “coming to school with a crumpled up shirt just shows how disorganized you are. Or maybe you didn’t have enough time. Then that’s time-management skills that you lack.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that into consideration,” you’d replied sarcastically.

And from there, you had learnt to know who Jeon Jungkook really was.

Undeniably, he had an amazing gift for art which no one could argue with, so all his backhanded comments were, over time, either ignored or playfully used as insults to tease him back. He was a funny guy — in the sense that he barely had any filter or sense of what was socially accepted to talk about — but you couldn’t say he hadn’t grown on you over the past years and funnily enough, you both ended up in the same university course as Visual Arts major.

“You again?” You’d groaned on the first day of lecture upon noticing his tall, dark frame behind round spectacles. Even out of high school, he still wore a shirt -- this one pale blue -- tucked into sable pants, hair combed back into that side part that now sportrd a few bangs, and his glasses.

He grinned at you from his seat, “hello, Y/N.”

“Why are you here?” You dramatically fell into your seat, swiveled towards him with an exasperated sigh as your chin fell into your hand.

“Because I applied for Visual Arts and got in.”

“Well yeah I knew that much,” you rolled your eyes, “but I thought you wanted to be an architect. Isn’t that what you said before graduation?”

“You remember?” His grin widened, “that’s nice of you—“

“Not on purpose, you dweeb. Now tell me why you’re here instead of bugging someone else in architecture 101.”

“I am in architecture,” he lifted his shoulder in a shrug, “but my course asks for an art prerequisite. They said I couldn’t use my high school grades to give me my transfer credits because art wasn’t my main subject.”

“That’s bullshit. Your art was the best out of all of us.”

“Apparently it wasn’t good enough for them.”

You tilted your head at him, “so you’re telling me I have to suffer through this with you, again? Didn’t I do enough of that in high school?”

“Technically, you’re the one who came to sit next to me.”

“You got a point. Maybe I should move.”

But you didn’t. Not wanting to admit it, you were actually grateful knowing that Jungkook was a familiar element amidst all this new environment. Not that you’d ever tell him that though, knowing he’d take full advantage of it.

That didn’t stop you from complaining about it with your mother every time you saw her appear on your phone screen. She would only laugh and tease you about it, saying that out of all universities, Jeon Jungkook had chosen the one you had applied to. Surely, according to her, she thought it was fate.

“It’s not fate,” you’d grumbled into your pillow, “how can it be fate? He just likes to torture me.”

“He’s not that bad Y/N,” your mother chided, “and you know how he is. His mother said so at the exhibition, remember?”

Yes, you had remembered how his mother had apologized following Jungkook’s harsh criticism of your projects. How could you forget? It had been on the final exhibition evening where all students were decked in black and white to follow the theme of the night, and as part of your final exhibition, you’d had to criticize and analyze your classmates’ pieces with your teacher as mediator. And when Jungkook had been asked to voice his thoughts about your work, he had been void of kindness:

“It doesn’t seem genuine.”

“It lacks of technique.”

“You could’ve used more depth.”

“I don’t see the connection between the artist and the audience.”

Not wanting to cry in front of the entire class had you running to the bathroom as tears streamed down your face, which caused his mother to follow you while trying to explain her son’s horrible behaviour.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. You know he doesn’t mean it that way, not really—“

“Oh then, in what way does he mean it then?” You’d sniffled into your tissue, hating how red your eyes looked in the mirror, “because to me that sounded downright condescending and honestly, I thought better of him—“

“He’s different, Y/N.”

“Different?” You pause, “what do you mean…different?”

That was when she explained about Social Cues Disorder, also known as SCD, which was placed on the Asperger’s spectrum despite being slightly different from the said diagnostic. And as she spoke, it became clear why Jungkook didn’t have any social barriers into speaking his mind even when it might hurt people or be taken the wrong way. The thing was, he didn’t know.

Nevertheless, it took you a few days to recover from his personal attack. You were surprised when Jungkook came up to you a few days after the exhibition to offer you an apology.

“My mother said she told you about SCD,” he spoke as though they were talking about the weather when to you, it was slightly difficult to handle such a topic when you had no idea whether he’d take it right or wrong, “she also said I need to apologize because I was very harsh on you during the exhibition.”

You swallowed thickly, the sting of tears building in your eyes as the memory resurfaced, “yes. You were.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied without missing a beat, “I didn’t know it would hurt your feelings. According to the doctors, I don’t know how to understand people’s emotions or react to people, or say the right thing. So I’m sorry, because I’m sure I might do it again.”

You looked at him for a long moment, judging the weight of his words. Then, you sighed, “that’s fine, Jungkook. Thanks.”

If you removed his lack of total empathy, Jungkook was admittedly kind of fun to be around. He had the most hilariou responses to everything, which you learnt the more you sat next to him in class.

"Color blindness is an eyesight problem," he said one day when you told him that you believed color blindness to be some sort of supernatural gift.

"Well how do you know that the colors you see are the real ones?" You lean over your desk, pen in hand as the soft scratches of pencil to paper filled the room, "maybe we're the ones who are colour blind."

"That is scientifically incorrect."

"Who said so?"

He looked at you as if you were an idiot, "it was scientifically proven, Y/N. I don't think your argument is valid."

"Okay, so let's take schizophrenia for example," you quickly fired back, "people say that those with this disorder hallucinate and see things that aren't there. But maybe, wait--hear me out," you added when Jungkook started shaking his head, "maybe these people actually see things that we don't."

Jungkook's eyebrow rose in what looked to be half-amusement, "I'm not sure that's a valid point. Also, it's medically incorrect to be sharing false information about psychological disorders."

"Not everything is quantifiable, you know."

"Still, what you're saying is that these people have superpowers that don't exist."

"Exactly."

"Sounds like some kind of marvel action movie to me."

Of course he would say something like that. What were you expecting more? With time, you came to understand the phenomenon that was Jeon Jungkook, with his weird quirks and curious way of thinking. You secretly wondered whether he knew how easily people got triggered by his responses, or whether he just went through life with his own kind of colorblindness.

You got rewarded with a first-hand situation between him and another classmate of yours a few days later, going by the name of Kim Changbin.

It was in the middle of mid-term and since deadlines were comig up soon, the printmaking studio was crammed with students trying to finish up their portfolio projects in time. You would normally give Jungkook a hand with the technical materials and tools needed and after having set up his screen, was busy arranging your own set of colours when a voice pierced through the room in anger.

"What the fuck, Jeon?!" Your head swivelled to see Changbin at the station that Jungkook had been standing at seconds prior, looking quite murderous with his damaged screen in hand. Facing him was Jungkook, a palette knife held in mid-air, "what's wrong with you, flaunting that thing around when we all have screens?!"

"I'm sorry," the words came out straight away from Jungkook's mouth, "It wasn't my intention. I'll make sure to work on it--"

"Work on it?" Changbin's nostrils flared. He stepped towards the taller man, "this took me fucking weeks to perfect. And what? You're going to work on it?" He took another step closer, causing Jungkook to lean back, " How the fuck am I supposed to get my artwork back huh?"

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention," Jungkook parroted again with eyes glassy as though he didn't know what to say, "I'll make sure to wo--"

"Yeah I heard you the first time!" Changbin hollered, index stabbing at his chest, "this artwork is my scholarship ticket and you fucking ruined it!"

"Hey hey," you quickly stepped in-between the two men, hand latching onto Changbin's shoulder, "he said he was sorry okay? Let's just calm down and--"

"Move out, Y/N, this is none of your fucking business," Changbin pushed you away and you stumbled. He took this chance to lunge for Jungkook's chest and the latter whimpered, yelping and handa scrabbling to push Changbin away, "you gonna take responsibility, dumbass?--"

"I'm sorry it wasn't my intention--"

"You fucking retard you can't even --"

"--make sure to work on--"

"Shut up!" And before he knew it, Jungkook yelped and pushed Changbin away.

"Changbin!"

"Jungkook!"

Changbin fell, crashed straight into a table with such force it split down the middle. For a minute, he lay there motionless, the entire class rendered silent.

And in the middle of it all, a panicked Jungkook holding his hands over his ears.

He crouched down as people moved towards Changbin concern and you took this chance to go to your friend, hearing him mutter the exact same phrase over and over again with a blank look in his eyes.

"Jungkook," your words were quiet as your hand wrapped around his shoulder tentatively, "hey, you alright bud? Let's get you out of here, okay?"

But as if he just realized you were his only safe anchor, the young man was quick to wrap his arms around your middle before he buried his head into your chest.

Your cheeks flamed, but you went to caress the back of his head, knowing that this was not a normal situation. He needed you.

"Jungkook?" You whispered and tried ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, "you okay?"

"Just--please. Don't move."

Few words with so much power. You couldn't help but crumble and hold him closer if that was possible, hoping that the consequences that would follow would hopefully be called an accident.

This was the first time you'd seen Jungkook, as who he really was. You could have walked away , you had that choice, if you wanted to.

But you didn't.

---

"Hey."

Changbin's angry eyes fluttered up to yours from the nurse's bed. He'd been admitted to the campus clinic for an overnight watch in case something went wrong with his back. Due to the force of his fall, he now sported bruises all along his spine and you knew without doubt he'd use it as blackmail against Jungkook even if the wounds were superficial.

"What do you want?" He growled.

From his narrow-eyed stare, it was clear that he was not enjoying his current predicament; that being pinned down to a bed.

"How are you feeling?" You moved a little closer and tried not to flinch under his hard gaze, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

"Well you got your answer," he snapped, "now if you don't have anytbing else to say, get lost."

"I'm sorry. Jungkook--he's a bit socially awkward and I know you took a lot of time to finish this--"

"That's not your job, is it?" He chuckled emptily, "why are you apologizing on his behalf?"

"Because I know that's what he wants to say, but he's not in a state to say it right now," you took another step closer until you were at his bedside, "so before you go and think that he's just a loser, I wanted to clarify it with you."

"What are you, his mom or something?"

"We're friends, Changbin."

He shook his head, looking amused and you were glad he didn't seem to be so angry now that you exchanged more than two words with him, "and how exactly, did you become friends?"

"Why?"

"You don't seem the type to be friends with that kind of geek, apologies for the insult," he said with a raised brow, "so tell me. How are you friends? Is it by duty?"

"No. He's...it just happened," you tried to stammer through an explanation, though he had a point. How had you become friends? "In any case, does that even matter?"

That was when Changbin grinned at you, "wanna be my friend?"

You stared blankly at him, "what?"

"You wanna be my friend and help me out with my artwork?"

Considering that he would probably combust and drag you along with him if you failed to agree, you were quick to abide by his suggestion, setting up a meeting at the studio a few days later when he'd be safe and sound from the nurse.

You even prepared the materials in advance, setting up all the colours and preparing the screen so that Changbin wouldn't have to wait for it to dry to expose his design.

Your phone vibrated and you quickly pulled it out, frowning when Jungkook's name flashed across the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hello Y/N. Where are you?"

"Uh, at school. Why?"

"I bought chocolate donuts."

Your heart melted slightly, "I'm in the art lab."

Which was where Jungkook found you a few minutes later as he walked through the door, donuts in hand and looking as geeky as ever with a crisp white shirt tucked into light jeans.

"Why are you here?" He frowned, "You're already done with your artwork."

Changbin walked in from the exposure room right at that very instant, his face turning sour as soon as he caught sight of the dark-haired man, "what the fuck are you doing here?" He growled.

"I'm here to give some donuts to--"

"To you!" You grabbed the donut box from Jungkook before thrusting it in Changbin's face, "hos way of saying sorry about your broken screen."

"Actually, these donuts were for yo--"

"He just feels so bad about you having to do your artwork all over again, right Jungkook?" You throw him a pointed look, which caused Jungkook's brows to furrow in even more confusion as Changbin's dark eyes flickered between the two of you, not quite sure what to make of the situation.

It took a moment for Jungkook to mutter out a, "sure."

"I'd feel a whole lot better if you got out of my face," Changbin scowled at him then, and you quickly scurried in front of your friend with hands held up in a defensive manner.

Jungkook turned to you, "do you have to help him, Y/N? He doesn't seem to be very friendly to me--"

"You little shi--"

"Alright alright boys!” You flailed your arms around wildly in hopes that would deter any kind of fight, “I told you, Jungkook doesn’t know how to show his affection and gratefulness to other people. Don’t take it badly, Changbin, let’s just— “

“Statistically speaking, you shouldn’t hang out with people with violent tendencies. It’s dangerous,” Jungkook stated bluntly.

You threw him the angriest glare you could muster, causing the said man’s eyes to dart away. He couldn’t recognize social cues, but he did know for a fact what your angry face looked like. So he didn't fight when you pushed him out of the door while excusing yourself with Changbin and it was only when you were safely away from prying ears that you tried talking some sense into your friend.

"Don't mess with this, okay? I got it." You said in what you hoped was a convincing tone, "just go home and finish your homework. We have that art history essay due tomorrow."

Jungkook stared you down behind his glasses, "but Changbin is--"

"No it's fine, just go home. Everything will be fine if you go home."

"What if he hits you?"

"He won't."

"You will call me if he does?"

"Yes. I promise I will."

That seemed to satisfy Jungkook and you quickly propelled him out of the building before ushering back inside the lab just in time to catch Changbin doing his screenprint.

"Got rid of that loser yet?" His smirk was infuriating. It made you want to slap it off his face.

"Shut up and let me help you," you responded, rolling your eyes as you went to assist him. In truth, you were just secretly glad they didn't tear each other's throats out.

Not everyone understood Jungkook, and while that was fine, you just felt as though you were responsible for protecting him.

It was almost midnight when you finished cleaning up the studio and packed up all the tools and materials, that was when Changbin suggested you get something to eat. Deciding that your stomach was a priority, you agreed and settled at one of the small cheap restaurants that sold hot noodle soup, one of the rare finds open 24/7.

"Why're you friends with that guy?"

You glanced up from your soup, "you asked me that before, Changbin."

He took a sip of his, other hand fumbling with his chopsticks to gather some noodles, “and I’m asking you again. Why are you friends?” He took a bite of his noodles and grumbled appreciatively, “you like him or something?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard coming out of your mouth,” you snorted as you slurped your noodles and chewed on the warmth that seeped into your chest. Noodles always tasted better in cold weather.

“Well he likes you.”

You almost choked on your noodles, “wha— where are you getting all this false information.”

“It’s written all over his face, Y/N,” Changbin rolled his eyes, “he wouldn’t be bringing you donuts if that were the case.”

“You’re wrong. He’s just kind. He always was,” the thought of you and Jungkook being together suddenly flashed before your eyes and heat flushed through your cheeks at the thought. He was your friend, he was the closest thing to home that you had now that you were in university, so it was just natural for you to gravitate towards the familiar.

“Bullshit. You don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t look at me like anything.”

Changbin merely chuckled, shaking his head before finishing his soup in silence. You were glad that he dropped it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t have been able to take it if he’d continuously found arguments to support his hypothesis. Jungkook couldn’t like you…could he? He was…odd and not the kind of man to look for things like relationships.

Then again, you’d never actually asked Jungkook how he felt about girls. Or relationships for that matter.

Which was why you had planned to corner him after your English lecture, rushing to the end of the corridor where you knew Jungkook had his design class with your bag barely closed and books clutched to your chest, only to find the said man wrapped up in an animated conversation with a stranger you’d never seen before.

The girl was beautiful. That was a given, with long glossy curls that fell to her waist and dyed light blonde, giving her the appearance of a fairy. She was wearing a pastel blue coat decked with white pants and boots to match, the perfect fashion icon for many, slightly smaller than you were so that her head had to tilt back every time she spoke to him.

You were about to swivel around — since they seemed to be in deep discussion — when Jungkook spotted you. His brown eyes lit up from behind his spectacles (it was kinda cute) and he grinned, dimple showing.

“Y/N,” he called your name and you had no other choice than to walk over, flashing him a weak smile, “this is Lee Sara. She’s in my design class. She’s also going to be an architect.”

“Hi,” Sara smiled. She was beautiful, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you smiled back, eyes darting between the two before settling on Jungkook’s, “you ready to go?”

“Actually, Sara and I are going to get some boba,” Jungkook said.

“Oh,” you tried to hide the surprise on your face, “right. Uhm… I’ll see you later then.”

“Do you want to join us?” Sara asked kindly.

Jungkook was already turning away by then, probably too excited to get his drink to think about your feelings. He stopped mid-way, looked back at you, only to see you shake your head.

“I’m okay,” you smiled slightly, “see you two later. I gotta head to the library to study.”

Maybe it was the fact that Jungkook never used to socialize with girls before or that you never noticed, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly disoriented at the sudden switch in the situation, causing Changbin’s earlier words to resonate through your brain. Did Jungkook actually have romantic intentions towards girls.

Did he feel attracted to them? It had never crossed your mind before, but now that Changbin had it labeled as an option, it was as if you couldn’t get the thought out of your head.

And it wasn’t just a one-time occurrence. A few days later you found him cooped up in the library with Sara at his side as they studied the mathematical equations of buildings and helped each other out with their projects. You had joined for a bit, only to feel a bit left out by the conversation and thus opted out early in favour of escaping the rising awkwardness. Not that Jungkook noticed, he never noticed anything.

“Maybe you’re right.” You’d grumbled to Changbin during your art lab a few days later. You had arrived early to class, coffee still steaming in hand, to find the said young man already sitting inside with his final artwork labeled and ready to be submitted on the table.

He looked at you, an eyebrow raising in curiosity, “I’m right about many things,” a smirk graced his face, “do tell.”

“About Jungkook liking girls.”

“No. I said he liked you, that’s a different—“

“It doesn’t matter,” you cut him off, “he doesn��t like me. But he’s—I just realized that maybe he does want a girlfriend. Maybe.”

“What made you say that?”

“He’s been hanging out a lot with a classmate lately,” you shrugged, “it’s just—it feels weird. He never used to be so…social.”

“Good riddance,” Changbin’s smirk grew, which made you throw your pen at his head. It hit him straight on the forehead, “ow! Watch it, woman.”

It was for the best. Really, truly, that Jungkook was expanding his horizons and talking to new people. He couldn’t be in your shadow forever, after all. That was what you kept on repeating yourself as the thoughts replayed through your brain again and again and again. The realization was tough, but change was good. Right?

Change was needed.

And maybe you should change too.

———

"Pigs aren't cute. They bathe in mud and carry numerous bacteria and and these bacteria are transferred to humans."

"Pigs are cute!" You gasped, shoving your phone in Jungkook's face to show him an image of said animal, "look at their babies! They're so fluffy and like tiny and small--"

He pushed your hand away in disgust, "you have weird taste in cutness."

"They're this ugly pink but overall they're quite charming, don't you think?" You giggled as you keptbswiping for photo after photo, "oh gosh, look at this one! He has a bow on his head."

“Y/N you have a weird definition of cute.”

You chuckled, “and you are weird, full stop.”

A few days had passed ever since your encounter with Sara and you hadn’t mentioned anything about the said girl since, thinking that it was probably for the best. And plus, Jungkook had the complete right to do whatever he wanted with his life. Yup. You weren’t there to stop him from talking to a pretty girl.

Maybe you should worry about yourself instead, and try not to focus too much on how it was getting harder and harder to get Jungkook’s attention these days.

Not that anything had changed. You still went on your library study sessions and bought boba together after every art history lecture. You still ate friend chicken and pizza while streaming your favorite movie — the same one that Jungkook asked for every week — and you still hung out with each other as though everything was normal.

But you knew it was far from it, something that your social circle of friends also pointed out during one particular lunchtime.

“He’s so peculiar. How do you hang out with him?” asked your good friend Yoona. You had met her during orientation and the two of you had hung out together quite often ever since. She’d even tagged along to some of your famous movie night Fridays, “I mean, not to sound rude but he’s like the kind of guy you’d find in Internet cafes.”

“He’s not all that bad. You just don’t know him well,” you argued as you took a sip of your iced tea.

“Don’t you think he has a crush on you, Y/N?” Another friend, Jimin, asked. He was busy unwrapping his sandwich and flicked his fringe out of his eyes, cocking his head in a way that made you feel a little self-conscious.

Yoona chortled, “no way. I don’t see it. Although…when you think about it, it would make sense why they would end up together.”

“Right?” Jimin added, “it’s clear as day that you guys have feelings for each oth—“

“Bullshit,” you laughed, “I don’t know why you keep mentioning that. And plus, he’s hanging out with this new girl these days.”

“New girl? Who?” Yoona frowned.

“Her name’s Sara Lee. Heard of her before?”

“Oh,” Jimin straightens, “the pretty girl from architecture right? I think everyone’s heard of her. She’s like an influencer or something.”

“Well you know, if you dress up Jungkook nicely…” Yoona trailed off in thought, “I think he has potential.”

“You think? Girl, the ladies in my course have been eyeing him since the start of the new semester. That’s old news,” Jimin rolled his eyes as you stared them down, eyes darting from one face to another as the new information sunk in.

“Wait—“ you interrupted their flow of conversation, “are you—are you actually serious? Jungkook? Potential? What—“

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet, Y/N,” Yoona said as she slurped down her drink, “I mean— this boy just has wardrobe issues. Nothing that a little bit of fixing can’t solve.”

Contrary to your friends, you had never actually thought of Jungkook— seen of him in this light. Which was why you decided to stare him down in your art history lecture right after lunch, cocking your head this way and that as you examined the angles of his face.

In truth, they were right. Jungkook did have potential to be handsome. Because even with those round glasses and that horrible side part of his, you could still catch a glimpse of his jaw line. His build was hidden, but yet still there underneath the curve of his shoulders. His back was broad, that you were sure of and you couldn’t help imagining how he would look like in a v-neck shirt—

Stop. Your slammed down on your thoughts like car brakes. This was Jungkook, for god’s sake. You’d known him as the annoying classmate in high school, the quirky friend who never wore sweaters or casual wear and was always decked in formal attire. This wasn’t about to change now.

“Y/N, you’ve been staring me down since the start of class and it’s starting to creep me out.”

Jungkook’s voice dragged you back to reality. You blinked, catching his eyes as warmth suddenly flushed through the back of your neck.

“Uh—yeah sorry. Was just lost in thought.” Lies. You were definitely checking him out. You wondered whether he actually knew what that word meant. You were just glad he wasn’t the best at reading physical body language or expressions for that matter.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked suddenly.

He looked hesitant, but nodded.

“What do you think of Sara?”

“What do I think of Sara?” You watched his eyebrows pull into a frown, “I don’t think I understand this question, Y/N.”

“I mean—do you find Sara attractive? Like as a girl?”

Jungkook was silent for a long moment and though you were usually the best at reading him, the expression on his face was one that you couldn’t decipher.

It made your stomach curl with unease.

And when he finally spoke, you swore your stomach twisted in on itself.

“Sara is pretty.”

Your throat suddenly felt dry. You swallowed thickly, bit down onto your lower lip and tried to wonder what the fuck was wrong with you. It wasn’t like you liked Jungkook…right? Right?

“Would you date her?” You asked.

“I have not thought of it. But yes, she is, by every man’s standards, a very good candidate for a girlfriend.”

Ah. So he did know what it meant after all.

“But would you date her?”

“Probably. Yes.” He looked at you then, tilting his head to the side as though trying to decode what was going on inside that head of yours, “why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing. No reason.” You tried to smile, lips lifting slightly at the corners in hopes that it would fool him.

It did. Without him knowing that somewhere along the seam of your heart was a small hole that ripped apart its seams.

-—-

Part Two >>

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kanekoii · 6 months

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a breakfast date with shu yamino (100 follower special)

lyra’s notes -> did i write out the whole damn date with him? perchance. it’s my 100 special so it’s gotta be good yk?

pairing -> shu yamino x gn! reader

genre -> a long ass scenario fic

song -> stops making sense - dayglow

warnings -> food mentions throughout, one singular use of name “darling”

the sun wormed its way through the curtains of your room on a warm morning. it was still relatively early, you figured to yourself as you essentially rolled out of bed and checked your phone, seeing a text from shu asking if you wanted to get breakfast with him in an hour and a half or so. even if he was your boyfriend and had been for a few months now, he never failed to make your heart flutter a bit with his romantic actions. once you texted him a reply that you would be happy to meet him for a date, you got in return a purple heart emoji.

shu had woken up not much before you had, just wanting to take you on a date that spanned a whole day like in his dreams. when you agreed, he couldn’t be happier as he jumped out of bed and began getting ready. he hummed to himself gently as he styled his hair and put together an outfit. he usually wears glasses when not streaming, so he’d have those set aside on his bathroom’s counter while he washes his face using the sink. he was still in his pajamas, just lavender purple plaid pants and a plain black shirt. his hair was messy and his eyes still held the smallest traces of sleepiness in them as he looked at himself in the mirror before running a shower.

you dressed in the clothes that made you feel best, that’s how shu liked it anyway. he’s happy when you’re comfortable and happy with what you’re wearing, so you dressed in that. the restaurant he suggested was a bistro in the nearby city’s downtown area. wouldn’t it be such a perfect day to walk or bike there, you thought to yourself as you strolled a few streets down to shu’s apartment. when he opened the door, you got a good look at his outfit for the day: black jeans, black combat boots, a dusty purple colored t-shirt that was slightly baggy on him, a deep purple belt around the waistline of his pants, only visible because his shirt was tucked in slightly, and a necklace with a penguin charm on it. his hair was tied into a messy ponytail at the back of his head, purple streaks poking through at some points. the front of his hair was relatively the same, pink streaks framing his face. the only different from how he usually did his hair was that his blonde bangs seemed more tamed than usual and hung over one of his eyes a little.

he squinted since he didn’t have his glasses on yet, but he was very vocal about the fact that just because his vision was blurry didn’t mean you weren’t the most attractive person he’d ever seen! he’d stumble around before he put on his glasses, deep purple eyes no longer squinting and able to fully see how absolutely adorable you are! when you asked if he wanted to bike to the bistro he suggested only to be met with the question of if you had brought your bike at all, shu couldn’t help but kiss your forehead! he knows it’s cheesy but just seeing you think and try to figure out things is so endearing to him! he’s super big brain, and you are too to him, even if you aren’t the smartest in reality.

his question of “can we both just use mine?” surely didn’t signal you that you would be sat in the little basket on the back of the seat, wrapping your body around him for support as the both of you laugh from joy and adrenaline. he had put on a jacket before you left, just plain black. you buried your face into the hood to avoid the air whipping your face (seeing as he was biking pretty fast by now) and inhaled his calming scent that was present in the fabric, in his hair, on his skin. he smelled like a campfire. not a bad kind of fire, a warm and comfortable one that reminds you of warm summer nights spent with friends around a fire, laughing and sharing stories and eating s’mores until the sun had risen.

breakfast with shu wasn't anything particularly special, just the both of you ordering filling breakfasts and a caffeinated drink of choice. for him, it was coffee with a vanilla flavored cream to balance out the bitterness of it. he couldn't help but smile so happily when he spends time with you, offering you a freshly picked flower upon leaving the restaurant. he knows you have things to do but he wanted to make your morning a little bit better by tucking the fresh flower behind your ear with a quiet “i love you so much. have a nice day, darling”.

#lyr.fic #nijien x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #nijien #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino x you #luxiem #luxiem x reader #luxiem x you #lyr.100

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sonkitty · 3 months

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The Pocket Chain Rainbow Connection Part 4 (Good Omens 2)

Last Updated: 04/18/2024

(For reference, start here: The Pocket Trick - Basics | The Pocket Trick Visual Representation | GIFs | The Pocket Trick - Tied Hands)

Main post:

The Pocket Chain Rainbow Connection

Here are Parts 1-3:

The Pocket Chain Rainbow Connection Part 1

The Pocket Chain Rainbow Connection Part 2

The Pocket Chain Rainbow Connection Part 3

This part covers The Door Trick and The Door Catch.

Theory. So much theory.

Problems

I will admit freely, my understanding of what is happening here is quite limited.

Still, I will share it as I think it's enough to hold some value nonetheless.

There are two left hands with desirable traits that pass by Crowley's right.

One left hand has a left thumb joint touching a lapel edge. Another left hand has a full set of visible digits. Both of these things are requirements in The Pocket Trick touches of a similar nature.

I believe using both of them requires a full 360-degree flip of the imaginary mirror for the Tied Hands while at the same time trying to make sure that Orange goes to Yellow and Yellow is what connects first, not Green or any other color. That means hitting Yellow twice in a row.

Because of such complications, there is something akin to a color wheel with humans and their bags fully pocket-framing the "Life begins after coffee" sign. It's not a full color wheel because it lacks green and has such limited blue, but one human who is probably representing the Tied Hands in Crowley's place with her arm swinging, has a blue-green strap on one of her bags and blue-green stripes, of a lighter shade the than the bag strap, on part of her shirt.

There are 4 non-rainbow shades around that do various things in this Rainbow Connection mechanic. I'll go into my struggles with them more deeply later with the Heaven elevator itself.

As things are now, I don't know which color goes where and how, but I believe the result is changing the direction of the connection with a skip to Purple and back up to Yellow.

Orange does get to Yellow, but then because of the skip-and-back to hit Yellow a second time, the next intended color is Orange again instead of Green. The goal is not Orange again. The goal is to hold onto Yellow until Crowley's Green is ready. So, that requires a deflection that lets the connection redirect back down instead of up.

Such a thing is inadvertently resolved by the Metatron. It took some time for me to get it, but there is a hidden message about him in this part of the game when considering the word play mechanics: "The Metatron makes mistakes". That's alliteration and a rhyme. Without that message, I've described the Metatron's play as feeling like "cheating without realizing it or the story is not letting him play fully, just partly."

Without meaning to, he sets the connection back on track. That's why Aziraphale is stuck at Yellow for so long and what the blinking red lights mean. Aziraphale himself doesn't seem aware through his voice and manner of what is happening, but the actions he takes do otherwise look like an effective stalling tactic for the Rainbow Connection.

I am pleasantly taken aback by that hidden message, but I still think it's there since it fits within this puzzle.

Alright, here goes...

The Door Trick

Orange. Based on the way this scene starts, I think the Tied Hands' imaginary mirror flips right away.

Crowley's pants are reflected in the Bentley. Although Orange is not visibly reflected in the Bentley's surface yet, it will be. At the start of the cut, the Orange of an orange bag is visually touched by one of the Bentley's mirrors. I think Car Mirrors is Crowley's Pocket Frame for this Trick and contributing to so much of what is happening. The hood ornament looks like it's trying to be important for its role to play as well.

In the initial two touches of The Pocket Trick, each has something I consider over-the-rainbow touches, and I have long struggled to find the over-the-rainbow touches here.

Here, there is at least one of the car mirrors touching over the Orange. Crowley's legs are crossed with one of his shoes over the shoe of a different human behind Crowley's shoe. So, these tactics are considered sufficient, along with anything else I missed.

Crowley's left hand fingers look to be claiming Yellow, Green, and Black for use. The index finger is visually over a Green and Yellow sign. Zoomed in, I can't actually tell if the index fingertip is on one more than the other. His other fingers are visually over a human's Black attire.

The human holding the Orange bag might be the "Fish" in looking for Bullet Catch magic word references. The pattern on her skirt looks like scales. My instincts had been to look at the cars and a human on a scooter, but visually, this pattern still looks like the closest match. I can't find the fish anywhere else. Because of the other guesses and references I found, I also think these are all supposed to be done no later than Aziraphale being linked into the Pocket Chain. The "dash of nutmeg" will be last even though the order before it will not match the exact order the words are said in the 1941 minisode.

...

There is an actual rainbow found between the left side of Crowley's torso and his left forearm. The rainbow places itself over closed rear car window, the open front car window and well past the edge of the left forearm, questionably all the way to the other edge. This rainbow helped emphasize something happening with the shoes I will not cover here, but this part also looks to be the game's cue that this rainbow is either what allows the incoming flips or is telling an audience player that the over-the-rainbow touches are due to how Crowley's apparel-to-car pocket is structured.

According to this post, the rainbow "doubles up," and there is two of them. Honestly, that's not what I see. The second seeming-rainbow is almost certainly contributing for whatever it is because great care is taken with the lighting overall, but I personally would not fully qualify it as an "official" rainbow because I can't distinguish its color set well enough, even with some tweaks in trying to edit the screenshot with brightness or saturation. Still, there is going to be a link to the Pocket Chain, and two characters are going "up" later.

...

Red alert. Although a red alert is given, the available Yellow is limited. The car itself blocked the nearby yellow lines to it before the red alert was on. The main Yellow on screen is like an Orange-Yellow on a license plate to further add to the confusion. More clearly later within this Trick, Gray will be shown as what can shade a color to a proper form in the Rainbow Connection. There is no nearby solid Gray to this license plate.

Otherwise, there are some yellow lines near the pub and the letters for The Dirty Donkey. I don't know which factors are keeping them at bay, but I do believe that's happening and can at least point out a few things. For instance, there is a human on a scooter between the car giving the red alert and the one with the orange-yellow license plate. This human is making a pocket with their legs and hinting at whatever is going on with the shoes. They have a patterned shirt and black pants.

The human with the black hat is who I call "Nutmeg" though her colors are strongly associated with Black and some Red. She is who is going to link the Pocket Chain to Aziraphale later. I'm making this Bullet Catch reference based on the color of her bag strap and the small part of that strap that will link to a pocket user near Aziraphale.

Since I suspect Yellow is hit twice later, is it my very uncertain hope that something here is delaying the switch long enough for what needs to be done. That most likely seems to be the red alert being boxed in by Nutmeg and humans on the other side of it. Black can block under the right circumstances, and Nutmeg has notable Black. There's a human wearing purple in front of the car with the red alert. He's probably important here for the eventual skip-to-Purple-and-back, and he is definitely important later for Aziraphale's part.

If you look behind the human girl with the cell phone and a light pink sweater and the man with a cell phone next to her, you can catch glimpse of another human with a Black hat. I don't know if she contributed to this Connection part or not, but she is, I believe, the "Gorilla" in Bullet Catch magic word references due to her movement within this cut itself. She wears mostly Black and was hunched over as she hurried along early on into the cut. Every other found reference contributes, so I would think she does too.

Orange. The human with the orange jacket has a lovely touch between her left thumb joint and the lapel edge of her jacket. The blur thing on the car is probably putting in a pass for her, so we can take that touch in with the first hit to Yellow. I believe she is "Shoelace" when searching for magic word Bullet Catch references. She is relevant to the non-rainbow thing happening with the shoes. Her shoelaces aren't visible here, but they are visible later. If the shoe links to the Rainbow Connection, I haven't figured out how, and it's a lot to go over. So, for now, I've set it aside. But it is happening, and it is relevant to something I'll mention further down.

While Shoelace is by Crowley, a pocket user wearing a yellow shirt and dark gray open vest is in a window pane reflection near Crowley and Yawning Yellow. His reflection is going to appear again in the upcoming window pane for him. The main clue his reflection isn't causing the switch here and now is there are no red alerts, and there is going to be something soon. So, this part is, just guessing as usual, preparing for that first switch to Yellow. Due to the shade of his yellow and visible left arm, I think of him as "Banana" when looking for Bullet Catch references.

The tie strands are never shown as moving with Crowley standing so still, but they do move while off camera between each of the three cuts given from in front of Crowley. That can be found through comparing screenshots of each cut.

Orange. This part is probably linking up the human fully blocking Crowley's left hand with his tie strands, so she can represent their swinging in how her left arm swings. We'll call her Tie Swinger.

Yellow #1. Orange is reflected in the car with red alert lights at the same time. The earlier thumb joint touch is received with the switch. With the suspected 360-degree flip, this part is the 180-degree place in between, and something about the color wheel will finish the trickery rather fast. The human who seems to be most likely responsible for such trickery is the one wearing a purple jacket and holding a yellow bag. He has a little bit of blue visible in the collar of his shirt.

The visual cue for this being the 180 is mainly Yawning Yellow's right hand becoming visible, further supported by the nature of the arm-swinging happening by Tie Swinger.

For over-the-rainbow touches, the same mirror that was over the orange bag is now over the yellow jacket. While the actual rainbow from the first front-facing cut of Crowley is gone, this one does show the car hood ornament in front of Crowley, acting as the bottom of his top apparel-to-car pocket and being over a front edge of the car itself.

Yellow #2. Tie Swinger is pocketing the yellow of a yellow bag, holding the line for it and sending it over through the connection. If White is needed for that hold, it can be found with the visual touch on the white letters to the "Life begins after coffee" sign. Yawning Yellow has a lighter shade of Yellow in her jacket, and the Gray in her pants is compensating for it to still qualify as a proper Yellow. The black in her jacket may be doing something too. She is further assisted through Banana, whose reflection can now be found in the other window pane near her.

A human wearing Black and White, including a white turtleneck, is further solidifying things where they need to be. I am yet to find a relevant pun or word play with what a turtleneck does for pocket trickery, but I assume it does something because Crowley wore a Black turtleneck for the first two touches of The Pocket Trick. Conceptually, turtles are slow, so maybe it slows things down. Something probably worth mentioning is that in Terry Pratchett's Discworld, there is a very famous turtle, the Great A'Tuin, that the four elephants holding up the disc of Discworld stand on.

Anyway, Banana's reflection can be found in the window pane behind Yawning Yellow. The big blurry head on the right of the screen is probably giving Green a pass, so it's not sent too early. Yet another human has a mirrored-head thing happening behind Yawning Yellow that probably does something too.

The human most directly behind Crowley has a brown jacket and an excellent alignment of his arm with Crowley's existing pocket between himself and his car. That human's elbow is like the other side of a diamond from what can be seen of Crowley's left hand. I think of him as "Diamondback". He's also a pocket user himself.

So, if his Brown is necessary for the following wording to borrow, it's there:

Yawning Yellow lends Crowley a hand with a full set of visible digits.

Yellow. Here is the actual link to the Pocket Chain from Crowley to Aziraphale. It's through Nutmeg and the pocket user wearing a white fur coat. There isn't much yellow here, but there is a yellow light that is going to be Aziraphale's overhead light eventually...but not yet. The blue car goes on a stronger red alert after this part. Due to how things go, that alert is probably more for getting the Metatron linked in as well because he looks to be putting his hands in his pockets at that point.

There are also yellow lines touching Nutmeg, but as noted, Black can block under the right circumstances. Are those circumstances here? If they are, the overhead light makes up for it because there is going to be Yellow on display for quite a bit in the incoming cuts.

The "Donkey" sign is questionably yellow as well, but there's no nearby solid gray to assure that to be the case. The Metatron's coat could look dark gray in the lighting, but it's actually a dark brown.

So, given all of the surrounding circumstances, my own guess still looks to the overhead light as the Yellow of relevance for everything that's about to happen.

Please take a look at this post: More evidence.

I have a lot of thoughts I haven't fully processed on what that thing is, but I do believe it is generally relevant to this particular cut. I suspect Aziraphale puts it back in his mouth after Nutmeg passes by him visually and before the actual link to the Pocket Chain.

Yellow for both Aziraphale and the Metatron. They are sharing the connection. Each one is going to keep having a touch on Yellow for a bit. Aziraphale receives focus, but the Yellow is visually touched by the Metatron, not Aziraphale. The Metatron is allowing himself to be visually touching Aziraphale here.

Yellow for both Aziraphale and the Metatron. The Metatron receives focus. Aziraphale visually touches the Yellow, not the Metatron. Aziraphale is not visually touching the Metatron as the Metatron did for him. A human wearing orange passes by behind the Metatron though yet another human passes by more closely to the Metatron. The orange is gone from the cut by the time the cut itself finishes.

Yellow for Aziraphale. He has Green nearby and not ready. He also has some Orange up near his head. With both him and the Metatron having visually touched Yellow, Aziraphale now has yellow lights visible by his head. He's visually touching those this time

The Green is touching that Yellow too. Aziraphale's still stuck on Yellow for awhile though. A small bit of Yellow touches the Metatron during the cut. Meanwhile, someone wearing what seems to be Black is pocketed between the two by the end of the cut. I can't figure out what they might block in this moment. Instead, it might be relevant to how Crowley's touch will be on black between edges in his own final cut for The Door Trick.

Yellow for both Aziraphale and the Metatron. The Metatron receives focus. Aziraphale visually touches Yellow without the Metatron again. He is not visually touching the Metatron again either. The Yellow starts to walk away.

Deflection. I suspect due to the nature of the game and the trick with the words that deflection happens first here, redirection happens in the next cut of the Metatron, and disconnection happens in the cut after that.

The red alert lights blink once, giving a warning about the status of things. The Metatron starts to turn around while they are blinking.

The Metatron has no overhead light, or even the little yellow lights Aziraphale had. He was not seen with green in his front view shots after being linked through the Pocket Chain. He doesn't block Aziraphale's head completely, but he does block Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale's right ear is still visible, which probably helps with Aziraphale's own overhead light later.

The shadows of the green leaves hit the Metatron's face. That's the front. Crowley had help from "Diamondback". Aziraphale was linked in with his back to Crowley. Aziraphale's back is what's going to get the shadows later.

The red alert lights blink again with their warning. The blink is done before the end of the cut with Orange still visibly on the screen. Hopefully, that's the deflection.

A switch to Orange for Aziraphale does not happen. Did it happen for the Metatron? I suspect not because they are still connected. It was technically on screen by the end of the cut, but the Metatron was making mistakes in the process.

Yellow. Aziraphale's still on Yellow himself thanks to the deflection. He's still not ready yet, so again, he probably needs a redirection. Two sets of red alert lights are on. There are yellow lights by Aziraphale's head and a human with blurry yellow clothing. This time, with the Metatron out of the way, the blurred clothing touches Aziraphale behind him. The first set of red alert lights go off with that blurred yellow behind Aziraphale. When the yellow reappears on the other side of Aziraphale, the second set of red alert lights go off. Yellow has been properly received or maintained. Aziraphale does his mixed emotions facial expression. The red alert is still off at the end of the cut.

Redirection, I hope. The Metatron is heavily lacking in rainbow colors. There is maybe a little blue in his tie, which is not enough, or with mechanics as complicated as these, is actually just blue enough to move things where they need to go for the incoming disconnection. The camera work and movement suggest that the redirection in this cut is from the patterned interior of the Metatron's coat. Look at those shadows on Aziraphale's coat that will somehow help keep Green later.

Disconnection. If the blue helps disconnect, it happens here. Another contributing factor could be the visible darker straight lines on the white shirt.

Yellow. Even though this cut does not have blurred yellow clothing as others have done, it still seems to be enough to maintain Yellow thanks to the Metatron. Orange passes and is gone. Another shade that's hard to really call yellow passes the other way. Due to its timing, it and the yellow lights near Aziraphale's head are enough. That might have been helped by the gray in the elevator and its more colorful buttons not being shown yet. Aziraphale's bow-tie being tartan probably helps something somewhere.

Aziraphale turns his head with the red alert light still on by the end of the cut. This time it's for the look to Crowley. I really don't think the Rainbow Connection switches to Green until after we see Crowley.

Yellow. Despite the nearby reddish clothing and orange-ish clothing, no switch happens here though Green is being gathered or kept for the incoming switch through the nearby humans. I assume Aziraphale is maintaining Yellow thanks to the Overhead Light.

The human with the white shirt and brown backpack is probably helping or the extra blurs from humans in the foreground are helping so that said brown-backpack human can help later. He's blocked in the shot I chose, but he is there.

I consider this moment, Ground Zero for The Door Catch. It has not truly started until we see Aziraphale's shoes on the ground. That's part of the shoes thing I mentioned earlier. A lot of effort is being put into the shoes not being shown to help communicate this Ground Zero moment.

The challenge from the game is to guess what he's thinking or saying, and many audience players will opt for "Trust me" because of The Bullet Catch. That's an understandable choice because this Magic Trick is so deeply inspired by The Bullet Catch. The sequences at the end are designed to give the audience that impression. You'll find it is one of the most commonly played puzzles people remark on in the entire thing.

But it's a Trick. So, the answer is not "Trust me". Crowley is already trusting Aziraphale by setting the stage for him. The answer is actually, "Here goes nothing."

Sure, that's still a guess, but it is one of my more certain guesses the more I play the game.

One of the rules I've noted in the Threshold Tricks is, "Never do the same trick twice."

So, "Trust me," was already done. Been there. Done that. It's a no-go move. Yes, I'm playing with the words on purpose here.

Here are some other reasons I grow more and more sure:

The concept of zero or null is showing up in my readings of Terry Pratchett's work. Aziraphale says "nothing" at least three times during season 2. He says "nothing of the sort" when Maggie calls him an angel in episode 1. He says "nothing for me" when at the pub in episode 2. He says, "Nothing lasts forever," to Crowley earlier this episode. I suspect that particular line, "Nothing lasts forever," is significantly linked to this answer to the puzzle.

In one of the "Episode 0" Behind-The-Scenes specials for Good Omens 2, Neil Gaiman says something to the effect of he is trying his hardest to tell people "absolutely nothing" when they ask what's going to happen.

Moving past the hidden "Here goes nothing" line, Aziraphale's right ear is not visible. It was shown earlier with the deflection and the cut between the deflection and redirection. On the redirection, it was not clear. Aziraphale was blurred from the back. However, the Metatron had two because his right ear was shown and reflected in the window pane. Then for the disconnection, the Metatron's right ear disappeared from view. Meanwhile, Aziraphale's right ear was shown in the cut after the disconnection.

That last part was the cut before this Ground Zero moment.

In addition to all the ear things happening above, the two humans who pass over him both have their right ears available.

All of those things are supposed to help allow—or even require—Aziraphale to not show his right ear with the Overhead Light on screen.

Green. Crowley's Green is ready. Not long after this part, Crowley has an illusionary touch on Black to the bag being carried behind him. That touch will be between edges, which is unusual. That moment is Aziraphale's cue to begin.

...

The Door Catch

Green. Aziraphale's Green is ready. The overhead light is gone—or moved. There is some yellow light near his head, but it's not the same and through a different window. This cut is the official beginning of…The Door Catch.

Blue and Purple together. There was a small pocket of light that this pair of humans reached together. The one with the darker blue pants is who covered it fully with one of his legs. That light suggests that the blue and purple switch at the same time with these guys looking like they have three legs for two people.

The Blue connects to one of Aziraphale's shoes. The Purple connects over by Aziraphale's right hand and various parts of Aziraphale's clothing, including notably the edge where the coat meets the pants.

In the previous iterations, there was a double purple in The Pocket Trick's Double and then a possible double red in The Pocket Trick's Single. Since a skip-to-purple-and-back already happened with The Door Trick, connected to The Door Catch, my guess then is that a double purple to start going back up is not required.

I don't think the Rainbow Connection is at Red or Yellow despite those colors being on-screen in this cut.

This part is for Aziraphale to take a deep breath and make sure his bow-tie touches his skin.

Remember that thing from earlier that I said I thought Aziraphale put in his mouth?

Here is my preliminary guess:

That thing is a shrunken version of one of Crowley's own "thumb joints" of his Tied Hands, so that Aziraphale can have one here.

I don't know a lot about the logistics, but here are clues for why I think that. When I first saw that post, a clasp "thumb joint" was my first guess, but then I contemplated those things are too big.

However, in reviewing the minisodes for other reasons (my Sideburns Scheme posts), I noticed that Crowley uses his tongue when readying himself to make himself bigger in The Resurrectionists. He also used his tongue to make himself smaller in season 1. So, if he can shrink his general self, he could theoretically shrink this special part of himself.

I'm still mentally working through some other questions and ideas so am not sure. That's still where I am for now.

Plus, this possible "thumb joint" lines up with the knot in Aziraphale's bow-tie. When the bow-tie touches the skin, that is when it is most shiny.

Since Aziraphale's not going to have his actual hands doing certain things on screen, he's going to have to rely on his own version of his own Tied Hands. This thing being where it is suggests Aziraphale's Tied Hands are going to need at least one thumb joint. He might even need only one thumb joint because the other hand is "tied behind his back" for word play silliness. Only his left hand was visible by the end of the preceding cut, for example.

For Crowley's touches, Crowley himself needs a clothing contact on his right-partly-pocketed hand for his own touches.

So, this is something like that. A crucial mistake the Metatron is going to make is not having a thumb joint visible in a particular cut.

If the Yellow serves a purpose, as well as the colors on Aziraphale's own clothes, it's to help reach for the Green from earlier.

The red alert is off before Aziraphale is shown to enter the elevator.

Green. Somehow, many things leading to this moment are letting Aziraphale keep his connection at Green, thanks to the shadows on his coat. The words that come to mind are "stretch" or "share". The "stretch" seems more likely because I think of it as Aziraphale reaching back for the Green. See, his back on screen is even telling me so. I mentioned other "back" things earlier.

Pocket Frame. This video frame contains Aziraphale's Pocket Frame. It also contains the Metatron's Pocket Frame.

However, thanks to the disconnection, the Pocket Frames themselves are different.

I believe Aziraphale's is Elevator Edges. Thanks to the Metatron's pocket use and finger being exactly where it is, he is such an edge himself.

Meanwhile, the Metatron's Pocket Frame is Doorknobs.

The Metatron is properly framed between doorknobs of the pub doors, but...the Heaven elevator buttons are the equivalent of doorknobs for its threshold. The framing from the scene itself is strongly suggesting that to be the case due to how the buttons are shown with the Hell button further to the camera's left and visually behind one of the doorknobs where they all generally are on the camera's right.

The Metatron's finger is on the Heaven button. He is touching his Pocket Frame with the tip of his index finger. I suspect that is a mistake on his part due to the implied message from the game that's what he's doing in general. While we're at it, he never revealed a thumb shown from his right hand on the clothing when using his right coat pocket.

In the window pane, there is a reflection of Aziraphale's head over the Metatron's.

I am missing some valuable words I wish I could tell you about this significance. I sense from the nature of the game and what is happening with this special Magic Trick, that reflection is supposed to be to Aziraphale's advantage and the Metatron's disadvantage.

During the cut, the reflection switched from the Metatron's head being on the window pane closest to him to being the one closest to Aziraphale. His reflection is caught in a specific place with the back of Aziraphale's head in a move called The Door Catch.

The manuals and tutorials this game provide are hard to read, especially in the later stages. At this point, I'm mainly looking to past patterns and precise framing to guess at these types of things. My imagination and my word play skills can only get me so far, and right now, that's as far as they get me.

As for why I'm talking so much about the framing here, it's because there is a little more to this Rainbow Connection, I am led to believe.

Non-rainbow shades and colors do things. I don't get them as well as I would like and will go over that in further detail soon. For now, here is some of the older wording of this post before I add the newer stuff.

Black-and-white together seem to do something like a trap. Meanwhile, gray seems to allow some leniency on a lighter or darker shade counting for a proper color. Brown does something like borrow. Even though brown is in this screenshot, something about it is supposed to be wrong. That something is probably that the thumb joint of the hand seen—and the only hand seen in the cut, becomes extremely close to being seen and doesn't quite get there.

The elevator has plenty of Gray, but the Heaven button is a full circle Black filled with White and a Gold "H" button. That "H" would qualify as Yellow thanks to the Gray if it weren't for the black or black-and-white blocking it out.

So, when that button is pressed, the gold is disqualified as a yellow and trapped. Hence, the Rainbow Connection is further maintained at Green.

...

Now here's the newer stuff that is some review of the above in a lot more detail:

Well, it's been weeks and this bit is the best I've got, so here we go.

In the Heaven elevator with the Metatron, I do believe the following is supposed to apply:

Black blocks.

Brown borrows.

Gray shades.

White keeps.

I like "white keeps" in the rhythm better than "white holds," but that is the same general idea and why I've said I think Muriel's white helps hold things for assisting Crowley in other Threshold Tricks.

There are two huge problems I encounter with this idea, but I can't let it go. It still sticks with me.

The first one is that I cannot figure out what Black is blocking in Triple Part 3 and the Single of The Pocket Trick. Inside the elevator, the Black is blocking out the elevator's Gray. I am as sure as I can be that's the intent.

The White is holding the Gold to keep it as Gold.

Together, that allows the Black and White to effectively trap the Gold, so that it cannot be switched to Yellow despite so much Gray outside the Black circle.

There actually is a little Gray in the White but it's not enough or inaccessible because the Metatron makes the mistake of using a zoomed touch and not showing either of the two types of thumb joints he has on the hand doing the touch. So, the dark Brown he wears can't use the Gray to qualify the Gold as Yellow.

However, if I go and look at The Pocket Trick for what Black might do, I struggle to figure out what it's blocking. In Triple Part 2, I think it's helping trap the Green for eventual use in The Door Trick. It's part of how I got the idea that Black and White together can act as a trap. What needs to be blocked to make the trap? By now, I think it helps block in the rainbow.

Crowley and Aziraphale stall Blue switching to Purple for the Double, and the lighting is not setting Crowley's clothes to Black as obviously as it is in Triple Part 2. Maybe there is White helping that time but not Black.

The problems go on from there in similar ways. In Triple Part 3, that's where I got the idea because I was like "Okay, I guess the human wearing suspenders mean the Black and White suspend something". Well, they do in that part at least. Then the word is "suspend" instead of "block" though it's based on the idea of the trapping.

In The Door Trick, Crowley's illusionary touch is on a Black bag between edges and it essentially acting as a cue for Aziraphale to Begin. So, then, it doesn't seem to actually block anything. There are three other words other words that start with "b" around though! Between. Bag. Begin.

So, the Black's meaning itself switches, depending on what one's imagination requires it to do or I'm just incapable of finding what is being blocked.

That imagination part is the second huge problem. So long as I can see pockets in the right places and a goal in mind for what Crowley might want to accomplish, it doesn't seem to really matter. I mean, it does because I'm supposed to find the logic and the patterns. I wouldn't know these shades do what they do if they didn't show up in certain places at certain times.

But in both Triple Part 1 and the Double, I can say that the color didn't switch until a given time because of how Crowley and whatever assistance he got managed the timing, framing, and pocketing. If non-rainbow shades happen to be there, that's fine. I still don't know what Black is blocking or White is holding a lot of the time, if anything. I don't really think Brown is necessary to borrow either. Is there someone on-screen using pockets while Crowley himself has something he wants from his play in the game? Then it's done!

So, this bit:

Black blocks.

Brown borrows.

Gray shades.

White keeps.

This bit is more like a default with a limited imagination or limited available pocket assistance.

It's not exactly that way though because Aziraphale gets someone with White and Brown. What does that do? What does he need to borrow that needs a hold? The Green from the nearby humans in the preceding cut until the shadows on his coat can do the Trick?

I guess!

The thumb joints also matter. I can imagine what the Metatron would want—if he even knew this part of the game was being played—but since he's making mistakes, my imagination isn't going to fix it for him. He's not getting it done because I've progressed enough to figure out that part.

So, if my play further improves, I'll update accordingly.

I sincerely believe the 1941 minisode does actually give clues on these shades as well.

For Black, the miracle blocker blocks the turnip from turning into an inkwell. Ink is black. Black blocks. In this case, black is blocked, but I still think that's the clue. There are other colors involved, including a white handkerchief, but, again, I still think that's the clue for the Black.

For Brown, the clue is gross—and I am not a fan of gross things, so you're really going to have to use your own imagination because I am not going to spell it out completely. The old man the zombies kill is singing about farting. They kill him and one of them ends up borrowing that guy's voice to sing some more. You figure it out from there. Okay, fine, I will give you one more hint: it is a crappy joke. Nonetheless, Brown borrows.

For Gray, the clue is much more pleasant and is found near the end of the minisode at a lovely candlelit table while Crowley and Aziraphale are drinking wine. The "shades of gray" are mentioned in conversation, including darker shades and lighter shades. Gray shades.

I'm not as sure on the eventually named clue here for White. Aziraphale waves a white handkerchief around with "prestidigitation" in his dialogue when offering to help Crowley to Mrs. H. With the miracles being blocked later in the minisode, the problem keeps happening while he uses the white handkerchief over the turnip. White keeps.

And that concludes this updated part about these shades.

...

There is possibly some word play or joke in here to be made about leprechauns and their pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I generally leave off the leprechauns part and just say it like this from the main post: "The Rainbow Connection ends at Green thanks to a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

Nonetheless, the button being pressed is theoretically the end of the The Door Catch despite the two extra cuts of the Metatron and Aziraphale after that moment.

If you missed my simplified post of notes, my theory is that the green leaves by both Crowley and Aziraphale represent Earth and their shared love for Earth.

The Green is shown to be a maintained connection because of the plants being on screen with Crowley while playing the nightingale song during The Window Trick, then again during the credits.

The emotions at the end are, I believe, still supposed to be real. There is supposed to be heartache. The message from the hidden games is that even with this heartache, things are not as bleak as they seem. There is a bigger plan happening in the background. These two have been doing things separately together during Good Omens 2, and they will keep doing that after. They have made and maintained a connection.

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