#(which... was probably just the one time on screen? but whatever)

[userautumn]

He knows he shouldn't, but Buck texts Tommy anyway. Once Jee is covered in chocolate and cookie crumbs, once she's drifting off to sleep against his arm with Moana playing softly in the background, he pulls up their text thread with his unoccupied hand and clicks on the message bar. He ignores the grey and blue messages that sit above, messages—warm, kind, and loving—that speak to a happier time and instead chooses to type out a quick message.

Jee misses you.

He sends off the text and then pockets his phone. Slips out of Jee's sticky grasp so he can start cleaning the kitchen before it's time to put her to bed. He's so deep in thought that he almost misses the way his phone vibrates in his pocket.

What did she say?

"Uncle Tommy come play?"

Tommy doesn't respond for a while, long enough that Buck gets to imagine his face, pinched and in pain, with tears in his eyes. Or maybe Tommy's just fine. Maybe Buck is the one pinched and in pain, emotional and so damn sick of crying all the time.

I'm sorry.

Sorry to her or sorry to me?

It's not fair. Buck knows it's not as soon as he sends it, but Tommy replies seconds later anyway.

Sorry to both of you.

Buck stares at the text until his screen goes blank, trying to decide which of the emotions he's currently drowning in that he wants to feel. He settles on anger.

If you were that sorry, you wouldn't have dumped me three days after our six month anniversary.

Never mind.

This was dumb.

I shouldn't have bothered.

Sorry to have bothered you.

Bye.

Goodbye, Evan.

Buck's heart lurches into his throat at the sight of his name on screen, his eyes widening and his breath quickening. An embarrassing rush of hope stirs deep in his chest before he can clamp down on it and it feels like breathing for the first time in weeks. Another text comes through immediately after.

Sorry. It's a habit. I'm so sorry. Goodnight, Buck. Please tell Jee-Yun that I hope to see her soon.

Buck stares for a long moment, then lets out a laugh, thin and mirthless, as humiliation—so much fucking humiliation—crawls up his gut, filling his mouth with bile and shame. Right. He should have known. Did know, probably, somewhere deep down in his gut. But Evan Buckley has always been a dreamer, a believer in the impossible. Even and especially when it costs him.

I'm not going to lie to her.

Tommy doesn't answer, and this time, Buck knows he won't. He slides his phone back into his pocket and stares down at the countertop. His hands are braced on the flat, smooth surface, the fingers of one hand slick with soapy water. He doesn't cry, but it's a damn near close thing. Hell, with the pain currently slicing and carving its way through his chest, he could probably scream with it, but he won't. He won't scare Jee and he won't wake the neighbors, he'll just... deal with it. Like he has been dealing with it, like he always deals with it.

Buck takes a deep breath. Then he grabs the dishcloth he'd thrown aside and walks back over to the sink. Dips the rag in hot, soapy water and wrings it out before returning to wipe down the counters once more. Whatever. All of this is just... whatever. Tommy breaks his heart—he lets Tommy break his heart—for the second time in a row and it's just fucking whatever. Right now, the kitchen needs to be cleaned and Jee-Yun needs to be woken up so she can brush her teeth before he tucks her in, and life does what it does best: it goes on.

He can cry about Tommy Kinard later. It's not like he gets much sleep these nights anyway.

[puck-luck]

Ooh omg congrats on the 1K!!

I would like to request 5 of clubs with Jack Hughes please. (Maybe with an exhibition kink 🙈)

This isn't quite as clubs-like or exhibitionist, but I've been feeling slightly out of the mood today (I think because I had to make a lesson about the American relationship with Native Americans during colonization... not the most uplifting topic). Hoping for something better tomorrow!

Also I'm watching a 2.5 hour video essay about One Direction's history right now. I love that people can make whatever content they want, and they usually give it their all :)

after typing that i'm realizing that statement is really meta since i'm writing nhl fanfic. sigh. ok fine i guess i enjoy my own content whatever

Warnings: fingering, exhibition, Paul Mescal in Gladiator II WC: 592

You’ve never been one to keep trivial secrets from Jack. He’s your boyfriend and you are thoroughly against miscommunication. Your openness has resulted in plenty of fun jokes for Jack, the latest of which has landed you in your current predicament. You’re in the bougie movie theater that Jack always splurges on, sitting in a plush recliner and watching Gladiator II. Jack thought this would be a fun date night, because– well– you love Paul Mescal. 

It’s something about his nose. It’s very Roman, which you find sexy. Jack knows this, and knows that you’ve particularly enjoyed the costume design of the film, even joking with you about dressing up like a gladiator for Halloween. 

He hadn’t mentioned it again until this morning, which is when he told you that he’d bought some tickets for the film. It had actually been out for a while now, so the theater is relatively empty, but you’d never had the time to see the movie. Jack, after all, had wanted to see it with you… probably because he wanted to pull something like this.

He knows that Paul Mescal is your celebrity crush. You’ve been repeating that to yourself since you realized that it’s the motivation behind Jack’s movements. His touch had been casual at first, just tapping his fingers against your thigh. He’d convinced you to wear a skirt by claiming you’d be going to dinner afterward. You expect that his real reason is that he wanted easy access.

His fingers are inside of you now, petting over your walls. He’s teasing you, moving slowly when Paul Mescal isn’t on screen and thrusting into you at a quicker pace when your crush graces your vision with his presence. Jack also particularly likes drawing circles over your clit as he moves inside you, constantly keeping you on the edge.

“Jack,” you hiss, ready to try and convince him to stop, even though you only half-want his movements to cease. You’re flushing a bit, eyes darting around the theater to make sure no one is watching you. There are only a few other groups in the theater: another couple two rows ahead, a group of university-aged girls near the middle of the theater, two middle aged women in the front row. All in all, there are less than fifteen people in this theater. 

“Be quiet, baby. I can’t have everyone hearing you,” Jack murmurs. He shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth, continuing his movements. He’s acting completely normal, even as your cunt squeezes him tight. 

You bring your hand down and clutch his wrist, trying to halt his movements. 

Jack turns to you. “Do you really want me to stop?” He asks quietly. Paul Mescal starts speaking on the screen and Jack’s eyes flicker away from you to check the screen. His thumb increases its pace against your clit and his fingers flex rapidly inside of you. 

You whimper a bit, clenching down involuntarily. Your knuckles turn white while your fingers grip his arm. Your hips jolt.

Jack quirks an eyebrow. 

“No,” you admit, loosening your grip and allowing him to continue. 

“Just pay attention to Paul,” Jack encourages, smirking at you and brushing a kiss against your cheek. “I’m just here to help you along, baby.”

You scoff quietly, cringing a bit at his words. 

Jack clocks your reaction, his face breaking out in a tiny smile. He giggles to himself, tracing the line of your jaw before mouthing against your throat. “Don’t laugh. We’re having fun. You, me, and your other boyfriend.”

[midnight1nk]

EPISODE CONCEPT #4

What if... SMG3 had the courage to confess his feelings for the real SMG4?

For context, this is part two of my Episode Concept #3 [link], which many have asked for! @lovesick-simp, this is for you! (this is somehow longer than #3, holy shit.) Now, without further ado…

I promise.

He could never forget the feeling of tangible pixels leaving his arms. What once skin and clothes turned into mere 0’s and 1’s.

Those eyes, the ones he was willing to sink in its depths for hours, they cried. Of apology, of bittersweet farewell. He promised a lot of things, and one was to never let Four cry.

But it was never your Four.

At the time, a thousand thoughts passed through his mind. That this was simply a nightmare, or he had gotten too drunk. Or he ate a Wonder Flower by accident. Somehow, some way, this can’t be happening. He wanted to deny it all, but he knew. Why deny the truth when he fading away in your arms?

Goodbye, Three…

“SMG3?”

Three jumped at the mention of his name, turning to Tari who looked back at him with concern.

Tari: “Oh, sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re okay. You’ve been staring at Lil’ Spot for a while.”

He blinked at her, and then looked down at the gray-feathered duckling nestle in his cupped hands. Ah, yeah, he was.

SMG3: “I was just daydreaming, that’s all.” [*looks around, recalling where he was*] “It really is a nice place. It’s not far from the Showgrounds, right?” Tari, smiles: “Yep, I always like to come down here, it helps me clear my head. Plus, I get to hang around with the duckies!” SMG3: [*nods and with a finger, he soothes the duckling’s head*] “You were right before, I could use the fresh air.” “Eh, Tari, a little help here?”

Three looked across the way to see a couple of yellow ducklings climbing all over SMG4, who was standing by the edge of the lake. All over on his arms, his shoulders, under his blue cap. As Tari ran over to help, Four trying to not let any of them fall while giggling, tickled by their fluffy feathers.

Three began to smile, and perhaps he could let his heart feel that missing warmth.

Have courage.

But the cautious part of him didn't let him. He should've known better, he apologized to his heart.

Not yet.

Four and Tari came back with the tamed ducklings lined up in their arms.

SMG4: “If I spent a little more time with these little guys, they're gonna think I’m their mom.” SMG3, hums: “You always did have a thing for being the center of the universe.” SMG4: “Hey, it's not like I do it on purpose.”

And yet, you managed to become mine. But Three kept that thought to himself.

Tari: “It's getting late, and I told Meggy I was making dinner tonight. I should probably get them back to their mother.” SMG4, handing the ducklings from his arms to hers: “Yeah, we should head home, SMG3.”

Three said goodbye to Lil' Spot before handing the duckling to Tari, who promptly went to drop them off and returned. While Four was distracted, folding up the picnic blanket, Three leaned towards Tari while keeping an eye on Four.

SMG3, whispered: “Tari, could you please do a simulation check?”

Tari looked at him, her concern reflecting once again. He has asked that everyday. Any chance he was with her, it was the same. The first few times, she tried assuring him, telling him, “It's okay, SMG3. There's no need, you’re safe now.”

But it never seemed to calm his nerves. As much as she wanted to protest, she knew that it wasn't an unreasonable exaggeration. Whatever the simulation did to him must've been really horrible for him not to tell anyone what happened. To think he was back.

Tari nodded and programmed a command on the floating screen projecting by her arm. A window popped up saying, No detection of simulation.

Tari: “All clear.” SMG3, letting out a sigh of relief: “Thanks. I owe you one.” Tari, letting out a small smile: “No worries, we’re your friends after all. Though, I wouldn't mind having one of your cookies again once you’re healed.” SMG3: [*chuckle*] “That I can do.” SMG4, swinging the backpack over his shoulder: “Alright, ready to go?”

SMG3 nods. After saying goodbye to Tari, SMG4 pushed SMG3’s wheelchair on the path towards the Showgrounds.

It’s been over a month since Three was freed from the simulation. The Crew wasted no time bringing him to the hospital. The rest, well, it seemed like a blur. To Three at least. The doctors and nurses, what they said, he never caught it. He was lucky that his friends were there to remember for him. Three wasn’t exactly sure what to feel. Should he grieve? Should he be grateful that the Crew found him and his son?

What he did know was the promise that he kept.

The Crew was naturally relieved to see he was in good hands, but anyone could tell that they were exhausted from the stress of the search. So, while Three was going through recovery, they took turns watching over him. The rest, who didn't have the shift, took the chance to rest.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

One night, Tari and Saiko were walking down the quiet hospital hall, Saiko holding a gift bag and Tari a duffle bag with colorful patches all over it.

Tari: “Do you think SMG3 will like the card?” Saiko: “He’s a big softie on the inside, of course he will. Let's just hope we can pry SMG4 away from him.” Tari: “You can't exactly blame SMG4. I mean, don't you remember? He didn't sleep for days, or even eat. He was worried sick.” Saiko: “But he needs rest too, not just us. SMG3 is rescued, he should let us take care of it, if he wasn't so stubborn.” Tari: “Well, that nurse did say SMG3 would be better soon. Maybe we convince SMG4 this time.”

They reached to Three's room, but they found an unexpected sight when they opened the door:

Four fell asleep on the chair beside the bed, his head resting on Three’s lap like a pillow. A sleeping Three had a hand gently on Four’s hair with all the tenderness and quiet reassurance in the world. What was free, their hands were intertwined. It was certainly a rare sight, and they seemed so at peace with each other.

Tari and Saiko shared a glance, a gentle smile.

Tari: “Aw, that's so cute.” [*snaps a picture for the group chat*] Saiko: “C’mon, let’s them be.”

Saiko tiptoed into the room and left the gift bag on the nearby table. Peering at them one last time, she gently closes the door. They could always come back tomorrow.

There, what awaited in the gift bag, were reminders of home. A bomb from his cafe, a mini-plush of Eggdog, a record of jazz music. A homemade card, one side filled with heartwarming messages and the other a drawing of all the Crew with the Castle in the background, one of the best works Melony has ever done.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG4: “I bet I can drink a thousand cans of Monster Energy.” SMG3: “Nah uh! You’re lucky I can’t drink that stuff yet because I would’ve totally beaten you!” SMG4: “Oh, really? Well, I can’t wait to see you try.”

The two laughed as they reached the Castle. Eggdog greeted them at the door, happy to see his dads (And yes, I know what I said, shh) after Three's physical therapy session and jumped into his dad’s arms for a quick hug. Beeg4 slowly followed his brother, only letting out a pufferfish noise as a small “hello”. He isn’t usually the affectionate type. Four went to get Three’s customized cane leaned against the wall, and helped Three get to his feet. (The cane was a gift from the Crew but Bob was the one who added neat little secrets for Three to use. Though, Bob wants it to be off the record that it isn’t because he’s gone soft or anything.)

Ever since Four proposed the idea for Three to stay at the Castle, this has become second nature for them. They switched out the wheelchair with the cane at home so Three would be more comfortable walking around. Plus, he would usually hold Four’s arm to lean on. After his physical therapy appointments, Four would cook up dinner for the whole family. Or see if there’s any leftovers or takeout on special occasions. Three recently got the approval to eat solid food again, and Three couldn't be more glad. He was honestly getting sick of the same old soups day after day. Well, even if they tasted good. And they all sit at their usual seats at the table, not that they assigned seats or anything. It felt natural.

And today was pizza night.

SMG3: “Y’know…” SMG4, setting the pizza down: “No.” SMG3: “Oh, c’mon. You haven’t even tried it, you big baby.” SMG4: “And I already know that your ‘Ultimate Pizza’ is a disgrace to culinary art. To your tastebuds. Who the hell puts baked beans on pizza?” SMG3: “Well, Eggdog likes it.” Eggdog, helping set the plates: [*happy bark*] SMG4: “Oh, so now you’re bringing the kids into this? C’mon, Beeg, help me out here.” [Beeg doesn’t respond] [*acts dramatically, like someone stabbed him in the heart*] “I’ve been betrayed. Pleh.” SMG3, shakes head amusingly: “Shut up and eat, idiot.” SMG4: “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.” [*taunting*] “Forever.” SMG3: “Oh no, whatever should I… do.”

He… said this before, hasn’t he?

SMG4, mouth full of pizza: “Uh, SMG3, you’re good?” SMG3: “Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” [*eats his slice somberly, looking away*]

Four kept his gaze on Three. He wanted Three to tell him what was in his mind. He wanted to reach out and hold his hand. Comfort him. They have been there for each other at the worst of times. At each other’s worst.

There were two things they shared with absolute certainty: (1) they’re both stubborn, and (2) they would put up a brave face for the people around them.

Four did, when he discovered Three and Eggdog missing from the cafe. He would put on a determined smile, telling the rest of the Crew that they would rescue Three. But he supposed they could see right through him. That he was crumbling. Three was the one who saved him when he went insane and was possessed by the demonic keyboard. How could he not be frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t do the same?

Biting into his pepperoni slice, Four thought to himself, if only there was a way to take away all the pain Three was feeling right now. If only Three would let go of the front he has and let him show his pain in front of Four. To let Four be his safe space.

There isn’t much he can do, other than to let Three come to him on his own terms. When he is ready.

After finishing up dinner and washing the dishes, they all went to Four’s room. Eggdog and Begg decided to play Jenga, Three sat on the bed scrolling through his phone, and Four went back to editing videos since there was a lot of catching up to do. The record player was playing jazz music, the LP cover was signed “To SMG3”. Three bobbed his head while Four hummed the notes, admittedly it was a great disc that they could both enjoy. After a while, Three reminded Four to take a break from the screen, to which Four immediately complied and sat next to Three.

SMG4: “How’s your legs?”

SMG3: “Tired. But not as bad as last time. Could you pass the pills?”

SMG4, grabbing the bottle and handing it to Three: “Well, you are getting better in today's therapy session. Just wait a bit more.”

When SMG3 grabbed his medication, they briefly touched. It normally wouldn’t mean anything, but there was a tingle. Of curiosity, of warmth. The two lightly blushed, which they quickly brushed it off. They sat in silence as Three swallowed the pills.

SMG3: [*held his jaw by the hand*] “Do you know what I miss the most?” [*looks at Four, who nods as a sign for him to go on*] “Dancing.”

Three didn’t lie, it was one of the things he loved to do. That, and one other reason...

After some thought, Four stood up from the bed. Three didn’t even notice until Four stood before him. Four cleared his throat, a tint of pink on his cheeks, and held out his hand.

SMG4: “Wanna dance?” SMG3: [*puzzled, looking at the hand to Four and back*] “SMG4, I think we should get you some glasses.” SMG4: [*amusingly rolling his eyes*] “’It doesn’t have to be perfect.’ Isn’t that what you always told me?” SMG3: [*starstruck at the remembrance of this memory, lightly chuckled*] “And you dare to use my own words against me.”

Four helped Three up to his feet, his arms being his only support instead of the cane or wheelchair. At first, it was naturally awkward, being that Three is still recovering. Their dancing, if you would even call it that, was more of them shuffling their feet around the floor. They didn’t care.

Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars

Slowly, they melted in each other’s embrace. Oh, how easily it was to be lost in the other’s eyes, pools of ruby and sapphire. Secretly, they wished they could be like this forever.

Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars

In the back of Three’s mind, alarm bells were ringing loudly. It isn’t real. He just wants to be friends. Somehow, Three ignored it all the moment Four gave him a smile.

In other words, hold my hand In other words, darling, kiss me

What Three didn’t know, Four was lost in his own mind. The romanticist that he is, he’s freaking out in the inside like a high school girl. It felt like a scene in the romcom movies he watches. But it was real. Three taught him how to give second chances. Perhaps there was a chance now.

Fill my heart with song Let me sing forevermore

Three ran his fingers on Four’s sleeve. It’s real. He’s real.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore

His shooting star, his sweet prince.

In other words, please be true

His hope.

In other words, I love you

As the song ends, the two came to a stop, but they didn’t part. Once again, they were lost in each other’s world.

SMG3: “…We’ve stopped.”

SMG4: “We did? Then, why is a room still spinning?”

Being so close to the other man, the tension was high. Have courage.

Even then, it wasn’t enough. He’s not your Four. Three cleared his throat, looking away before any temptation got hold of him.

SMG3: “I’m… pretty tired, SMG4.” SMG4: “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” [*reaching to hand Three his cane, hiding his disappointment*] SMG3: “Thanks anyway.” [*walks out the door, preparing to go to bed*]

SMG4 stayed where he stood, his heart skipped a beat. It felt like a dream. He danced with his… Well, ‘friend’ was never the right word for him to label Three. Partner? Maybe.

Crush. Yeah… that sounds about right. Ever since Four was saved by Three, he never looked at their relationship the same way. “Just friends” was the stability for the longest time. The “safe” term. And yet, it was selfish to wish for something more. So much so that Four had dreams of a domestic life with Three. Holding hands, to lean to his touch. To…

Four shook his head. Three didn’t seem ready, or even interested. It was just part of his imagination and nothing more.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

The concrete halls were dark, cold by the touch. All was silent except for the dripping coming from an overhead pipe leak. Light shined through, daring the shadows to confrontation.

They didn’t think they’d be back, but here they were.

Mario, Meggy, and Saiko walked down the abandoned building, remembering their way to a specific room.

Meggy: “We’re getting close, guys. Keep your eyes peeled.” Saiko: “I seriously don’t see the point of us coming back here. Whoever did this is long gone.” Meggy: “Tari was telling me how SMG3 was, and… Look, whoever did this really messed him up. But they must’ve had some big plan for them to involve SMG3 in something. We gotta figure out what it was.” Saiko: “If you think it’s gonna help, fine. Like I said, I’m only here as backup.”

Finding the right door, they entered what was once the simulation room. The group split up and searched for any clues.

Saiko: “Looks like they didn’t come back here.” [*examines the monitor and finds a file of plans in creating the simulation*] Meggy: [*picks up the simulation machinery*] “It’s completely busted. Find anything, Red?” Mario: “No.” [*trips over a hidden box, spilling its contents*] “Ow, my ass.” Meggy: “Are you alright?” Mario: [*rubbing his head*] “Yeah.” [*looks at what he tripped over*] “Hey, I found SMG3’s clothes!” Saiko: “Clothes?”

Indeed, there was a pair of black overalls, a dark blue long-sleeve, and a familiar cap. Meggy picked up the cap, spinning it in her hands. Seeing the “M” emblem, she recognized it immediately. SMG3 wore this getup before the redesigns, and she knew why the “M” was attached.

Meggy: “The Youtube remote. They were trying to make SMG3 into a villain again.”

Mario and Saiko exchanged a glance, seeing the situation at hand. To force Three into a villain again…

Saiko: “You guys get out of here.” Mario and Meggy: “What?” Saiko: “The simulation machinery may be destroyed but it doesn’t mean another one can’t be built.” [*presents the file to them*] “That person’s going to come back and get their things, maybe continue with their plan. They already hurt one of us, it can’t happen again. You guys get out of here, I’ll take care of it.”

Mario and Saiko looked at each other before giving a nod. Saiko was right, the culprit always comes back at the scene of the crime after all. The two left, leaving Saiko alone in the room. She picked up a lighter and lit the file blueprints, watching these plans of cruelty burn to a crisp. She was lucky to buy one of Three’s bombs just for a moment like this. She lit up and ran out, letting the explosive destroy it all. The clothes, the plans. The building itself. Every single bit to a crisp.

No one messes with the Crew. No one.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

“Three?”

SMG3 opens his eyes, widening as he recognizes his surroundings. The white void.

SMG3: [*heavy breathing*] “No, no, no.”

He turned his heel, ready to run, when he was stunned to see…

SMG3: “…SMG4?” SMG4: “God, you really are pathetic.”

Three is left stunned.

SMG4: “I mean, did you really think I had feelings for you? I’m only taking care of you because I feel bad.” [*walks over to Three*] SMG3: “I thought—” SMG4: “Oh, you thought? Please, get a grip on what’s real here.” [*harshly grabbed onto Three’s arm*] Villains don’t get happy endings.” SMG3: “Four, you’re hurting me. Stop it. Just stop!”

Suddenly, Four went limp, starting to fall over.

SMG3: “Four!” [*catching him*]

Three turns Four over to see his face half of it was pixelated, fading away.

SMG4?: “You… couldn’t keep your promise.” SMG3: “No… I… I’m trying. I really am.” Digital SMG4: “I got a chance to live, to experience love of all things.” [*his voice quickly distorting*] “And you ruined it all.” SMG3: “No, it’s not true. It’s not!” Digital Four: “Why, Three? Why did you have to be so cruel?”

In that moment, Four faded away, its code in the wind.

SMG3: “No, no no!”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG3: ”NO!”

Three jolted up from the bed. A hand clutching at his shirt, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Four, who slept right next to his partner, also woke up.

SMG4: “SMG3. Three. It’s okay, that dream isn’t real. It’s not real.” [*his hands gently cradled Three’s face*] “Easy, easy, easy.”

Three finally came to his senses, grounded by Four’s reassurance. His heavy breathing settled until his panic was no more.

SMG4: [*his thumb caresses the other’s cheek*] “See? It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

From the calmness and comfort of his hands, Three leaned into his touch. What he dreamed of, that wasn’t his Four. They stayed like this, the air becoming heavy. Until Three reached to grab Four’s hand from his cheek, but he didn’t shoo the other away.

SMG4: “Three…” SMG3: “I can’t. Sorry…”

SMG4 sighed, once again unable to reach him. But there still had to be a way to help Three.

SMG4: “Hey, do you think you can sleep again?” SMG3: [*shakes his head*] “No.” SMG4: [*gets up from bed and grabs Three’s shoes*] “C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Three had no idea where Four was taking him, but here they were: walking through the woods still in their pajamas, in hoodies, and shoes. They weren’t in a rush but Four was seemingly eager to show him this mystery. He looked at Four without the other noticing.

Me, the Crew, everything, it's an exact copy of the real thing.

The Four in the digital world was a mere copy. But even a copy could never show him what he was about to see:

Beyond the woods, there was a field of white flowers. Open to the beautiful stars above. The two sat down and looked at the view.

SMG4: “Whenever I get a nightmare, I always come here. I just happen to stumble over all of this. But it somehow clears my head. Especially after… the ‘perfect’ incident.” [*small chuckle*] “I guess there are some things we can't get over.”

Three looks at him, hanging on to every word.

SMG4: “I care a lot about you, SMG3. More than you could ever realize. But it hurts to see when you’re trying to keep it all together. I know that feeling all too well. I can’t force you to tell me what happened in the simulation, but know that whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.”

Their hands got closer together. Their pinkies touched, they noticed but didn’t show.

SMG3: “I don’t know if you should. All the people I care about don’t stay for long. I’m unlikable, SMG4. I’m a villain and always will be.” SMG4: [*shakes head*] “You’ve changed. Besides, I like you. All of you.” [*their pinkies intertwined*] SMG3: “Four…” SMG4: “No, I’m not going to change my mind. I won’t leave you. Whatever you wish me to be, I will be it. A friend, a partner. Someone you can talk to. Anything.”

The air felt heavy once again, and everything became a blur. The silent wind passed through their hair. Have courage.

SMG3: [*gulping*] “…Then, let me ask: are you real?”

A free hand from Four held the other’s face.

SMG4: [*briefly looking at Three’s lips*] “As real as you want me to be.”

Whatever stopped him several times before, Four cut those ties loose. He leaned forward, his eyes slowly closing. He was patient and ready to see if Three would reject him. But Three didn’t and let Four close the gap.

A soft kiss, it was brief. It was tender. It was real.

Three kissed back, letting the other know he reciprocated. They parted for a moment, waiting for the other to make a move.

SMG3: “Then, be true for me.”

They went for a second kiss, this time with passion and longing. This. This cleared every doubt they had before. Their insecurities, whatever held them down. Three wrapped his arms around Four’s neck while other did the same, around Three’s back. If this was a dream, screw it, let them dream. This time, nothing was going to take it away from them.

A single tear rolled down Three's cheek. It's been a while, hasn't it?

SMG3, talking in between kisses: “I love you, Four. I always have.” SMG4, doing the same: “I love you too, Three. I wanted you for so long.” SMG3, parting from kiss: [*laugh*] “Oh? Did you now?” SMG4, turning bright red: “Uh.. c’mon, dude, don’t ruin the moment. It’s not my fault you’re attractive.” SMG3, mischievously leaning to Four: “Really?” SMG4: “Shit.”

Three nuzzled into Four’s neck, kissing all over and leaving Four laughing at how ticklish it was.

SMG4, bursting in laughter: “Three, s-stop!” SMG3, whispered: “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one who thought the same.”

Oh, how wonderful was it to listen to the sounds Four makes.

His shooting star, his sweet prince.

His Four.

After a while, the two catch their breath. They leaned onto each other, held hands, and looked back at the stars.

SMG4: “I promise I’ll be true for you.” [*gave Three's hand a squeeze*] SMG3: [*hums, returning the gesture*] “Well then, I’ll do the same for you.”

Three held many promises, one was to never let Four cry. Now, there was another: to be his truest self.

[horsemage]

I think we should bring back basic etiquette lessons such as shutting the fuck up when you’re watching a movie in a group that is not exclusively your friend group 🙂

[nerdie-faerie]

The one specification I gave about my laptop was that I needed it for university so of course it doesn't fit in my uni bag 😅

[butchlifeguard]

primrose's ch3 is GOOD btw

[longroadstonowhere]

i started getting myself to go to sleep, and then my brain wandered, and i ended up thinking about rose and kanaya's snark-off (i think their... second? conversation from rose's perspective), and just... homestuck is such a funny comic and that whole pesterlog is fucking gold

[lightseoul]

a/n. second time writing from bkg's perspective. this was so fun! (1.1k)

the moment that cemented bakugou’s resolve to marry you wasn’t exactly grand.

it wasn’t your first kiss.

or the first time you made love to each other.

not even the first time you met his nerd-ass friends or his (slightly) overbearing parents. although those two come as close runner-ups.

no, it was rather a random saturday morning after you spent a night at his place, now clad in what he thinks is nothing but your intimates and a burnt orange t-shirt of his that drapes loosely over your frame.

and as he enters the kitchen and closes the distance between the two of you with a few strides, he can’t help but wonder what you’re doing—deeply focused on your laptop—when you’re probably the one who’s extra pedantic about not bringing work home.

“morning,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss your cheek, which you happily accept. although, to his chagrin, your eyes remain on your computer screen, not even sparing him a single glance.

he knows it’s fucking embarrassing, how strongly you elicit feelings within him without you even fucking trying, but he can’t stop the frown that takes over his face even if he attempted to fight it.

shaking off the irrational disappointment from not even being ignored, he rounds the kitchen island and starts brewing the two of you coffee.

“by the way,” he starts, glancing at you over his shoulder, “the old hag’s birthday is coming up. she wants to have dinner with just the four of us, or some shit.”

“i know,” you simply pipe up from where you’re seated on one of his fancy bar stools, gaze still glued on whatever the fuck it is that’s keeping your attention from him.

he turns to you, a manual coffee grinder in tow. “you do?”

at that, you finally look up at him, an innocent expression etched across your features. “you don’t remember? i asked you when your parents’ birthdays were way back in march.”

way back in march.

back when you unanimously decided to decisively end the dating phase and become boyfriend-girlfriend.

“yeah?” is the only thing he manages to get out.

you let out a soft laugh that’s nothing but music to his ears. “yeah, dummy.”

before you can get to see the red that’s most definitely creeping up to his cheeks, bakugou turns his back against you, returning to busying himself with crushing the beans into fine powder and pouring lukewarm water into the machine.

only a few months before reaching a full year together, and you still manage to make him fucking blush.

over the most mundane things, too.

when he first got into his very first relationship with you at the ripe age of 28, he thought he’d outgrown and was way past the embarrassing shit that the human body was capable of when dealing with anything remotely close to romance.

it didn’t take him long enough into your relationship to find out he was so, so wrong.

sighing, he pours out the cup of ground beans onto the filter, finally pressing the button and bringing the coffee maker to life.

you must be done with what’s highly likely is work by now.

but chancing a glance at you, he’s once again met with palpable disappointment when the very same sight greets him.

before he can rein them in, the words come tumbling out of his lips.

“the fuck is so important on that laptop?”

his booming voice must’ve caught you off guard, because you startle ever so minutely in your seat.

“sorry,” he quickly adds on, albeit through a mutter; frustration with himself and his inability to modulate his voice added to the increasingly long list of emotions he’s having to fucking deal with right now.

waving him off, you shoot him another one of that disarming smile of yours. “‘s funny that you ask. i was just about to ask you for your opinion.”

with that, you gesture him to come close with your fingers. curious, he once again rounds the island, ultimately occupying the spot to your right and leaning down to peer at the small text on your screen.

before he can even get a word in, you hurriedly explain yourself. “mitsuki-san mentioned her personal sewing machine broke, so i’ve been thinking about getting her a new one.”

you point to a sleek, off-white model among what looks to be a vast array of selections, “i researched the specs and i think this one’s the best. what do you think?”

a million things course through his mind in an instant, but what he ends up sputtering out is: “you’re such a fucking nerd, you know that?”

at that, you look up at him, your seemingly perpetually moisturized lips now formed into a playful pout, and it takes everything in him not to just pull you in for a kiss and completely abandon the conversation in its entirety.

but he’d like to think he at least has the slightest bit of self-control.

even if you do wear him the fuck out on a daily basis.

“i just want to make sure it’s perfect!” you argue, shifting to stare at your laptop again and bringing him back to the present. your voice is way smaller when you continue. “…i want her to like me.”

he doesn’t even miss a beat. “she already fucking does, dumbass.”

and she really does.

the morning after bakugou first brought you to meet his parents a whopping two months into calling it official, mitsuki texted him something along the lines of having the family heirloom slash ring already adjusted to fit your finger.

he immediately called the old hag after receiving the message just to reprimand her ear off for being too fucking forward and for meddling too much.

but, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he was angry not because mitsuki was imposing, but because he couldn’t believe his mother beat him to that important realization.

the realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one.

and now, as he studies you as you scroll through more and more iterations of the best sewing machines on the market with your eyebrows adorably furrowed in utmost concentration, it dawns on him.

it dawns on him that that maybe just turned into a definitely.

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon

˖⁺‧₊ this one made me smile like an idiot while writing lmao. as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

[joonie-beanie]

Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: S Tier | [Scaramouche/Wanderer x Reader]

Summary: Subject: Your Commission For [Guided Masturbation Audio - 30 minute session] In which your asshole best friends order a commission from your favorite ASMR artist, and it's a lot more NSFW than you were expecting. "From this moment on, you’re going to follow my directions. I’d say “if you fail to, you’ll be punished” but we both know you’re probably just another people pleaser who will do whatever I say, as long as you know it will make me happy. But fair warning–I won’t be happy until you’re so fucked out you can’t speak a coherent word.” Content: Smut, Guided Masturbation, Toy Use, Name Calling, Degradation/Humiliation, fem!reader Word Count: 6.5k Note: this is kind of an untraditional smut, so just keep that in mind lol

“Sweetheart…you really need to find some way to relax.”

“I agree. If you don’t release your tension, it’ll do a number on your health.”

You really appreciate Lisa and Yae being so concerned for you, but…

“I know. It’s just…not that easy for me.”

By now, in theory, you should have figured out some better coping mechanisms and ways to destress, but alas.

Taking a book from the return bin, Lisa scans it, and then places it onto the go-back cart.

“Well, have you tried getting off?”

Her suggestion makes you jerk, your head swiveling as you glance around the library to see if anyone nearby has overheard. At your side, Yae giggles.

“Calm down…finals have just ended. No one is in the library anymore—they’re out partying.”

You sigh. 

You suppose she’s right. The only reason you three are here is because Lisa is working the closing shift, and because Yae had insisted that you come along to the library with her to keep Lisa company.

“Traditional porn, a good adult novel, ASMR—all would be good options,” Lisa continues.

“I’m not really into porn right now, and I don’t think I have the bandwidth to focus on a book,” you say, resting your cheek in your palm. “As for ASMR…I’m not a big fan. I’ve really only discovered one creator that I like…”

“Oh?” 

Now that piques their interest. 

“What’s their name?”

“He goes by “Hat Guy” on twitter,” you tell them. “He mostly just…posts audio responses to dumb takes, or makes ASMR mocking other ASMR trends, but his voice is nice, and he has a small fan base…despite him kind of being a little shit.”

“How cute,” Lisa laughs while Yae pulls out her phone.

“Well, then…since it sounds like he doesn’t have any relaxing content, maybe you should just go home and take a nice bath. Did you ever use that bath bomb I got you for your birthday?”

“No,” you mumble sheepishly. At your side, Yae taps your knee.

“Lisa is right. Go home and have a bath. I’ll keep her company until she’s done.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you sure…? I just got here like half an hour ago and now you want me to go home?”

“I just think some “you” time would be good,” she tells you with a smile. You pout your lips, but ultimately decide that…maybe she’s right.

“Fine, I’ll head home and rest, then.”

“Good girl,” Yae responds, patting your ass when you bend over to grab your backpack. You narrow your eyes at her, but aren’t truly mad.

“Be careful on your walk home~,” Lisa says as you start towards the exit. You wave at them both over your shoulder, and then leave the building.

A few seconds after your departure, Lisa turns to Yae.

“Alright, what did you find that you didn’t want Y/N to know about?”

Yae grins, loving that Lisa has already caught on.

“Look—”

She gets up from her seat and leans over to show Lisa her phone screen.

“I found Hat Guy’s twitter and saw that he’s accepting commissions, and look at one of the options~”

She points to something, and Lisa’s eyes hurriedly scan the text in front of her. 

When she has finished reading, she grins.

“Oh, my…well, that’s certainly tempting.”

“I was thinking maybe we can give it to Y/N as a… “you survived finals! Use this to relax” type present. Since she’s always doing thoughtful things for us when we’re swamped.”

Lisa smiles, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips.

“I agree. She’s brought us so many cups of tea over the last few months. It’s the least we can do.”

“Good,” Yae says with a nod, immediately clicking on the commission link.

“She deserves a little…fun.”

Between the end of the previous semester, and the start of the new one, your University has generously given you a long weekend. 

4 days, to be exact. 

Most of this long weekend you spend doing the chores you’ve put off, and working a few shifts at your job. 

It’s only by some grace that you end up with Sunday off. One final day to try and relax before classes begin tomorrow…

You do your best to make the most of it—mindlessly scrolling tiktok, folding some clothes, debating if you should order food out, and ultimately deciding against it, since you just went grocery shopping…

All in all, it’s a pretty mundane day.

…at least, until the icon for your email app appears at the top of your phone screen, and you swipe down the notification to see the title:

Subject: Your Commission For [Guided Masturbation Audio - 30 minute session]

Immediately, you freeze.

Surely, this is a spam email that’s somehow made it through the cracks. Because you definitely haven’t ordered such a thing.

Yet, despite your doubts at the validity of the email, you still click on it—wanting to read the contents before banishing it to your spam folder.

Dear Recipient,

Attached to this email is an mp3 file available for you to download. This file was requested and paid for by “Fox and Witch”, and is being sent to you directly at their request.

Please do not distribute this anywhere else on social media, as this is my copyrighted content.

If there is any issue with the quality of the file, please let me know.

Have fun.

-Hat Guy

Note:

Toys Needed = Dildo, Clitoral Vibrator or Wand

…you must have knocked your head on something earlier and are currently hallucinating.

Because there is NO WAY there’s an email from HAT GUY in your inbox. And that said email is for…for…

Well, you remember seeing a link on his profile about commissions, but you’d never clicked on it to see more than that. There’s no chance he’s out here telling people how to get off, though, right…?

With a warm face, you scan the email again. And then a third time.

You can only assume “Fox and Witch” are Yae and Lisa. And you did just tell them that you like Hat Guy’s content…

You bite your lip, staring at the mp3 file. 

There’s just no way…

Hesitantly, you click on it.

“Hmph. You must be really desperate if your friends were willing to pay for a half hour of my time. Most people are satisfied with 10-15 minutes, but no…they knew you’d need longer than that.”

Oh…fuck. 

Something in your tummy flips.

That’s him, alright.

You’ve never heard him talk like that before, but it’s definitely him…you could never mistake that haughty, belittling tone.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your gaze once again finding the title of the email.

Guided Masturbation.

If you’re not wrong, that means if you hit play, and keep listening, it’ll probably be a lot of Hat Guy telling you what to do…how to touch yourself.

Just thinking about such a thing makes more blood rush to your head—embarrassment blooming in your chest.

Sure, the idea of him bossing you around isn’t exactly unappealing. You’re sure he’d be…less than nice, and maybe even a little sadistic, and perhaps call you a few rude names, but—

You groan and place your phone face down on the table beside you.

“Nope, I can’t—I—”

Standing up from your couch, you trudge into your kitchen.

It’s dinner time—you need to make dinner.

You try to keep your thoughts from straying to your temporarily abandoned phone, and the email that’s sitting in your inbox—but it’s literally impossible.

Still, you manage to cook yourself a meal, and even partake in a little alcoholic drink. (Just because you’re treating yourself, and definitely not because you want to ease your nerves a bit.)

Once you’ve finished eating, you clean all your dishes, and then return to the couch. Your gaze strays to your phone, but you don’t pick it up—instead deciding to grab the TV remote.

You make it approximately 25 minutes into a movie before you can’t take it anymore.

Hitting the pause button, you throw the remote on the couch beside you and then snatch up your phone—alighting from the couch.

You grab your headphones on the way to your bedroom, and pop them into your ears only after you’ve gathered your dildo and vibrator.

Maybe this audio won’t be as hot as you’re assuming, and you’ll end up not wanting to touch yourself, but…better to have everything prepared just in case, right?

Taking a deep breath, you hit play.

The track restarts from the beginning. 

“Hmph. You must be really desperate if your friends were willing to pay for a half hour of my time. Most people are satisfied with 10-15 minutes, but no…they knew you’d need longer than that.”

“I also hear you’re quite the little masochist—but I could have assumed that, considering it’s me that you’re soaking your panties over. Just another slut who wants to be bullied, huh.”

You huff at his words, glaring at your phone screen. 

Did Lisa and Yae tell him your kinks or something?? Those bitches.

“Well, you’re in luck, because from this moment on, you’re going to follow my directions. I’d say “if you fail to, you’ll be punished” but we both know you’re probably just another people pleaser who will do whatever I say, as long as you know it will make me happy.”

Dammit, why is he right—

“But fair warning—I won’t be happy until you’re so fucked out you can’t speak a coherent word.”

With a shaking finger, you pause the audio.

You hate to admit it, but his words—the way he’s speaking to you—is already making you wet. 

You really, truly want him to bully you, and use you like a little toy.

So, guess that means you’re doing this.

Throwing any caution and shame to the wind, you hit the play button again. 

“Now…where to begin? I always like to start with an inspection. Take off your clothes, but leave your panties on. I’m not going to bid your needy pussy any attention just yet.”

You obediently do as he says, stripping yourself of your clothing until you’re left only in your panties.

“It’s unfortunate I’m not there to survey those titties in person, so you’ll just have to feel them up for me. Go ahead and grope yourself. Take a minute and massage your chest…I want to see if you’ll get wet from that alone. Although, you’re probably wet already just from my voice, aren’t you, slut?”

You click your tongue at that last part, (hating that he’s right), but nonetheless bring your hands to your chest. 

You cup your titties, and begin squeezing them—feeling the soft flesh beneath your fingers. 

“Good, keep going—squeeze a little harder now. Ah…I bet your nipples want to be touched, huh? Start teasing them, then—just enough to get them hard. I’ll give you 10 seconds—that should be enough.”

For some reason, the challenge of accomplishing a task within a certain time limit makes your pussy throb, and very quickly, you move your pointer fingers over your nipples—rubbing them lightly, and coaxing them to a peak. 

You’re ashamed to admit it, but they manage to get hard in the 10 second pause he gives you…

“Wow, look at that…what greedy titties you have—responding as I say, eager to be played with. Pinch your nipples and roll them between your fingers. Find the motion that feels best, and do it over and over again, until I tell you to stop.”

Resting your breasts in your palms, you pinch your nipples between your fingers—rolling and tugging them. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you touch yourself, each purposeful little tweak of your nipples causing your spine to twitch, and your pussy to clench.

It’s been too long since you’ve touched yourself like this…

By the time Hat Guy’s voice fills your ears once more, your nipples have started to get sore.

“Okay, stop there. I bet your cunt has started quivering, but I hope you know it’ll still be a while before I give you the chance to cum…unless, you somehow managed to orgasm from playing with just your titties? If that’s the case, congratulations! You’re the most needy and pathetic whore I’ve played with. So pathetic that I’ll give you a pass, and won’t even punish you for cumming without permission.”

The thought of being able to cum from nipple play alone makes you feel even more aroused, much to your chagrin—

“Now, let’s inspect that dirty pussy of yours. Spread your legs, and pull your panties down to your knees. I want you to stare at the crotch of your panties and feel ashamed at the wet spot I know is there.”

Taking a deep breath, you hook your fingers around your panties and tug them down your thighs.

As you spread your feet apart, you end up staring at the crotch of your panties—your lips pressing together when you notice there is, indeed, a very noticeable wet spot.

“Next, bend over. As low as you can go, with your legs still apart. I want to see everything.”

Locking your fingers together, you hesitate for a brief second before you bend over—feeling a strain in your leg muscles as you hit the point where you can’t bend anymore.

In this position, you know that you’re on full display.

“Look at you, presenting yourself to me…you really don’t have any shame, do you? If I were there, I’d be grabbing you and forcing you open wider, but since I’m not, you can do it for me! Grab your ass cheeks with both hands, and spread.”

Breathing a little shakily, you do your best to reach behind you and spread yourself. You feel your asshole clench as you do so, and the involuntary action maddens you, considering Hat Guy’s next words are—

“Such a tight little hole…I bet it’s twitching.” 

“Is it nervous, or hoping for an intrusion? Either way, anal is not the objective of today’s session, so let’s move back to your pussy. Go ahead and spread your folds with your hand. You have permission to bend over with your chest to your bed, if you feel your blood rushing to your head from bending down so low. And if you're not by your bed…where the fuck are you listening to this audio? In your car, or a bathroom stall? Pervert.”

That little quip at the end makes you smile, even as you stand up and move yourself to your bed.

You find it a little endearing how he’s bossing you around, but still managing to be somewhat considerate. You suppose maybe there is more to him than just being a brat on the internet.

Anyway—

Reaching one hand back between your legs, you slide your fingers between the folds of your pussy and spread them—opening yourself up as if he were there to inspect you.

“Now, rub your fingers at your entrance—feel how slick you’ve gotten…honestly, you should feel ashamed. Getting so wet for a no-face internet stranger.”

Sure, your panties were a little wet, but that doesn’t mean—

You move your fingers to your entrance—freezing at the amount of sticky arousal you feel. 

You...honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve gotten this wet.

“Smear the slick around your pussy, and make sure to get your clit. That’s where we’re headed next.”

You do as he says, perhaps a smidge overly excited that you now seem to be entering the main course.

As your fingers ghost over your clit, your pussy shudders.

“Bet you just clenched in excitement, huh?”

How does he fucking know—?!

“I'll be nice and will let you use two fingers. Press the pads of your fingers to your clit, and start making circular motions. Slow. 1…2…3…just like that.”

Breathing deep, you begin rubbing your clit with your fingers—repeating his count in your head, and following his pace. 

With each pass of your fingers, your walls squeeze tighter.

“You probably want to rush, or grind your hips on your fingers…but you shouldn't be acting so desperate just yet, so be a good girl and keep going.”

Huffing, you obey his command,

He goes silent for a few beats, really giving you a minute to continue hopelessly teasing yourself. 

By the time he next speaks, a needy exhale is leaving your lips—heady arousal truly being to pool in your lower tummy.

“Now you can go faster. Rub your clit to the beat of your heart. I assume it's racing, so you should be moving your hand a bit faster than before.”

You haven’t really noticed before now, but your heart is certainly beating much faster than normal…

The steady, yet swift thump of your heart is felt throughout your body the more you focus on it, and you quickly adjust your pace. 

A breathy little sigh leaves your lips—your brows pinching together.

You want to cum. 

“I wonder if you're close already, just from your fingers on your clit…haha. If you are, remember—you don't get to cum until I say so. So if you're close to cumming, edge yourself. Get right to the edge of your orgasm, and then stop. I'll give you 10 seconds after that to collect yourself, but then you have to keep going.”

Oh, fuck…

You suppose you should have realized that edging might be part of the equation, especially during a 30 minute session.

And, unfortunately, the thought of edging yourself for him makes you even hornier—pushing you closer to your first climax—or, well, edge.

“I bet you're probably thinking that 10 seconds isn't very long…that when you start again, you'll still be right at the brink of your orgasm, and will have to keep edging over, and over…hah, well…that's your own fault for being so hopeless.”

“Now, I'll let you set the pace. Find the rhythm and motion against your clit that makes you feel the best…you're going to keep that up for 1 minute—and remember, no cumming.”

Dammit—

By now, your lips are fully parted—quick little breaths fanning in front of your face and warming the sheets of your mattress.

You don’t want to edge, you want to cum, but he won’t let you—

“Also, why don't you go ahead and count aloud? I assume you're in private, so it shouldn't be an issue to let out your voice. And if you're not, well…I guess people will get to hear what a debauched whore you are.”

If this were 10 minutes ago, you’d surely blush and hesitate to follow his command.

But now…now you’re a little closer to being the debauched whore he’s calling you.

“I'll count with you so you don't rush it. 60…59…58…57—”

With headphones in, you hear your own voice in your head—mingling with his. 

His, unwavering, with a hint of mockery. Yours…quiet, and struggling to stay on beat.

You clit throbs beneath your fingers, and there’s a familiar flutter of your walls, despite your pussy currently being empty. 

You’re getting close. 

“I can only imagine how sinful you look right now…oh, right. Where was I? Hmm…let's just pick up from 30.”

Motherfucker—

You let your face drop into your sheets, your thighs tightening and knees shaking.

Fuck, you wanna cum. You know you can’t—know it’s not allowed yet, but—!

“5…4…3…2…1. Stop moving your hand.”

Perfect timing. Right at the edge of an orgasm—you pull your hand away.

You take a second to try and catch your breath while ignoring the unfulfilled ache between your legs.

“Your pussy must be throbbing, huh? Lucky for you, as your benevolent master, I’ll let you stuff it full. Grab your dildo and get on your bed on your knees.”

“Also, I assume you're soaked by now, but if not, and you need additional lubrication, use lube.”

You glance behind you at your dresser, where your bottle of lube sits, but ultimately don’t grab it. 

By now, you’re sure you can do without.

Grabbing your dildo, you climb onto your bed, and obediently get on your knees.

“Now, sit up and position the dildo beneath you. Rub the head between your folds, and then settle it at your entrance.”

You do as he says—a shiver of excitement raking up your spine as the tip of your dildo unexpectedly flicks against your clit while you get it into position.

“I'm going to give you 3 seconds to take it fully inside of you…What? I did say we'll be stuffing you full, and with how needy you clearly are, I figured I'm doing you a favor by letting you take it all in!”

Oh. That’s—

“So, I'll count to three. Oh, and if your dildo is too big, and you're scared to sink down onto it all at once, well…that's your own fault for biting off more than you can chew. But, I'm sure that greedy pussy will take anything it can get.”

It will.

“Ready?”

You take a trembling breath.

“3, 2, 1—!”

In one swift motion, you spread your thighs and sink down onto the dildo.

When the head bumps against the deepest part of you, you can’t help but gasp—the sound positively lewd.

“Ahhh…fuck. You made a cute sound, didn't you? How precious…now you're stuffed to the brim with dick, as you should be.”

Yes, this is exactly how you’re meant to feel…just a little slut who will do anything to cum for him.

Yet, despite his harsh instructions, he seems to pause for a second, giving you a chance to acclimate to the intrusion.

How cute.

“Why don't we start slow…I want you to lift your hips until just the tip of the dildo is inside of you, and then grind back down on it. Up…and down…up—”

To aid in the motion, you place your hands flat on the mattress in front of you, and then begin moving your hips.

Up…and down…

Your walls clench around the dildo, practically begging for more, but the man currently using you as his personal toy clearly isn’t inclined to give you such a thing.

At least, not immediately.

If you had to guess, he makes you continue at this slow, teasing pace for at least 2 minutes—your muscles beginning to strain as you resist going any faster.

Then, his voice fills your ears once again. You nearly sigh with relief.

“I hope your thighs aren't burning yet, because now we're going to pick up the pace. Imagine the gallop of a horse's hooves. I want you to grind on each downbeat. No need to make big motions—just grind on your dildo how you'd grind your pussy on my cock if I was there.”

If he were here, you’d wanna grind on his dick until he’s moaning louder than you are—

“Fuck…”

Fingers curling into the sheets, you find your new rhythm—the sound of your wet pussy beginning to fill the quiet room outside your headphones.

Sweat starts to bead on your brow—the arousal inside of you searing hotter, and your muscles getting tighter.

“I wonder if you can cum from internal stimulation alone…try to find your g-spot if you haven't already. I want you to bully it with your dildo.”

You can practically hear the grin in his words. 

Repositioning yourself, you find the angle that better allows you to rub that sensitive little spot inside you.

Almost immediately, a whine rips from your throat.

“Now…I'm going to issue you a challenge. I'll count down from 60 seconds again. During that 60 seconds, you're free to cum. So try your best, okay, slut?”

Please, you want to cum, but you don’t know if 60 seconds will be enough—

“60…59…58…”

Dammit—

With his challenge invigorating you, you continue messily grinding your hips.

Each pass of your dildo against your g-spot causes your pussy to shiver, and your thighs to shake—your orgasm creeping closer.

“33…32…31…”

A desperate sound slips past your lips, your eyebrows knitting together.

You want to cum.

You want to cum.

You want to cum, but—

You drop down onto your dildo roughly, almost in a pouting manner.

You need more time.

As soon as your climax finally begins to build—your walls clenching down on your dildo—Hat Guy reaches the end of his countdown.

“3…2…1…so…did you cum? Either way, I'm sure your legs are shaking. I wouldn't doubt that your sheets are getting soiled by your arousal, either.”

“Well, whether you came or not, don't worry—there's still more opportunities to orgasm yet to come! That being said, set your dildo to the side, and grab your vibrator instead.”

Exhaling, you manage to lift up your hips, and your dildo slips out of you. 

It flops onto your sheets, glistening with your arousal.

Your pussy mourns the loss.

Setting your dildo to the side, you grab your vibrator instead.

“You can go ahead and lay on your back. I'll give your knees a break…isn't that nice of me? You should say “thank you”.”

You clench your jaw as you roll onto your back, your eyes squinting at the ceiling.

There’s no way he’s serious, right? Counting is one thing, but thanking someone who isn’t here?

“Huh? Did you think that was just a suggestion? Go on.”

You wet your lips with your tongue.

“...thank you.”

There’s a brief second of silence, and then—

“...pfft, hahaha! If you actually did just say it aloud, you're more of an obedient people pleaser than I thought. What a precious little cock-sleeve.”

You want to punch him—

“Anyway, I haven't let you cum from your clit yet. I bet by now it's engorged and begging for attention…go ahead and put your vibrator on your clit. Turn it on low.”

The fact that even just touching your clit causes you to jolt proves that his words are correct.

Hitting the power button, you turn your vibrator on a low setting, and almost instantly—the orgasm that had started to fade away flares back to life.

“Good…I'll let you keep it there for a little while. Actually…I'm gonna go get some water. God knows how upset you'd be if my voice suddenly gave out and I couldn't give you permission to cum—”

You hear the sound of a chair being alighted from, and footsteps padding away from the mic.

“This little motherfucker—,” you pant, your chest heaving. 

You gently rub your vibrator around your clit—hoping that doing so will help you delay the orgasm that’s building—but it’s impossible to avoid.

After another minute, you can’t put it off any longer.

Your body tenses, your pussy tightening, and—

You tear the vibrator away from your clit.

If he were here, you think you’d honestly start to beg him for mercy. Of course, you’re sure he’d say that’s practically your first true edge, and you’re just being a little baby, but still.

You start the countdown from 10 in your head, and once it’s done, put your vibrator back on your clit.

Your entire body jolts as the pleasure that had been denied snaps back to attention.

You’re gonna have to edge again—

“How are you holding out? Did you edge at all—just from the vibrator being on low? At the very least, I bet you're squirming and panting.”

“Now, listen closely. I'm going to make you an offer.”

If his offer involves you cumming, you’ll do whatever it takes.

“I'm going to let you cum with the vibrator still on low—assuming you can. This time I'll be generous and will give you 90 seconds, even. But here's the catch. At the end of this session, you will be cumming. So if your begging cunt blots out any logic in your brain, and you decide to cum now, and then feel it's “too much” later, well. That'll be your own fault. Even if you're overstimulated, you'll be cumming again, so choose wisely.”

“Either way, you need to keep the vibrator on your clit for another 90 seconds. You just need to decide if you're cumming or edging. Get ready. To spice it up, this time I'm not counting aloud—I'll just tell you when to stop. So if you're planning on cumming, try not to waste any time. Because if I say stop and you're right there, I doubt you’ll be very happy. Now, begin.”

Risking an overstimulated orgasm after this is a dangerous game, but—

You press the vibrator harder against your clit. 

You need to cum—you don’t care about anything else right now.

Your free hand grabs at your breast—your toes curling, and your heart racing.

Your back arches off the bed, a symphony of miniscule whines and gasps falling from your lips.

Then, the tension inside of you reaches its limit, and snaps.

Your voice catches in your throat—your body spasming as waves of pleasure rock you.

You keep the vibrator on your clit to draw them out as long as you can, but after a few long beats, Hat Guy’s voice fills your ears once again. 

“Stop—that's time. So…did you cum? I wish I could see the state of you…I bet you're starting to look all fucked out. We're already at the 20 minute mark, after all.”

You can’t believe it’s already been 20 minutes. Yet, at the same time, can’t believe you’re not already closer to the end.

“Now, I did say you'd be cumming again, so why don't you go ahead and put your vibe on high? Let's try and force it out of you.”

It’s fine…it’s totally fine. 

Turning your vibrator on high will be totally fine.

You move the toy back to your clit and push the button until the vibrations are much more intense than before.

Almost immediately, heat rushes through your body—stemming from the still recovering nerve ending on your clit.

You’re over-sensitive. Fuck.

And yet…your pussy still flutters—your muscles tensing once again as another orgasm begins to build.

“Ahh, I bet you're squirming like a pathetic little worm. Is it too much? Do you want to beg me to let you stop?”

“Your toes are curling, aren't they? I wish I could hear you and see you panting like a bitch in heat. Should I throw you a bone? Would that satisfy that sad cunt of yours?”

You are writhing, and panting, and every other filthy thing he’s pegged you as. But—you don’t want to stop. You’re too far in now—your whole body shaking, and your breaths coming quick as the vibrator on your clit overwhelms you.

It’s overwhelming, but you can’t stop chasing that high. You—

“Actually…that's not a bad idea. Stop—now.”

Despite not wanting to, you immediately yank the toy away.

You hear yourself whining, unable to help it.

“Hopefully you didn't cum in the last 30 seconds. If so…whoops~”

You wish you could kick him.

“This final orgasm is going to be our grand finale, so we should really let the sparks fly. And maybe your juices, depending on how hard you cum.”

“Grab your dildo—shove it in.”

You scramble to grab it—your arm darting to the side to recover the dildo you’d discarded a short while ago. 

As soon as you have it, you spread your legs and press the head at your entrance—stuffing it in without any preamble.

A pleasant sigh leaves you as that full feeling returns.

“You're going to fuck yourself with it—however fast or slow, I don't care. And at the same time, turn your vibrator back on high.”

You can tell where this is going, and you honestly think it may kill you, but you follow his instructions nonetheless.

Turning the vibrator on high, you place it back on your clit and then begin fucking yourself with the dildo. 

Almost immediately, involuntary sounds slip out of you—your body writhing against the sheets.

The overwhelming strength of your vibrator on your clit now partnered with the messy rubbing of your dildo between your walls…you’re truly becoming the mess he promised to make you.

“Oh, and just so things don't end too soon, you need to hold out for at least one minute. I'll let you know once you have permission to cum.”

You hardly think it’s fair that he’s saying this now, considering you’ve already started fucking yourself, but even so, you want to listen—want to be a good girl who does what he says, and only cums when permitted.

Holding out for a whole minute when your cunt is already starting to spasm—your clit feeling like it’s on fire—is certainly going to be a challenge, though.

“You know…I bet if this were a live call, I'd be able to hear how wet your pussy is. You're probably gripping onto that dildo so tightly…as if it's a real cock that you're begging to properly breed you.”

If he were here you wonder how he’d fuck you. Certainly hard enough that you’d be able to hear the slap of his balls against your pussy—

“You must be panting, huh? So ready to cum…I wonder if you’d be obedient enough to cum when I say. Why don’t we try? We’re getting close to a minute, after all.”

Oh, fuck. 

You’ve never cum on command before, but you want to for him.

“C’mon, princess, I know you can do it…keep going…get yourself right there—”

Your chest shudders, and tears blot your eyes.

You’re trying. Everything feels so hot. 

The arousal in your tummy swells—tightening up, and searing your insides.

“Cum.”

A sob rips from your chest, and you grind your dildo against your g-spot one final time, before your body obeys, and releases.

With the vibrator on high, this orgasm is much more intense than the last. 

Your breath catches, your spine curving, and your hand releases the dildo in favor of grabbing onto your sheets for dear life.

Despite the clamping of your pussy around the silicone cock, it still manages to slip out of you after a few seconds—flopping onto your mattress, and poking wetly against your ass.

When the pleasure on your clit starts to turn to pain—you finally tear the vibrator away. You turn it off, and weakly discard it onto the bed beside you.

Despite no longer having any toys in or on you, your cunt and clit continue to twitch with aftershocks.

You take a deep breath. 

Hat Guy is still talking in your ears, but your brain is too scrambled to process what he’s saying. So, you just continue to lay there until his words sound more like words again.

“Alright, you must have cum by now. Take a minute to breathe. And when you’re done catching your breath, make sure you get up and go pee, and then get some water. Because I’m not about to be liable for any after-effects of this session.”

Despite being exhausted, you can’t help but quietly laugh.

“Good job making it through. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon…mostly because I’m sure you’ll be opening this file again to get off to, haha.”

“Later~”

The audio ends.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Then, you roll onto your side, slowly get up, and head for the bathroom.

Can’t let Hat Guy be liable for you, after all.

The following morning, you wake up with sore muscles, and a determination to go and beat up Yae Miko and Lisa Minci about their “gift”.

Yeah, maybe you are a little less tense than before, and the stress that had been clinging to you after the end of the previous semester is now gone, but still. They deserve a good scolding.

First, however, you have to go to your 9AM lecture. After that, you’ll have time to run to the library.

Despite the soreness in your thighs, you manage to trek across campus and make it to your class with time to spare. You chose a seat somewhere in the middle, and then set your bag down in the chair beside you.

With nothing to work on yet, considering today’s the first day, you entertain yourself with social media apps on your phone as the lecture hall slowly continues filling up.

When there’s only a minute left before the class is set to start, there’s a tap on your shoulder.

Startled, realizing they’ve probably been trying to get your attention, you immediately take out one of your headphones. Before you can even turn to face them and apologize, they’re talking.

Except…the voice of the person beside you is…eerily familiar. Scratchy, attractive, and perhaps a little annoyed—

“Do you mind moving your bag? There aren’t very many seats left.”

Without saying a word, too stunned to speak, you reach over and move your bag to the floor at your feet. The man grunts, and takes a seat beside you.

As he pulls out his laptop, you finally build up the courage to look at him. 

Dark hair and eyes to match…slim fingers, but veiny hands…a black shirt and oversized jacket—

“Do you need something?”

Oh, fuck—you’ve been openly staring.

Your eyes meet his for the first time, and you open your mouth, but no words come out. The beat of your heart starts to get faster.

He cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

This is just too much—there’s no fucking way this is happening—

Unfortunately, before you can finally pull it together and try to redeem yourself, your professor takes the podium at the head of the room.

“Class! Welcome! While it might be a little unconventional to start the semester out on this note, I just want you all to know in advance: this class will heavily rely on cooperation with others. There will be many team projects. In fact—the person you’re sharing a table with will be your project partner for the whole semester!”

…what.

Beside you, the man sighs—clearly unhappy to hear about there being group projects, or you being his partner, or both.

“Great, looks like we’re stuck together.”

“Yep…,” you mumble in response, the first word you’ve managed to speak since his arrival.

He obviously notices, because his lips pull into a teasing little grin, his eyes remaining trained on your still-speaking professor as he whisper—

“Oh, would you look at that? She speaks.”

Your pussy clenches.

Mhmm, yep! 

You’re gonna go jump off a bridge.

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

—

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B–Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[sillyblues]

𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you overhear a couple of spider-people talking about you and miguel

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: inspired by a scene of a drama i saw in tiktok at 11:30 pm whoops here’s a small scenario while i work on that hiding pregnancy with miguel fic

part 2

You hummed to yourself as you walked towards Miguel’s room. You were so excited to talk to him about how your days went and if you were lucky, maybe you’d get to hear how his day went as well. It wasn’t like he doesn’t talk about himself, of course he does, you two were practically the bestest of friends now. It’s just that nowadays, he seemed more stressed and preferred to listen to you talk. Or at least you hoped so. He never really complained each time you rambled his ears off (which was like 83790134 times a day oops).

But a mention of your name in a hushed conversation stops your tracks.

“... [Name] is pretty close to Miguel, huh?” the conversation was actually a bit far from where you stood but thanks to your extreme superhearing, you were able to hear what they were talking about. You tilted your head. I wonder why they’re talking about me…

“Nah, I don’t think so. Miguel doesn’t even seem to like them.” You grumbled under your breath. That’s just what it looked like to others. They didn’t know that you know Miguel’s favourite empanadas are the ones sold by a Mexican granny on a stand right around the corner outside the building. They didn’t know that Miguel actually remembers what you say to him and even reacts to your stories. If that isn’t what you call friends in their natural behaviour, you don’t know what to call it.

“Yeah, it’s probably because they never stop talking. Their mouth just never know how to close for at least 10 minutes.”

“Miguel is probably annoyed at them. I wonder how he manages to keep his patience from running out with them.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, they were right…You admit that you talk a lot and you do feel a bit bad about it. But your friends haven’t told you to stop talking or that you were bothering them yet so you thought it was fine with them. If your friends said something about it, you would definitely stop and try to talk less for them. You were sure your friends would say something if they were uncomfortable, especially Miguel. You believe in them and you believe in him.

“I know right! If I was him, I would…” so you took a step forward and continued to walk towards your destination. Only this time, you weren’t humming.

.

.

.

“Hi, Miguel! Good afternoon! Such a lovely day, isn’t it?” you quirked up immediately as soon as you stepped foot into his office. As usual, he was on top of his floating station. Most of the time, he worked on planning and storing files with Lyla about which planets had been reported with anomalies. Sometimes, he watched videos of his daughter Gabriella and himself despite having already seen them countless times.

Miguel was lonely. You could see that. Sure, he had Jess and Hobie and Peter, but Jess was pregnant, Hobie was busy fighting against the government and being cool, and Peter had Mayday. You try your best to be with him because maybe he would feel less lonely with you around for him. Maybe he would be distracted by whatever you say from his exhaustion and his pain.

You swung yourself and landed on his platform. He was standing with multiple yellow screens hovered almost around him. His hands were on his waist and there was a glare on his face as he stared at it. He gave you a brief glance before turning his attention back to his work. Well, looks like today is a busy work day for him, huh. 

“Hey booo,” Lyla appeared in front of you and waved. You grinned at her. “Hey, Lyla! What’s up?”

“Ugh nothing much, except for Mr. O’hara on his red flood apparently.” She leaned and covered the side of her lips to whisper but it was no use to the said person with his abilities.

“I heard that.” His exasperated response was instant but he didn’t look away from the screen.

“Really? You did?” She asked with a higher and tightened voice with amusement. She then flashed a quick message to you. 

Miguel has been working even after you left three days ago. He wouldn’t take a rest no matter how many times I told him.

What? You looked at the back of his head in alarm. Worry immediately settled in your head and you furrowed your brows. Before you could convince him to stop, Lyla quickly made the message disappear and announced, “Oops, my power is running low. Gotta charge them now, byeeee.”

“I literally just checked your levels yesterday. Come back here—” he was cut off by her disappearing form.

He groaned and in his frustration, he swapped away the nearby items on the table. Most of them were papers but unfortunately, he didn’t notice he also swept away the teddy bear that you gifted him. It was similar to one Gabriella had and you knew this from the videos you watched with him. You thought how nice it would be to have at least a physical reminder of your love and not just ones you can see and hear. 

“I’ll get it, don’t worry!”

From his strength, the bear was flung high and without even thinking you walked backwards as you focused on its direction. You were being stupid because you forgot that you were on top of a floating platform and the floor wasn’t endless. The bear was almost near within your reach and with just one more step, you would be able to get it.

That one more step didn’t step on any solid floor but instead on air and so, you fell but not without the teddy bear in your hands. 

“[Name]!” Miguel shouted and you looked at him and finally, he was looking at you now. He ran at your falling figure with arms reaching out to you and for a second, you thought there was a tinge of panic and desperation laced in his hoarse voice and wide eyes. 

Sticky web was shot at your chest and you were quickly pulled towards him. You were hit against his figure and he caught you in his arms. You stilled and flushed, your ear was pressed against his chest and you could hear his roaring heart that beat so fast. He immediately shook you by your shoulders and yelled at you. “What were you thinking? Why weren’t you looking?”

“I mean, I was trying to catch it—” you flinched.

“Are you stupid? ¿y si te lastimas?” his nails were digging into your skin and his grip was beginning to hurt. You tried to laugh but came it off weakly.

“I just don’t want to see my gift get dirty. Besides, I’m fine—,” you tried to joke, hoping it would ease the tension and calm him down.

“Just shut up! Shut up!” he pushed you away with a growl, “Stop being so fucking reckless. I could have done it by myself. Stop annoying other people by doing stupid shit like this!”

He was breathing heavily, anger so deep in his eyes. Your eyes were wide and tears threatened to fall as you listened until it finally fell once he said his final word. Maybe the realization had finally settled in Miguel’s mind at what he had just said. His eyes widened in panic and reached out to you but you took a step back.

Your head hung low as you let his words sink in. Annoying? You couldn't even laugh bitterly like you usually do in situations like this. They were right. You were annoying him. You bit your lip. Had you been a bother to him all this time? How come Miguel never said anything?

Suddenly, his cold indifference to you was so clear and obvious now. Memories of him visibly annoyed with a frown flashed through your head. The sudden awareness made your head hurt and it burned your heart. It throbbed with a pang and you felt incapable of breathing, the pain overwhelming.

No, Miguel wasn't responsible for telling you this. You should've known better, you called yourself his “bestest friend”. You shouldn't have talked to him. You shouldn't have approached him in the first place.

You were annoying. You were a nuisance. You were a problem.

Stupid. Stupidstupidstupidstupid—

“[Name], I,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn't mean—”

“No, it's fine,” you wiped your tears and pressed the teddy bear you gifted him and wanted to catch for him. You wonder if this bear was also a bother for him. Maybe it was. Everything related to you is irritating. You were tiresome. “I should be the one to say that. I’m sorry.”

“I need to go now. I’m really sorry, again.” With a brief glance at him, you immediately turned around and swung down. You almost ran as you made your exit from his office. You did the know where exactly to go, only anywhere without him and far away from him. Strength had left you once you were outside his office and you walked and walked and walked. 

Maybe if you left, nobody would find you annoying anymore.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent game related things .. hrmm...

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2k+

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: implied smut, explicit smut, emotional sex, very sad (don't underestimate the angst huhu), depressed yoongi, reader is pining so hard lord!, creampie, unplanned pregnancy, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Lemme know if you want a part 2? (even though I already know the answer hehe).

Arrangement.

You would rather call it an arrangement - the thing that is going on between you and Yoongi. Anything you have been feeling for him, outside your usual practice, is your, solely your decision or more likely… fault. 

Hence, it’s a given. A given that you shouldn’t feel your heart dropping to your stomach, crashing on whatever is available inside your body and shattering into a thousand pieces, when you find Gyuri walking inside the room. 

Beside you, Yoongi tenses. His body goes rigid as the air inside the room thickens beyond repair. And all of a sudden you can’t breathe. 

Now you understand why Namjoon has been avoiding to reveal the name of the artist all along.

Lee Gyuri - One of the most successful solo artist as well as Min Yoongi’s one true love, who had left him broken so bad that you once found him on the street, unconscious, vomit all over his clothes - is now back in his life… in your life, which has been revolving around him. 

Where she left - You started. 

You picked Yoongi up, put him into pieces, not that you were able to heal the cracks but you at least conjoined it all together. 

And just like that - one night after a long heart to heart talk and a few beers, you found him seethed deep inside you. Yoongi chanted your name again and again as if it’s a mantra that will heal the cracks of his heart all while he rutted in you like a mad man. 

It started from there - the arrangement. 

At the end of long days and even longer nights, whenever both of you were too exhausted to go home, you spent the nights crammed together on Yoongi’s studio couch. 

Quiet whispers, curse words, wandering hands, secret body parts slick with arousal - everything had made your existence dwindle dangerously through his fingers. 

Yoongi always fell asleep right after but you stayed awake, tracing the slope of his nose, bow of his lips, map of his pale skin glinting in the dark. 

You had made a mistake. 

You fell in love.

Now as Gyuri slides inside the room with natural elegance, you hear Yoongi’s breathing getting quicker in pace. 

He is anxious. 

You place a hand on his knees, under the table. It’s a practiced habit that you adopted over time. Your fingertips help to calm him down. 

Everything is the same. 

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t relax under your touch. 

“Yoongi, can we talk for a moment?” Gyuri requests with a timid voice at the end of the meeting. Her eyes quickly lock with yours for a fraction of a second. 

You half expect for Yoongi to say no. You pray to the universe for his answer to come as negative even when you know –

“Yes. Sure.” 

That Yoongi never stopped loving her for a moment. Yoongi loved, loves and will love only one woman - and that’s not you. 

Even though you don’t feel your legs anymore, you stand up. You choose to take the stairs to exhaust your body so that your sadness can be masked. 

But even as you climb down floors after floors - your heart stays confined in that room locked with two lovers. 

“She said she wants to work it out this time. She has been missing me terribly... she said.” Yoongi doesn’t look away from the blaring computer screen. 

He probably doesn’t have the heart of looking into your eyes. 

Somewhere he, too, knows of the deepest secrets you have been hiding from him. 

“And? What did you say?” You chew on the inside of your mouth, again praying for him to answer something of your liking. 

“That I will think about it.” you knew he would say that. 

“What is there to think about, Yoongi? You still love her.” you force the words out of your mouth even when your throat closes up. 

Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes but you blink those away.

Yoongi finally looks at you, his own eyes glinting with moisture. 

“But what about you?” The question is rhetorical - metaphorical. 

“Me? I will go back to where I started from.” you lie, heart threatening to leap out of your chest. 

You would go back, but not where you started from, you would go back to the night when you picked Yoongi up from the street.

In simpler terms, you would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timelines. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, pretending not to hear anything at all. 

Even though you have to summon all of your willpower to do so - you stay still in your bed. 

Your tears though - keep falling, rolling down the apple of your cheeks and making a small puddle inside the curve of your ear. 

He keeps rambling on the door. 

Sometimes the knocks are steady, sometimes infused with anger but his voice stays low. You wouldn’t hear him calling your name if you weren’t attentive enough.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Yoongi requests again. Through the wood of your door it sounds like a whisper, “Please. I- I want to see you once.” 

Every pore of your body woozes out the desire of letting him in, taking him inside your arms and never ever letting him go. 

But you are afraid. 

He has never once visited you by his own will. 

He only tagged along when you asked him to. 

So you are afraid. 

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he might say what you don’t want to hear. You already know everything - know enough - if he points it out now that he is going to leave you behind as the love of his life is back then you might as well break down, which you definitely don’t want to do. 

You have always appeared to be nonchalant before Yoongi about this arrangement, about his kisses, his marks, his simple ignorance - and you want it to stay that way. 

However, your resolve breaks when you hear a sob, muffled by the door. 

Is he crying? Why? Why is he crying at your door? 

So you get up, pad towards the door and swing it open. 

Yoongi’s head shoots up and you look at his face. 

He is a mess - a mess that you love. 

With dark hair all disheveled, face smeared with tears, lips chapped, Yoongi says, “I am here to end things.” 

This. You were afraid of this. 

Your insides churn and mold into a ball of nothingness. There are words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you choose to stay silent as always.

“Okay.” you reply, holding the door knob again ready to shut it on his beautiful face for once and for all. 

Yoongi forces his hand at the edge of the door, preventing you from closing it. 

He steps inside your apartment and within a few moments, you are being pushed to the door, closing it with the force of your back. 

Yoongi kisses you with everything he has left inside. You kiss him back. 

You don’t know what is happening but if this is for one last time, then you will accept it. 

Your hands wrap around his neck on their own accord. His chapped lips mold perfectly with your moisturized pair. 

They move in perfect sync, perfect rhythm - the rhythm of destruction. 

“Y/N” Yoongi whispers in between the kiss, “I am sorry.” 

You don’t pay his words any mind, rather you let your fingers get lost in his long dark hair. 

The kiss grows hungrier by every second you spend in each other’s hold. 

Yoongi starts directing you towards your bedroom and your small apartment space takes no time to be crossed. 

You soon feel the edge of your bed behind your knees. 

When you fall back - Yoongi falls with you. 

He looks into your eyes, his own eyes telling a thousand different stories all together. But tonight, you don’t try to read those. 

What’s the point when your own chapter is ending? When memories of you will be left to collect dust on the surface? 

What’s the point when he knows he is going back to the one he has always loved? 

His rough calloused hand comes in contact with your cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers again as he reaches down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your right eye.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your left eye.

“I’m sorry.” this time it’s the tip of your nose. 

“I’m sorry” and lastly it’s your lips. 

You have never seen Min Yoongi this emotional. 

After Gyuri left him, he became numb. You were never able to thaw the frozen parts of him. 

But tonight you see a completely different Yoongi. Is this Gyuri’s magic? Has her return made him a human again? 

Yoongi - who never touched you or kissed you more than it’s needed, is now apologizing while kissing every small part of your face? 

You take a sharp breath and reply, “it’s okay.” even though you don’t know what he is apologizing for. For not being able to reciprocate your feelings? For using you when you let him? For leaving you behind after tonight? 

He has already started placing kisses around your jaw, throat, collarbones. His hands fist the hem of your pajama top and he pulls it up revealing your naked chest. 

He doesn’t waste time diving down and taking one of your perked nipples inside his mouth. 

He sucks on it softly, sweetly - like a lover. Your tears start spilling from your eyes finally. But you completely lose it when you feel his own tears on the mound of your breast. You let him sob, as you sob quietly. 

It doesn’t take much time for your clothes and his clothes to join as a hip on the floor of your bedroom. 

Yoongi pumps himself, preparing for one last time to enter you. When he lines his cock on your entrance, he takes a quick glance at your face, as if asking for permission. 

Your tear stained face lights up in a small smile - it’s not fake. 

He enters you, takes up every corner of your walls, fills you with himself - both of your body and heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything anymore. He pushes himself inside you, pounds into you with an unusual pace. 

His face comes to rest on the crook of your neck. You embrace him to stay there, stay with you as long as it lasts. 

For the first time ever, Yoongi doesn’t fucks you - he makes love to you. 

The realization makes you shudder. 

Why now? Why now out of all the time? Why now when everything is ending? 

His breath starts getting labored, you feel yourself hanging close to the edge as well. 

And after a few more thrusts, you let go. He fills you up following your invitation. 

Both of you stay like that even after the deed is done - for a moment, an hour? You don’t know.  

You feel his disposal running down your inner thigh, when he finally slips out of you. 

You sneak a glance in his dark orbs for one last time. With a sore throat and an equally sore heart you whisper, “Be happy, Yoongi.” 

You see one last drop of tear slipping down his eyes when he dips down to cage your lips in his for one last time. 

It’s been a month since that night. 

It’s been a month since you last talked to Yoongi beside work. 

It’s been a month since you last saw Yoongi outside work. 

It’s been a month since you withdrew from Gyuri’s project.

It’s been more than a month since you had your last period. 

As you stand in your bathroom, with the tiny testing kit, those two red lines mock you. 

You thought that night was the last time? But this after effect - where will you go with this? Who will you confide in? 

It can’t be Min Yoongi - can it? 

You have let him slide through your fingers after all. 

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[leaawrites]

Coincidence (MV1)

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: a rare moment of peace is disturbed by none other than his ex-girlfriend.

Warnings: angst, indicating cheating (emotionally), this is all fiction, none of this is real and I don't mean to attack anyone by this.

Wordcount: 0.5k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

A text was all it took for everything to change again.

With her head on his chest, finally breathing for a second, one text had the ability to make her run again. Max was focused on the movie playing on the screen, that he didn’t even notice the vibration of his phone on the coach, his hand mindlessly playing with the hem of her shirt. He didn’t notice the second message. He didn’t even notice her budging him to gain his attention.

It wasn’t up until she had enough and moved a bit to take the phone herself that he looked away from the TV. Watching her take his phone and unlocking it. It was never a problem for them in the time they were dating, using the other’s phone for texting their parents or friends or googling whatever. It was always just about which one was nearer.

“Who is it?” Max asked, moving his fingers up and down her chest.

Looking at the contact name and message for a second longer to make sure she read everything correctly, she finally answered, “Kelly. She says P misses you.” At the mention of her name, Max took the phone from her hands. She wasn’t too sure if it was because of Kelly or P. She hoped the latter, but with the way he would still step away from her whenever they met Kelly at a party was making her doubt herself more and more.

What a coincidence that she missed him now when Y/n finally had him for herself in a long time. No racing, no meeting, just them. And her.

Lifting her head up, Max stood up, walking out of the room and dialing her number in the process of leaving his girlfriend.

Max talked for longer than usual on the phone, all while Y/n was left by herself, the TV only being a background noise to not make the thoughts get too loud.

“I’m gonna meet P and Kelly for brunch tomorrow,” Max announced, walking past her, kissing her head and continuing his path into his gaming room.

All of their freedom stolen once again.

She sat there, watching the screen but not the show. She was watching her life flying past and soon enough she was laying next to him in bed, wide awake. Hearing his voice vibrating on his bedside table, her name probably lighting up the screen. Whatever it was, Y/n was sure she wouldn’t be one knowing. Whatever effort she put into the relationship to make it work and keep it safe and hidden from the media, it would all be over once he came back the next day from brunch. He would only be half of the person she used to know and love.

The next morning Y/n without Max by her side. The bed was cold and empty. He must’ve been gone for quite some time already. He hadn’t even asked if she wanted to join them.

Turning on her phone, the first thing she saw shouldn’t be surprising.

Headline: Formula 1 Star Max Verstappen seen out and about with ex girlfriend Kelly Piquet and her daughter Penelope. Is there an old romance brewing once again?

She couldn’t blame them. Barely anyone knew that they were dating, Max wanting to keep it private for her own safety.

What a coincidence.

[bookyeom]

whatever you say, baby - chs

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 1.1k warnings: none? the slightest bit suggestive at the end but like... it's nothing author's note: part two to this fic! i would recommend reading both for it to make sense :)

You haven’t seen Vernon in four days.

You haven’t seen him since he kissed you — and he’d kissed you a lot.

You’d barely managed to finish the movie without making out on his couch like teenagers. And when it was over, he hadn’t asked you to stay — but he’d kissed you again by his front door. 

You’d texted when you’d gotten home safe, as he’d requested. Then you’d woken up the next day to a ‘good morning :)’ text, which was swiftly followed by ‘today is so busy I might die’. And then the two of you had just… moved on. 

He sends a Shrek meme and then disappears for hours; you laugh react or send a meme in return. He sends you a picture of a “gnarly” squirrel he sees on campus; you send him a picture of a shitty doodle you drew during one of your lectures. Neither of you brings up what happened. You know he’s got a project due at the end of the week, so you don’t push when his texts are few and far between. Even though you so desperately want to. 

Is he thinking about it as much as you are? You can’t get the feeling of his lips out of your mind, and it’s driving you crazy. You want to kiss him again, want to run your fingers through his hair again, want to feel his hands on your waist again.

But you remain in limbo. You don’t ask for an explanation — he doesn’t offer one. And you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it. 

Vernonie [8:34pm]: INCOMING VIDEOCALL

Your eyes widen when your screen lights up. You quickly straighten from where you’d been lounging on your couch, tucking your hair behind your ears and hoping for the best. He knows what you look like, you remind yourself, but that doesn’t help the nerves when you finally accept the call. 

“Hey, stranger.”

He looks cute, and it makes you sick. 

“Hey,” you reply, and you can feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason. All he’s done is say hello, but you haven’t seen his face in four days, and the last time you saw him you were —

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you say, and then you can’t help but blurt out, “You’ve been busy.” It comes out accusatory, and you regret it immediately. 

Vernon looks surprised, and you watch as his eyebrows raise. “Yeah, I had that big project to finish, remember?” 

You nod, avoiding eye contact through the screen. “Right.”

He’s quiet again before he says teasingly, “If you missed me you can just say so.” 

You know it’s an attempt to lighten the mood, but it hits so deep all of a sudden that you think you might cry. Did he not miss you, too? 

You know it’s a cheap move, but you absolutely cannot look at him when he tells you that the kissing had meant nothing, that it was all a mistake. That you’re better off as friends. 

“Hey,” he says when you shift your phone so that your face is just out of sight. You can practically hear his pout. “Come back.”

“I’m just gonna go,” you say weakly, and you can see in your peripheral vision the way Vernon sits up straight. 

“Hey, no. Wait. Please come back? Let me say something.”

You bite your lip as the tears well up. It takes you a minute, but you manage to take a breath and set your phone back upright to look at him. 

“Y/N,” he says gently, and you can see his soft smile through the screen. “Bro.”

You can’t help but smile a bit at that, and he takes that as a sign to continue. 

“Did you think I was avoiding you?”

You shrug. 

“You think I kissed you and then avoided you on purpose?”

Your heart stutters over itself a bit as he says the words out loud. When he puts it like that, you suppose it sounds a bit silly. Because it’s Vernon, and he would never be so cruel. You shrug again, but you still can’t find it in you to speak. 

“Kissing you is probably all I've thought about for the better part of the last few months,” he continues, and your eyes widen. “I wasn't deliberately avoiding you, I just... I was busy, that part’s true, but it seemed like a good time to give you some space anyway because I know you get into your head sometimes, so I thought that would give you some time to process…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair before he adds, quieter, “You know. In case you…” 

“In case I what?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a few minutes, and you can practically see the way Vernon’s shoulders relax at the sound of your voice again. 

He pauses, and then he says softly, “In case you regret it.”

Your eyes widen. “You think I regret it?”

“Do you?”

You shake your head, a bit dizzy as you return, “Do you?”

Vernon’s lip curls up at the side. “No, Y/N. I don’t.”

You’re processing, and he’s quiet as he lets you. He doesn’t regret it. He wanted to kiss you. He… 

It’s silent for another moment and then you say, voice small, “But you didn’t ask me to stay.” 

“Baby,” he says, and your eyes widen. “That’s definitely not because I didn’t want you to. Like I said, I was giving you space.”

“Baby?”

Vernon freezes. “Shit, sorry. Fuck—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, and he relaxes a little. 

“Yeah?” He breathes, and you nod. A smile spreads across your lips, warmth spreading through you as it really, truly dawns on you — Vernon likes you back. 

“Yeah,” you affirm. “I think I much prefer that to bro.”

“Yeah?” He says again, and you smile. You’re just realizing now that he seems nervous too, and it makes you feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside.

“Mhm.”

You stare at one another through the screen. Vernon’s grin spreads the longer you do, and even though you know your cheeks are flushed, you don’t stop the staring contest. He narrows his eyes, and you let out a giggle. 

“So…”

“So,” he repeats, and you watch as he adjusts to lie down on his couch. “I finished my project.”

That was not where you thought this conversation was headed. “Oh yeah? Good job, bro.” 

Vernon raises his eyebrows at the name, and you flush again. 

“It’s habit,” you whine, and he puts on an exaggerated frown. 

“That’s fine,” he sighs dramatically, “I was going to say that I can hang out with you now that my project is done, but I can see I’m the only romantic one here, bro.”

You gasp. “I can be romantic!”

Vernon grins, and you immediately know you’ve taken his bait as he teases, “Really?”

“I can!” You insist, and he just smiles even wider. 

“Want me to come over so you can show me just how romantic you can be, baby?”

TAGLIST: @tae-bebe @wheeboo @waldau @iluvseokmin @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @minisugakoobies @wqnwoos @gyuminusone @christinewithluv @darkypooo @lvlystars @bewoyewo

[nvuy]

oh, the eldritch horror! — scar

summary. venturing out in the woods to clear your head was supposed to be relaxing, so why is this twisted abominable nightmare of a beast growling in your face?

notes. i rewatched shrek because i was bored and i snatched the donkey & dragon scene right out of it. but like, instead of a dragon, it’s literally baphomet. does this count as monsterfucking bc idkkk… anyway yeah it’s like scar but his goat form. i thought it would be funny. this is just painfully self indulgent.

idk wtf is going on in wuwa but my brain shut down when this loser came on screen and started ranting about shepherds and sheep. whatever you say beautiful.

warnings. scar, very minimal crack (it’s inspired by shrek. idk what to say bro…)

This has to be the worst day of your life.

The creature snaps its drooling jaw in your face.

It looks like a goat from Hell. Like a black sheep that’s wandered from its herd. You can’t see much of its face, but the ginormous pair of curled horns are sharp at the edges. The cartilage could easily slit your throat in half if you were to make one wrong move and lean in too close.

Four yellow beady eyes glare at you, way too close to your face. You can see your warped reflection along rectangular pupils. Giant ears peeled back towards its skull, pierced with two matching golden earrings in the shape of crosses that are the size of your hands.

You laugh nervously in its face.

Oh, god, it’s going to eat you alive. You know it.

You try to take a step back, but you’re met with the roots of a tree at your feet and the trunk digging harshly into your back.

Bad idea. Oh, this was all a bad idea. The bad luck streak should’ve been an indicator right from this morning: you slept through your alarm and were subsequently late for work, you fell over twice at work, you lost your house keys, and then you decided to clear your head and go for a walk.

You ended up venturing off deeper into the trees to search for herbs to help back at the clinic in Jinzhou. You don’t even know which direction the city is anymore.

And now, there’s a creature—and it can’t be a Tacet Discord—growling and snapping its teeth in your face. It’s huge. It’s way too big to be absorbed, let alone actually taken down with brute force. Whacking it with a stick certainly didn’t help.

All that did was manage to slash a decent gash into one of its hind legs and anger it even further.

It snarls at you.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple.

Uh oh.

“Oh, what large teeth you have!” Your voice comes out shaky, and you’re trembling as you stare up at it.

A low guttural noise escapes from the depths of its throat, and its jaw unhinges.

Your eyes pinch shut. “I-I mean, white, sparkling, teeth!” You let out a nervous huff of laughter, your words almost incoherent. “I know you probably hear this all the time from your food, but, you must take really good care of those pearly whites, ‘cause that is one dazzling smile you’ve got there!”

The creature’s slitted eyes narrow in suspicion. Its jaw snaps closed as it pulls only a few inches away from your burning skin.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms on your hands.

You clear your throat. “I’m so grateful that your beautiful smile will be the last thing I ever see. Y’know… when you eat me… ‘cause I’m sure you must be hungry!” You prattle on and on, and your knees are weak and wobbly. “Not that you have to eat me. I’d prefer if you didn’t, but– yeah! So grateful!”

You were praying to whatever Gods could hear you that your mindless babbling saved your life. Or some superhero came through and took this thing down in one swing.

The giant creature seems to preen at your words. Its sharp teeth retreat behind a now closed mouth. Its horn suddenly don’t appear as sharp as they were before, and the curl of them against the creature’s skull look softer and more defined. They were different to the ghastly sharp edges you saw before.

Your legs can’t keep still. Your hands interlock in front of you to try and quell the shaking. Your bones feel like they’re vibrating beneath your skin.

You try to control your breathing. “Beautiful hair–fur, by the way.” You raise a finger to point at the greyish locks behind its horns. For such a mangy beast, its hair looked a bit silky. Maybe unwashed, and it was full of twigs, but slightly soft. “And I smell a hint of berry…” Lie. “…Did you… wash it?”

Stupid question.

You try to control your breathing.

Maybe the beast isn’t a beast. Maybe it’s a nice creature cursed with being ugly.

The creature is still eyeing you.

Can it understand you? Or is it trying to survey whether you’re a threat or not? You can’t tell. You heard somewhere that dogs don't like when people look them in the eyes. You didn’t even know if that was true.

The correlation is stupid, regardless. This beast is far from even remotely resembling the canis genus.

Its head is huge, even when its jaw is shut. Its nostrils are the size of your hand, and it breathes puffs of hot air in your face. You reel back further into the tree. Your stomach drops impossibly lower than it already has. Your skin is soaked in sweat.

The creature bumps its nose against your sternum and inhales sharply.

You glance to the left.

Is it… smelling you? Is it trying to figure out if you’re edible? Oh, Gods, then you’re embarrassing stalling would have been for nothing. What a day. As if it couldn’t get any worse than it already had been.

You can't outrun it. It’s huge. By the time you’ve sprinted ten feet away it can simply lean over and pluck you by the back of your collar and pop you into its mouth.

Your insides churn at the thought. You were afraid you’d hunch over and vomit out of fear on the creature’s face.

Bad plan? Maybe then it wouldn’t eat you, at least. Or maybe it would. You were afraid to take the chances, and swallow the bile rising up your throat.

Its oddly bent arms smash into the dirt on either side of you. A low garble echoes in its throat and bubbles with saliva.

It sounds like a croak of sorts.

The lamb creature bumps its sharp snout into your stomach. Those beady eyes blink—you notice it has vertical eyelids. Gross. It’s like a giant lizard, almost.

Its teeth are gone for the moment, though, so it offers you a moment of reprieve. Or maybe it’s trying to calm you down so your blood tastes sweeter, or something. Sweat continues to roll down your neck, and you swallow the giant lump in your throat.

The red sashes of the torn clothes on its back pull with its form, ripping at the seams even more.

Your eyes flit nervously to the wound on its leg. It’s a small smear of crimson against grey fur, barely noticeable, and you’re sure the creature can’t even feel the sudden pain from it anymore. It seems to be walking fine, and it does not exhibit any discomfort when it shifts its weight to each hoof.

You wince when you spot the gnarly gash you left on it.

The lump in your throat doesn’t dislodge.

You try to ignore it.

The creature’s long neck pulls into view again. It’s watching you silently.

You figure if it wanted to eat you, it would have done so already. Hopefully you seemed inedible to it. Maybe it was an omnivore or something—but those sharp teeth were definitely not just for chewing on leaves and berries in the wild.

Morphed fingers dig deeper into the dirt beside your feet.

You stare into its eyes.

Its still eyeing you.

Huh.

It’s… curious. It blinks slowly, one eye at a time, as you slowly, and so slowly, slower than you’ve ever moved in your life, raise your hands.

Then, you navigate around its giant leg beside you and step towards the gash on its hind leg. Your foot tramples onto a twig and it snaps loudly. The creature watches you with lidded eyes, but there’s a flash of teeth in warning. You gulp.

You kneel before its wounded leg and pull your satchel from around your waist.

The creature does nothing. Its teeth disappear behind its mouth again.

“Sorry,” you whisper with a wince. You hope it can understand you’re not a threat. Maybe it’s scared of you. Wouldn’t that be a spectacle? A giant predator, some eldritch abomination in the middle of the woods, scared of a little flesh bag. “Um… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just scared, y’see?”

You had meant to hurt it, but you’d spit little white lies if they saved your life.

The creature blinks creepily again. That uneven slow blink, like a frog.

You’re more disturbed than anything. You’re amazed that ginormous tongue locked behind its teeth hasn’t come forth to lick its sclera wet yet. Then you’d be more convinced.

You try not to let it show. “But, um…” You dig around in your satchel before you pull out a small glass vial. “I have something that might help.” The vial is made of a crystal glass with a cork in the rim. The liquid inside is a deep blue, like the blueberries growing on the nearby bushes, or like thick ink.

The creature lowers its great head down towards the bottle.

It stares at your hands expectantly before trying to sniff around the glass.

Hesitantly, you remove the cork and hold the rim closer to one of its nostrils. It most certainly doesn't smell good; it’s made up of a mixture of herbs and alcohol, but you know for a fact it does a damn good job at shielding wounds from infection. It was fool-proof medicine; you made it. And you don’t settle for less than perfection.

The creature seems displeased with the scent for it seems to flinch away from the rim. It does not swat the medicine, but it turns its head away.

It looks grumpy.

“It might help the bleeding.” It will help the bleeding. You know it will. It will heal the entire wound. But, you didn’t come here to gloat, so you keep your lips zipped shut. “It’ll sting, though.”

The creature makes a noise. It does not sound like a warning, nor an acceptance of your words. It’s simply an acknowledgement, like a toneless hum, but you also don’t speak eldritch lamb, so you could be far from the truth. For all you knew, it was hyping itself up to open its mouth around your head or take off into the trees.

Alas, it does neither of those things.

It sits back on its hind legs despite its wound and then falls into the grass.

Its eyes shut and it stills.

You blink in wonder.

Did it… die?

Nope. It’s still breathing. Its nostrils flare with every breath. There’s a giant pitiful feeling of disappointment, but at the same time, a smaller pang of relief in your stomach.

Your hand reaches out to touch the tender and raw skin around its wound.

The creature remains still. Maybe it’s sleeping. It did chase you around the forest for a good long while.

You hum. It’s like a giant dog, you think. Like a scary, huge, dog.

You take loose cloth from your satchel and dab the medicine generously into the cotton until it soaks it thoroughly. You don’t have anything to properly clean the wound with, but it will have to do. You do have a wrap of bandages, though, and it’s better than nothing.

Gingerly, you press the soaked cloth to the tip of the wound.

The creature blinks its eyes open and snarls.

You try again in the spot next to it, gently pulling any flecks of dirt you see from the gash.

It hisses then, low and horrible, and you flinch away. It watches you cautiously, hind leg pulled towards itself protectively.

“I just need to clean it,” you say desperately. You know there’s a pleaful gleam in your eyes.

The beast tilts its great head towards you before it snorts and rests down on the grass again.

When you press the cloth back to its wound, it makes a noise, but it does flinch.

So, you work gently. Slowly, like you’re treading through thick murky waters. It feels that way. The creature puffs annoyed noises through its nose, but you dutifully ignore it, watching the shimmer of the medicine in the evening sunlight to make sure it was spread evenly over the gash.

When you’re satisfied, you take its giant hoof in your lap and wrap the bandages around its leg. The size of its calf takes up almost all of the roll, but you make it work, tucking the ends into the wrap. The creature does not deter away from the treatment.

You hope it isn’t too tight.

It’ll give the beast another good reason to close its jaw around your head.

The creature blinks its gross eyes open again, those rectangular pupils drawing thinner. It’s surveying the bandaging like it’s foreign; it probably is, given the creature has probably never received treatment in its life. You notice the ghastly scars drawn over its face.

Still, you’re frightened. The noises that pour from its throat are guttural and flagrant. It’s still huge, even as it lays in the grass. When it raises its head, it’s still taller than you.

You feel a drop of sweat slip down your spine.

It probably hasn’t eaten you because you smell unappetising. You’re thankful, internally.

You stay knelt in the grass, dirt staining your pants as you watch the creature warily.

Then, it coos. It’s snout bumps into your stomach and it coos. You flinch away from the noise, hands raised near your head defensively. Why is it cooing? Does it like you? That’s better than hating you, at least. The creature huffs and puffs against your stomach, and washes of hot air waver over your sweaty face.

You shakily rest a palm on the top of its snout, mindful of the deep scars.

The creature only stares blankly.

Huh. “You’re not so bad.” You swallow nervously. “You’re sort of like a giant puppy.”

The creature lets off a low garble. It sounds innocent, like a passing noise of pleasantries. Like it’s enjoying your attention.

Your hand smooths over the strange fur. It’s coarse between your fingers, withered with age and scars, but it still somehow retains a slight softness. It’s nice. It smells suspiciously like livestock, but that’s better than smelling of blood and sinew.

The creature drowns in the feeling of your hand against its head. The gold earrings are cold against your skin.

Then, it reels back.

You almost jump when its mouth moves towards your face before a long and slimy tongue drags up your cheek. You almost gag as saliva drips from your skin, but you try not to let it show. You shiver instead, mostly out of disgust.

The creature seems pleased though.

You’re glad to be of service. And to still be alive.

Nice puppy.

You try to ignore the slime stuck to your skin as you thumb over the creature’s horns. They’re enormous, much larger than the width of your arm, but the cartilage is so delicate, and you notice chips in the black curls.

It bumps its nose into your sternum and makes a noise.

When you say nothing, it makes the same noise, but it’s drawn out and higher, more irritated. Petrified, you stumble back slightly. You have a clear shot of running now. There’s no trees trapping you with this thing. You could try and make a beeline towards where you think Jinzhou is.

The creature stares expectantly. There’s a slow kiss of a blink, and hot puffs of air fan over your face and send jitters down your spine.

“I don’t– um…” You try to settle your trembling. “I’m not understanding–”

The great creature lets out a frustrated huff, and lowers its head towards you. You think not to place your sweaty palm on its snout for pets again. It doesn’t seem to warrant them at that moment, either.

It’s getting dark now, and you’re growing nervous again. Does it grow violent in the night? Is it warning you? Oh, God, maybe it’s going to pounce.

A cloying scent fills your nose. Your eyes refocus from the tears that melt along your bottom lashes.

You watch, mortified, as the creature warps.

Those giant hooves shrink in size, followed by an engorging shadow of smoke and red dust like sand. It burns your eyes and floods your lungs wrong, and you cough, fanning your face desperately. It stinks. It smells like metals and burnt soil. This mustn’t be good for your health, inhaling all this stuff.

The creature horns curl smaller until they disappear. You can’t see much of it, but what you can see is almost disturbing. It looks painful. The silhouette of the great beast continues to shrink, and those beautiful tresses of white and grey hair curl along what can be assumed to be a more normal looking face.

Its silhouette vaguely resembles a human, but there’s much too little to see you’re not quite sure. Black ripples down those long arms and pulls away the fur covering them.

There’s the snapping and straightening of bones. You almost puke at the sound. You force yourself to look away. Sweat pools in your throat like an oasis.

When you find the courage to glance back, the shadows then peel away from the inky red fog and dust.

You gulp.

It’s a man.

It’s the beast, and you know it is because the scars on the creature’s head match the lines and pulls of his skin. He’s devoid of fur now, and his hair is dramatically shorter, small curls imitating those giant black horns twisting around the now fleshy lobes of his ears and his neck.

His clothes are the same. Ruined and tattered, but still that red coat. His shirt is caked in dirt and his pants are torn where the gash is. It’s still covered by the rolls of bandages.

He is on his hands and knees in the grass. He looks exhausted, like he’s trying to recover from the most painful transformation you’ve ever witnessed in your life.

“Um…” It’s the only thing that can seem to form coherently from your mouth.

A grin cracks onto the man’s face. “Hi.”

You nod slowly in a greeting.

Your spine snaps rod straight in fright.

The man stands to his feet slowly. His bones crack and continue snapping as he moves, and he lets off an annoyed sigh before he stretches and pulls knots from his joints.

Then, he suddenly looks alive. “That’s better. God, have you ever been trapped in your own body?” You briskly shake your head, to which he scoffs playfully and continues, “‘course you haven’t! Silly me.”

“Are you–” You feel stupid for asking, but there’s something forcing you to say it. “Are you a Tacet Discord?”

The man’s face morphs to answer your question. “Do I look like a Tacet Discord?”

Well. He did. About five minutes ago. It takes effort not to respond with irked quips, eyes flitting towards your satchel that’s still resting by his feet where you had left it.

He notices you staring at it and kneels down to pick it up. The thin strap you swing around your body is pulled over one of his fingers like the bag is a foreign object entirely.

You figure he might try and rummage inside. He won’t find much if he plans to rob you.

Instead, his eyes narrow playfully at you. “You are so interesting.” He grips the strap of your bag tight and takes one calculative step forward. “Usually, humans bore me. They’re all cut from the same meat platter, after all.

“But, you…” A pleased, airy little giggle escapes his throat. “Oh, I like you.”

Oh, this is very bad.

That smile on his face says it all.

Very, very bad.

You sucked up way too much to the beast.

You’re in for it now.

You laugh awkwardly in return. You’re not flattered in the slightest.

You hoped the world ended at that very moment. That would fix the problem.

You clear your throat quickly. “I appreciate you not eating me, sir. Really, I do! But I need to get going now. It’s getting dark, y’see, and… and it’s not safe for me to be walking around in the dark…” You’re stalling again. It worked the first time. You hope it works here again.

That doesn’t appear to be the case.

The man watches you closely.

“C-could I have my bag back?” You curse yourself for letting the waver in your voice slip. It sounds hopeless.

As expected, he only snorts. “Nope.” He swings it over his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

You really need your stuff.

Your feet remain planted into the floor.

He’s scary. His smile isn’t normal. The scars pulling around his eyes make it so much worse, too.

His head tilts curiously to the side. He’s walking right towards you now. His eyes rapidly move from your face down to your legs, surveying every inch of you he could.

You want to fall through the floor and disappear.

“What’s your name, little lamb?”

Your heart spikes in your chest. He’ll follow you right back to the city, you know it. You can see it in his eyes, and his expression—where’s that stick to swat him off? Your eyes frantically search the ground as you move for some sort of branch to stave him off.

Your hands raise in front of you to keep him away, but of course your little frail body isn’t going to deter him in the slightest.

If anything, he only coos again.

You tell him your name reluctantly when your foot stumbles over a stray root. You don’t topple over. You can’t imagine what would happen to you if you had to start crawling away from him.

He repeats it once.

Then, his grin softens. “I like it.” It looks relatively normal now, like he’s not about to dig his teeth into your flesh. They’ve straightened up from how sharp they were prior, but you’re sure those canines could do enough damage. “I like you. You’re so nice. So small. So silly.”

You swallow hard.

He says nothing else.

Your brows knit together in worry. “What’s your name?”

His eyes flit down to himself as if he’s wracking his brain to remember. Then, he says, “Scar.”

Underwhelming. It’s like calling a kitten ‘Cat.’ You don’t voice your disappointment. At least his name is simple, and easy to remember.

Your eyes swarm to his bandaged leg.

He’s not even limping. The gash seems like nothing but a fleeting thought.

The man, Scar, hums thoughtfully, a nail pointed onto his cheek. “It’s not everyday you find a little white lamb away from its flock. It would be unwise to give you up to the other creatures in the forest.”

You swallow whatever courage you have left in your bones. “I don’t need protection, but thank you.”

He can keep your satchel. You are out of here.

You turn away from him this time and continue walking forward.

“Oh, but didn’t you just say it’s not safe for you to be out here in the dark?” His words taper off into a chuckle. His smile twists into something grotesque again. His arms are pulled open into some sort of mocking await of an embrace. “Come, little one. I promise I am gentle.”

You don’t believe him.

You’re sweating again. Hot ash clings into your lungs. You stifle the urge to choke on your spit in fear.

Your head turns back to watch him, suddenly alarmed. Gooseflesh raises on your arms.

Stupid.

Your foot catches onto a thick protruding root in the dirt again, but this time you do stumble to the floor. Your head smashes against the ground but you can’t pay it too much mind. You’re panicked, and ice rushes through your veins like blood.

You push yourself up instantly, but he’s quicker, and a foot stamps down onto your calf. It doesn’t hurt, no, but it’s firm enough to keep you there.

His knees hit the dirt on either side of your legs and you’re cornered. You try to sit up to the best of your ability, but he tuts as if he’s reprimanding a child. “Now, now. You’ve hit your head. You could be seriously hurt, y’know?”

“‘M fine!” You push on his chest when he leans down far too close to inspect you. “Get off!”

There’s no physical damage except for a small welt. You feel dizzy, but that’s to be expected.

There’s something alight in his eyes.

Excitement.

This is a game to him.

Scar lets you sit up, though he’s still very much straddling your lap.

That same wobbly grin pulls onto his lips.

Oh, gross. You should never have treated his wounds. Now he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him. You’ve caused some great beast to grow delusional because you wanted to be nice.

You’re never stopping to help lonely animals in the forest ever again.

You swear you see hearts bubble and pop from his head when he blinks at you. He hums a small giggle before his arms wrap around your neck and draw his chest into yours.

He squeezes you tight and you buzz with the excitement that radiates off his skin in heat waves. More and more hearts float from his head, and you’re sure his pupils are a shape to match.

“I want to keep you.”

He squishes his cheek against yours.

“Uh…” What the hell else do you say? Especially to this thing that’s swamped over you like a giant teddy bear. You can’t even breathe.

“So small. Are humans usually this tiny? And you’re so warm–”

You claw at his arms. His grip loosens over your neck.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. Instead, he looks intrigued and experimentally squeezes around your throat again. “Oh. I always forget just how fragile humans are.”

You sigh in defeat.

Oh, boy.

This is going to be a long night.