#album: nothing above nothing below

[glittergroovy]

[gummy-sharks666]

You know the episode is bad when u gotta pull out these mfs

[callmeblake]

Death Spells - Nothing Above, Nothing Below (on amazon music)

There is a death spells vinyl, unopened on ebay. And if you buy it you will still need to download digital files from somewhere else because the old download site DIED.

alaso, official lyrics

[femboyclownpierce]

♾️ infinite sign!!!

You look scared 'Cause you know I'm a fuck

"fantastic bastards" by Death Spells!

send me a ∞ for a song!

[bunnyboylyricbot]

d-e-s-t-r-u-c-t-i-o-n is my only god.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Sugar Rush Ride 💜

SX Seoul Series | Yoongi's Entry 💜

PAIRING: YoongixReader

SUMMARY: You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

WORD COUNT: 12.6k

GENRE: coworkers (mutually) pining to lovers

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: explicit, pwp (porn w/ plot really), drunk fight (but you sober up...sort of), bratty reader, rough but Yoongi is pro at aftercare, fingerfucking, face-fucking, edging, spankings, his hand is on your neck a lot (am I forgetting something?)

(You can also read it on AO3)

A.N. This is based on the song of the same title by TXT 🔥 It was not planned and maybe it has been done before, but it was too good to miss 😁

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

Yoongi parked his car underground in a private parking lot before stepping outside into the night in Itaewon. It was crowded as usual, but he paid no mind to the passersby — he had somewhere to be.

He reached the steps that led into a famous club in the neighborhood and entered below the red lines warming up the humidity into steam: SX.

He was giving away his coat when the music from the backroom hit him, the pop music with the codename temptation resonating in the air, and in his ribcage. He stepped towards it confidently, unbothered by the instant boom of noise that hit him once the door opened and closed again behind him. No, nothing would bother him until he found what he was looking for.

He scanned the room attentively, the darkness crossed punctually and rhythmically by the flashes of lights to the beat of the songs he helped produce himself. All but one song that ended up being the main track, the reason why he had rushed to be at the listening party tonight.

He got to the bar and looked around again; he saw lots of people he knew, the artists included. None had seen him yet, so he took the chance to search even more carefully. And finally, his eyes fell on you. You were listening attentively as you held your hair to the side and someone, a man spoke into your ear above the noise. Then you burst out laughing, shoulders and chest trembling with excitement, and your hand landed on the man’s chest. Not in a smack, not to push him away, just subtly placed there in an intimate gesture, or an invitation thereof.

Yoongi was by your side before he knew it. The man with you looked up with a silent question and you flinched and looked back, eyes instantly widening in surprise.

“Yoongi! You’re back!”

You launched your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug, and he immediately knew you had alcohol in your system. Despite this, he reacted the only way he could be expected to — he wrapped a protective arm around you and looked straight into the eyes of that dude trying his luck.

“Right on time,” you grinned when you stepped back. “Inhyuk, this is Yoongi, the producer I was telling you about.”

The guy bowed and said something polite, but Yoongi wasn’t listening. You had stepped to stand beside the guy and his hand had comfortably set on your waist. For a second, his sole thought was, Since when? But then he cooled down.

“I see. Well, enjoy the party. I’ll see you later,” he told you with his eyes set on yours and you got the message.

But you didn’t want to worry about that right now, so when Inhyuk pulled you by the waist to talk to you a bit closer, you didn’t flinch. You smiled and agreed to have another drink while the crowd around you listened and enjoyed the album you helped produce. You were proud of yourself, it was the fruit of your first year of work with—

The main track started and the crowd cheered as it did every time it played. Your eyes watered as Inhyuk congratulated you and clinked his drink to yours but as you drank, there was heat building inside of you. It was funny to hear the lyrics you wrote being sung back at you and fit perfectly at that moment. But then you chuckled, as your eyes fell on Min Yoongi. Your thoughts would always stop as soon as he was back near you. That would never change.

Yet you looked up and smiled at Inhyuk, giddy with your drink and with excitement. You made a vow when you decided to let this song be performed and sung — it was you putting your feelings into your work to get rid of them. That was the deal.

Inhyuk smiled mischievously at you as if he couldn’t believe, but didn’t disapprove, of the song's lyrics speaking so openly about desire, about opening locked doors into seeing stars and asking for more. And you kept smiling and drinking. Because you made a deal with yourself and maybe tonight was the perfect time to go into a new direction.

The song was only three minutes long, but it drove Yoongi to a corner. He gripped his tonic water and faced the bar while the music kept calling to him, Come here more, let’s play more.

Just like the first time he heard it and was covered in goosebumps, wild thoughts coming to him that he had to quickly water down. He sighed; it didn’t stop him from flying back as soon as possible to talk to you about it. Confront you, more like.

He turned to the side to find you by the bar having shots with that guy, and that was it. The full album had played, you had your moment in the spotlight as you should, the artists were having a blast alongside everyone else, and he had had enough of seeing you so close to some guy.

You were on your fourth tequila shot when you felt an arm extend behind you to reach the bar, and you shivered. Not because it was cold; you were sweating from the drinks and the energy of the crowd. No, it was because you knew who it was, even if the arm didn’t touch you.

“We should go,” his voice was steady near your ear even though your head was spinning a little.

“The night is still young!” Inhyuk said as he grinned and grabbed another shot glass, waiting for you to do the same, but despite your giddiness, you hesitated. 

You looked up to Yoongi and saw his neutral beautiful lines, and you understood what he was doing.

The guy saw he was losing you, so he moved closer to get your attention, “I can take you home.”

He said it with amusement, like a tease, and you grinned. You were taken by the energy between you two; you both knew where that was going. But then a breath being slowly heaved behind you shook your foundations and you looked down. Yoongi was just doing his part of the deal, but suddenly you were fucking pissed. He couldn’t possibly understand that you needed to be with someone, anyone other than him. Desperately, before you’d fucking combust!

But he was your coworker, the genius producer of your label. And despite everything, you didn’t want to burn a bridge. Inhyuk was not that great anyway.

You shrugged almost innocently, “Maybe next time. It was nice meeting you.”

Yoongi pointed so that you’d go ahead to the exit and you did. Yet with every step, something was bubbling up your throat. There was a lump there, blocking you from voicing it while you grabbed your coats, walked the cold night to his car, and got in to be on your way.

The whole ride you argued with yourself that this was for the best. You shouldn’t have sex with someone after so many drinks, that was not how it was supposed to go. But maybe that was what you needed to have the courage to just move on. To want another man as desperately, and not the one driving you home right now. You needed it, you needed to go crazy and do something you wouldn’t normally do. You needed the regret, to stop playing safe, to stop believing your heart knew what was best for you when all it did was set on someone who saw you as nothing but a colleague.

When you arrived, he entered the private parking of your apartment building and parked swiftly. It made your stomach bubble further with anger, he was just so used to taking you home. That was the deal. Well, screw that.

“Thanks, good night.”

You pushed the door open and peeled yourself away, closing it with a bham only to seek support in the car instantly. Your legs were wobbly, the world was spinning and you cursed in irritation. It was fine before, why was it so difficult now?

His door opened and closed, the car beeped as it locked, then his steps echoed to get to you. And everything was like needles prickling your patience. He stood next to you to help you and you didn’t know what you wanted more: to scream at him or to just disappear.

But he placed his hand on your waist firmly, walked you to the lobby and the elevator, and even dialed your code to enter your apartment. It infuriated you — it reminded you of all the times over the last year that he had done his part of the deal. That he had taken you home safe and sound, and still never seen you for anything more while you pined helplessly.

So you tried to reach your living room without his help and stumbled very quickly, yet a firm grip on your arm prevented you from falling face flat. Normally, you would have blushed, thanked him, and let the politeness and decorum dictate your interactions, but not now.

You pulled your arm loose, “I don’t need a chaperone!”

“And I don't need you to fall and break a leg.”

You threw your jacket and purse over your couch finally with a frustrated huff. The world was spinning and annoying you so fucking much. You needed to scream at him once and for all and be done with it, why couldn’t it stand still?

“Why did you interfere?”

“What do you mean?” He was calmly taking his shoes off after hanging his coat by the entrance and his placidness irked you.

“I was having a good time!”

You barely saw the line crossing his face, “He was no good for you.”

“What? Why?!”

“He just wasn’t,” he stated, walking further inside your apartment like he knew it, and he did. He’d normally stay for a chat after bringing you home and made sure you were okay.

“But why?!” You insisted, eyes so wide they looked twice their size, and still the room was shaky. “What was so wrong with him that—”

“He was trying to get you drunk,” he almost scoffed as he reached your kitchen and started looking around for something.

“So?” You tried following him, annoyed that he was not paying attention to you.

He found a cup and right next to it what he was looking for. He took a black coffee capsule and put both things next to your coffee machine. “He just wanted sex.”

He seemed annoyed now as he prepped the coffee and you threw your hands in the air, “I fucking want sex!”

He paused and looked at you, at your wide eyes and red cheeks. And you held your breath, swallowing dryly. Did you just yell that at Min Yoongi? At your genius coproducer?

“You're drunk.”

He pressed the button to draw an espresso from the machine, and you felt like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m not drunk!!” He didn’t look at you and you gripped your hair with a frustrated scream. “I’m just not only a fucking worker bee, okay?! I have needs, I want things! So what, sex is too much for you to handle or som—”

A look was all it took for you to feel your guts freeze in place. You were so attuned to this fucking man that his slightest hint of disapproval hit you like an icicle. But it wasn’t just that, it was something else. Disappointment?

And you revolted hard against it; he had no right to make you feel this way. “Then what’s the problem?! I can’t want it? Because I’m a woman or something?”

He took the coffee cup and placed it in front of you on the kitchen counter, “Drink it.”

You ignored it, “I didn’t think you were a prude or conservative, but this is me.” You stepped back and fought the traces of the spinning walls vehemently. “I want things. More than just make good music, I’m not just my work.” He was listening, he was looking at you, but all he did was push the cup the slightest in your direction. And you snorted, “Hell, that’s why my music is good. Because I want— I want things.”

You couldn’t look at him, only at his feet. You thought you wanted to scream your frustration at him, but now you realized that was pointless. It wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t into you anyway.

“We’re not talking unless you’re sober.”

You raised your eyes and his coolness hardened you. Right. You’d get a slap on the wrist for getting drunk at the listening party of the album you fucking produced. For wanting to sleep with another producer. For not being professional? Who the fuck knew why. And maybe sober you’d care about losing your dream, but right now you were just fucking done.

“Right, whatever,” you turned to head to your bedroom. “I’ll take a shower, we can talk tomorrow.”

Yoongi saw you walk a bit shakily but firmly toward your bedroom and then he sighed. He considered for a moment to do as you wished and leave, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. Selfishly, he didn’t want to wait for tomorrow. He was restless, he needed to talk to you about it. And to do that, he needed you sober.

He grabbed your coffee cup and knocked on the ajar door with his eyes glued to the floor. He called your name and you scoffed.

“You’re taking our deal too much to the letter,” your voice sounded strained and he closed his free hand into a fist. “You don’t need to worry about—”

He heard noises and he didn’t think twice; he pushed the door open and found you almost fallen to the floor trying to take your dress off. You huffed in annoyance; you should have sat on the bed but then how would the dress pass under—

A firm hand hoisted you up as if you were as light as a feather and you came face to face with him. The man in your dreams, in your mind, making you scream in your bed just at the thought of him. Making you crazy. 

“I’m fine,” you said, looking down. “I can handle myself. You don’t need to bring me home and make sure I don’t—” 

Your voice wavered, what were you— 

Your eyes filled with tears, but maybe that was exactly what needed to happen, “Yeah, let’s stop that. Our deal? Let’s end it. You don’t need to bring me home and watch over me. I know I’m a woman in a men-dominated company, but I’m not a child.”

He sighed and stepped away and your heart cracked, leaving you to hide your face with one hand and try to press your chest with the other. You knew that to move on you had to push him away, but damn did it sting and—

The scent of coffee invaded your nose and you raised your hand from over your eyes. He was holding the coffee cup in front of you.

“Stop for a second and drink it. Then, we’ll talk.”

You looked for the sincerity in his eyes, and of course, you found it. So you took the cup and chugged the espresso as if it had been just another tequila shot. Then you lowered your arm and looked at him, trying to sense if that changed anything. It didn’t really, not for you.

“Did you hear what I said?”

His lips twitched, “I heard you, but you’re not hearing me. Sober, I said.”

You shrugged, “You said drink, I did. So now we talk. No more deal. No more keeping me safe, no more watching over me or bringing me home. I need to— I need to let it all out.”

His lips pursed for a second but then he voiced quietly, “I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you shrugged and almost laughed at yourself. “I told you I want things.”

“You write about what you want.” You hummed. “So what is that main track?”

“What I want.”

You were looking at him, a void in your mind all of a sudden, but he hesitated. You said you wanted sex and the song was about desire. Maybe he was reading it wrong.

“What do you want?”

“It’s not a what.”

“Is it a who?”

Your mouth dried, so you nodded. You were staring right at the object of your desire but he looked confused.

He scratched his head and then tried, “Did you— Did you use those words on purpose?”

“What words?”

“What w—” He seemed bewildered, “My stage name. You used my stage name. Sugar? Was that on purpose?”

For a split second, you were frozen, livid, shocked, and then laughter bubbled out of you, “I thought I had been so clever about it. Saying sugar instead of suga.” He was staring at you and his inexpression only led you to push the air out of your lungs, “I know, you don’t have to say it. You won't touch me, even if pigs fly. I know that.”

“That's not true.”

You tilted your head, then laughed some more, “Yes, it is. You don't even see me as a woman, I'm just another producer.”

“That's also not true.”

“Right,” you chuckled. “Let me give you reasons to walk out that door right now. I not only wanted to sleep with you but wrote a whole main track about wanting you. About being dazed, overwhelmed by desire, wanting just more. Give it a listen. You know I struggle with titles, but the name of the song was the first thing I had.”

You chuckled again and turned around, rubbing your face for a moment. It was out. You didn’t care too much if anyone else knew, and if anyone had thought of it, they had been smart enough to stay quiet. But now he knew, and there was no going back. Sugar rush ride. You laughed again. You stood by that tile.

“I—” His voice sounded unsure for the first time and you turned to face him. “I don’t— Was it just a rush? You felt a rush at the thought of me and wrote that?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a world of a difference,” he insisted, eyes set on you though he hadn’t moved an inch yet. “I still haven’t heard you say what you want now.”

“What I want?” You were incredulous, “Are you even listening? I’ve been saying nothing else! What?” He was unmoving, but for the first time, you could swear you saw his eyes glistening, and you were out of filters. “I want to be with you. I want you to fuck me already.” You shivered, the strength of your own words working against you. “I have since the day we met. I forgot I had an ex and was heartbroken to finger myself to the thought of you so many times I lost count.” He opened his mouth but you didn’t let him speak, “Shut up. I know what you'll say. I’ve wasted a year of my life. We're kind of friends and we work together. I know all that,” you huffed, exhausted. “So just leave.”

You turned to get to your ensuite bathroom and this time succeeded in pulling the dress out of your body, letting it fall to the ground with a rustle. You turned to reach the makeup remover over your counter and almost missed the way he was still standing in your room, looking at you. You blinked as you faced him, and your nipples hardened without your control with the goosebumps navigating your skin. You had nothing on, you rarely did in events like those. You used it to boost your self-esteem and feel sexy, and now you guessed he knew it too.

You removed your makeup relatively quickly and were curious to look back, and he was gone. You looked down with tears pooling in your eyes; but of course. Why did it all just have to come out of your mouth like that? Now he knew your deepest darkest secrets and would never want to work together again in the future. Great.

You stepped into the shower and let the warmth wash away your worries. You were not a child. You had feelings and wants. They were perhaps misplaced, but you didn’t harm anyone. You sighed; still, maybe it was best to look for a new job in the morning.

Once you made peace with that, your mind wandered to greener pastures, to more heavenly thoughts. You reviewed the expression he had as you told him crudely what you wanted, and it was good. Tense. In your wildest fantasies maybe it could be even a little possessive. And the thought of Min Yoongi getting possessive over you turned you on like nothing ever could.

Your hand trailed south along your skin and avoided the water. Your undeniable arousal made you chuckle. You had just told him you touched yourself thinking of him, and there you were again, like clockwork. He never told you not to, he didn’t act disgusted or look at you sideways, so suddenly you felt egged on.

You tilted your ass up and out of the water and spread your folds greedily, closing your eyes to think back to his dark eyes while you were naked in front of him. It was as if he wasn’t thinking, he was just looking. You didn’t see his eyes running up and down your body, but you didn’t have to. No way he would not be curious, even if he had walked out. 

His leaving stung but fuck, was he hot. Now he knew you thought of him and what you did while thinking of him. Your heart stung for a second with the thought that you would lose his friendship, but you got back on track. You were horny and he had created that mess. You tried to kindly tell him to leave so many times, it wasn’t your fault that he lingered until you were spurting the deepest truths and stripping naked to shower. 

And now he knew. He knew you didn't like wearing underwear when you had formal events, how sensitive your nipples were to the cold, and that you had a small blue birthmark at the end of your back. Fuck. He knew you were a dirty little whore fingering yourself to the thought of his cock buried deep—

Two arms wrapped around you and you moaned, too immersed in your fantasy to be startled. You were thinking about his arms around you, his chest strong for your back to take support, hands trailing down your body to explore with long fingers ready to spell your demise so easily—

His fingers were next to yours cupping your sex and you gasped, squirming away only to be pressed against his firm chest.

“No, continue,” his voice was a taunt as his free hand seemed indecisive about where to settle on your body. “You want to touch yourself? Go on.”

You stammered his name but his fingers were quickly learning from yours how to trace your heat, spread your slick, and make you tremble. You were shaking, half embarrassed, half feverish, until his other hand finally settled on groping your breast harshly and you moaned. You moaned with a hiss dragging with how much more you wanted, with your ass bucking into him only to rub more to get a better feeling of his hard cock on your ass. He was clothed, you could feel it, but the thought of him wanting this was driving you up the wall.

He was coming to you while you showered, entering it with clothes on just to reach you, grab you, touch you, and make you moan. There was no hiding it now, no possible misunderstanding. He had fingers rubbing your clit while his other hand squeezed your tit harshly, making your legs weak. Nothing was forcing him to stay, to touch you, to listen to you moan.

You bucked your hips again, you were so close to coming it was unstoppable. Yet a logical thought still tried to push through, “Are you sure about this? We're friends— We work tog—”

If only you weren’t rubbing your ass on his crotch to feel him better, to get tighter, to force his fingers on your clit to chase you.

His reply was a whisper to your ear over your wet hair, “You said what you wanted. You can feel how much I agree.”

Your walls squeezed, you were so ready, “You— You want this?”

His hips pushed into you once and you almost fell apart. “Don’t pretend you can’t feel it. I’m asking myself how you never noticed.”

You gripped his hand over your chest and he released the pressure, instantly making you squirm and whine in a complaint. You pressed his hand and he squeezed again, hearing attentively how your moan pitched wantonly. He hummed near your ear, nuzzling your wet skin with a smile adorning his lips. So that was how you liked it.

“No, I—” Your breath hitched with how he was working you and for the second time you thought you would fall apart, but the intensity reeled back to allow you to think. “Not like this. I noticed you treated me differently but I thought it was because I was the only girl in the studio—”

You staggered with a gasp, your body rushing a cold wave under your skin to contrast with the warm water of the shower, but again the sensation eased as the seconds ticked away. And you knew then that it was him, keeping you on the edge and not letting you fall apart. Him with his smooth fingers and nuzzling behind your ear.

“No, not because of that,” his voice was tense as his lips ghosted over your wet neck. “I was… charmed,” he admitted with a chuckle, and when you bucked your hips, he gripped you closer. “But I thought you saw me as a friend.” The thought alone made his lip pull in annoyance, but the slick covering his fingers at your heat soothed him, “I could have done this so many times if you had just asked.”

He bit down on the tender flesh between your shoulder and neck and you screamed, the sting mixing with your pleasure so viscerally that you could have cum on it alone. Only he sensed it too and moved his hand away, dragging yours along so you couldn’t finish it yourself, and you laughed quietly. He was suckling on your skin with meticulous precision and you could only grin widely, euphoric sparks flying out of control inside your belly.

“You could have said something too,” you sounded like you were whining, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He was now licking where he had just marked you and you were trembling, legs so weak it was embarrassing.

He let go and nuzzled along your neck to your spine in between your wet hair, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. You either want it or you don’t. I thought you’d say something.”

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t ever. You should have known.”

He hummed and leaned back ever so slightly to look at the curve of your ass pressed against him. Then his hand trailed up, lashed by the shower while gently feeling and pressing your soft skin. He couldn’t believe he almost missed this.

“We have to work on that, then.”

You were still smiling when you let your head fall back to his shoulder, “If you did as I said—”

“I'd be out of here without ever getting to touch you,” his annoyance was clear in his voice, and even in the way his fingers pressed less gently. “Without knowing what’s on your mind. No, you,” he wrapped his arm across your torso to gently reach the base of your neck and you looked up, giving him more space. “You are not in charge here.”

He couldn’t have known the way you were grinning. You just let yourself fall further into his embrace, his hand settling on the base of your neck in a way you found comforting. Then he turned you gently to the side and your back hit the cold wall. A hiss came out of your lips quickly, but you were still smiling. Even as his dark eyes scanned you for your reaction, with one hand keeping you still by the neck. You were waiting with a familiar ease on your features, and he relaxed. That was enough.

Suddenly, your feet parted and you were surprised. He had used his foot to spread your legs and the way his free hand was tracing your wet body like he owned it shortcircuited your brain.

“I want to know what this dirty mind of yours has been keeping from me.”

You could hear a hint of eagerness and it was enough, “I won't tell you.”

“You will.” His tone was so sure, like he held the world at his beckoning, that you trembled. You were sure then he would hold yours, turn it upside down, inside out, and you’d love every second of it. “You will tell me every dream of yours, every fantasy, every little filthy fleeting thought. Then maybe we can do something about it.”

“Maybe?” You were eager, his hand was at your lower stomach but seemingly chose to ignore where you ached most.

“Maybe. If that's something you want.”

“I do, I want everything.”

His eyes jumped to yours; he needed to know if that was a spur-of-the-moment blurted line, or if you meant it. All he found were eager glistening eyes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you confirmed, eyes staring at him like you were seeing stars.

For a split second, he considered that this could not be what he thought it was. Maybe you were still drunk and just talking big, maybe you had no idea what you were saying. But the way you didn’t waver, even as he considered pulling the plug on everything despite being a millimeter away from snapping and making his thoughts come true did sway him. He brushed your jaw once so tenderly and you leaned into his touch. He’d take it easy while he discovered you, there was no rush.

“Alright,” he voiced and lowered his hand. “Show me first.”

“Show you what?” You were eager but you were starting to shiver.

“What you do when you think of me.”

“Didn’t you just catch me doing it?”

“You’re going to look at me this time.”

“Look?” You tilted your head slightly.

“Eyes on me,” his eyebrows twitched.

“Only my eyes?”

“And your thoughts.”

You grinned and looked away but his instant grip over your chin made you look up.

“You sure you want everything?”

You huffed with a sly smile and let your head fall back to the wall, “I’m sure.” His dark gaze was skeptical and your grin widened, “Oh, I want everything, sugar. Be sure not to hold back.”

He looked down to follow your movements and you almost laughed. Your hand was rubbing your clit so you could control your pleasure while his eyes roamed your body, the doubt lingering on his features. You could laugh again, but you didn’t. The way he doubted you was funny because he had no idea how crazy you were about him, but then it occurred to you that you also didn’t know the first thing about him. Did he like to watch? Would he guide you or leave you adrift? He had edged you three times already, did he notice? Did he do it on purpose to drive you crazy? 

Would he do it again?

Where exactly was his line? He was quiet now, eating you with his eyes and absorbing every little detail, from the way you breathed to your tongue peeking through your lips, to the way you gathered your arousal to coat your clit. You gasped ever so softly and his eyes instantly jumped to your face, and your lips twitched. You had him. How was it that you had the powerful Min Yoongi?

“What is going on in there?”

His voice was soothing and low, soft as a caress, and you smiled. “You.”

“Me how?”

“You told me to think about you,” your fingers hastened and you grinned.

“I told you I want to know your thoughts.”

You hummed with a smile and eyed him from head to toe shamelessly. You knew what he told you, what he wanted, but what about what you wanted?

Your fingers picked up the pace as your eyes gained a sly glim, and you thought he saw it. If he didn’t, he at least heard the wet sounds echoing in the bathroom.

“Do it slowly.”

You obeyed, so painfully slowly that your eyelashes fluttered, but what truly got you was the soothing of his features. He looked endeared, all because you did as he told you. He looked so sweet, so adorable, so loveable. You wanted to squeeze his precious cheeks.

So you reached forward to touch his face, but he slapped your hand away harshly, “No.” You bit your lip not to smile but his eyes were just hardening. “I’m still waiting.”

“For?”

You couldn’t help your grin as you squirmed ever so slightly against the wall. His precious dark eyes were so focused on you.

“Me how?”

But he wasn’t paying attention. “You right now.”

It didn’t surprise you that he didn’t become impatient, “Just me standing here?”

Your fingers were ever so quicker, “Stiff as a stick trying to control something that isn’t yours yet.”

His eyes glimmed and your tongue peeked out again to hide your laugh. It was fun seeing him being careful, but when would he actually touch you?

“Didn’t I say slower?”

You instantly did, and the recoil of the feeling had you fluttering your eyes closed.

“Eyes on me,” he sounded angrier now, closer too.

You did open your eyes but pursed your lips; there was still half an arm's distance between you. If he wouldn’t get the hint, then you’d have to do it yourself.

“Strip,” you asked, swallowing dryly.

He scoffed and instantly looked down, “I said slow.”

“If you want it slow, do it yourself.”

It happened so fast you couldn’t process it. Like a rubberband snapping, his hand darted to your neck pulling and pushing hard enough that your head banged the wall but not harshly enough that it hurt you. It did daze you for a second, but your lips just formed a grin until you laughed. 

Two could play that game, apparently, and he looked so fucking hot when he was mad. You loved that his hand stayed put like a necklace, a reminder that he wasn’t touching your heat, but he owned it. Along with your thoughts and your pleasure, he owned you. And that would have been enough to snap you, but what about him?

So you closed your eyes again, blatantly going against what he wanted, and were not surprised when his free hand darted to pinch your hardened nipple. You moaned instantly, facing him with the same challenge, meeting dark eyes that seemed to have given up on making you talk, but not on making you do as you were told.

So every time you blinked, he pinched you. Your nipples, your sides, your ass, earning moans every time, but nothing more, until he snapped again. He jumped on you and you just made your neck more available for him to latch on and bite. Your moan instantly pitched, and it finally seemed worth it. He was squeezing your tits and biting you while you played yourself to his presence, and he finally was involved in it too.

“Don’t come.”

The joke was that you wanted to do as he said, but you couldn’t anymore. Your moans were higher now, just like your daze, and in a second—

He yanked your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“Why? Didn’t you want to see what happens when I think of you?”

Your voice was light but your chest heaving gave your state away, and the more he kissed and bit down your neck, the worse it became. You needed him, needed more than just his thoughts or presence. You gripped his shoulders to bring him closer, you needed—

A whimper pushed out of you as you hid in his neck, but he didn’t stop. You were sure that had to be at least three fingers just pushing into you roughly with no preparation other than your repeated edging. No preparation came, whatsoever, because as soon as they were in, he started pumping his fingers in and out of you at a vicious speed. 

You instantly lost your grip on reality, though not on his shoulders, as even the air seemed to still inside your lungs. The sultry sounds echoing around you didn’t just come from his digits beckoning you closer insanely fast, but also from your whimpers. Because there was a fire burning you from the inside out with every moan as he bit and licked closer to your ear. As your nails sank through his shirt to reach his skin, your legs trembled, and the wall behind you became scorching hot while he pressed you to it.

From deep within your frenzy you couldn’t hear his growl near your ear, or feel the way his drool dripped down your neck or his fingers dag at your skin. He could hear you, pitchy moans quickly becoming an addictive sound, yet this time it was different. Your cunt was squeezing around him like a vice, and the harder it made for him to finger fuck you, the more he wanted to.

“Don’t come,” he grunted right under your ear, but you couldn’t register. You just moaned even more desperately, gripping him to you so hard he thought he’d melt. “You’ll cum when I tell you to.”

He was trying to hold on to something when he pulled away to look at you, but he could see you weren’t listening. You were flushed and panting hastily, avid with your nerves on fire. You could only see him and you had been waiting too long.

“Please,” you sounded a second away from breaking into tears and he admired you for it at that moment. You were so strong for him. And so pliable.

So he kissed your cheek gently and said your name once, taking pleasure from rolling it over his tongue. “Go on, cum.”

And it was all you needed to snap, tears coming to your eyes as your hips convulsed and searched for friction. You didn’t think you needed it because your walls were tensing, and again and again while desperate cries fell from your lips. His fingers calmed down inside you, his breath the same temperature as your blazing cheeks, and you thought a sweet blanket of lethargy would cover you soon.

Only he never stopped fucking you with his fingers, and so you whimpered and tried to push him away weakly.

“Don’t come down,” he murmured to your cheek. “Stay, don’t let it go.” 

Your nails sank on his shoulder blades again as you squinted your eyes shut. Tears roamed your eyes as you tried breathing and pushing through your sensitivity. You could handle your clit being sensitive, but inside you, that was a whole different story. You felt like you had been pounded to perfection, only to be further kneaded into sensations you had never felt before.

You looked at him, eyes droopy with whines coming out of your mouth. Why weren’t you surprised?

“Give me another one,” he asked gently, but you didn’t answer. 

How could you, he twisted his hand to reach into you deeper and your whole core burned. He was relighting a fire you thought had been extinguished, only to leave you breathless, dripping slick down his hand as you moaned between gritted teeth. 

So beautiful, so tense. He wanted to release you. 

“Look at me,” he asked softly, and you did. His eyes gave you a tenderness that made your heart convulse. How could he act sweetly like that, as if half of his hand wasn’t pounding your g-spot to bits? “You’re so good. Doing so well, giving me everything I want.” Your only reply was your moans, but you were listening. “I need you to focus for me.” He leaned to whisper in your ear, “Focus on the tension. You’re so tight around my fingers. Relax, don’t fight it. That’s it, move with me,” his voice was sweeter, and you softened. It was as if he was in it with you. As if he could feel it too. As if he was fucking you and not just sticking his fingers inside you. “You feel so good,” his whisper felt like the highest form of praise, and your moan pitched, melting alongside your nerves. He was so happy at the sound as he traced his lips down your cheek to whisper to the corner of your mouth, “Come with me.”

You moved with him once, twice, seeing in his eyes how much he was seeing and feeling you before looking at his lips, so close. He brushed yours ever so slightly in the hint of a kiss, moving with you as if you were jumping on his cock and not on his digits, and it was what pushed you. You pulled him closer and he let his mouth fall to yours, and your orgasm instantly started, forcing you to swerve so you could moan and breathe as you disintegrated. 

He let you feel your ecstasy to the fullest, biting his lip and feeding off of your release as if it were oxygen. Your trembling lips, your nails that marked his shoulders, your throbbing walls squeezing and gripping around him in sweet delight. All of you like a charming melody, sweet and utopic. Your moans were music until the very last, and by then, he had to taste it.

His free hand cupped your cheek and coaxed you into a sloppy kiss that you instantly reacted to. You were still not there, though, too dazed from the high to realize it fully; until you did. And you gasped. Yoongi’s tongue was licking at your bottom lip gently as if you were a delicacy that needed to be tasted slowly, and you couldn’t believe it.

You parted your lips to let him in and he pressed you even closer, enclosing you in such a euphoric moment you thought you’d pop like a firework. Like a cocoon filled with dazed butterflies with nowhere to go. He was kissing you and your wildest dreams seemed to have just come true. Tears were still hanging onto your waterline, and when he pressed your lips to move away and breathe, you were scared that it had all been a dream.

“So good, you’re so good.”

His voice was calm and tender, and it gave you the courage to open your eyes. He was so close with his eyes roaming your features swiftly, taking in the smallest detail as if he was finally free to. Then he smiled at your wonder, and you were convinced it was a dream.

That notion didn’t dissipate as he reached to the side to grab a towel and dry you with gentleness, enveloping you in the fluffy material as if it were a cloud. You sniffled, drained from the energy that you had just burned away and woozy from his sweet pats as he tried to dry the excess water out of your long hair.

Not even when he took your hand and pulled you back into your bedroom did the haze recede. Instead, you saw him pull the duvet open for you to get in the bed and you lost the towel and got in without a thought. Once you settled in, you did have your first thought: where was he going?

But he was back soon, and you knew in the back of your mind that he was just making the place tidy: getting the coffee cup from the floor to put it on the table, stopping the shower, and shutting the lights. Then he grabbed your towel from the floor and dried his own hair with hastened movements before throwing it aside. His eyes fell on you and your own picked up on the wet spots on his clothes. He was probably cold too.

“Come here,” you voiced hoarsely, staying in a ball to conserve the heat. He instantly stepped to you, but you pouted, “Clothes off first.”

He blinked and looked down, but then smirked and did as you asked. Of course, he couldn’t make your bed humid and uncomfortable with his clothes. Your eyes were on him, unable to separate from the soft unblemished skin revealing itself more and more. His muscles moved as he bent down, wide shoulders and soft biceps trying to hide the strength he had. But you just observed quietly, tucked in the duvet. You could still feel his fingers inside and all around you, pressing and owning you easily. But you could keep a secret, his power and strength were only for you to know.

He lowered his pants and boxers and your eyes glued to him like a magnet. He was hard and pretty, with protruding veins on a thick length that had your imagination doing cartwheels.

Your thoughts were interrupted quickly when he opened the duvet to get beside you and you shivered. You opened your arms and legs to welcome him, and in your haze, you suddenly thought that it all felt so domestic.

He grabbed your hand and pulled it away to tell you he wanted to lie behind you and you agreed instantaneously. His arms wrapped around you just as fast as you rubbed your ass to his crotch, and he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“You must be tired.”

“No,” your voice was a low whimper as his warmth relaxed your nerve ends.

“No?” He sounded amused and soft and you had to admit that his chest was the fluffiest pillow.

“No…”

You didn't want to, but you were slowly dozing off. Slowly, and a bit more with every soothing breath you took together.

You shook and forced your eyes open, “I don't want to fall asleep.”

“Why?”

Your heart beamed and your lips curved; he was still holding you with his mouth to your head.

“Because… it will end,” you admitted, falling deeper into his touch as he nuzzled your hair. Suddenly you realized his boner was half gone. “You didn't come, I haven't touched you yet. I don't want to miss the opportunity.”

“We have tomorrow.”

“You might change your mind.”

“So can you.”

“I won't,” you insisted with a hint of annoyance as you twisted to look back at him.

“I won't either,” he promised calmly, glistening eyes set on you.

Your eyes were closing, the comfort and lethargy were pulling you away. Still, you focused on his lips, “Kiss me.”

He met your lips with no hesitation and you let that sweet touch soothe you. When he pulled away and kissed your nose, you slipped asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, two things made you alert: your soreness and the lack of space. You groaned with the sweet throb between your legs but frowned because something was over you. Turning back, the most precious image graced your vision and made stars twinkle in your eyes.

Min Yoongi was sleeping as quietly as a mouse with an arm around your shoulders as if to keep you tucked in. You brushed his hair aside and his nose twitched, making you instantly melt. Why did he look so sweet asleep? How could he be such a beast as a musician, a genius producer, and a darling in private?

You kept brushing his hair soothingly, thinking that intimately he was not a darling. No, not cute, not sweet. If that throb between your legs meant something, it was that Yoongi was the kind that owned. He owned his music, his process, the studio room, and you, for all you cared. Your finger trailed his cheek as you recalled your words the night before. He said he wanted you, the same as you, and he said he wouldn't change his mind, but what if he did? What if you lost your opportunity the night before?

Maybe you were still half asleep; otherwise, the fact that you were both in bed naked would have meant something. As it stood, you were anxious about what reality could bring. So when he opened his eyes and saw you, your instinct was to kiss him.

You brushed his lips gently but surely, giving him more than enough time and place to push you away if he wanted to. So when he didn't, you became bolder. Your tongue teased the seam of his lips and your hand roamed his chest, and as you got lost, you became vulnerable. 

He waited as long as he could. He let you kiss him, let you press, let you push him a bit back into the pillow, let you cup his jaw, but you never moved away. Never stopped, and never changed your mind. You did say you wanted everything, and he thought he had given you enough time to take it back.

So he grabbed your hair and rolled over you to get on top, pushing his tongue past your lips without asking. And you moaned, instantly weak to him taking something that in all that concerned you belonged to him anyway.

You thought that meant a green light to explore him just as he was doing, passing his hand down your side to your waist, but no. You palmed the expanse of his chest and he interrupted his mission simply to grab your wrists and pull them down. He pressed them once to the mattress, then released one to pass his slender fingers between your breasts and you took the opportunity again. Your hand sneakily went under the sheets to scratch his hip up to his ass, feeling how firm he was over you, yet he caught you before you could squeeze him.

“Stay still.”

He could have been saying good morning, yet you puffed, “Let me.”

“No.”

“But I want to,” you pouted and he nibbled down your neck.

“Too bad.”

You wanted to be good to him; you liked him touching you and his hard cock ever so close to your core did make you hazy with want. But as he kissed and licked and palmed and pressed you from head to toe, you grew impatient. Incredibly so when he turned you belly down to do the same down the length of your spine as if he had all the time in the world. Even more when he raised your ass and spread your legs, nibbling at your ass cheeks and squeezing them roughly. Aggravatingly so when he noticed your wetness dripping down your inner thigh and made it his pastime to try to reach it with his tongue.

“Yoongiiiiii,” you whined at the end of your patience, waves of goosebumps driving you insane as he spread your asscheeks more to reach your wet inner thighs.

“Hmm,” he was having way too much fun.

“Let me touch you too.”

And ruin the fun? “No.”

You whined again, “But I've waited.”

“Not enough.”

“Why not?” You were sulking despite your spasms around nothing. He could feel them without directly touching you, and it drove him to bite and kiss harder. You squirmed at his lack of reply, “How long more?”

“Until I say so.”

You shook your ass half in annoyance half in desperation, “I've waited enough. At least fuck me.”

“No.”

It was as though he was shooing a fly.

“Come on,” you dragged. “Get to the good part.” He snorted but didn't move. “Fuck me, come on.”

“No.”

“But you'll feel so good.”

He sighed with your taste on his tongue, “I know.”

“So do it.”

“Hmmmm.”

You thought there would be progress as he touched your core ever so lightly. But you waited and waited for what felt like an eternity. And although the tip of his fingers explored every nook and cranny slowly and gently, even the embarrassing ones, you were still not closer to what you wanted.

And so you snapped, “I asked you to fuck me.” He hummed, but your tone was assertive, “I won't shut up until you do.”

He changed absolutely nothing, wet fingers dragging to your nipples lightly.  And so you insisted.

“I'm waiting. How long will you keep me waiting? Should I do it myself?”

Your hand moved and he put it in place instantly.

“I can show you how it's done,” your tone became mocking. “In case you’re lost.” His teeth brushed the back of your thigh and you smirked, “If you never used your cock before—”

A slap to your asscheek echoed and you grinned. It was firm, a warning, but what could you do? You always liked to talk big in bed, and you couldn’t miss the opportunity to rile him up.

“Nothing to be ashamed of— If you don't know where to go or what to do— Should I take over?”

Every slap felt like a win and that last one wasn't any different. He gave more of him when he did it, and you felt it in the sting, the touch, the attention. When he grabbed your asscheeks and squeezed until you cried out, you thought that he might be holding back.

“You talk too much,” he said quietly.

“And you fuck too little.”

He pushed you harshly to fall with your belly up and grabbed your head firmly in place, using his body over you to fully press you down the mattress.

“I like to fuck people who indulge me.”

“Liar.” It escaped your lips before you could think. You were too horny to think, but then you laughed, “Fucking liar. You're rock hard, you want to fuck me so bad is not even funny.”

“Your point?”

“You like it,” you whispered, raising your head to reach his lips, which he didn't let happen. You looked into his eyes, “You like what I'm saying. You adore every spank and every little reason I give you to do it.”

His expression didn't change except for the laughter in his eyes, “Can you blame me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Is it a problem?” He seemed cautious. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed. “I said everything.”

His lips finally showed a smile as he got on his forearms to look at you with new eyes.

“But Yoongi,” you called with a pout. “I did wait long enough.”

He grinned widely, so endearingly you wanted to kiss his entire adorable face. So loveable you wanted to drive him crazy.

“You'll wait as long as I tell you to.”

He seemed happy now as he leaned to kiss and play with your chest, pink tongue messing with your perky nipples to the point you squirmed. And it felt good, so good your legs were restless under him, opening but struggling to get him to align. He tortured your nipples, suckling and biting only to smile at your fussiness. You could only take so much.

You squealed, “If you don’t put your cock in me soon I’ll fucking scream.”

“Scream?” He was amused, barely separating his mouth from your breast.

But you sucked in a breath and screamed at the top of your lungs. Only for a second though; his hand covered your mouth and forced you to look at him.

“Shut it.”

He raised his hand carefully with your eyes locked, and all you did was roll your hips to get his cock near your dripping core. You thought he had learned something, so when he moved too but against you, keeping what you wanted purposefully at bay, you decided that holding back was not getting you anywhere.

You threw your head back and screamed again, and when his hand darted to muffle it, you bit it.

You took another breath, but before you could scream his hand wrapped around your neck firmly. You looked into his eyes as lightheadedness relaxed your neck and shoulders. He was so careful, but you were at such ease.

“Are you going to be quiet?”

His fingers were perfect around your throat, “I want to cream your cock so bad.”

Your voice was a wanton whine as your glistening eyes focused on him. You couldn't describe how much you were melting, how much he relaxed you only to tense you up the next second if he so chose to. How much that drove you to want him like crazy.

“Is that a dirty thought?” You nodded once, pleading with your eyes. He nuzzled your nose sweetly, “Not yet.”

“Then I won't be quiet.”

Your voice was gentle like a breeze but carried consequence, and when he nuzzled you further, you knew everything went both ways. He knew it too, and he wasn't stopping you.

You tentatively tried a scream and his hand wrapped firmer, observing you with sparkles in his eyes.

You huffed, cheeks becoming hot, “Why won’t you just do what I want?”

“Why won’t you quiet down?”

“And do your job for you?” 

You could see the smile in his eyes — he knew you were embarrassed. He was just seeing how far you’d go in your brattiness, but you were so horny you were lost. 

“All I’m asking for is your cock, don’t you have one?” He raised an eyebrow at your taunt; you could both feel his hard shaft pressed to your thigh. “So why don’t you shut me up? Do you need me to tell you how to use your dick?”

“Just because you’re needy and desperate, it doesn’t mean you should get what you want.”

The burn traveled to your chest; he was scolding you and it was like you’d been shaken. Of course, he’d answer you and deal with your attitude. You never thought he’d be the type to let it fly but to actually have him doing it was burning you from the inside out.

“But what I want is you,” you sighed, batting your eyelashes flagrantly. “Let me get on my knees, I’ll do whatever you like.”

He took only a second, “No, I like where you are.” You grinned in absolute joy; you also loved being under him with his hand around your neck. You felt taken care of and grounded, even as your mind became chaotic in the hazyness. “And there goes another dirty thought, hm?”

You bit your lip, “In my fantasies you always give it to me so right.”

“This isn’t a fantasy anymore.”

You grinned, “No, thank fuck. You look so much better pissed off in real life.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You want to piss me off?”

You almost laughed, “I want you to fuck me.”

“I never said I wouldn't,” he adjusted his hips but purposefully made it impossible for you to have him, and you squinted. He was smiling, “I just told you to wait.”

“And I told you I’d scream.”

You were snappy and he grinned, “Can’t we be civilized about this?”

His lips ghosted you and your chest burned again, “Nothing civilized about the way I want you to fuck me senseless.”

Your voice was wanton, bordering a moan as your hips rolled just to feel the tease of his cock near your core, and he kissed down your chin, “So you’ll scream?”

“Like hell.”

“No changing your mind?”

“Fuck no. Stop stalling,” you whined, moving your spread legs in the hopes of catching him, but he only chuckled.

“Go on, then.”

He got off you and you huffed in annoyance and screamed. It was short and you opened your eyes to see him just observing you with amusement. Why was it so funny to him when you were getting upset?

So you took a deep breath and screamed again and this time your lips pulled in a smile because what the heck were you doing?

“That’s it?”

His taunt had you take a deep breath and scream again, only to fall short. You covered your eyes and stifled a laugh. It reminded you of how you screamed on roller coasters.

“You must not have enough reasons to scream yet.”

You bit your lip, imagining the reasons you could have, the ways he could make you scream. The bed dipped next to you but you stayed in your reverie. In it, Yoongi touched you. He slapped your cunt with his cock and promised to use you. He grabbed you by the neck while he pounded into you so hard you saw stars.

You huffed in impatience, neediness making you bold; you were about to sit up and do something when you stopped. He was throwing his leg over you and his cock was so close your eyes nearly crossed. He grabbed your head in place, but you were staring, fixed, jaw falling open and lax instantly. You could pretend you wanted to scream more but you were just salivating, so when he aimed his cock at you, you just met him halfway.

His taste hit your buds quickly and moved to reach your throat, and you lost it. Your eyes rolled as you closed them, the salty traces leaving you dizzy, and the way he pushed himself down your throat made you squirm in waves of pleasure. It felt hot and intense and wild as he did it again and again, each time getting a better sense of how much you could take. You barely cared about breathing; he was finally using your mouth, fucking you, showing you how much he wanted you without holding back, and with each push, he made you feel better than the last. Elated, special — he was groaning and getting riled up down your throat because you made him feel that good.

Suddenly, he pulled back and you followed him as long as you could before he grabbed your arms and raised them above your head to stop you. He had heard you choke so he was probably worried, but you only sighed in impatience.

“So greedy,” he taunted, pressing your wrists down firmly. But he had a glint in his eyes — he was paying attention to you. Not worried, just caring.

“Aren’t you learning?” You said as you tried not to melt, but it was too late. He chuckled and his smile made you happy. “Keep going,” you asked softly, despite the tears running down to your hairline. “Please.”

He brushed his thumbs on your wrists for a second with his eyes set on you. You were such a handful and he couldn’t love it any better. Asking for him like that secretly drove him crazy, and made him want to give you everything you could ever wish for, no matter what. So when you leaned back and opened your mouth, it was his pleasure to stuff it with his dick. He grabbed your wrists more firmly and supported his weight on them to help him lean forward and give you the fucking you craved.

Time and time again he snapped his hips to get his cock down your throat, and it was challenging. His muscles were burning, but so were his lower stomach and balls as he tried not to come. You moaned and choked and bounced as he fucked your head into the mattress, and yet you were totally relaxed. Your arms and hands were still, calm as you got used and loved it. And he loved it too, but for your first time together and after skipping it the night before, he thought this time he wanted more.

He pulled away from you and it took you a second, but you instantly sulked. He settled between your legs as you cleaned the drool, “So I’m not going to swallow the sugar rush?”

He chuckled, “No, not this time.” You pursed your lips and were about to whine about him stopping so soon when he asked, “Do you have a condom?”

Your eyes widened and you instantly scrammed to conjure up one. Shit, shit shit, you thought as you turned your room upside down, then your toiletries, then your bathroom. Why the fuck didn’t you have one? Well, sure, you knew why, but you were so angry now. You could not miss this opportunity!

You turned to your kitchen, desperate at that point until you gasped. You searched for your first aid box and dug until you finally found a lost wrapper. You waved it victoriously as you strode back to your room and to bed, and Yoongi was there to receive you with a look you couldn’t identify. He grabbed your arm and threw you on the bed before pinning you down from between your legs and kissing you till you lost your breath.

If he wanted to fuck you before, now he wanted to screw you so hard you’d only ever remember his cock. To think you said you wanted to be with him the whole last year, and that you hadn’t been with anyone else because of it made him wild. Why had you both played it so safe? He had been to your apartment so many times, set you to sleep on that very same bed, and yet never once did he get the inkling that you wanted him. Not as he wanted you. But just now, you were dripping with how much you wanted him, squirming, begging for him to fuck you, and trying to rile him up so he would. You jolted at his fingers in your folds, rubbing your chest to his for any hint of a touch, moaning when he pulled your head back by your hair. You wanted him bad and he was going to give it to you.

He pulled away from you and you almost screamed in frustration, but seeing him putting the condom on cooled you just enough to stay quiet. Your hands even stayed above your head voluntarily as you waited patiently, thinking he wouldn’t waste that condom, he’d surely fuck you finally.

You moaned suddenly and looked down, confused for a second, but you weren’t dreaming. He was grabbing his cock and slapping your cunt with it right over your clit. You squirmed with need, but he kept doing it harder and harder, wet sounds echoing with your excitement.

“Fuck, I just knew it,” you mumbled, clenching around nothing right before his eyes.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d do that,” you moaned, hands tightly gripping each other so you would stay put.

He hummed as he did it quicker, seeing your slick connect to his cock, “That so? What else do you think I’ll do?”

You were burning all the way to your shoulders, trying to move with him so that his cock could give you friction, and he didn’t stop you. So you answered through gritted teeth, “Stick it in, get deep, fucking use me until I’m stuffed with your cum.”

Your voice disappeared with the lack of breath; he was dragging his cock over your clit now and it was the sweetest reward. 

“Filthy thoughts you’re having, hmm?” You were lost in your motion, rolling your hips to earn that friction so you gasped when he pushed his cock inside you, loving the burn as your core split to accommodate his girth. “Read my fucking mind.”

You screamed when he bottomed out, biting your lip with the way he was forcing himself inside you. Then you opened your eyes to see him and instantly clenched around him, and he smirked. 

“Been thinking about fucking me, huh?” You could barely hold a thought, but the opportunity to tease him was too sweet.

“It has crossed my mind,” he said and snapped his hips, and you didn’t know whether to gasp or moan. He’d hit you deep and hard, you knew he would, and it made you even tighter. His nails dag at your hips, “So many times.” He was starting slow but deep and you could do nothing but moan. “How you would moan, what you would want, how you would give in and let me take you,” every wish was pointed by a deep thrust. “Now look at you.” You looked down: your tits were bouncing with every hit, gushing sounds echoed along with your moans from how wet your heat was, and the sight of his thick cock pushing between your slit to enter you was the cherry on top. It was the can of cream about to blow you full, and you wanted to get filled. “Almost cuming even though I’ve barely started.”

“Cause you feel so good,” you breathed in a moan.

He leaned to grope your taunting tits, “You told me to use you.”

“Fuck, please.”

He gritted his teeth and adjusted you better so he could pick up the pace. And what a vicious pace it was, fast and steady, leaving you so hazed and lost, that you had no words. He slapped your tits around and you clenched, tears roaming your eyes with how good and sweet it was. It didn’t hurt, every touch sparkled pleasure in your veins, and the sight of him hitting and scratching, his squeezes on every bit of you only made you even more sensitive. More elated and euphoric, so much so you were mumbling more with every moan involuntarily. He was slapping and roughly marking your chest as you asked, and suddenly you threw your head back and looked at him.

“Harder,” you asked out of breath, and he slapped your tit so hard you screamed before moaning deeply. “Just not my face.”

You thought to tell him from within a glimpse of logic, and he nodded and took note of your limit. Instead, he leaned forward and groped both boobs again and you squirmed desperately.

“Squeeze,” you breathed, your moan pitching. He did, but it wasn’t enough, “Please!”

He did, a bit harder with every thrust into your messy cunt. It was maybe selfish, but he wanted to see how you unraveled. How you wanted those strong sensations, how you craved something more intense each time and with every bit of strength, you transformed it into a beautiful pleasure that had you bursting.

He saw you coming again, writhing around thoughtlessly with the intensity of your pleasure, so hard he didn’t have to look down to see you throbbing around his cock. He still did though, mesmerized by it, only to chuckle. You had left a ring of white around the base of his cock; you just had to have your way in the end.

He leaned in to kiss you through your haze, slowly sensing with his lips the condition you were in. At first, your reaction was delayed, the brush of your lips falling behind as you recovered. But then you reacted and pushed back against his tongue, and he knew you were good.

He pulled back and turned you around, and you helped and got on all fours instantly. He didn’t wait, he aimed his cock at you and entered your velvety embrace as soon as he could. You arched your back for him and pressed back into him a couple of times to feel him deeper, and he grinned.

“Finally. So obedient,” he taunted, squeezing your ass cheeks to spread for him.

“You’re finally fucking me senseless.”

Your voice was a whisper, and he smirked. You asked him to use you, and he was doing a good job at it. But now he wanted to make you scream, to mark you so hard you’d never be anything but his. He couldn’t help it; now that his cock was shoved deep inside you, he didn’t want anything else. Now that he knew what you tasted like, what you sounded like, and how filthy your mind and mouth could be, he wanted nothing else. He saw you trying to get him deeper, huffing and puffing as you swayed with him, and his chest tightened. The possessiveness you were inspiring in him was raw and dangerous, but he didn’t want to fight it.

So he gave you both what you wanted: he smacked your ass as he pounded into you, seeing the way it bounced in either direction until he couldn’t focus anymore. Until he was desperate to own you, to hear you scream, to know you’d beg for him forever. It wasn’t enough; no matter how hard you screamed, he wanted more and he wanted it to last. 

Grabbing your hair to pull it into showing the beautiful curve of your neck was a mistake, though. Suddenly he saw how beautiful you were, vulnerable and immersed in every sensation he gave you. He wanted you to be his, and suddenly it hit him that you already were. And you loved it.

And it snapped his senses, overthrowing his strong grip on his pleasure as if he had never had any. He became sloppy but still held on to your hips to sink and cum as deeply inside you as he possibly could. He groaned with every peak, jerking to milk the sensation between your tight walls as best as he could until he stilled. Fuck, how the hell did you do that to him?

He noticed then you were trembling and his priorities immediately surfaced, “Are you okay?”

You hummed, but he wasn’t having it. He pulled out despite your whine and helped you to softly lay on your side. Then he hopped off the bed, dealt with the condom, and searched around for water and a snack.

You were still stunned, out from the intensity of the emotions that had tensed and relaxed your body simultaneously. Your soul didn’t know how to handle what just happened, and the only thing that occurred to you before he came back was that you had totally surrendered. You didn’t force yourself to be tame and quiet, or said and did what the other person wanted so you wouldn’t ruin it for them. You were yourself, through and through, and Yoongi fucking ate you up like dessert.

The bed dipped behind you and you turned to him, sighing happily when he pulled you in to snuggle.

“Here — water and chocolate.”

You glanced at the bottle and bar and smiled widely. Your heart was right all along, and although you knew it was definitely too soon, there were special words at the tip of your tongue trying to get out.

Instead, you let him insist and sit you up to take a sip of water and a bite before letting you fall back into his arms in a sweaty embrace that you wanted with all your heart.

He was kissing your head and tracing your arm quietly when you decided to tell him, “Next time cover me with cum.”

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you, and you pouted.

“Just… You wanted to know what I think about.”

“You think about that?”

“Sometimes.”

He smirked and squeezed you inside his arms, “What else have you been hiding from me?”

“You have no idea,” you laughed.

You were melting and relaxing into his touch as he pecked your head when he whispered, “Are we bad?”

Your heart hurt for a second, what? But then you realized what he was saying: your song. When you wrote a conversation you once imagined you both could have had:

You're bad, you liar. 

It's me who's bad, I know this bad desire, sugar.

So you chuckled and sang along to the melody, “What did you do to me, sugar?”

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Kayne (Malevolent):

He’s a god who acts like the main characters are his personal soap opera. His first appearance was playing the piano covered in blood after he had massacred an entire town. He just kinda shows up sometimes to cause chaos and is often munching on chips while he watches shit go down. Also he never wears shoes, for some reason

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion):

Raging lesbian in a lavender marriage

Seduced someone working for the enemy

Is just as chaotic and at time brain cell-less as her male companions

Loyal but still willing to call her friend since childhood out on his bullshit

She canonically fucks. Like in canon she fucks so much. See above about seducing the enemy and then pepper in her on again off again romance with Martha Hudson.

#madge propaganda time : #she will flirt with basically any girl she sees and oh she does it so well #also !!! she once flirted and got on with technically an enemy in the middle of a spying mission ???? #she went like 'oh sorry just gotta go to the loo' to go spy in the house got caught and flirted so well she 1/ got laid 2/ got information #3/ came back like nothing happened #with some motivation she could flirt and get a boner from a dead rock tbh #madge stallion IS THE SEXIEST

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Kayne (Malevolent):

Literaly just a tumbr sexy man

black suit, no shoes, covered in blood, plays piano, quirky laugh

An eldritch god soaked in blood. He's Arthur Lester's number one cheer leader.

covered in blood, plays piano, silly laugh, very Will Wood coded

He's insane. He's so dynamic. Will Wood's The Normal Album in humanized eldritch god form. Always covered in blood. Need I say more?

#KAYNE SWEEEEEP LET'S GOOOO #my babygirl he deserves to win this entire thing #i'm not biased i swear

#Kayne my love #i want to end you but i love hearing from you

#kayne (haven’t even heard him) because i play piano so by that logic i’m sexy (in an asexual way)

#Kayne is such A Guy. like he’s just so Character #he does Things and says Lines and it’s great

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion):

Madge Stallion was submitted without propaganda.

we gotta get our girl some propaganda. she would hate it, but the mystery of it all is kinda part of the appeal here.

Madge stallion NEEDS no propaganda

Madge: so sexy she needs no propaganda

#madge stallion is a great woman to lose to

#Madge she's a sassy lesbian detective what else do you want

#madge stallion needs no propaganda #by virtue of being madge

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

[strawberrysainz]

i can see you. max verstappen (18+)

“ you brush past me in the hallway / and you don't think i, i, i can see ya, do ya? ”

max verstappen x fem!wolff!reader

smut. don’t interact if you’re under 18. alcohol consumption, profanity.

Your eyes follow the box of gum being passed around in the car. You sit in the left backseat; the blacked out car is filled with four Mercedes employees that are painful strangers.

The girl next to you offers you a stick of the gum, which you accept gratefully. It’s Saturday morning, and your elbows bump against hers as you try to adjust your earphones.

The Fleetwood Mac album floats through your ears, bringing forward memories of being a little kid dancing in someone’s room to the CD. You must’ve been in between your mom and dad then. You tense slightly at the memory, and the rapid German that fills the car from the other four makes you feel soothed.

Entering the paddock, some summery song is floating through your AirPods, and the tune is hitting different today so you smile.

The photographers obviously take the opportunity that your smile brings to snap pictures (you’re usually grumpy) and you’re standing in front of Red Bull’s garage talking to some girls who work there that you clubbed with a while back when he walks out, brushing past, his fingers accidentally grazing your forearm.

You feel full of fire as you look away from the group to look at him and his eyes meet yours, looking back. The moment is interrupted by your mother calling on the phone, and you excuse yourself to go back to Mercedes’ motorhome.

🎱☕️🏎️💌

You two meet again in Austria.

This time you nod back when he walks past, nodding, and Christian Horner shouts something to Susie that has her fake laughing.

He wins the sprint race, and you catch a glimpse of him after, holding the trophy up in celebration in the paddock. He’s smiling widely, eyes full of laughter, and you’re not. You’re a blur of dark hair and dark eyes and a dismissive look across the pathway and he’s staring and you’re turning away, feeling burned.

That Sunday night (he wins the race) you find each other for a split second in the club; you’re talking to some guy and he yaps your ear off while you stare at him across the dance floor.

Then Max turns around and finds your face amongst the masses, indifferent before turning back.

You nod to the empty air.

🎱☕️🏎️💌

At Silverstone you’re much happier below the podium, and Lando pours champagne directly on your head from above as you screech.

Max watches.

You’re hugging Lewis afterwards when those icy eyes are on you again, and a feeling races through you as you turn around to shake his hand amicably. A bolt of energy rushes through you as his hand grasps yours, and you’re not sure what he says above the noise but you smile and say ‘well done’ like your father raised you.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

Budapest is warm. You see him on Wednesday night on the river.

You’re donning a short skirt and a strappy top, eager to curb the discomfort of the heat.

Lando had organised a boat trip down the Danube and invited you, some other drivers and his friends and all of their partners.

You don’t expect to see Max there; but you’re silly for doing so, because they’re close, aren’t they.

You’ve got an Aperol Spritz when he taps your upper thigh when you walk past and you look down, eyes wide, and he gestures for you to sit next to him.

You sit down on the cushion, legs folding beneath you gracefully as you have this urge to shift the skirt a little bit up your thighs innocently.

His gaze is heavy and intense as he trails it from your exposed thighs to your face, and you look at him neutrally, chatting about some paddock gossip, and to your surprise he acts as if nothing had happened, and indulges in your stupid small talk.

The Aperol disappears and you’re a bit buzzed.

“Your dad spoke to me about you the other day,” he says bluntly, and your lips quirk.

“Really? About what?”

He smirks.

You laugh.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

You’ve convinced him to get a beer in his system an hour later, and your head is resting on your hand, hair falling down as you listen to him talk about his cats.

Carlos comes to join then, and whatever he had going on with you disappears as he talks with the two of you.

You flirt with Carlos anyway, annoyed with the lack of action on his part.

Carlos gladly reciprocates, hand gliding up a thigh after you ask dumb questions and you bite a lip, eyes dark, and Max looks furious.

You lean in to whisper something in Carlos’ ear, red lipstick leaving a mark on his cheek when Max excuses himself and you move closer to the Spaniard, waving goodbye with a smirk on your face.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

You don’t kiss Carlos when the night ends, and you wave him a goodbye, turning to go, when you feel Max’s hand around your wrist.

You turn around and roll your eyes, beginning to walk to the Uber. Max doesn’t say anything, just gets in with you. You choose the middle seat, childishly brushing your bare thigh against his jeans.

You notice he’s screwing his eyes shut, physically refraining from something.

You feel like a teenager trying to seduce a guy and it’s working, you suppose, when you tuck your hair behind your ear, exposing your neck, and he stiffens.

Ten minutes later, at the back entrance of the hotel, you slide out, thanking the driver, and turn to look at Max with your eyebrows raised. He huffs and walks to you, shoving you against the wall.

His lips go to your neck, and you’re still, and he’s kissing you then, hard and intense, and your legs are weak when he slides a hand up your thigh.

You break away, pulling him away inside.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

Stumbling into the hotel room clumsily, he’s pushing you against the bathroom door, and you’re staring at his body against yours in the mirror, and he’s murmuring what a dirty girl you are and you’re shivering with excitement.

“Fuck you,” you whisper when he’s pulling off your top and bra, and he’s laughing incredulously when he’s leaning down and you’re moaning when he starts to brush his thumb against your nipple, and you’re all wriggly when you pull off his shirt and trace his stomach, eyes lidded.

Your eyes go down to his boxers where the outline of his cock is clear and you pull it out, thick and firm, the tip weeping as you brush it and he moans loudly, and he’s kissing you desperately and you’re so wet.

His fingers slide under your skirt and pull down your panties, and he glides his fingertips over your pussy quickly before you’re whining when he nudges your clit, and he’s kissing you again. Your back arches against the door.

He pushes into you and you’re both a mix of curses and delicious moans, and after a moment he begins to move, fast, and after a minute or so you’re screaming his name as he slams into you again and again.

He comes quickly; you smirk as his hips stutter, and his fingers find your clit before you’re begging him for things you can’t explain, and with a minute of his fingers circling your clit roughly, the thickness of his fingertips nudging you over and over with some kind of horrible preciseness, you come, hard. All over his hand. He’s kissing your neck again and again, and you’re staring at him for the first time clearly, this man you know nothing about, and his hand grips your hair as he kisses you again, and you feel alive.

🎱☕️🏎️💋

He’s waiting for you in a passage the next day, and you smile with a spring in your step as you walk straight past, hand touching his for a moment, watching him walk away in your peripheral.

Liked by landonorris, susiewolff and 127,356 others

yourinstagram Bye bye Budapest x

View all comments (3,987)

🎱☕️🏎️💋

part 2? thoughts? let me knooowww xxxx

[jokeroutsubs]

Joker Out’s third studio album, 'Souvenir Pop', is out now!

We here at JokerOutSubs have, of course, translated all the new songs: Muzika za decu, Ako toga više neće biti, Mesto duhov and Sonce, as well as transcribing the new English song, Lips.

Check them out below the cut, as well as our Lyrics Translate page for more lyric translations! Full ‘Souvenir pop’ masterpost with further translations coming soon!

Transcript and translation by IG marija_rocen, review by IG irenalemajic, @moonlvster, IG mia_djordjevic_ig, proofread by IG Gboleyn123

Muzika za decu (SRP)

Nek' se čuje glasno ova naša pesmica

Pronađena izgubljena zlatna dečica

Tu su rokeri, hip-hoperi, cajkaroši, poperi, hipsteri i pankeri

Uvek može biti gore, hvala onom tamo gore

nismo TikTokeri

(Pa dobro malo i jesmo)

Šta me gledaš tako lepo, nerviraš me strašno

Obriši se ispod nosa, pao si u brašno

Ništa pametno da kažeš, pa si našo da me lažeš

Pa si našo da me lažeš

Ne znamo šta radimo dok si budućnost gradimo, sami se sebi gadimo

Ne znamo šta radimo pa pusti barem muziku da đuskamo i slavimo

Ovo nije rokenrol, ovo nije rokenrol

Ovo je, ovo je muzika za decu

Ovo nije rokenrol, ovo nije rokenrol

Ovo je, ovo je muzika za decu

Muzika za decu, muzika za decu

Muzika za decu, muzika za decu

Ajde ugasi muziku ako smeš

Ajde ugasi muziku ako smeš

Ajde smej se ako smeš

Smej se ako smeš

Smej se ako smeš

Ugasi muziku ako smeš

Ovo nije rokenrol, ovo nije rokenrol

Ovo je, ovo je muzika za decu

Ovo nije rokenrol, ovo nije rokenrol

Ovo je, ovo je muzika za decu

(Muzika za decu, muzika za decu)

(Muzika za decu)

(Ovo nije rokenrol, ovo nije rokenrol)

(Muzika za decu)

(Ovo nije rokenrol, ovo nije rokenrol)

Ovo je muzika za decu

Music for Children (ENG)

Let this little song of ours be heard loud and clear

Golden children, lost and found

There are rockers, hip-hoppers, folk and pop fans, hipsters and punks

It can always be worse, thanks to the one up above

We aren't TikTokers

(Well, we are a little bit)

Why are you looking at me so nicely, you annoy me terribly

Wipe your nose, you fell into some flour

Nothing smart to say, so now you lie to me

So now you lie to me

We don't know what we're doing while we're building our future, we're disgusted with ourselves

We don't know what we're doing, so at least play some music so we can dance and celebrate

This isn't rock 'n' roll, this isn't rock 'n' roll

This is, this is music for children

This isn't rock 'n' roll, this isn't rock 'n' roll

This is, this is music for children

Music for children, music for children

Music for children, music for children

C'mon turn the music off if you dare

C'mon turn the music off if you dare

C'mon laugh if you dare

Laugh if you dare

Laugh if you dare

Turn the music off if you dare

This isn't rock 'n' roll, this isn't rock 'n' roll

This is, this is music for children

This isn't rock 'n' roll, this isn't rock 'n' roll

This is, this is music for children

(Music for children, music for children)

(Music for children)

(This isn't rock 'n' roll, this isn't rock 'n' roll)

(Music for children)

(This isn't rock 'n' roll, this isn't rock 'n' roll)

This is music for children

Transcript and translation by @moonlvster, review by IG mia_djordjevic_ig, IG irenalemajic, IG marija_rocen, proofread by IG Gboleyn123

Ako toga više neće biti (SRP)

UPDATED LYRICS

Prošlo je već devet dana, još se nisi vratila

Ja ću da sačekam još malo,

možda mesec, možda dva,

pa da otvoriš vrata ko da ništa nije bilo

I da te klasično pitam kakav ti je bio dan, da se gubimo u malim pričama

Šta ćemo za ručak, imamo li neki plan, da l' se izlazi večeras il' se sudimo na stan?

Da se grlimo i ljubimo, grlimo i ljubimo, i da si šapćemo

da se volimo, i da se sprdamo i smejemo dok si noge grejemo

Ako toga više neće biti, ljubav je najobičnija laž

Ako toga više neće biti, ako me stvarno ostavljaš

bez da me jednom pogledaš i da mi jedan razlog daš

Prošlo je već mesec dana i još te nema tu

Više-manje slabo spavam, da ne zakasnim u snu kako otvaraš vrata ko da ništa nije bilo

I da te klasično pitam kakav ti je bio dan i da se smejemo svim malim pričama

Šta ćemo za ručak, imamo li neki plan, da l' se izlazi večeras il' se sudimo na stan?

Da se grlimo i ljubimo i grlimo i ljubimo i da si kažemo

da se volimo, i da se sprdamo i smejemo dok si noge grejemo

Ako toga više neće biti, ljubav je najobičnija laž

Ako toga više neće biti, ako me stvarno ostavljaš

bez da me jednom pogledaš i da mi jedan razlog daš

Mene nema, znam da znaš

Prošla je godina dana

Ako toga više neće biti, ljubav je najobičnija laž

Ako toga više neće biti, ako me stvarno ostavljaš

bez da me jednom pogledaš i da mi jedan razlog daš

Mene nema, znam da znaš

Mene nema, znam da znaš

Znam da znaš

If That Won't Exist Anymore (ENG)

UPDATED LYRICS

Nine days have already passed, you still haven't come back

I'll wait a bit longer

Maybe a month, maybe two

For you to open the door like nothing happened

And like always, I'll ask you how your day was, so we can get lost in the little stories

What will we have for lunch, do we have a plan, will we go out or decide to stay at the apartment?

So we can hug and kiss, hug and kiss, and whisper to each other

That we love each other, and joke around and laugh while we warm our legs

If that won't exist anymore, love is nothing but a lie

If that won't exist anymore, if you're really leaving me

Without looking at me even once or giving me a single reason

A month has already passed and you're still not here

I sleep more or less poorly, so that in my dreams I won't be late when you open the door like nothing happened

And like always, I'll ask you how your day was, so we can laugh at all of the little stories

What will we have for lunch, do we have a plan, will we go out or decide to stay at the apartment?

So we can hug and kiss and hug and kiss and say

That we love each other, and joke around and laugh while we warm our legs

If that won't exist anymore, love is nothing but a lie

If that won't exist anymore, if you're really leaving me

Without looking at me even once or giving me a single reason

I'm gone, I know you know

A year has passed

If that won't exist anymore, love is nothing but a lie

If that won't exist anymore, if you're really leaving me

Without looking at me even once or giving me a single reason

I'm gone, I know you know

I'm gone, I know you know

I know you know

Transcript by IG Gboleyn123, X klámstrákur, @kurooscoffee

Lips (ENG)

Heavy breathing

In our Garden of Eden

We have a drink while I’m bleeding

In your arms

Can we discover

Naked undercover

With the pressure we’re under

We could make diamonds

Put your lips on mine

Put your lips on mine

You single-handedly wiped the smoke off my rose-tinted glasses

Suddenly I feel the choke from the hand of time, as it passes

Who would’ve guessed we would end up in this mess

Try to pass the test without breaking from the stress

I belong with you, not the earth and not the sky

And you say you feel it too, yet try to find a reason why

This love will kill us in the end, like waves kill castles in the sand

True love and pain go hand in hand.

Put your lips on mine

Put your lips on mine

Put your lips on mine

Put your lips on mine

Transcript, translation and review by @kurooscoffee, X coffeebiscuitxx and a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG Gboleyn123

Mesto duhov (SLO)

Moje mesto je mesto duhov,

še svojega praga nisem spoznal.

Tukaj po ulicah neki straši,

noben več ne sanja, noben več ne spi.

Mimo mene lebdijo sami žalostni ljudje.

Nazaj v nostalgijo včerajšnjega dne.

Pod nogami se trese.

Zapihal je veter, da vse nas odnese.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Res je blo lepo.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Zdaj pa več ne bo.

Umrla je muzika, ugasnil je smeh.

Solze utopile so iskre v očeh.

Pod nogami se trese.

Zapihal je veter, da vse nas odnese.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Res je blo lepo.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Zdaj pa več ne bo.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Res je blo lepo.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Kratko in sladko.

City of Ghosts (ENG)

My city is a city of ghosts,

I didn't even recognise my own doorstep.

Something is haunting these streets,

no one is dreaming anymore, no one is sleeping anymore.

Only sorrowful people are floating past me.

Back into the nostalgia of yesterday.

The ground is shaking under our feet.

The wind has blown to sweep us all away.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. It really was beautiful.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Now it won't be anymore.

Music has died, laughter has gone out.

Tears have drowned the sparkle in their eyes.

The ground is shaking under our feet.

The wind has blown to sweep us all away.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. It really was beautiful.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Now it won't be anymore.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. It really was beautiful.

Pa pa pa pa pa. Pa pa pa pa pa. Short and sweet.

Transcript and translation by @chaosofsmarty and a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG Gboleyn123

Sonce (SLO)

Izgubil sem vse,

čemur ti si rekla sonce.

Ko pade zadnja kaplja,

mene več ne bo.

Pazi na korak,

da prehitro ti ne mine.

Ko zajemaš zrak,

vdihni še spomine.

Učila si me, da sem vse,

a očitno vreden nič.

Tudi brez mene se vrti naprej,

preliva kri v kič.

Mogoče pa nisva dovolj glasno jokala.

Mogoče pa ni dovolj jasno bilo,

kako sva se bala.

Mogoče pa najine so solze odveč,

za ceno udobja vsi kriki preveč.

Mogoče le naju bolelo bo,

da ni naju več.

Sun (ENG)

I've lost everything

That you called the Sun

When the last drop falls

I'll be gone

Watch your step

So it doesn't pass too quickly

When you inhale

Breathe in the memories, too

You taught me I was everything

But apparently worth nothing

It keeps turning without me,

Shedding blood into kitsch

Maybe the two of us didn't cry loud enough

Maybe it wasn't clear enough,

How afraid we were

Maybe our tears are redundant

For the price of comfort, all the screams are too much

Maybe it'll hurt only us

That we're gone

[hearts4hughes]

I HATE IT HERE | JACK HUGHES

summary: in which her relationship with jack seems too good to be real. (0.7k words)

authors note: taylor really called out us delusional girlies and daydreamers with this song! it’s my favorite on the album and it deserves something so enjoy this very short writing!

"come on, don't be scared," jack chuckles as he slowly guides you. you look down, a suspiciously nice pair of skates clad to your feet.

"i'm going to fall!" you squeal, attempting to mimic the way he skates.

his giggle fills the cold air surrounding you. after a day of cozying up together in jack’s lake house, he gets the bright idea that he wants to teach you how to skate. after going to the store and buying you a pair of skates— that he won’t specify the price of— he leads you outside onto the ice. it takes you about ten minutes to even step foot onto the frozen death trap. but with your boyfriend’s persuasive smile and adorable face, you land yourself on the ice, anxiously moving your feet side to side.

"you're fine," he says, his hand moving to your waist. in the cold michigan evening, his hand on your waist sends warmth up your spine.

it all feels too surreal. from the dusting of snow around you to the romantic atmosphere, you feel like you're in one of your favorite romance novels. it all feels too familiar, and at the same time, your eyes scan around you, trying to treasure the moment.

jack stares up at you with a toothy grin. he looks at you like you’re the only girl in the world; like you hung the stars in the sky.

“what are you looking at, rowdy?” you say with a smug expression. his face flushes a deep maroon and his eyes fall to the ground. “going shy on me now, are we?”

“i feel like you’re forgetting who’s teaching you how to skate right now.” his hand falls down your waist, giving your butt a squeeze. your bottom lip juts out as he lets out a boyish grin.

“shut up and show me how to move faster.” you retort, though a pink blush still lingers on your cheeks.

jack takes one hand off of your waist, turning his body and slowly demonstrating how he pushes his leg out at an angle. he swiftly picks up speed as you hold onto him. it looks so simple. all it is, is the movement of his legs and feet, but as you try it, you slip, clinging to jack’s body and pulling him down with you.

somehow, his body hits the ice first and you land on top of him. your eyes are wide as you both look at each other. as the realization of what happens sets in, you both bark out in laughter. you snuggle your face into the crook of his neck, an attempt to silence your laughter.

“i love you so damn much.” he says in pure awe.

“i love you so damn much!” you mock him, lifting your head from his chest and staring at him below you.

his cheeks are pink from the cold and his hair a wavy mess that not even the winter hat on his head can hide. your eyes flick down to his lips. they look so plump and kissable.

you lower face, stopping just an inch above his lips. he smirks, “what are you waiting for?” his words are barely above a whisper, eliciting butterflies in your stomach.

but just as your lips press against his, you hear a distant voice.

“y/n?” mr. samson, your ap history teacher, calls out. “are you paying attention?”

you blink, looking around the classroom. you’re in high school, not michigan, and the boy nearest to you is not jack hughes. the realization sets in, causing a pit in your stomach. you suddenly feel nauseous.

had you daydreamed about a relationship with jack hughes once again? no, you couldn’t have. it seemed so real; it felt so real. it was almost like you could feel jack’s hands on your waist, leaving a permanent stain of warmth around your hips.

you swallowed harshly as everyone’s eyes followed you awaiting an answer. “y-yes.” your voice was shaky. people in the back of the classroom snickered at you as others furrowed their brows. your skin felt hot with embarrassment. it was nothing like the flush you felt when jack complimented you.

“ok then.” mr. samson said as he continued his lesson.

you sighed, grabbing your pencil and copying down the notes on the board. you pushed back the recollections of your daydream, putting them into one of the many secret gardens in your mind. they would stay there patiently awaiting until you unlocked and relived them again.

if only.

[glittergroovy]

[umathurwin]

now you have to elaborate on riara filming it from your last fic……

extension of this post 🙂‍↕️❤️ nsfw 18+ below the cut (lowkey based on pornstar by nessa barrett)

***

ask anyone who knows kiara— she hates having her picture taken. she’s the most confident girl you’ll ever meet, but point a camera in her direction and she sours

she ducks out of sarah and cleo’s selfies. she can sense when john b or pope are trying to sneak a pic of her with a clay mask on, and shoots them death glares. she’s fully knocked jj’s phone out of his hand when her boyfriend tried to capture an endearing candid of her.

they’d lose their fucking minds if they caught a glimpse of rafe cameron’s camera roll

it seems kiara has been moonlighting as an adult film actress, based on the albums of content rafe has amassed over their time hooking up. content she is not only aware exists, but is proud to be a part of

they’d started off more discreet— this was an illicit affair, after all. images of his hand around her throat. her back, bare and arched against the bed. their hands interlocked and pressing against the sheets. no faces, no identifiable information

but their wisdom was no match for temptation, and soon he’s filming her from above as she sucks his cock. sure, you’d have to really go frame-by-frame to tell it’s kiara for certain, but their plausible deniability is waning. especially once he fails to be a good director and starts talking

“fuck, kie, just like that. so damn good at this, God”

yeah. not really fooling anyone, even if the video’s a little blurry and poorly lit

soon the façade of clandestinity melts away. probably when rafe makes her watch and she preens. he tucks her against his lap, one hand in her panties and the other holding the phone, blasting an old video they’d made recently

he pressed his palm against her clit, stuffing his fingers inside her cunt and replicating the rhythm she’d set while riding him. her moans matched the sound coming from the screen, but he encouraged her to keep watching

“no, look, sweetheart. when you do that? that movement with your hips? you have no idea how hard it is not to cum inside your sweet little cunt. fuck”

the point of no return, truly, doesn’t hit until a night she snuck into the cameron estate for some fun. he’d bent her over the bed, split her pussy open, and had her shaking and crying for his own video collection, like normal. he pushed her to her knees and came on her face, painting her soft skin with his hot cum. rafe took a souvenir photo, and kie asked something that warmed his heart like nothing else.

“can you send me that?”

[charlott2n]

Do you have any advice on rating albums out of 10? I'm trying to start using rateyourmusic because I love both music and making lists but it's very difficult to accurately give albums a score without contradicting myself, especially with how little I've listened to compared with most people on this site. You seem really carefree and positive about the whole thing so if you have a system that works for you I would love to hear about it. Peace

ooo good question:) it took a while for me to develop a system i like but i think ive got it down pretty well at this point!

5/5- core/perfect album. theres an important distinction between a perfect album and an album thats really important to me but i think its fine to just lump them together

4.5/5- perfect but with maybe one bad song. atom heart mother by pink floyd is a great example because every song is fantastic up until alans psychedelic breakfast which is just a long field recordings type song that might have its merit for others but i see nothing in. hence the album is almost perfect/a favorite but i put it here

4/5- albums i like a great deal and want to return to/already listen to a lot, but dont necessarily connect to as much as others. albums that are perfectly very much above average. this is where most of my rated albums are

3.5/5- albums that impress me more than average but without drawing me in that much

3/5- "Good". the baseline. this is the lowest score i give to albums that i still listen to

2.5/5- not my thing but i dont want to give it any lower because it just wasnt for me and thats fine. i dont like to rate an album too low just because i didnt like it. sometimes i come back to my 2.5 star albums and reassess them to see if my taste has maybe changed enough for me to enjoy them

2/5 and below- these are incredibly vibes-based and i dont really have a consistent system for them

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 2 Chapter 6

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 2 Chapter 5. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 2, Ch 6 below the cut (spoilers for part 2 ahead):

Work has officially started again and I'm swamped so I'm only getting back into this re-reading now. (Btw, I'm currently listening to "toxic till the end" by Rosé and my god it's so Savior!AU Cegan... Same for "number one girl" from her Rosie album)

So, chapter 6, the beginning of the heatwave. This is so funny because I still remember writing part 2 and being like, okay I have 2 more chapters and the Claimers plot is done, so what can I do to shake things up at Sanctuary? And at the time I was teaching a class on the short story "Roman Fever" by Edith Wharton and I was explaining to my students the whole stereotypes about southern Europe from the povs of characters from England or the north-eastern coast of America, how the warmer climate is associated with looser morals, promiscuity, how people used to cold climates start to act a bit erratically when it's too hot and they let go of some of their inhibitions. And as I was preparing for this class, I was like... wait a minute... *lightbulb moment*

Anyway, this is how the idea of the heatwave came about and it's crazy that it is still ongoing in part 3, but at the same time it feels very fitting. Right when Negan has decided he's going to be a good man and keep things platonic with Carl, I turned the oven on and blasted them with heat :)))) No regret.

This chapter is very much a pivotal moment in the story because a lot hinges on it. In the previous chapter, Negan showed Carl a surprisingly human and compassionate side of his personality, but everything that has been happening since the start of part 2 (the increasingly erotic tension between them, Negan's cruelty) is still there.

In the Savior!AU, it's very important to me that Negan never becomes too nice. I have nothing against fluff or nice!Negan (in fact, I'm currently writing the fluffiest, nicest Negan ever in my Strawberry Mama Cegan fic), but I started writing the Savior!AU back in 2021 because there was a lack of Cegan fics where Negan was still the sadistic, cruel leader from the canon. Back then, there was a plethora of fics where Carl was sexually abused by Shane, or assaulted by the Claimers, and Negan was the only one who understood/rescued Carl, as well as a lot of fics where Negan immediately became protective of Carl and put him above everyone else right after meeting him, basically 'love at first sight' fics. As much as I enjoyed those stories, I was chagrined at how few fics there were where Negan was still Negan, still cruel and sadistic and egotistical, even when he clearly favored Carl over everyone else (a great example of this, and to me still one of the best Cegan fics ever written, is Wildflowers by Gemjam).

So, to me, this what the Savior!AU is and should always be: a story where Carl and Negan fall in love, yes, but where Negan is still Negan, still monstrous and power-hungry just as much as he's loving and protective, and this is in fact is the main obstacle of their relationship: that Negan's cruelty and thirst for power will always get in the way for as long as he's the leader of the Saviors.

This is why it's so important to me to keep all those moments when Negan is canonically cruel and ruthless. And this chapter has a big one with Mark getting his face ironed off.

Carl is so absorbed by him, by his sheer presence, that it takes him a second to notice that Negan is inspecting him right back, unmoving from his spot by the stairway. His gaze trails along where Carl is slumped against the wall, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, slowly, down and then up again, and there is nothing concealed about it, his appraisal plainly obvious. His lips are slightly parted, letting Carl glimpse at his pink tongue, the tip caught between his teeth. He can’t feel hotter than he already does, but the rolling knots in his stomach are both new and familiar. He’s reminded of that time in the parking lot, of Negan’s susurrating voice making him feel like he was on a rollercoaster. When their eyes meet, Negan’s hand tightens briefly around Lucille’s handle, before going lax again. He moves forward and Carl knows he should straighten up, knows he should kneel, but he does neither. Instead, he stays right where he is, never taking his eyes off of Negan as he gets inexorably closer, his footsteps an ominous toll that sends Carl’s heart careening inside his chest. Negan stops right in front of him, the tips of his boots grazing Carl’s own. His gelled hair is curling at the temples and his skin is shiny under his salt and pepper beard, a sheen of perspiration covering the bow of his upper lip and the slight curve at the top of his chin. Negan makes a low sound, between a laugh and a sigh, and Carl’s eye follows the movement of his lips with rapt fascination when he speaks. “Pheew,” he breathes out, sending an exhale of peppermint-sweet air in Carl’s face. “Even in here, it’s hotter than the devil’s asscrack.” Then, unexpectedly, he asks, “Wanna hold her for me?”

There is SO MUCH happening here. Carl and Negan looking at each other and lusting after each other openly (the first time in the fic that it's mutual and not just one-sided), Negan's flex of the hand that shows he's barely restraining himself from grabbing Carl, Carl knowing he should kneel but staying standing because he's becoming aware of the fact that the rules don't apply when it's just him and Negan away from everyone else, Negan asking Carl to hold Lucille (the symbol of his battered heart and erect cock intertwined and wrapped in barbed wire) while he goes to have sex with someone else, so basically asking Carl to hold his heart while he fucks one of the wives...

Negan smirks, teeth flashing, and Carl should know better than to think he can hide the effect Negan has on him. “Thanks. Things might get a lil’ loud in there. Just a heads-up,” he winks. Carl swallows, hard. He is pretty sure the sweat rolling down his face must be sizzling, puffs of steam coming out from his every pore. As if on cue, he feels a plump drop of perspiration trail from his temple, along his chin and down his Adam's apple, before pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Negan’s gaze, previously light and playful, turns dark and riveted as he gives Carl’s face a long once-over, slowly going down from his sweaty brow to his flushed cheeks and lips before settling on his neck, just above the soaked collar of his t-shirt. His gray eyes stay there for long seconds, transfixed, before Negan suddenly blinks, gaze flicking to the ceiling as he mutters under a raspy breath, “Je-sus.” Carl doesn’t have time to fully grasp what just happened that Negan is already moving, disappearing inside the wives’ apartment with a sharp exhale and a shake of his head. His warm and spicy scent lingers in the air around Carl, thick and heady.

This is one of my favorite moments in this chapter because it's really difficult to write a longing/erotic scene where in fact nothing is happening, especially when I have to tread the line of Carl's pov, of him still being mostly innocent and unaware of what Negan wants to do to him, while at the same time knowing it (as shown in the dirty dream that Carl has right after this moment).

I'm not going to quote the dirty dream, but I did want to have Carl explore his sexual attraction to Negan on his own before any smut happened between them. It felt important to me that Carl had at least some time to accept that he's sexually attracted to Negan, that this anticipation builds, before anything happened. A boy doesn't go from being sexually repressed for four years to jumping into bed with a man 3x his age out of nowhere. (Btw, Carl masturbating while thinking of Negan was inspired by this awesome fic Secret Handshake by Gonfalonier) (I'm realizing now that these re-read posts could also be a great place to rec some Cegan fics. If you like them, do show them some love!)

Now, the beer scene. Not gonna lie, I still have no idea where the inspiration for this one came from but I am SO PROUD of it. It's just the most devious interrogation technique. Negan knows very well what he's doing, that Carl probably never had a drink in his entire life, that he will be affected by the alcohol, less able to think and lie, all of this without touching a single hair on Carl's head.

And of course at the end of the scene is this awesome moment that will haunt Carl again and again:

He keeps his tone casual, but Carl doesn’t miss the dangerous edge in his voice when he asks, “And since when do you take orders from pretty boy Mark?” He opens his mouth but before he can answer, Negan snaps, “Drink.” The bottle is more than half-empty, its taste milder than before, hints of sweetness coating his tongue underneath all the earthy tanginess. It takes Carl a second to remember the question he was asked. “I don’t. I just… I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” The crow’s feet around Negan’s eyes mellow for a brief instant, his expression turning understanding. But it only lasts just that, an instant, before anger takes over once more. He leans forward, towering with all of his height over Carl. His lips brush against Carl’s ear, but there is nothing seductive about it. It’s a warning, plain and simple. “Don’t be soft, it doesn’t fuckin’ suit you,” Negan growls.

It's not just the lie that bothers Negan, but the fact that Carl lied to protect *Mark*, young and fit Mark, who's already charming the pants off Amber and now Carl too. This is the first time that Negan is jealous of another man that Carl interacted with since Shane. After Carl killed Shane, Negan thought all the competition had been eliminated, that he was finally the only man in Carl's orbit, but now he realizes that it's not necessarily true.

The line "don't be soft" especially will come back in part 3 because Carl will never be able to forget it. Negan sees that Carl's lie was not done out of love for Mark but compassion, that Carl has a good heart, and of course it's something that Negan appreciates and admires, but at the same time, it's also something that deeply frightens Negan. Negan associates softness with weakness and, as his talk with Gabriel in the "Big Scary U" episode highlights, he is intent on eradicating weakness: the weakness that made him afraid of killing walkers in the "Here's Negan" flashback episode, the weakness that made him forget to turn the generator back on because he was afraid it would attract walkers and which led to Lucille's medication be ruined, the weakness that let him be captured by the Valaks Vipers biker gang, the weakness that made Lucille kill herself rather than fight cancer... Like Shane, Negan is desperate to turn Carl into a hardened and ruthless killer because they both think it's the only way Carl can survive: by being as merciless and cold as they are, because Negan and Shane have seen too many good and soft people die horrible deaths and they'll be damned if they let this happen to Carl. Negan, like Shane, knows that the real danger is not the walkers or other people, but it's yourself, your own kindness and morals and empathy. Those are the things that get you killed. It's tragic that so much of Shane and Negan's abuse toward Carl is driven by fierce protectiveness and absolute terror at the thought of anything happening to Carl.

This post is far too long already so I'll wrap it up with two scenes: the conversation between Carl and Dwight after Negan left the room, and Negan ironing Mark's face off.

I can't remember if I've said this before but the relationship between Carl and Dwight was really unexpected. I never planned on them bonding but, as I wrote the story and re-watched the episodes about Dwight from canon, it just seemed natural considering all the similarities between them: the disfigured face, the fact that they started as Negan's enemies, that their blind loyalty and devotion to Negan is underpinned by seditious rebellion (Dwight because he let Sherry get away and Carl because he freed Rosita). Dwight often acts as a sort of moral bell tolling for Carl. He's the one reminding Carl of the harsh reality of Sanctuary, of who Negan is. And for all that Carl likes to forget, he has to acknowledge that Dwight is right about everything. There will never be peace at Sanctuary, not in the long term, because Negan's Sanctuary is the product of his grief and anger and desire for revenge after the death of Lucille. The very inception of the place stemmed from the worst parts of Negan, and no matter how much Negan rationalizes it, no matter how many rules he creates to justify Sanctuary's relevance, it will never be freed of the ghosts that haunt it, of the blood and bones it was built on.

I know I talk a lot about the significance of Lucille the bat (Negan's heart and dick wrapped in barbed wire, the most vulnerable symbol of his past turned into his most brutal weapon) but I think Sanctuary holds the same place as an embodiment of the best and worst parts of Negan: the name itself promises refuge, peace, shelter and security, but Negan has fostered an atmosphere of ruthless violence and competition inside it, has kept the workers subdued and turned the Saviors into a feral pack of dogs lashing out against everything and everyone. Like Lucille, Negan's Sanctuary is fenced and weaponized, its boundaries covered in walkers to keep everyone at bay. There's little humanity in Sanctuary, like there's little humanity left in Negan. It's there, but it's faint and it's kept fenced in, tucked away inside an impenetrable fortress. It never ceases to amaze me that with all the resources at his disposal, Negan could have made Sanctuary a place worthy of the name. It's clear he knows how to make a place attractive (his room is glorious in a bachelor pad kind of way, and so are the harem and the room meant for Daryl). But he doesn't. Instead he keeps the factory gloomy and frightening. Because the Sanctuary, like Lucille, was created out of grief and fury. Negan doesn't want to make it hospitable. He wants it to be a punishment on himself and everyone around him.

I'll finish with this glorious line, which encompasses Negan's jealousy, his pettiness, and his reflex to lash out at the people he cares about because he's still, deep down, a wounded animal snapping at everyone who tries to help him:

“Since you like cleaning up after Mark so much, get a mop. Your boy made a mess,” Negan sneers before brushing past him.

Conclusion; tldr: This fic is an oven and I'm turning the temp all the way up. Carl and Negan are terribly horny for each other, but it's all part of the cooking process. Negan is marinating Carl in beer. Carl is having a dreadful time remembering that the man he jerks off to is still a monster. Negan is the most tragic character ever and the Sanctuary is basically the haunted manor in a Gothic Victorian story. Only one chapter left for part 2.

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Good Omens: Lockdown, Aziraphale’s SAD-ASS desk, and how they get to 'Our bookshop' in S2

Welcome to part 2 of me reading reeaally far into the Good Omens: Lockdown video! (part 1 from Crowley's POV here) This post assumes the item choices in the Lockdown visuals are intentional. What follows is going to be my headcanon regardless, but if you're into the Word of God, Lockdown is canon 'If you want it to be.' and I want it to be, sooo checkmate! >;D

Also this is something of a long boi (~13 minute read without following the links >.>), so if you're into unhinged analysis of details and literary references that indicate Aziraphale is in his longing era and want to learn more about author and fave-of-Gaiman, G.K. Chesterton, either get comfy or mark this to read later when you have time!

C: What? A: *somehow surprised even though HE CALLED* A-ah, hello. It's me! C: I know it's you, Aziraphale. A: *regaining composure* Yes, well, just calling to see how you were doing in lockdown.

The video starts with shots of Aziraphale and Crowley's da Vinci sketches (and some sushi remnants)... Babygirl is flipping through the time-goes-too-fast-for-me version of a facebook album, thinking about his crush. vERY chill of him. (also the paper looks new and he's eating on top of them, suggesting these are prints and he has multiple copies of them... sooo normal)

If we look closer at the still of Crowley's portrait, we can see part of the spine of a book that reads Kei- Chesterto-. This is, of course, author Gilbert Keith Chesterton, to whom Neil and Terry (and Crowley) dedicated Good Omens:

The authors would like to join the demon Crowley in dedicating this book to the memory of G. K. Chesterton A man who knew what was going on.

In this post by @azfellandco about Chesterton, you can see a photo of the dedication page and also read the book excerpt where Crowley describes Chesterton as 'the only poet in the twentieth century to even come close to the Truth'.

C: I'm bored. I'm so very very bored - transcendentally bored. There's nothing to do here!

As Crowley is explaining his nap contingency plan, we get a shot of Aziraphale picking up his mug of hot chocolate, then the image below of the 2/3rds gone bottle of Courvoisier cognac (i mean maybe he is baking with it let's not jump to conclusions), and then the stack of books beside a framed woodcut print of witches dancing with devils...

...that I used reverse image search to trace back to page 17 of a book from 1720 called The history of witches and wizards: giving a true account of all their tryals in England, Scotland, Swedeland, France, and New England; with their confession and condemnation.

Interestingly, the text above and below the picture reads:

At their Meeting they have usually Wine, or good Beer, Cakes, Meat, or the like; they Eat and Drink really: When they meet in their Bodies, Dance also, and have Musick...

Beside the framed print of Aziraphale's idea of a really great night out is a stack of books that includes (going from top to bottom):

Homer's The Iliad, Book 2

Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton

Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century by Richard Kieckhefer

a book by Hilaire Belloc with no visible title

The Club of Queer Trades by G.K. Chesterton

The Iliad (according to sparknotes) has the following major themes:

....Interesting, ok. Book 2 in particular starts with a god (Zeus) messing with someone (Agamemnon) via a dream that says he will be successful in taking Troy if he launches a full assault, balls to the (city) wall. Agamemnon, who is supposed to be leading the Achaean army to conquer Troy, believes the dream but then in a weird twist decides to test his army and be like 'jk actually I'm giving up and going home' and then is mad when the soldiers are like 'sick, to the boats!' Then Odysseus, who sparknotes tells me is the most eloquent of the Achaeans, gives an impressive speech to inspire the troops and reminds them that they vowed 'that they would not abandon their struggle until the city fell.' ...No way that could worsen Aziraphale's internal conflict about being a bad Angel who thwarted the Great Plan. >.>; Orthodoxy we'll get to in a second.

Then there's Forbidden Rites which is a medieval necromancy guide translated from Latin with added commentary - Aziraphale is perhaps studying occult topics in an attempt to understand Crowley better? And then there's the Hilaire Belloc book on top of the second Chesterton book, a collection of related stories/episodes?, The Club of Queer Trades. The book's Wikipedia page says:

Each story in the collection is centered on a person who is making his living by some novel and extraordinary means. To gain admittance [to the Club of Queer Trades] one must have invented a unique means of earning a living and the subsequent trade being the main source of income.

Aziraphale and Crowley have rather novel/extraordinary jobs and they're both peculiar-queer and gay-queer. Neat. The narrator in the book is named Charlie "Cherub" Swinburne - also neat. >.> He goes on an adventure with his friend, a retired judge and president of the Club of Queer Trades, Basil Grant, (who Oct 2021 GoodReads reviewer Cecily said is "described as mad, mystical, and a poet, with almost no friends, but who “would talk to any one anywhere”) and Basil's younger brother, a private detective named Inspector Constable Rupert Grant. The last line of the book is:

Thus our epic ended where it had begun, like a true cycle. (something something "It starts, as it will end, with a garden.")

Anyway, the Belloc book and The Club of Queer Trades are placed back to back in such a way that they almost look like they could be one book with two different aesthetics, or... two halves of a pantomime beast?! (stay with me I needed a segue)

Belloc and Chesterton have what is essentially a ship name:

It was coined by George Bernard Shaw (if you are like me and didn't know why you've heard of him: he wrote, among other things, Pygmalion, which was adapted into My Fair Lady). Shaw apparently liked to gossip about Belloc and Chesterton with H.G. Wells (again if you're uncultured like me: he wrote, among other science fiction-y things, The War of the Worlds).

In the Feb 15, 1908 issue of The New Age newspaper, Shaw said:

He continued:

"Chesterton and Belloc are so unlike that they get frightfully into one another’s way. ... They are unlike in everything except the specific literary genius and delight in play-acting that is common to them, and that threw them into one another’s arms.”

Shaw says Belloc is 'a bit of a rowdy', and 'cannot bear isolation'. Hmm. Then he says Chesterton is 'friendly, easy-going, unaffected, gentle, magnanimous, and genuinely democratic'. HMM.

“They share one failing—almost the only specific trait they have in common except their literary talent. That failing is, I grieve to say, addiction to the pleasures of the table.”

Ok ok I think we can see where this is going.

(^ from Staged S3E6)

Now, someone did ask Neil Gaiman about this similarity, and he said the Lockdown video was filmed by Rob Wilkins in Terry Pratchett's library, and that he suspects 'Belloc is there because he was on Terry's shelves beside Chesterton.' And it MAY VERY WELL BE that NONE (0) of the book titles are meant in any way other than 'these are books from Sir Pratchett's library that looked nice on camera and ofc we wanted some Chesterton refs and maybe some demon-y stuff for Crowley' but that is WAY less fun so I am choosing to take them as intentional: these are books Aziraphale is actually reading (along with the sushi and many cakes he is actually eating). Let's put ourselves in Aziraphale's shoes and try to imagine how it would be to read this stuff during lockdown while you pine for a demon with slinky hips after you got in big trouble at work for Armageddoff (and work happens to have defined your worldview and general purpose in life).

C: welll... ngk then people might follow my bad example and get ill. Or even die—

As Crowley acknowledges that he ought to be out making peoples' lives worse, we see Orthodoxy by Chesterton open on the desk.

Orthodoxy is described as a ‘spiritual autobiography’ and is considered a classic of Christian apologetics, i.e. the religious discipline of defending religious doctrines (in this case, Catholic) through systematic argumentation and discourse. Wikipedia also says Chesterton's The Everlasting Man contributed to C.S. Lewis' conversion to Christianity, so overall it sounds like he must've been fairly convincing. (and so maybe reading it also poked at that work-related-but-religious-trauma-adjacent stuff Aziraphale has going on?)

You can read Orthodoxy (and probably any of the books I mention bc theyre all old) on project gutenberg but I will include this part of what is shown on the righthand page bc it just reminds me (and so probably Azirapalala as well) of a certain angel squeaking happily at a nebula:

"I felt economical about the stars as if they were sapphires (they are called so in Milton's Eden): I hoarded the hills. For the universe is a single jewel, and while it is a natural cant to talk of a jewel as peerless and priceless, of this jewel it is literally true. This cosmos is indeed without peer and without price: for there cannot be another one."

Ok great, so Aziraphale is diving into the works of one of Crowley's favorite authors bc he misses him, that's cute. What else? Oh he already wrote him a letter right before calling - THE WICK ON THE WAX STICK FOR THE SEAL IS STILL SMOKING. sO CASUAL asdashgfjds

something something 'either call on the phone and talk, or appear mysteriously; don't do both'

When Aziraphale gets to 'I've never had so few customers, not in two hundred years!' We get a close up of this glass of cognac with droplets still on the side — I take back what I said about baking, Aziraphale is drinking it~

He's not drinking a wine, eg Châteauneuf-du-pape, which would be ~14% alcohol by volume (ABV), or a sherry (15-20% ABV); he is drinking Courvoisier cognac, a hard liquor (40% ABV). Crowley's Talisker whisky is 48.5% while we are on the topic. This is stronger than what Aziraphale usually drinks which means... he could be a bit tipsy.

As Aziraphale starts talking about the would-be cash-box burglary, we get this wide shot of the desk:

In the top left hand corner, we see two stacks of books, most (all?) of which appear to be Chesterton when I zoom in. Some of them have Chesterton's name visible on them, others have the publisher name 'Darwen Finlayson' on them, which according to my googling is a house that published several of Chesterton's works. If Chesterton was truly 'a man who knew what was going on', then perhaps this is Aziraphale seeking not just to feel closer to Crowley, but also to make sense of the warring ideas in his mind. Interestingly, Chesterton has also been described as 'The Eccentric Prince of Paradox'.

C: *clearly amused* Did you smite them with your wroth?

The screen then shows two occult-y books and a flickering candle (lower left image). Then Aziraphale explains about his cake~, and as Crowley cuts him off because he's about to nervously ask to come over bc he is so so lonely & down bad for a certain angelic bookworm, we see a map of Oxfordshire on top of Pilgrim's Progress (lower right image).

The two books beside the candle are Satanism and Witchcraft (presumably the 1862 book by Jules Michelet that comes up when I search the title), and another called Magic: An Occult Primer.

Satanism and Witchcraft is described on Wikipedia as 'notable for being one of the first sympathetic histories of witchcraft' and says 'Michelet was one of the first few people to attempt to show the sociological explanation of the Witch Trials.’ Sympathy for people who like to eat/drink/dance with demons, if you will?

Magic: An Occult Primer is a 1972 book by David Conway, a Welsh (CACHU HWCH!) magus and is described as 'a seminal work that brought magical training to the every-magician'. It also includes an appendix called The Occult Who's Who, which is somewhat reminiscent of Hastur's Furfur's book about angels. In Chapter 11: A Word About Demons, it says in regard to summoning them:

"Assuming that the form has turned up in the right place, it will soon begin to act and talk in a very friendly manner; do not forget, however, that its winning ways conceal a sinister intention-- namely, to get the adept out of the circle, and into its clutches.”

...okay?? Aziraphale's desk has a flickering candle on it throughout the video, and we get a close up of the flame when Crowley offers to slither over:

and just like that, Aziraphale has summoned a demon~~

Naturally, he freaks out:

A: *panicking*Oh I— I— I— I— I'm afraid that would be Breaking All The Rules! *nervous breathing* Out of the question! I'll see you… when this is over.

But why? Isn't this what he wanted? Let's go back to the Pilgrim's Progress shot from right before the successful demon summoning and zoom in:

In a similar vein to Orthodoxy, Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan, is an allegorical Puritan conversion narrative. Christian is the main character / stand in for anyone who wants to be in the allegory and Hopeful is well, hopeful, from what I gather. A slightly larger continuous excerpt is here for the curious, but here are some bits I thought were especially interesting in the part of the book shown above:

Christian: Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind again? Hopeful: Many things; as, If I did but meet a good man in the streets; or, If I have heard any read in the Bible; or, If mine head did begin to ache; or, If I were told that some of my neighbors were sick; or, If I heard the bell toll for some that were dead; or, If I thought of dying myself; or, If I heard that sudden death happened to others; But especially when I thought of myself that I must quickly come to judgment.

Perhaps the pandemic is bringing Aziraphale's "sins" to mind again, on top of the whole choosing faces thing to avoid 'quickly coming to judgment'. And then:

Hopeful: I thought I must endeavor to mend my life; for else, thought I, I am sure to be lost forever. Christian: And did you endeavor to mend? Hopeful: Yes, and fled from not only my sins, but sinful company too, and betook me to religious duties, as praying, reading, weeping for sin, speaking truth to my neighbors, etc.

UM??? While I can't say about the praying or weeping for sin, he has definitely been reading and the whole 'giving a good talking to' the burglars could be 'speaking truth to [the] neighbors'...?

Anyway to recap:

Aziraphale has been poring over books about dark magic and demons as well as a ton of books by an author that Crowley loves and who formed a partnership w a very different person in a sort of yin-yang, pantomime beast situation

He has been looking at pictures that remind him of their fun times w Leo in Florence and eating sushi and cake cake cake (and forgiving sinners) and drinking hot chocolate and cognac trying to fill a void but now he's tipsy so he wrote Crowley a letter, stamped it with a wax seal and then thought 'I should call her' BUT

His recent brush with attempted death penalties, the death toll of the pandemic, and some of the religious books he was reading have also filled him with guilt/fear over disobeying Heaven, who he knows could still be watching him and Crowley, so he feels much more conflicted than usual AND

He probably has some inkling that he wants to go ape shit on that ox rib if it comes over to hang out (lol editing to add bc i remembered ox rib discourse: ape shit in an emotional way! whether you hc them as ace or not I just think he really likes him and I’m using ox ribs as a stand in for general forbidden joy/love, not specifically sexy stuff)

So he has to say no.

Anything else might cause him to spontaneously discorporate into a plume of pining and cognitively dissonant gay smoke, which may be all well and good if you only think there's a God, but if you KNOW it and the angels are absolutely recording you and Heaven just tried to kill you and your wife colleague, it's... kind of a big deal.

C: Right. gnnehh. I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel. *dial tone*

We don't get to hear Aziraphale's response, but besties you and I both know he is not feeling tickety-boo. He spent like a month putting off calling Crowley (UK lockdowns started end of March, the call is at the beginning of May), finally got drunk and said what the Hell, it'll just be a fun flirty chat in between his temptations, and then it turned out Crowley was depressed and not going anywhere and Aziraphale made him even sadder. And then it got worse because it wasn't all over in July, or in October, even.

I think Aziraphale ends up with a lot of time and brain space in which to think about how Orthodoxy and Pilgrim's Progress were only written to guide *mortals* and how it really wouldn't be so bad if he spent more time with Crowley, would it? Heaven hasn't reached out in actual years again, things feel safer. Crowley is essentially Good and spending time with him would be sort of ministering to the downtrodden and afflicted, and Aziraphale does miss reporting his good deeds (lol you know, whatever rationalizations you need to get you there).

More than anything, he thinks about how hollow everything feels without Crowley; how no mouthful of food or drink tastes as satisfying in his absence because it wasn't ever just about the 'gross matter'...

So when lockdowns end, Aziraphale begins to summon his demon again, but this time with much less inner struggling. It all comes so naturally, when you let it. By the beginning of Season 2 in 2023, they seem delightfully comfortable with their shared routines and places (see also this lovely post by @nightgoodomens). Our car. Our bookshop.

Aziraphale might take longer to catch up, but he does get there.

(SHHH DON'T THINK ABOUT EPISODE 6! STOP! I'M HANGING UP!)

“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.” ― G.K. Chesterton

[something-tofightfor]

Fool's Gold - Intro

Pairing: Pirate Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (with a twist)

Rating: M for now - but that will change later.

Word Count: 2,266

Summary: An accident on the open waters of The Narrow Sea leads you to a crossroads ... but not everything is as simple as it seems.

Author's Note: This story is what happens when I get fixated on a band and listen ONLY to their albums for two months straight. The title - and the overarching tone of this story are thanks to Caligula's Horse (specifically the Bloom and Charcoal Grace albums). The title comes from a song called "Marigold".

But it's also inspired by Pedro's SAG awards look because anyone that looked at that and didn't immediately think 'PIRATE!' must have been looking at a different outfit than I was.

Thank you to the people that have listened to me talk about this story for the last month - and that encouraged me to continue writing it. I hope you like it.

You woke from a deep sleep to the feeling of the ship shuddering, the motion so strong it nearly knocked you out of bed. 

It only took you seconds to get your bearings. As soon as you were able to, you pulled on your boots and hurried up the stairs to the top deck, holding your blanket tight around your shoulders. What you hadn’t expected to find was disorder; the ship’s crew hurrying back and forth across the flat space, shouting to each other and pointing up. 

You looked up, too, gasping at the sight. One of the masts was charred, the sails attached to it in flames that threatened to spread to the others if not contained. The crow’s nest is gone. Blinking slowly and then reaching up to swipe at your face with one hand, you shivered. 

It was still raining - the storm that had started before you went to sleep hadn’t let up. For a few seconds, you thought that maybe the water would help to extinguish the flames. But when a sudden gust of wind pushed them forward and toward the other sails, you knew it was unlikely. 

“You need to go back to your room.” A sailor gripped your shoulder, startling you out of your thoughts. “Stay below deck. It’s safer there.” He was young, and when you turned your head to look at him, you saw fear in his eyes. “Let me help y-”

“What happened?” You yelled the words, hoping to be heard above the sounds around you. “Why is the ship on fire?”

“Lightning!” He pointed up just as another flash across the sky seemed to confirm his explanation. “A lightning strike.” It made sense; with nothing else on the open sea, the tall masts of the ship were bound to attract the storms. 

“Will we sink?” You wiped at your face again, blinking as much of the water away as you could. “Should I prepare for -”

“No!” He whipped his head back and forth. “This ship will not sink. We will get you safely to King’s Landing and then to Oldtown, m’lady.” He dipped his head and you fought against rolling your eyes at the title. “Go back inside.” He pointed. “Get warm and dry. We’ll be fine by morning.” 

There was no reason to argue and so you didn’t, retreating back into the corridor that led to your room after taking one more look up and at the sky. 

You didn’t believe the sailor. You’d seen enough fires to know that even if they were able to put the flames out, the ship would be crippled for days and destined to drift across the Narrow Sea until someone found you. 

The route was typically safe; Braavos to King’s Landing was well traveled, so you knew that the likelihood of someone finding the ship and assisting you to port was high. But the ones who find us may not be the right people. 

There were pirates on the waters; fewer now than there had been, but it was still worrisome - especially with what you carried on the ship in locked trunks. Taking a few steadying breaths when you reached your quarters again, you looked around the room and then made a decision. 

After changing from your nightclothes to your everyday ones, you began to secure your valuables in the hidden spaces within your dress. A locket that you wore regularly was stashed in a small pocket at your waist. The ring from your mother’s mother took its place in a smaller pocket located near the buttons at the front of your clothes. A palm-sized wood carving of two birds was harder to conceal, and instead of attempting to hide it, you simply put it - along with a small dagger and a few other trinkets from home into a purse that you secured at your waist on a belt. 

You put your boots back on, lining the soles with all of the coins you carried with you and then laced them tightly, curling your toes at the uncomfortable sensation. I almost forgot. With a gasp, you opened the inner drawer of your table, fingers closing around the small, rectangular piece of metal that Wyllam had ensured you’d received. I cannot forget this. 

If there was one thing that your parents had instilled in you about the trip, it was to prepare yourself for anything. Traveling from Braavos to King’s Landing by ship and then by coach from the capital to your final destination was a long journey, but you’d have your guardsmen when and if you needed them … and even when you didn’t. And that’s why I have this token.

The ship shuddered again, and you reached out to steady yourself, sniffing at the air and frowning. The smoke smelled thicker, and so you left the room a second time. Instead of going back to the upper deck, you headed for the small roost near the stern of the ship where the ravens were kept. It didn’t take you long to pen a note and attach it to the leg of your raven, the one you’d raised from the moment it hatched - sending it out the small window and back to your parents. 

We hit storms. The ship is ablaze two nights in. I may be delayed. I’ll update you when we reach King’s Landing. 

You watched the bird disappear into the darkness, gasping when a piece of flaming debris fell in front of the window and hit the sea. That doesn’t look like a sail. Staring for a few seconds at the churning water, your attention was drawn up and toward the sky at the sound of a low roar. What is that? 

The beating of your heart quickened, but you didn’t look away, and when there was another flash of lightning, you saw the unmistakable outline of something massive in the sky - something that you’d been raised to believe was impossible. 

“A dragon.” You gripped the edge of the windowsill, unblinking. The next time you saw the creature, it was much closer, wings flapping to bring it nearer. You didn’t need lightning to see what it did then, screeching again and then opening its mouth to release a stream of fire in your direction. 

It wasn’t a storm that had damaged the ship. It wasn’t the lightning that set the fire, or threatened the lives of you and the crew. It was something much more dangerous and unpredictable.

You heard the roar of the flames from above you, coupled with the screams of the crew, and with shaking fingers, reached for a quill and another slip of paper. The second note you wrote was much messier than the first, though it was longer. 

My previous message was incorrect. It wasn’t a storm. We were attacked by a dragon, I saw it with my own eyes. The Sea Spider - and everyone on her - are in trouble. Two nights into our voyage from Braavos to King’s Landing, and everything is on fire. 

You winced at another roar from the sky, and then braced yourself for impact… but it never came. Returning to your note, you finished it off, scrawling your name and your age, along with the names of your parents, and then reached for another raven - that one marked with the sigil of King’s Landing. Fly well, messenger.

It disappeared into the pouring rain, and when you couldn’t see it anymore, you stared into the darkness, shivering. There was nothing more you could do, except wait - and hope - both of which could be done in your room. 

But even those plans changed a few minutes later when a different crewman burst through your door, his eyes wild. “We’re abandoning ship! She’s sinking.” He reached out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and dragged you up to the top deck. 

It was chaos, and nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the completely destroyed masts and fierce flames, the scorched wood of the top deck smoldering in places. There was another screech from above you, and the crewman pushed you forward before spinning away, heading back inside. 

You were terrified. Assessing your surroundings didn’t help anything, though. Your eyes moved over the different groups of people that were working hard to free the few smaller rafts stacked alongside the outer wall while the ship’s hull disappeared slowly beneath the roiling surface. I’m going to die on this ship. 

The realization didn’t alarm you the way you’d assumed it would. Instead, you felt a sense of relief - dying at sea meant that you didn’t have to go through with the plans that had been laid out for you, but it also meant that choosing not to go through with them wouldn’t be your fault. 

With a growing sense of calm, you headed to the railing of the ship and gripped it, taking a few deep breaths as you felt the slope of the deck grow steeper. 

Your family name wouldn’t be tarnished. Your parents would be allowed to freely mourn you, and would still potentially receive at least some of the benefits that they’d been promised by signing your marriage contract. You had no siblings, which meant that none of your sisters would be forced to take your place. All things considered, it was one of the best possible outcomes. Even though I won’t be here to make the most of it. 

The seawater was creeping closer to where you stood, and even as you looked up to see what the rest of the crew was doing, you didn’t move, watching as they struggled to cut the ropes holding the boats down while keeping their balance. 

But when you heard screams, you whipped your head back and turned your eyes to the sky, mouth falling open at the sight of the returning dragon. That time, you felt the breeze from the beating of its wings, the moving air propelling the flames forward and causing them to engulf more of the ship’s deck. And when you saw it open its mouth and reposition its body, you knew what was coming. This is it. 

You thought of your parents’ faces as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and preparing for the burn … but it never came. 

Instead, you felt a wave of heat that pushed you backwards, your hip slamming into the railing and both hands shooting out to balance yourself as a gasp was forced from your lungs. 

The rest of the ship was aflame, and as more and more of it slid beneath the surface of the water, you caught sight of one of the crew members pushing a boat overboard before he was snatched up in the jaws of the flying beast, his screams echoing in your ears.

Your body made the decision for you then, deciding that it wanted to live no matter what that meant, and you dove overboard, the chill of the sea making you gasp. When you surfaced, you spun quickly in the water, searching for the ship - and the boat that had been pushed from it and into the waves.. 

But the dragon was back - and that time, it had a partner. The two creatures swooped and dove, sending short blasts of fire at the crewmembers still on the deck, some of them jumping into the sea as they were consumed by flames. 

You didn’t know if it was the ocean water or actual tears that were running down your face, but you forced yourself to look away and search for anything to keep you afloat once your arms and legs tired. Your skirts weighed you down, and you knew that if you didn’t have any luck soon, it wouldn’t matter. Seven hells, please just…

Spluttering as you propelled yourself through the water and away from the flaming remnants of the Sea Spider, you cried out as something made contact with the back of your head - a searing pain radiating through your skull. 

You went under, the pain overtaking all of your senses, and when you resurfaced again, your eyes were wide and wild, the pain still present and actually growing worse as you flailed and coughed, trying to clear the seawater from your lungs. 

But through it all, you searched for the source of the impact, and were rewarded with the sight of the small boat, bobbing against the waves. Taking action required all of your concentration, and even then, it doubled and then tripled in your vision as you started to swim toward it. 

It took everything in you to grab the edge of the boat and hoist yourself up and inside of it. You gasped out a breath as you collapsed against the bottom, curling up in an attempt to make yourself as small as possible and hoping that the dragons wouldn’t pay attention to you or the tiny vessel. 

You were in an agonizing amount of pain - head pounding and your limbs weak, but you raised a hand to the back of your skull, prodding at the space where you’d been hit. It came away wet, and when you used the light of the burning ship to look at your fingers, you could tell that they were covered in blood. At least if I die, it won’t be by dragon or drowning. Your hand fell, thunking against the curved wood of the small boat’s hull, and you sighed, closing your eyes.

The screams of the crew and the crackling of the fire continued, but you heard none of it - because you were unconscious. 

—