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matcha-kathrin · 2 years ago

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STRANGERS - Chapter 4

Summary: Promises are the hardest to make, and the easiest to break. You knew that, but maybe a part of you believes your stranger will show up.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

Notes/Warnings: Bittersweet. Not heart wrenching but DAMN. I was in an interesting state when I wrote this lmao. I feel the need to be honest with you guys and come clean: this will be the final part of the series for the time being. To me this is the perfect way to end things, Strangers has made it’s way into my heart and it’s there to stay! Stay tuned for future fics and oneshots, and my asks are always open so feel free to flood me with requests or questions and I’ll be glad to answer!

Word Count: 3.3k

Please read Part One, Part Two and Part Three before proceeding.

~*~

STRANGERS – CHAPTER 4

It’s physically impossible to be happy every day. That was something you were understanding more and more as time went by. You had thought that once you had reached a certain stability in life the waves of depression that came crashing down on you would subside, becoming somewhat of a gentle tide. Unfortunately, the sadness never leaves, it’s a part of life, without the deep rooted feelings of melancholy you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the beautiful, positive things in life.

Yet you hoped, you hoped that one day you would be at peace. Even now as you were getting ready to leave for what was supposed to be a very exciting night for you the feeling inside you couldn’t help but settle in the pit of your stomach. You wondered if it was because of your nervousness or excitement. All in all, you were looking forward to the evening ahead of you. You were excited to see how the film turned out and how you looked on screen. You’d never get over seeing your face on a big wide screen in a theatre projected in front of a hall full of people.

It was like staring into the face of someone you didn’t know, someone who looked awfully familiar, someone who looked like you, but was a stranger nonetheless. Because the person on the screen was not you, it was a part of you, a small piece of a bigger picture. A small fragment that for the span of a film’s duration had gained individuality. It was the uncanniest thing you had ever experienced.

You sat on your bed, staring at the window that gave onto your small fire escape, you watched as the sun had slowly receded behind the tall buildings of your street. Soon you would have to leave, take a cab or walk the five miles it took from your place to get to the downtown theatre. You didn’t mind walking, even if that meant spending quite a bit of time in the cold chilly air with nothing but your dress and your favorite jacket.

Ah yes, your dress.

In all fairness it wasn’t fully dry, you could feel the slight dampness of it at the hems, but overall, it was wearable. You’d be lying, or worse cheating, if you said otherwise. After straightening it out with your old iron which you never even took out it felt better already, and after you had slipped it on and stared into your mirror, the only light shining the one from your bed, you frowned.

You felt, as you had the day before, stupid.

Not because you felt ridiculous, or because you didn’t think you looked good in it, but for some reason you felt slightly childish in dressing up so elegantly for a small film screening. Like it was something important.

“It sounds important.” His voice whispered in your mind, and you smiled. You knew what he would say if he saw you frown at yourself, he would tell you how you had every right to dress up for something you deemed important. Even if you were the only one who thought so. And was it so bad? Trying to look your best for people you didn’t even know? A few minutes ago you thought exactly that, but even just imagining how he would react seeing you wear the dress you bet on, made you change your mind quicker than ever.

You wondered if you were more excited for your film screening, or finally knowing the name of your dear stranger. You pushed the thought aside as you turned around to check that every fold, and every thread, of your dress was in place. It fit you like a glove, the soft fabric complimenting your natural features in a way no other dress really could. It had been your mother’s dress, that’s why it meant so much to you, as soon as she had grown out of it she placed it in a pretty box along with your things when you were moving out of your home. Unbeknownst to you it would become your prized possession. And you treasured it dearly, only wearing it in the pivotal moments of your life.

Letting out a shaky breath you realized you had no more reason to stay idle in your room, staring blankly at your reflection. Even when you locked eyes with yourself you felt the same uncanny feeling, as if you didn’t quite recognize yourself. Like there were parts you still had to meet, still had to know. Maybe someday you would.

You shrugged on your jacket, feeling a slightly bit better that the air wasn’t prickling your bare skin anymore, and you slipped on your shoes. Even the pair of shoes were elegant, a pair you never really wore, but you didn’t have much of a choice now. Taking your bag and keys, checking that you had your phone and, god forbid, your cigarettes you looked at yourself in the mirror once more.

You were ready, at least you hoped.

And with that you left your apartment, double checking the lock and click clacking your way onto the ever dark, ever damp streets. You enjoyed the way you made heads turn, for some reason you were more aware of it when you had this particular dress on, like you were searching for something in the eyes of the strangers who passed you by. Even though you had done it a thousand times before, something felt different. You weren’t satiated by the quick glances or looks people were giving you, oh no, these strangers had no power over you anymore.

Only one stranger did.

You wondered if he would really show, you had lived long enough that you had experienced disappointment before. The little voice in your head preparing you for the worst. He was kind, he listened to you, he was there when you least expected him to be. But he owed you nothing, and for all you knew he might’ve forgotten about the whole thing already. Even if he had promised, but promises were very easily broken.

Maybe the little voice in your head was just trying to protect you, the rational, impartial voice trying to lower your expectations as much as it could. Which, on certain accounts, was also quite sad. It was like you wouldn’t allow yourself to get too excited. You never did, always fearing it could backfire.

So, as your pace quickened you tried to concentrate on what you could actually look forward to. You had met some amazing people while working on the film, talented young students that reminded you a lot of how you were when you were in their shoes. And you were excited for them, excited that they got chosen for a late evening screening at a film festival that could mean the opportunity of a lifetime. You hoped for them. Hoped they would get the gratification that they deserved. And before you knew it your feet were drawing near to the entrance of the theatre, your mind buzzing and your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

You could see people filing in, and a few familiar faces smiled when they noticed you approach, greeting you and complimenting you on your appearance. To your relief you weren’t the only one who had dressed up for the evening, making you feel less out of place than you expected. As your colleagues exchanged niceties you couldn’t help when your eyes scanned around you for a glimpse of your stranger. But even when you had sat down in the theatre in between your director and co-star, the light of the hall darkened signaling the start of the film, you hadn’t seen him anywhere.

You should’ve expected as much.

And soon you forgot all about him, the images on the screen in front of you transporting you to a place far away. You loved that about movies. How you could forget who you were for the span of a few hours and live something completely different. Though you had to admit, it was a bit hard to immerse yourself in something you had acted in, seeing yourself on the screen broke the fragile illusion, making you remember on and off that all you were doing was watching a movie. Nonetheless, you loved it. And to your relief the people around you seemed to love it as well. And for a moment, a split moment, hope reignited in your heart.

You didn’t want to, but the feeling had formed without you knowing, the voice in your head switching sides, whispering the possibility that your stranger might be there, watching your final scene as you were doing.

And suddenly it all became too much. Your heart pacing at the idea of it. If he was there, what was he thinking, had he enjoyed it as much as you did? As soon as the credits rolled in and the lights came back on you were brought back to the present moment in full force, and as your audience applauded and you shared smiles with the people sitting next to you, you excused yourself.

You didn’t want to be rude, but you needed fresh air, and you didn’t think you would last during the creator to creator panel that was going to start very soon. So in the midst of the applause and ruckus you took your small bag and got your jacket, assuring your colleagues you would catch them later.

But you weren’t so sure you would.

The empty red carpeted corridor was all blurry as you quickly made your way through it, your hands bracing the glass door as you pushed it open almost desperately. When the brisk air hit your flushed face you sighed, smiling. The buildup of your emotions subsiding. You didn’t know why you were feeling so overwhelmed, but you didn’t blame yourself for it. You just waited for it to fizzle out as you stepped to the side of the theatre’s entrance, rummaging in your small bag for your cigarettes.

And once you plucked one out and placed it in between your lips you felt a calm wash over you. And finally, your mind was quiet.

“Need a light?”

Jumping slightly your head snapped to source of the voice, and when your eyes focused on the person who snuck up on you, they softened.

And there he was, your stranger, making quite an entrance as he always did. You couldn’t help the absolute star struck expression that happened upon your face when you took in the sight of him. He had dressed up, and he looked like a completely different person.

It looked like he was glowing, and as he approached you to light your cigarette you couldn’t contain the way your eyes followed his every movement. Dropping down only for a moment to look at where the flame met your smoke.

“Much obliged,” you reenacted your first encounter with a small laugh, still eyeing him incredulously “What are you wearing?”

“Oh this?” he asked, looking down at himself and matching your amusement “There was a possibility that the star of tonight’s film would show in a beautiful dress, I had to come prepared.”

You hummed in response, not being able to wipe the cheeky grin that had settled on your face. And he just rubbed the back of his neck nervously as you looked at him from head to toe.

“So? Any thoughts on tonight’s performance?” You lulled, bringing him back from his bashfulness.

“Well, having had no expectations whatsoever I have to say I was pleasantly surprised.” He mused, your eyebrows rising dramatically.

“Really? And what about the final scene?”

He hesitated. And so did you, not expecting your question to make him falter in his playfulness. But he seemed to really think about it, and somehow you got nervous all over again. You didn’t really want a serious answer, heck your question wasn’t even all that serious. But now too much time had passed to take it back.

“It was…sad.”

“Yes?” You quickly spoke, furrowing your brows “That was the point.”

“No, I mean- It was supposed to be the moment in which you realized that everything was okay, that everything was going to be okay despite all the hardships you faced. But somehow instead of being proud of yourself you just seemed so- so sad.”

You looked to your feet as you took a quick puff of your smoke, nodding a bit as you listened.

“True,” You spoke after a moment “then again, she was alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sure, its empowering to know you have the strength and resilience to keep going all by yourself, to not need anything from anyone and still be able to make it through. But isn’t that all kind of sad? Isn’t it sad that she had to go through all of that by herself?” You spoke softly, your gaze wandering to an uncertain point in front of you, and for a moment you stood there. Then you shook your head lightly and looked back at him, finding his eyes already on you.

“I feel like it was reassuring, but at the same time she came to the realization that she was all alone. That she had been all alone the whole time. Even when she met the one person who didn’t make her feel like it was her against the world, ultimately he left too.”

“Do you think he’d come back for her?” He asked, so quickly it almost took you aback. And you smiled, looking up into the night sky in thought.

“Who knows? I guess we’ll never find out.” You lulled, looking at your stranger with curiosity. He didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, he just looked back solemnly. It was like seeing a whole new side of him, how he could get so invested in a film made you all warm inside. Because you were just like him.

And suddenly you noticed something you hadn’t before. How had you not seen it before? With an exaggerated gasp you held a hand to your mouth “This is the first time I’ve seen you without those godforsaken sunglasses!”

For a moment it looked like he was expecting something else, a small stupor in his eyes, he was a bit surprised at how quickly you switched the topics of conversation. But then he smiled, doing a ridiculous spin on himself.

“And? Was it everything you hoped it’d be?” He flaunted, making you chuckle at his boldness. Two could play that game.

You quickly threw your cigarette in the trash next to you, not caring that you hadn’t smoked it at all, and stepped closer to him. You tentatively placed your hands on his face, and for a moment his smiled faltered. He gazed into your eyes as you took in his features, your thumbs brushing on his eyebrows and settling on his cheeks. Holding him there for a moment as you studied him. Every line, every crease, every aspect of his face entranced you. And as your eyes wandered down his nose to his lips, scurrying over his chin and back at his eyes you noticed he hadn’t stopped staring at you.

How could he, when you held him so gently? As you were taking a mental note of each one of his features, he was permanently burning your face in his memories. The curve of your nose, how your lips looked unbearably soft, he wondered how they tasted, if he only dared to close the space between you.

But his thoughts were interrupted when you let out a light huff of laughter. “Well you certainly clean up nicely, though I have to say I kind of miss the laundromat look.”

His hands reached up and rested on your arms, and just when you were thinking of letting him go, as if he had known you wouldn’t keep him there for much longer. The proximity settled in, your face feeling hotter by the second. Where had your boldness run off to?

“I don’t know, I’d have to say this is my favorite look of yours so far.” He spoke softly, so unbearably soft you almost trembled at the low reverb of it. Not even a day had passed, and you realized just how much you missed the sound of it.

“Yeah, I-” you swallowed “I lost a bet you see.”

“Oh? What were you betting for?”

As soon as his gaze left your eyes and dropped to your lips all reason cleared from your mind. It was the moment in between words and a glance where you had a very important decision to make. And without thinking twice, you placed your lips on him. Your hands bringing his face slightly down to meet yours, but you didn’t need to do much, for he was already moving on his own.

And as you stood on the tips of your toes, his arms sliding down your sides to steady your unbalanced position, you felt all the sounds around you drown out. The street fading to black as you both fluttered your eyes shut, no space or time existing in the moment you were having. It was like every fiber of your body was concentrating on the feeling of his lips on yours. Moving gently as he kissed you. It was full of desire, of hunger, but also restraint. As if he was worried that if he did too much, you would slip from his grasp. And suddenly all the soft gazes, all the secretive glances, the close proximities, every moment you had spent together came to its culmination.

And you couldn’t even believe it was happening.

You had never gotten so lost in a kiss before. You had lived many kisses; sad and sweet, rushed and chaotic, but never one quite like this one. No matter how much he pulled you against him it wasn’t close enough, no matter how much your hands brushed his hair you couldn’t ease the burn that coursed through his body.

You had never felt so…alive.

And as you parted from him, your bodies flush against each other, you let out a shaky breath as you watched him open his eyes in a daze. A cheeky grin forming on his face. And for a moment you wanted to kiss him again. Again, and again. But a bet was a bet, and you were a person of your word.

So, in a warm whisper, you told him your name. And it was like he had almost forgotten all about it, but as soon as your name left your lips he dipped once more, kissing you and making you forget all about the first one. It was a much shorter kiss, but it was filled with gratitude, and when he parted he tasted out your name for himself, as if he needed to say it out loud to mark it on his tongue.

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?” You quipped, using his own words against him as you so often did, and he chuckled.

“Even better.” He whispered, pulling you closer so he could kiss you once more. You both knew that when you would stop he would finally tell you his name, and you would not be strangers anymore.

And maybe you never were, maybe you were meant to meet him outside of the bar that night. Maybe you were meant to leave your lighter at home so he could offer you his. Or maybe it was all just a blissful coincidence, one that you would never forget. As you smiled in between kisses, in between glances and breaths, you couldn’t care less what you were.

Because even if there was no going back from this point on, he would always be your sweet, dear stranger.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #x reader #fluff #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #matcha kathrin #matcha kathrin writing #writing #reader insert #x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #narcos #javier pena x reader

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creepypast-stories · 4 months ago

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Toby "Ticci Toby" Rogers

Disclaimer: This is not my story, nor my art.

The long road home seemed to go on and on. I hope the road isn’t a metaphor for this story. The road continued to outstretch in front of the vehicle endlessly.

The light that shone through the branches of the tall green trees danced across the window in random patterns, every once in a while, obnoxiously shining in your eyes. “This lead to multiple car crashes.” The surrounding was full of deep green trees forming a forest around the road. Yeah, this forest is going to get torn down to make way for a strip mall. The only sound was the sound of the cars engine as it traveled down the path. It was peaceful and let off a serene feeling.

Although the ride seemed like a nice one, it lacked every form of ‘nice’ for both passengers. “They both hated each other, and were stuck together due to wacky twists of fate.” The middle-aged woman behind the steering wheel had neat short brown hair that fit her complexion quite well. She wore a green v-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Diamond stud earrings decorated each of her ears which partially showed from behind her hair cut. She had deep green eyes which were brought out by her shirt, and the lighting seemed to make them more noticeable. Everything here is so green. There wasn't much significance to her appearance. She just looked like any ‘average mother’ that you’d see on TV shows and such, but one thing for sure made her differ from those ‘average mothers’ and that was the dark bags under her eyes. Have you not met mothers?

Her facial expression was gloomy and sad, although she genuinely looked like one who smiled a lot. “Of course, the reason she smiled was because she was pulling the wings off of butterflies.”

She would sniffle every once in a while, and occasionally glance back in the rear-view mirror to look back at her son in the back seat, who was hunched over partially, his arms held tight around his chest, and his head pressed against the cold window.

The boy lacked any normal appearance, anyone could blandly see “Blandly see?” Yes, I see so blandly, it’s kind of boring. that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair went in every which way, and his pale, almost gray skin was brought out by luminescent lighting. Hey, don’t hate on him. He just sits inside and plays video games all day. Nothing wrong with that. His eyes where dark, unlike his mother’s and he wore a white t-shirt and scrub pants that had been provided to him by the hospital. Well, that was nice of the hospital. The clothes he had worn before where so shredded and blood stained, that they weren't ‘wearable’ any more. “He had been playing ‘Knife Twister’.” The right side of his face bared a few cuts along with his split eyebrow. His right arm was bandaged up all the way up to his shoulder, which had been shredded when his right side had hit the shattered glass. That must’ve been a pain the glass. Yeah, sorry.

His injuries appeared to be painful, when really he couldn't feel a thing. He never could feel a thing. “Except an urge to become the greatest interpretive dancer the world had ever seen.” That was just one of the glories about being him. IT’S SO GLORIOUS TO BE TOBY! One of the many challenges he had to face growing up, was growing up with the rare disease that caused him to be completely numb towards pain. Novacainism? Never before had he felt himself get hurt. He could have lost an arm and felt nothing. Well, he wouldn’t have felt anything from that arm, at least. That and another major disorder he had faced, was the one that deemed him many insulting nick names in the short time he attended grade school, before he was moved to home schooling was his Tourette Syndrome, which caused him to tic and twitch in ways he couldn't control. Ok, am I the only one who has that South Park episode in their head? You know, the one where Cartman pretends to have Tourettes? You know what, Cartman should be the voice of every Creepypasta character. That would be perfect. He would crack his neck uncontrollably and twitch every once in a while. The kids would tease him and call him Ticci-Toby and mock him with exaggerated twitching and laughing. And, of course, the teachers did nothing about it. It got so bad he turned to homeschooling. It was too hard for him to be in a common learning environment with seemingly every kid poking, or more like stabbing fun at him. Then why don’t you stab them?

Toby stared blankly out the window, his face was empty of any depict-able emotion, and every few minutes his shoulder, arm, or foot would twitch. “Son of a twitch!” he yelled. Every bump that the car tires hit, made him stomach turn.

Toby Rogers was the boy’s name. Mr. Rogers procreated? I guess there was more going on in the neighborhood than I thought. And the last time Toby remembered riding a car, was when it crashed. That’s got to be awkward when driving around.

That's all he thought about. “That, and why they were in a forest. Wasn’t their house the other way?” Unconsciously replaying everything he had remembered before he blacked out, over and over again. LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAAAAAAAAAIN!

Toby had been the lucky one, when his sister hadn't been so lucky. When the thought of his older sister came, he couldn't help but let his eyes begin to tear up. The horrible memories replayed in his mind. Her screaming that had been cut off when the front of the car was smashed in. It all went blank for a moment before Toby ope ned his eyes to see his sister’s body, her forehead pierced with glass shards, her hips and legs where crushed under the force of the steering wheel, her torso pushed in from the late inflated air bag. This was the last thing he had seen of his dear older sister. Um, can I make a joke here? Um…yeah…moving on…

The road home continued on for what seemed like forever. It took so long to get home due to his mother wanting to avoid passing the sight of the crash. Are there no other routes outside of car crash area and the wilderness?

When the surrounding gave into a familiar neighborhood, they had both been more then ready to get out of the car and step back into their own home. Ah, home sweet home. And considering this a Creepypasta with a young protagonist, it’s probably going have an abusive parent or two.

It was a older neighborhood, with quaint little houses all next to each other. The car drove in front of a little blue house, with white window panes. So they live in a neighborhood from the 50s?

They both quickly noticed the old vehicle that was parked in front of the house, and the familiar figure who stood out in the drive way. Slender Man? No, wait, that’s later in the story. Toby felt automatic anger and frustration take over him at the sight of his father. His father who wasn't there. Wait, he’s angry at the sight of his father, but his father isn’t there? I’m confused.

His mother pulled the car up into the driveway beside him before turning off the engine and preparing to step out and face her husband.

“Why is he here?” Toby said quietly as he looked back at his mother who reached to open the car door. “Because he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s rather annoying like that. If you ever go batshit insane, you should totally kill him.”

“He’s your father Toby, he’s here because he wants to see you,” His mother responded with a monotone voice, trying to sound less shaky.

“Yet he couldn't have driven up to the hospital to see Lyra before she died,” Toby narrowed his eyes out the window. So, this is number three on the “Weird names from Creepypasta stories that start with ‘L’”. We got Liu, Lonnie, and now Lyra.

“He was drunk that night honey, he couldn't drive-” Why not call a cab or something?  “Yeah when is he not,” Toby pushed open the door before his mother and stumbled out onto the driveway where he met his father’s gaze before looking down at his feet with a stern expression. Wait, his father is Tony Stark?

His mother stepped out behind him and met her husbands eyes before walking around the car. His father opened up his arms, expecting a hug from his wife, but she walked passed him and put her arm around Toby’s shoulder and influenced him to begin walking inside. Rejected! “Connie,” her husband began to say under a raspy voice, “What no welcome home hug huh?”

“No, and no welcome home fuck either.”

She ignored her husbands obnoxious words and walked passed him with her son under her arm. Other obnoxious words he says: fasbender, egregious, rectal exam. He’s weird when he’s drunk.

“Hey, He’s 16 he can walk by himself,” his father began to follow them in. 16 AND LIFE KEEPS COMING!

“He’s 17,” Connie glared back at him before opening the door to the house and stepping inside.

“Actually, I’m 25.”

“Shut up, Toby.”

“Toby, why don’t we get you in your room to rest okay? I’ll come get you when dinner is ready-”

“No, I’m 16 I can walk by myself,” Toby said sarcastically, and glared back at his father before stumbling up the small stair case and turning into his room where he slammed the door violently. “Also, your cooking sucks!”

His little room didn't have much in it. “Just the heads of his enemies. They make good decorations.” Just a small bed, a dresser, a window, and his walls had a few framed pictures of his family, back when they where a family.  Before his father became an alcoholic, and acted violently towards the rest of his family. Before his father became Tony Stark and started rounding up unregistered superheroes. Toby remembered when he was arguing with his mother and he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the floor, and when Lyra had tried to break it up, he pushed her and she hit her back on the corner of the kitchen counter. Oh, ouch. Toby could never forgive him for what he did to his mother and sister. Never. Has anyone called the police on his father? Have they tried kidnapping him and sending him to AA? Toby didn't care how much his father beat him down, he couldn't feel it anyway, what he did care about was how he intentionally hurt the only two people he cared about. Shaq and Bob Marley? And when he waiting in the hospital, where his sister took her last few breaths, the only person who didn't rush there, was his dad. Well, he was drunk, and didn’t think to take a cab, or ask for anyone to drive him there, or…

Toby stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He could have sworn he saw things out of the corner of his eye, but quickly blamed it on the medication he had been put on. Side effects include hallucination, violent tendencies, minor spelling and grammar errors, and the embracing of an insulting nickname. Consult with your Operator to see if Proxicen is right for you. When dinner time had come around and his mother called up to him, Toby came down the stairs and hesitantly sat down at the table across from his father, and in between his mother and an empty chair. The real reason he didn’t want to be there is because his mother was serving broccoli.

It was quiet as his parents picked at their food, but Toby refused to eat. Instead he just watched his dad with a blank stare. “I’ll make you uncomfortable, if it’s the last thing I do!”

His mother caught onto his stare towards his father and elbowed him slightly. Toby looked over at her slightly and look down at his uneaten food, in which he didn't touch. “Instead, he stared blankly at that too.”

Toby laid in bed, he pulled his covers over his head and stared at the window. Oh, that was random. A transition might have been nice. He was tired but there was no way he would fall asleep. “Jeff the Killer could bite him.” He couldn't, there was too much to think about. He had been debating on whether or not to follow his mothers directions and forgive his father, or continue holding a grudge with his boiling hatred. “On the one hand, there’s forgiving him and moving forward. On the other, there’s holding a lifelong grudge that will consume me until I go insane or die. Yep, totally going with grudge.”

He heard his door creak open, and his mother padded into the room and sat on the bed next to him. “Honey, Clockwork won’t be the only story with incest.” She reached over and rubbed his back, which had been turned to her. “I know its hard Toby, trust me, I understand, but I promise you it will get better” she said softly.

“When is he going to leave?” Toby said with a innocent tone in his shaky voice.

“When we banish him back to the 6th Dimension. That might take a while though.”

Connie let her gaze fall down to her feet. “I don’t know honey, he's staying as far as I know,” she replied. Couldn’t you get a restraining order or something?

Toby didn't respond. He just continued to look forward at the wall, holding his damaged arm near his chest.

After a few minutes of silence, his mother sighed, before she leaned in to kiss his cheek and stood up to walk out of the room. “Good night,” she said as she closed the door.  The hours passed slowly, and Toby couldn't quit tossing and turning. I TOSS AND TURN, I CAN’T SLEEP AT NIGHT! I USED TO RUN TO YOU. NOW I RUN FROM YOU. THIS TAINTED LOVE YOU’VE GIVEN, I GAVE YOU ALL A BOY COULD GIVE YOU. Every time he let his imagination take over, he heard the screeching of tires, the screaming of his sister, and he could uncontrollably jerk in bed. Well, the jerking is from the Tourette’s, which has not really been mentioned at all since the beginning of the story. He threw off his covers, laying on his back, he pulled his pillow over his face and cried into it. He could feel his chest rise and fall as he let out each shaky breathe as he cried. He could hear his own pitiful weeping. He would have been screaming and crying if he didn't press his pillow over his face. “However, putting the pillow on his face had the unintended effect of smothering himself.”

After a few seconds he threw the pillow off his face as well and sat up, hunched over, holding his head and breathing roughly, tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't help but cry. He tried to keep it in, but he couldn't help but whine and whimper as he sat there shaking. He inhaled before he stood up and walked around his bed to the window and peered out, taking deep breathes trying to calm down. He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the group of tall pine trees across the street. “There he saw a flash mob.”

He stopped suddenly, and his gaze slowly centered on something standing under the street light. He heard ringing in his ears and he couldn't look away. The figure stood beside the street light, about 2 feet shorter then it, long arms draped at it’s sides as it stared up at him with non-existing eyes. That is probably the dumbest description of Slender Man’s face I have ever read. The figure had no features what-so-ever. Except for, you know, the suit. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, yet it held Toby’s hypnotized stare, seemingly peering into his very being. Slender Man watches you at night, Toby. He knows what you do in the dark. He sees you masturbating. The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder each second he stared before suddenly it all went black.

The next morning Toby woke in his bed. He felt different. I thought he couldn’t feel anything. He wasn't tired at all, and when he consciously woke up, it felt like he had been lying there, awake for hours. He had no thoughts flowing through his mind. “A slight breeze went through one ear, and out the other.” He sat up slowly and stumbled over to the wall, but when he stood up he automatically felt dizzy. So he can feel nothing except for different and dizzy? He stumbled to the doorway and walked down the stairs. His parents where sitting at the table, his father was in-tuned with the small TV that sat on the counter top, and his mother reading the newspaper.

“Damn this Kenyan-Muslim-Satanic-Communist-Terrorist President. We need better presidents, like Ronald Regan! Yes sir, he was the reincarnation of Jesus, and did everything right! ‘MURICA!” Toby’s father said.

“Oh, don’t mind him, Toby. He’s just been watching FOX News.”

She quickly looked over when she felt Toby’s presence looming behind her.

“Well, good morning sleepy head, you’ve been sleeping forever,” She greeted him with hesitated smile. “Seriously, we had to get a prince to grope you while you sleep to get you to wake up.”

Toby slowly looked over at the clock and noticed that it was 12:30 p.m.

“I made you breakfast but it got cold, I was going to wake you, but I felt you needed sleep,” her expression fell from happy to worried as her son resisted responding to her. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel…anything.”

Toby stumbled over and sat by his father. He felt as if he was on idle, and had no control over his actions. “Or at least that’s what he said at the trial after he killed his father.” He was seeing everything he did, but it didn’t seem to register in his brain properly. He reached out to to his fathers arm, but his hand ended up getting slapped. His father turned to him abruptly and pushed his chair over with his foot. That’s a dick thing to do.

“Don’t touch me boy!” He yelled. Ok, either he’s telling someone not to touch his kid while he speaks in a Scottish accent, or he’s telling his kid not to touch him. I personally prefer the first one, but that’s just me.

His mother stood up, “Alright knock that off! I wouldn’t say that, Toby’s father might take that too literally. That is the last thing we need!” The days went by, and things continued on as they where. That was an abrupt change. It went from, “Stop abusing the kid” to “things continued on as they where.” (By the way, “as they where”? Come on.) Connie spent most of her time cleaning up the house, and her rude husband spent most of his time ordering her around. “But all of that would change when Connie was bitten by a radioactive spider.” It was just how it used to be before the crash. So nothing changed except for the loss of a kid?

Toby never really left his room. I do the same thing. He would sit by his bed, and tremble. TREMBLE, MORTAL, BEFORE THE GREAT FOUR WALLS! KNEEL AT THE DÉCOR! His mind would wonder, but his thoughts changed too fast to be remembered. He would pace around his small room like a caged animal, or stare out the window. The unhealthy cycle continued.

Connie continued to be pushed around by her husband, being way too submissive to him So she’s not a dominatrix, I’m guessing, and Toby remained in his room.

Before he could think twice, he would begin to chew on his hands, tearing the flesh from his fingers. Compulsory cannibalism is a thing, apparently. He would gnaw his hands until they bled. When his mother walked in on him while he was doing so, she reacted horribly. “Young man, stop chewing on your hands this instant!” She rushed him downstairs and grabbed the first aid, wrapping his hands in it. She demanded that he wouldn’t leave her side from then. “And that’s how Toby became a mama’s boy.”

He isolated himself so much that he grew to hate being around others. I feel you, man. His memory grew glitchy as well. He’d start missing memory of minutes, hours, days, and so on. Apparently he has Alzheimer’s too. He would begin talking nonsense, about things completely unrelated to conversations he would have. “I need scissors! 61” He’d go off about seeing things, sharks in his sink as he washed the dishes, hearing crickets in his pillows, and seeing ghosts outside his bedroom window. That’s got to be annoying. Wait, twitching a lot, hallucinating about bugs…is Toby a meth addict? All the nonsense landed him in a counselors office. His mother grew too anxious about his mental health, she decided it would be good for him to talk to a professional about what he was feeling. Well, he can’t feel anything.

Connie walked Toby into the building, holding his hand and guiding him in. She walked him up to the front desk and began talking to the lady who sat behind it.

“Mrs. Rogers?” The lady asked.

“Yes that’s me,” Connie nodded, “We’re here to see doctor Oliver, I’m here with Toby Rogers”  “Oh, good, you have the virgin sacrifice. Right this way. Cthulu will be very pleased with you.”

“Yes, right this way,” The lady stood up and lead them down a long hallway. Toby looked at the framed artwork down the halls and tuned in to the sound of the lady’s high heels on the hard wood floor. The artwork is from Rob Liefeld, by the way. Talk about inappropriate décor.  She opened the door to a room with a table and two chairs.  “If we can get him to sit in here for a few minutes, I’ll get the doctor, “Matt Smith, your 10 o’clock is here!”" She smiled and held the door open. Toby stumbled into the room and sat down at the table. He looked over at his mother and the lady before the door slowly shut behind them. He looked around the room before he held up his tightly bandaged hands and began to bite at the bandages to unwrap his hands, but was interrupted as the door swung open and a young woman in a black and white spotted dress and light blonde hair stepped in, holding a clip board and a pen. “Crap, can’t be a cannibal in front of the hot chick,” he thought.  “Toby?” she asked with a smile.

Toby looked up at her and nodded. He didn’t mean to nod; it was just a twitch.

“Nice to meet you Toby, my name is Doctor Oliver.” she put her hand out for him to shake but hesitantly pulled away when she noticed his bandaged hands.

“Oh, “This is awkward.”" she smiled nervously before clearing her throat and sitting in the chair across the table from him.

“So I’m going to ask you a few questions, try to answer then as honestly as possible okay?” she placed her clip board down on the table. “First, are you a bad enough dude to save the president?” Toby nodded slowly and held his restrained hands in his lap.

“How old are you Toby?”

“Old enough to have a good time with you.”

“17” he responded quietly.

She wrote that down on the paper that was clipped to the clipboard.

“What is your full name?”  “Fluffy, the Destroyer of Worlds, Jr.”

“Toby Erin Rogers.”

“What is your birthday?”

“June 6, 1966.”  “April 28th”  “Who is your immediate family?”  Toby paused for a minute before answering her question, “My Mom, My Dad, and…” he stopped, “M-my sister. “Well, not my sister anymore.”"

“I heard about your sister dear… I’m really sorry,” her expression faded into a sad, pity-filled look.

Toby nodded.

“Do you remember anything from the crash Toby?”  Toby looked away from her. His mind went blank for a moment. He looked down at his lap, and in the surrounding, he heard a faint ringing sound. “His Tinnitus was acting up again.” His eyes widened and he froze in his place.

“Toby?” the counselor asked.

“Toby are you listening?”

“What?”

Toby felt a shiver go down his spine until he froze once again and slowly looked over out the little window through the door, where he saw it. A dark feature-less figure, peering in at him. “Yoooooo, Toby, wassup?” Slender Man yelled. He stared, eyes widened, the ringing growing louder and louder until suddenly the loud voice of the counselor broke his trance.

“Toby!” She yelled.

Toby jumped and fell sideways out of his chair and back up into the corner. Doctor Oliver stood up, holding her clipboard to her chest. A surprised look in her eyes. Toby met her eyes again, his breath hitching as he twitched. Oh, there’s the mention of his twitching. It took quite a while.

That night Toby laid in bed. His eyes dazed as he stared straight up at his ceiling. He could feel himself begin to doze off, when he heard the scattering of footsteps down his hallway. He sat up and looked towards the doorway, his door wide open. “His mom never closed the door when she left his room.” There was no light, everything was lit by the luminescent blue glow of the moon through his window, leaving a cold lighting. So there was light. He stood up and slowly made his way towards the doorway, when suddenly the door, which was previously wide open, slammed in his face. Slender Man, stop trolling future proxies. He gasped and fell back.

His was out of breathe I think you mean “out of breath.” I could be wrong, I mean, what do I know? when he hit the ground AND NOW I’M LYING ON THE COLD HARD GROUND! TROUBLE, TROUBLE, TROUBLE. and he began breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. He waited for a few seconds before getting back up on his feet. He reached out and grasped the cold door handle How did he know it was cold? I thought he couldn’t feel anything with his bandaged hand and creaked it open. He looked out into the dark hallway and tiptoed out of his room. The window at the end of the hallway lit up the darkness with blue moonlight as he padded his way down. He could hear footsteps rustling around him, and faint giggling let by the pitter patter of small feet, which sounded like a child had run in front of him, giggling and running around. Ugh. I hate small children. The hallway was a lot longer then he had remembered. It seemed endless… like the ride home from the hospital. You know what else seems endless? This story. He heard a door creak in front of him.

“Mom?” he called out in a shaky voice.

“Oh, I’m not your mother. I’m Satan. Nice to meet your acquaintance.”

Suddenly a door slammed behind him and he jumped and turned around. Behind him he heard a long eerie groan from behind him, that sounded to croak right in his ear. He turned around as fast as he could and was suddenly face to face with none other then his dead sister. “Yo, Toby, join me. The after life is awesome!”;; Her eyes where clouded white, her skin pale, and the right side of her jaw only dangling on by tissue and muscle, glass protruding from her forehead, and black blood leaking down her face, her blonde hair pulled up back in a pony tail as it always was, wearing her grey t-shirt and athlete shorts which where dirty and spotted with blood. Wait, is she…a zombie goast? Oh god, it’s “Half-Life: Full Life Consequences” all over again! Her legs were bent in ways they shouldn’t be. “At 90 degree angles.” She stood, emitting a long croaking noise, only an inch away from Toby’s face. Toby yelped and fell back.

“AW!” That was a weird thing to shout. he started to crawl backwards away from her, not able to break the eye contact he held with her, blank, dead eyes. He dragged himself backwards until he backed up into something. “That something was his father.” He stopped for a second. Everything was dead silent except for his heavy breathing and crying. He slowly looked up to meet the blank face of a tall dark figure that stood over him. Behind the tall dark mass where rows of children, looking to range from 3 to 10 years, their eyes completely black and dark black blood leaked from their eye sockets. “Behold, Toby! The children of Eyeless Jack!”

He screamed and stood up as fast as he could only to be tripped by dark black tendrils that wrapped around his ankle. “Tell me, Toby, have you ever seen hentai?” He fell straight on his stomach and got the wind knocked out of his chest. He tried to scream out but he couldn’t make a sound. He wheezed out, before it all went black.

Toby woke up with a start. He screamed out and sat up as fast as he could, completely short of breathe. He wheezed out and held his chest with his bandaged hands. It was just a dream…. just a dream. That was a weird ass dream. He laid back down on his bed and rolled over on his side. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest as he took in deep breathes. He stood up and padded over to his window. He saw nothing. Nobody was out there. No ghosts. No figures. Nothing. No, Toby, the zombie goasts are still there.

He heard the rustling and coughing of his father out the doorway. His door was closed. He walked over and opened it. Looking out into the hallway once again. He padded down the hallway and into the kitchen where he found his dad standing and having a smoke in their living room. Wow, an alcoholic and a smoker! At this rate, he’ll kill himself before Toby does!

Toby waited a second and watched him from around the corner before a burning feeling started deep in his chest. I thought he can’t feel anything. Also, you took the “weird feeling” thing from “Jeff the Killer.” Shame on you.

Deep, boiling, anger took over him. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head.

“Collect string in boxes! Kill the president! Coocoocachu, Colonel Sanders!”

“Do it, Do it, Do it,” they chanted.

He turned away and held his arms. He felt like he actually had control over himself, unlike he did for the past few weeks since he got home from the hospital. Well, don’t say that at your murder trial. He actually had complete thoughts for just moments before they where clouded by the chanting of the little voices in his head. Those little bastards wouldn’t shut up.

“Kill him, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, kill him, kill him,” they continued on. Well, if you kill him, he won’t be there ever again. Toby trembled. No. No he wasn’t going to do it. Pussy. What, was he going crazy? Well, yeah. No. He won’t kill anyone. He can’t. He hated his father, but hated no way he was going to kill him. That sentence made sense up until the comma. That was it. The last thought he had before he fell into an idle state once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. See, this is the problem with having voices in your head. They make you kill people and stuff. It’s very annoying.

He began to silently walk up behind his father. “Prepare your anus, father.” He reached over the counter to the knife holder in the kitchen and pulled out a the largest knife that had been resting in the case. He gripped it in his hand. He felt a sensation take over his chest. Again, I thought he couldn’t feel anything. He let out a snicker.

“Heh… heheh… hehehehehe! HAHAHAHA!” What’s so funny? he began laughing so hard he had to gasp for breathe. There is a difference between breath and breathe. Breath is a noun; breathe is a verb. His father turned around abruptly before he felt a brute force shove him to the floor. He grunted as the hair was knocked out of him. Where will you be when baldness strikes?

“What!” he looked up at the boy who stood over him, grasping the kitchen knife in his hand. “What what what what. I’m gonna beat some kids, got twenty dollars in my pocket. I’m a drinking, getting drunk off my ass. This is fucking awesome.”

“Toby what are you doing!” he went to sit up and put hand arms out in front of him in self defense but before he knew it Toby was on top of him. He went to grab at his neck, but his father reached out and blocked his hand by grabbing onto this wrist.

“Stop! Get off of me you little fucker!” he yelled and with his other hand he threw an off center punch towards Toby’s shoulder, but he didn’t stop.

The look in Toby’s eyes was not sane. “It was crazier than Charlie Sheen and Jenny McCarthy combined.” It looked as if a demon had taken control over him. Mephisto: screws up marriages and kills abusive parents. He yelled back and went to stab the knife into his father’s chest but he blocked him and grabbed onto his wrist once again. Toby, you suck at murder. He went to shove him back, but Toby kicked out his feet in front of him and landed a hard blow straight to his face. His father recoiled and pulled his arms away to cuff his face, but Toby got back up and drove the knife straight into his shoulder. “I now pronounce you man and knife!”  His father let out a loud cry and went to pull the knife out, but before he could, Toby threw his fist straight into his face. FALCON PUNCH!

He began to pound his fists into his head, laughing and wheezing. Ha ha ha, patricide is funny! He cracked his neck and grabbed the knife and ripped it out of his shoulder. He drove it deep into his dad’s chest and repeatedly stabbed into his torso, blood spilling out and getting splattered everywhere. This is overkill, man. Literally. He didn’t stop until his father’s body went still. He threw the knife over to the side and leaned over his body, coughing and panting. “The douche in dead! Long live the douche!” He stared at his smashed in face and sat there twitching, until a loud scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her eyes.

“Toby!” she screamed, “Why did you do that!?” she cried.

“You’re welcome.”

“W-why!?” She screamed.  Toby stood up and began to back away from his father’s bloody corpse. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked down at the blood soaked bandages on his hands and looked up at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. Run, Forrest, run! He ran into the garage and slammed his hand against the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the garage door. Before he ran out his father’s two hatchets that had been hanging on the tool rack above a table full of jars, filled to the brim with old rusted nails and screws. That sentence made no sense.

One hatchets was new, it had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade, the other was old with a wooden handle and a old dull blade. He grabbed both and looked down at the table and his eyes met a box of matches, and under the table was a red gasoline tank. RED GASOLINE TANK, I LIFT YOU UP! LET’S HAVE A PARTY! PROCEED TO PARTY! He held both of the hatchets in one hand and grabbed the matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the driveway and up the street. As he approached the street light that he could see out his own bedroom window he heard police sirens in to distance. I hope the justice system makes more sense here than it did in “Jeff the Killer.”

He turned around and the red and blue flashing lights came rushing down the street. Toby stood for a second, before he pulled open the cap on the gasoline tank and ran down the street, spilling gasoline all over the street after him and he turned to run into the trees. “He also spilled some on himself, which he would end up regretting.” He poured the last bit of gasoline out before he reached in his pocket and pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately dropped it. In an instant, flames burst out around him. The fire caught onto the trees and bushes around him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by fire. Smokey the Bear is going to be pissed. Also, to finish off the “Half-Life: Full Life Consequences” joke: “so he blew up the house and killed the zombie goasts so they were at peace.” The silhouettes of police cars where visible through the flames as he backed away into the forest around him. He looked around but his vision was blurred, his heart was pounding and he closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end. No, there’s still a few more paragraphs left.

Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a large white hand with long boney fingers that rested on his shoulder. That’s not the only part of him that’s bony, if you know what I mean. He followed the arm that was attached to the hand up to a towering dark figure. It appeared to be wearing a dark black suit, and it’s face was completely blank. It towered over Toby’s small frame and it looked down on him. Tendrils reached out from it’s back. This is getting dangerously close to yaoi territory. Before Toby knew it, his vision blurred and he was surrounded by the sound of ringing in his ears. Everything went blank. That was it. That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died. Oh. I did not expect that.

A few weeks later Connie sat in her sister’s kitchen. Her sister, Lori sat next to her drinking a cup of coffee.

About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband, and her son, and a few weeks before, she lost her daughter to a car crash. “And then she found out she had cancer, and a long lost sister. Except that sister died long before Connie could meet her. Connie’s life sucks.” Since then she moved in with her sister. The police where keeping her busy, they had just finished cleaning up the case, and the story had been released two weeks ago, and the focus of the world seemed to have shifted to completely new stories. Yeah, that’s the news for you. Lori switched on the T.V. to a news broadcast. On the T.V. the news reporter began introducing the new headline.

“Breaking news: Marvel Studios acquires Spider-Man. Fanboys everywhere go into catatonic states of orgasmic bliss and hype.”

“We have breaking news! Last night there has been a reported murder of 4 individuals. There are no suspects yet but the victims where a group of middle school kids who had been out in the woods late last night. The kids had been ‘bludgeoned’ and stabbed to death. “Investigators think the kids might have been ‘killed’ with ‘sharp objects’. The investigators had discovered a weapon at the crime scene which appears to be a old, dull bladed hatchet, as you can see here” No I can’t. This story has no pictures. The pictured changed to show snap shots of the weapon exactly as it was left on the crime scene.

“Investigators had pulled the name of a possible suspect, OJ Simpson Toby Rogers, a 17 year old boy who a few weeks ago had stabbed his father to death and tried to cover up his escape by setting a fire in the streets and the forest area around the neighborhood. Great way to cover up your escape: create more attention on the fact that you’re leaving. Although they had believed the young boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect that Rogers may still be alive, due to the fact that his body was never found. “And now to Bob with the weather!””

#ticci toby #not my art #not my stuff #not my story #toby rogers #origin of ticci toby #creepypasta #creepypasta stories

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slithymomerath · 2 years ago

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Review of Spectrum binder vs gc2b binder

Tldr; I’m super happy with my Spectrum binder, would recommend. I like it better than my gc2b ones.

I’m a butch/nonbinaryish person who’s been wearing binders on and off for about 2 years. The binders in question are the Spectrum short binder size S and the gc2b racerback size M.

gc2b binders

Longevity

- Had them for about 1.5 years, wore them probably about once a week on average (rotated between 3-4 and didn’t wear them every day).

- On the one I had the longest (almost 2 years), the shoulder stitching broke. It’s wearable, but the shoulder seam unfolds and makes a weird lump, so I don’t wear it if my other ones are clean.

- The other ones are still in great shape and haven’t stretched out at all.

Comfort

- Pretty comfortable. I often wore them all day and didn’t have any problems. The complaints I wrote below are more or less nitpicks.

- The shoulder straps are made of binding fabric, not stretchy fabric like the back, so those could be a little uncomfortable.

- The seams could be a little harsh, the ones along all the edges and under my armpits running down the inside. Nothing crazy, they just gave me mild red marks sometimes.

- The bottom of the binder doesn’t conform to your rib cage like the band of a bra, it’s a continuation of the fabric panel that’s squishing your chest. For that reason, it would stay elevated at the height of my chest and you could see the edge of it pressing against my shirt. I didn’t like this, so I would pull the back of my binder up high so the front would be tilted down, if that makes any sense. It worked for the most part, but increased the discomfort of the straps a little. I think maybe I should’ve bought a size S instead, that might have resolved this problem.

Binding

- As good as I could expect, did the job, no complaints.

Spectrum binder

Longevity

- Unknown, I just got it today.

Comfort

- Really good. The straps are made of stretchy fabric, not binding fabric, and they’re incredibly comfortable. Since the chest part holds itself on because it’s tight, there’s basically no pressure on the straps. They’re nice and wide, and made of soft fabric. More comfortable than any strapped thing I’ve ever worn.

- The bottom of the binder is the same level as my rib cage! I don’t know if this is because I ordered a smaller size or because Spectrum has some design secret, but I have zero issue with the bottom edge lifting up away from my ribs. It doesn’t squeeze my ribs either, it just rests lightly against them.

- The seams don’t dig into my skin like the gc2b ones do. Very comfortable.

- It feels a little stretchier for breathing purposes. The gc2b one was fine, but this one is even better.

Binding

- Great, everything I could ask for, no complaints.

Verdict

I like my Spectrum binder better than my gc2b ones.

I decided to write this review because I read a lot of tumblr transmasc people’s reviews before deciding to buy this Spectrum binder. The tumblr trans community also alerted me that gc2b binders have gone downhill, which is the only reason I switched brands (although now I’m really happy I did). Thanks y’all! I hope this post can be helpful to another transmasc person.

Photo of me wearing a sports bra

Photos of me wearing the Spectrum binder

Sorry I didn’t include a whole set of front/side/everything comparisons. If you want more information about the binders, feel free to message me.

#trans #trans masc #transmasc #ftm #trans man #binder #chest binder #spectrum binder #gc2b binder #gc2b #non binary #enby #nonbinary #butch #butch women #masc women #c

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seamsterslocal · 1 year ago

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made this corset many years ago as 1) a back brace bc my spine was high key dysfunctional 2) a wearable mockup for the flocked black denim corset i was planning. i dont have either corset anymore and i dont believe i have any pictures of the black one (shame it had a beautiful peacock brocade lining). both were designed to be flat chested corsets in whats normally called the overbust style. though here there is no bust to be gone over

this denim one is made to close at 24" --corsets, especially steel corsets like this, are usually designed to be worn with a gap at the back but for back support i wanted the steel right up against my spine--and is laced in the back with paracord*. at the time i made it, i could zip it closed in front without loosening the back at all. this corset wasn't designed to constrict or really even to shape at all, just to prop up my bones. i wore it every day for a couple years and it was the most comfortable thing i owned at the time

the main pictures here (the in focus ones) were taken more recently, just before i gave it away. obviously it no longer closes (this is a success story) but it still fits well. i could have tried closing it but my ribs dont appreciate constriction so i just documented it as is. i have included 2 old and blurry pictures at the end for an idea of how it fit at the time it was made. i still miss those purple jeans

*paracord is a not a great lacing material but i wasnt adjusting this guy ever. i did pull the core out at least which made it both flatter and more maneuverable. it has a lot of tooth (friction) so it doesnt slide well but it does work as a cheap lacing material if you dont mind haulin on it

#sewing #denim corset #corset #cotton #disability accommodations #physical #historical fashion #lacing #new build #pattern adjustment #piecing is contemporary too #steel #structured garment #wearable mockup #zipper #can you believe i couldn't walk or stand or sit upright without a metal brace for years and didn't even think i was disabled #thats growth dot gif

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niallandtommo · 2 years ago

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this has been the worst week of my life and i don’t know what to do with all these thoughts and feelings so i need to write them down somewhere.

i almost lost my sister. no matter how many times i say that it doesn’t feel real. nothing feels real at the moment nothing makes sense. tuesday was a normal day. i saw my mom my sister and my nephew and i went home. my sister also went home and an hour later i get a call from my mom that my sister went into cardiac arrest. on her bike. on the way home. and my nephew was on the bike as well. (my nephew is fine thank god) and i need to say these words even though its the most painful thing to say. my sister was dead for about 2 minutes. her heart stopped beating and she was dead. all her guardian angels were with her because she fell in the best possible spot. feels wrong to even say that but my god she was so lucky. she fell right in front of a doctors office. the doctor heard my nephew screaming and ran outside to start chest compressions. lots of other people helped. someone took my nephew someone else called 112 someone else took her bike. everything happened so quickly but not only did she fall in front of a doctors office she was also literally 500m away from our hospital. and thank god we live in the city so it’s an actual hospital. she went straight to the ICU and was put into a drug induced coma. she is also pregnant. at first the doctors didn’t know what would happen to the baby but it was alive. her damaged heart had to work for 2 people which made everything even more dramatic. they tried to wake her up on wednesday and it worked. she was talking, she remembered her son and her husband and us as a family but she never asked about the baby. maybe she forgot that she was pregnant for a while we will never know. she was confused she didn’t understand what happened and she kept forgetting stuff that happened recently so her short term memory was still not working properly.

the last 6 days have been the worst days for me and my family. we have never been so scared and worried. i talk about my family all the time. everyone who knows me even a little bit knows that my family is all i have. it’s the only thing that keeps me alive. so waiting for new information, trying to be normal in front of my nephew, sleeping, eating, even breathing has been very difficult.

the good news is she is doing so much better. better than anyone expected. it’s a miracle. the doctors said they have never seen such a quick recovery. yesterday she has been transfered from the ICU to a general ward. even the baby is doing ok as far as the doctors can tell. she has to wear one of those wearable defibrillators now in case her heart stops again. her heart is still very weak and we’re all still worried that it could happen again.

i don’t understand what happened here. i don’t understand why this had to happen. my sister has always been the positive one, the most optimisitc one. maybe that’s what helped her to recover so quickly. my family has been praying non stop. lots of people are checking in which is amazing because it feels good to know that so many people love and care about my family.

i didn’t wanna come on here because it’s not important but i needed a distraction and my sister has her phone back and she’s been talking to us all day and i just needed to write this down somewhere. it’s gonna take a while to understand what happended here. don’t know if it will ever make sense. my sister was so incredibly lucky. i don’t know what i would do without any of my family members but i don’t even wanna think about this. everyone keeps saying it but everything can change from one minute to the next. i have never been so scared before. this is all so surreal i don’t even know what to do with myself. everything feels wrong. watching tv feels wrong, laughing feels wrong, doing normal every day stuff feels wrong.

you all know how much i love my family. this is my and also your reminder to never take a day with your loved ones for granted. i already spend more time with my family than anyone else i know we see each other 3-4 times a week. we all live so close and i’ve never been more grateful for that. i have always enjoyed every second with them but now i will do it even more. please tell your loved ones that you love them. don’t wait too long to see them don’t put it off and wait until it’s too late. life is so fucking short and fragile and i never want anything like this to happen to anyone.

i will probably be back soon i just need some time because it feels wrong to reblog stuff on here as if nothing happened. i love you all.

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loudelossantos · 6 months ago

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TECHNOPRENEURSHIP 005:

PITCH OF DOOM!

Pitch Day Jitters and a Heartfelt Triumph!

March 15, 2024. Hey everyone! Buckle up for a ride through the nerve-wracking world of pitching tech ideas! Today's story is about my experience presenting my techno idea – a concept that could potentially change lives for the better. Picture this: It's presentation day, and my heart is pounding like a drum solo. My classmates are going one by one, sharing their innovative ideas, and the pressure is definitely on! I know I need to deliver a clear, concise pitch that grabs everyone's attention. The wait seemed like an eternity, but finally, it was my turn to step into the spotlight. With a deep breath, I introduced myself and launched into my presentation. Here's the thing: heart disease is a major health concern worldwide. Unfortunately, during emergencies, people often don't receive help fast enough, which can have serious consequences. That's where my tech idea, HA (Heart Alert), comes in! This innovative wearable would be your heart's guardian angel, monitoring your heart health and taking action in case of emergencies. Imagine this scenario: You're enjoying a walk in the park when suddenly you experience a heart attack. HA detects the emergency and jumps into action, emitting a loud noise to alert people around you. Simultaneously, it sends an alert to emergency services with your exact location, ensuring swift assistance. But wait, there's more! HA can also display your medical information on the badge, allowing bystanders to provide appropriate first aid until help arrives. Plus, it can notify your loved ones about the emergency, giving them a chance to rush to your side. After my presentation, a wave of relief washed over me, but the real test was yet to come – the Q&A session. Questions flew from the audience, and one person wanted to know how the HA badge would be worn. I explained it would be a comfortable sticker worn on your chest, close to your heart. The questions kept coming, but I was prepared! All that practice paid off, and I answered each one with confidence. To my surprise, our professor did something unexpected. Instead of grilling me further, he seemed genuinely interested in the idea! He even explained that a lot of questions are a good sign – they show that people are engaged and have questions because they're interested. That was a huge boost of confidence! Finally, the moment of truth arrived. Would my idea get the green light? And guess what? Thumbs up! It was an incredible feeling to see my hard work and passion validated. This is just the first step on HA's journey. There's a lot of development ahead, but the potential impact this technology could have on people's lives is incredibly exciting. Stay tuned for future blog posts where I'll delve deeper into the details of HA! In the meantime, I'd love to hear from you! Have you ever had to pitch an idea in front of an audience? What was your experience like? Leave a comment below and let's chat! Pre-Pitch Jitters and a Lucky Charm (Maybe?) By the way, speaking of nerves, let me tell you about the minutes leading up to my presentation. Everyone was feeling the pressure, and while I was practicing my pitch over and over again, a classmate offered me a little advice. They suggested putting a one-peso coin in my shoe for good luck! Hey, I wasn't going to turn down any extra help, so I slipped it in there. Who knows, maybe it did bring me a little extra confidence! Want to see my HA presentation in more detail? Check out my slides [https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-7IxSk2dCyotqi9GwF2GnB7DnHsKw8Z7?usp=drive_link]

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samproductpro · 11 months ago

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Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie: The Ultimate Cozy Companion

When it comes to comfort and coziness, few things can compare to a wearable blanket hoodie. And one brand that has been making waves in the market is Touchat. The Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is not just your average hoodie; it's a versatile and practical piece of clothing that offers warmth, style, and convenience all in one. In this article, we will explore the features, benefits, and different use cases of the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie. So, grab your favorite hot beverage, snuggle up, and let's dive in!

The Perfect Blend of Comfort and Style

The Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is designed with both comfort and style in mind. Made from a premium blend of polyester and cotton, this hoodie is incredibly soft and cozy, making it perfect for lounging around the house or staying warm on chilly outdoor adventures. The high-quality material ensures durability, so you can enjoy the comfort of your Touchat hoodie for years to come.

Versatility for Every Occasion

One of the standout features of the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is its versatility. Whether you're curling up on the couch, running errands, or even camping under the stars, this hoodie has got you covered. The oversized design provides ample room for movement and allows you to wear it as a traditional hoodie or a blanket. It's like having a cozy cocoon wherever you go.

Stay Warm and Cozy Anywhere

The Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is perfect for those who are always seeking warmth and coziness. With its long sleeves, hood, and extra-large size, it wraps you in a comforting embrace, protecting you from the cold. Whether you're binge-watching your favorite TV show, reading a book, or enjoying a cup of hot cocoa, this hoodie will keep you snug and warm.

Practical Features for Everyday Use

In addition to its comfort and style, the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie offers practical features that make it even more appealing. The front pocket provides a convenient place to store your phone, keys, or snacks, so you can keep everything you need close at hand. The hoodie is also machine washable, making it easy to clean and maintain its softness and fluffiness.

The Perfect Gift for Loved Ones

If you're looking for a unique and thoughtful gift, the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is an excellent choice. It's a present that combines warmth, comfort, and style, making it suitable for people of all ages. Whether you're shopping for a birthday, Christmas, or just because, this hoodie is sure to put a smile on the recipient's face.

Customer Reviews: What People Are Saying

Don't just take our word for it; here's what some satisfied customers have to say about their Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie:

"I love my Touchat hoodie! It's so cozy and warm, and the oversized design is perfect for lounging around the house. Plus, the front pocket is a game-changer!"

"I bought this hoodie for my partner, and they absolutely love it. They wear it all the time, and it keeps them warm even on the coldest days. Highly recommend!"

"I received the Touchat hoodie as a gift, and it quickly became my go-to loungewear. It's incredibly comfortable, and I love how versatile it is. I even wore it on a camping trip, and it kept me warm throughout the night."

How to Care for Your Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie

To ensure that your Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie stays cozy and in top condition, follow these care instructions:

Machine wash in cold water on a gentle cycle.

Use a mild detergent and avoid bleach or harsh chemicals.

Tumble dry on low heat or air dry to maintain the softness of the fabric.

Do not iron or dry clean.

Store in a cool, dry place when not in use.

Where to Buy the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie

The Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is available for purchase on the official Touchat website. You can choose from a variety of colors and sizes to find the perfect fit for you or your loved ones. With its unbeatable comfort, style, and versatility, this hoodie is sure to become a favorite in your wardrobe.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie is a must-have for anyone who values comfort, style, and practicality. Whether you're lounging at home, running errands, or embarking on outdoor adventures, this hoodie offers the perfect blend of warmth and coziness. With its oversized design, soft material, and convenient features, it's no wonder that the Touchat hoodie has become a favorite among customers. So, why wait? Indulge yourself or surprise a loved one with the ultimate cozy companion – the Touchat Wearable Blanket Hoodie.

#winter wear #hoodie #sweatshirt #backpack #hoody #winter clothes #winter dress #christmas

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ttcblog · 1 year ago

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breather*

legit, I don't remember what the last post was about but HEY WE'RE 35 WEEKS PREGNANT AS OF TODAY.

and I woke up with a sense of *impending... something.* not doom, but immense unprepared-ness. it probably doesn't help that our entire home has been, albeit blessed with so much love from our friends and family, filled to the brim with baby stuff on top of all the VERY UNFINISHED home renovation projects that we've decided to start because "we should probably get that done before baby gets here." -- literally we found each other's procrastinating counterparts LOLOL and truly I can only laugh because it's now 9:34PM and I think today has been the MOST TIME I've spent in front of a screen doing SO MUCH FUCKING RESEARCH because there's still so much we need.

100% I need to spend the rest of the weekend cleaning and tidying up the home for my own mental clarity but today was a productive day! The only downside was that I broke my one day "streak" of a perfect day of glucose readings heh. Surprisingly, I kept it together very much so during Thanksgiving. Truly it's just when I have to get my own food. I've also learned that nutrition facts are so extremely estimated, it's annoying.

ANYWAY, today I managed to FINALLY:

choose and purchase a glider

choose & purchase a breast pump (spectra s1) as well as have a lengthy conversation with our cousin regarding using a wearable for when I go back to work and went ahead & took advantage of black friday deals for a willow go

re-measured the walls to decide general orientation and layout of baby's room, including where we're going to put his bed, which dresser we're going to get, which storage system we're going to get, and also listed out a few other things I want to use in his room (i.e. spice racks for his books)

^^ all from ikea -- we're going for a pseudo-montessori, basic-ish set up and doing my best to not over-do it but also try to have the very basic needs.

before I head up and help the husband with building my thing for the bathroom, I'm going to check out a few last minute black friday things before the night is over. I thiiiiiiink, maybe the house of noa panel rug thing. And then I'll be more or less happy with today's progress.

STILL need to figure out the diaper pail/trashcan situation as well before I can feel fully ready, furniture wise, for his room. Also need to purchase A FEW more clothing items for him and I think we'll be okay enough to get us started.

we have some sort of online baby class tomorrow that I signed us up for at 930am, so shouldn't stay up TOO late in order to wake up in time for that.

after the class, I'm going to take some time to do laundry, tidy up as much as possible. and Christmas shopping. also peruse more black friday/cyber weekend deals.

I had quite the mental stress freak out for the first half of the day. It was probably one of the few times, possibly even the first time I truly felt overwhelmed during my pregnancy but I'm glad I had the day off today to figure out some stuff.

he's been moving around quite a bit today and it's been pretty cool being able to feel him so much more lately. I'm really looking forward to when it's time to finally hold him -- but please take all the time you need in there, mama ain't ready for you just yet LOL

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projectcubicle1 · 1 year ago

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Virtual Management Strategies for the Modern Construction Project

Over the past decade, the construction landscape has seen a whirlwind of changes. Remarkably, the introduction of digital tools and specialized solutions such as residential remodeling estimating software has marked the dawn of virtual management. This innovative approach is redefining the rules, making operations smoother, cutting down overheads, and refining the project phases.

The Role of Modern Technology in Construction Management

In today's digital age, various industries are experiencing the waves of tech-evolution. Construction management stands at this forefront, and my recent visit to a construction tech-conference shed light on some groundbreaking innovations. Integrated Project Delivery (IPD) At the conference, a senior architect shared her experience of using IPD. It’s not just a buzzword it’s a paradigm shift. Under this approach, every stakeholder, be it architects, engineers, or contractors, collaborates from day one till the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Modern tools act as a bridge, allowing instantaneous exchanges, ensuring everyone's vision aligns. Drones and Site Surveying I once interviewed a site manager who emphasized how drones had revolutionized his workflow. With high-resolution cameras onboard, these drones capture detailed images of the site. It’s no longer about just reviewing conditions it’s about in-depth analysis, progress tracking, and preemptively spotting potential issues.

Wearable Technology Remember the miner's canary? It's been replaced. Modern wearables are the new guardians of safety. I came across a construction worker using a smart helmet with Augmented Reality. Another had a vest tracking his vitals, alerting the supervisor if anything went amiss. It's not sci-fi it’s the present.

Challenges and Solutions in Virtual Construction Management

The realm of virtual construction management is a testament to the adage that with great advancements come unique challenges. As the construction industry rapidly integrates digital solutions, data security has come to the forefront. The increasing threat of data breaches has spurred the tech community into action, leading to innovations such as end-to-end encryption, multiple layers of authentication, and the implementation of blockchain technology. These measures are more than just buzzwords; they serve as robust fortifications to safeguard confidential data. Meanwhile, integration poses its own set of hurdles. Recounting a narrative from a contractor friend, the past year was marked by challenges in merging various tools and software, including niche solutions like residential remodeling estimating software. However, the evolution of open-source platforms and enhanced compatibility of APIs is bridging these gaps, paving the way for seamless integrations across a variety of software applications. Furthermore, the dreaded experience of interrupted internet connectivity, especially during pivotal project updates from remote locations, can't be ignored. Yet, there's hope on this front as well. The advent of mesh networks stands as a testament to technological innovation, promising consistent internet access even in the most secluded construction sites.

Best Practices for Implementing Virtual Management

Tapping into virtual management's potential needs a strategy. Here are some tried and tested practices. Regular Skill Upgradation: A tech expert I met stressed the importance of constant learning. New tools are always around the corner. Regular workshops and sessions can keep teams updated and adept. Feedback Loops: A project manager once told me, "Feedback is the breakfast of champions." A system where the team can critique and suggest improvements to the tools in use can lead to incremental betterment. Disaster Recovery Plan: Data is the new gold, and protecting it is paramount. Whether it's hybrid cloud storage or dedicated physical servers, having backups ensures that mishaps don't turn into catastrophes. The momentum of tech-enhanced construction management is unstoppable, evolving to tackle current challenges, and brimming with possibilities for future breakthroughs. As we look ahead, with the blend of AR, VR, and AI analytics, the construction landscape promises to be more dynamic and efficient. By embracing these strategies and innovations, the construction sector is paving its way to a brighter, more efficient future. Read the full article

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optimisticstudentangel · 2 years ago

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Halloween night with Simeon

Warning: smut, suggestive themes, getting caught?

Gender neutral reader

- So? Simeon what did you choose to be for a Halloween? – you asked him while searching for a perfect costume in a Halloween theme shop. He was accompanying you, and helped with carrying the bags of sweets you bought.

- Ah, I didn’t think of it, yet.

- You will wear something, right? I bet you would look hot in a dark themed attire, - he chuckled at your words. “I will think about that”

Your eyes landed on a wearable demon horns. You instantly knew what you were going to be. Should you try them on right now? Or should you come here once more without Simeon, to make it a surprise for him? You wanted to see his reaction when you wore the finished outfit. You imagined the lust on his eyes, his possessive hands not letting you free. A sight to kill for…

It’s decided then. You told Simeon that you’ve done the things you needed to. He smiled and offered to escort you to a house of Lamentation. While he walked you to the house, both of you were talking about taking Luke to a party. You jokingly suggested to Simeon to buy Luke a costume of Chihuahua, to which he laughed a lot.

Simeon put the candy supplies in the kitchen, and was going back to the purgatory hall. You caught him, and leaned to kiss him for all the help he did today. It caught him by surprise, but he didn’t let go of you.

- Mmh, MC, you shouldn’t do that, you know, I always need more than that, - he deepened the kiss. “You re such a tease, my lamb, how can I stay calm and collected with you”- the taste of his lips was enough to make you drunk just from kissing him. While you were busy doing each other, you didn’t even notice Lucifer’s grumpy figure. He coughed, so your attention would transfer to him.

- Are you done? – demon asked in a cold tone.

- Sorry~ MC, we will finish things later, all right? – Simeon winked you and went to his dorm. Lucifer eyed him, but the angel ignored him.

- You have your room for such kind of activities, please keep it private, - he looked at you, judging your whole existence.

You didn’t try to argue with him, only apologizing and saying that it won’t happen again. You tried to excuse yourself, and go to your room as quick as possible. He let it slid this time.

Sitting on your bed you opened Akuzon, and bought the horns and added some accessories. You anticipated for the day you would wear your costume.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The long-awaited day has come. You woke up earlier, so you could doll yourself up. You did your best to look breathtaking. This job was easy for you, you were naturally eyes-catching. After your long preparation, you decided to check on your lover. He too was ready, and was finishing with Luke’s costume.

He wrote you a message, in which he said that they were going to visit you, and the three of you would go to the party.

They were quick to come, you greeted them and grinned at Luke.

- Don’t say a word! It was Simeon’s idea. I was totally against it! – you tried to hold back your laughter. “Aww, Luke your costume really suits you! You look so cute!” – little angel blushed and turned his face away from you.

- Aren’t they right, Luke you shouldn’t get mad over that, - Simeon tried to not eye you a lot. You understood it pretty easily. Was it too much? Did he like it even for a bit? You decided to make the first move.

- You are priest! Didn’t thought you would be one, but it does match your personality, - you complimented him, and waited for a reaction. He smiled, but wasn’t brave enough to look straight at your eyes.

- Damn, were did all the confidence go away? Did it all went to that kiss? – you whispered to his ear, and he instantly became red. This was probably a hint you were searching for.

You didn’t tease him in front of Luke much, you wanted to do it when you two would be alone. When the three of you arrived to the party, Simeon decided to send Luke to Mammon. Both of them were not happy about that, but you looked at them with your puppy-eyes, and they promised to tolerate each other this evening.

- They are ready to do anything for you, aren’t they? – Simeon laughed at his conclusion.

- You mean this doesn’t apply to you? Aren’t you the first man to make my desires come true? Or you are too oblivious when it comes to it? – angel looked at you in confusion and then muttered, “well, of course how could I ignore your needs and wishes”

- That’s right my love. About my needs… you were pretty cold toward them and me. Why so? – he didn’t answer you right away.

- You look captivating…

- That’s sweet… So you actually liked my demon costume, didn’t you? What do you think? Tell me more!

- Liked sounds not enough, I adore it. You are wonderful! … It may sound selfish, but I don’t want others to look at you. This view of yours should be all mine.

- Haha, so that’s how it is. Well, look at you now, you sound desperate… that’s so cuuute.

He looked at you, there were mixed emotions on his face, as if he was considering his next actions. Simeon was unsure at first, but his hands took yours, and he lead you to the bathroom. You let him do whatever he wanted to, because you were curious of his motifs. What’s his next move?

He opened one of the toilet cubicles and placed you both in a cramped room. You sat down on the toilet, the angel hung over you and began greedily kissing you and leaving his marks.

For a so-called priest, these actions were too dirty. You remarked on his behavior, to which he only blamed you.

- Aren’t you ashamed for your vulgar clothes and tempting me? It’s your fault I am acting this way.

Simeon shut your mouth with his, not giving you a chance to object to his words. His kisses, made your body ache in a pleasant way, you began to roam his hands over your body, and he roughly grabbed your hips. You moaned in his mouth, but the sounds coming from you were successfully muffled.

He took off your leather shorts and began to gently touch your crotch. His fingers slowly slid over your sex, his gaze drove you crazy, you couldn't look into his eyes. He was grinning, knowing full well how his fingers affected you.

- Why my demon is so quiet? Aren’t you supposed to be more craving for this kind of things? – angel teased you, waiting for a snarky answer from you. “Should I offer a helping hand for you”- he laughed.

- Shut up and do your thing!

He laughed, all this time you didn't notice the boner in his pants. He took your hand and ran it over his groin. You squeezed his cock through the dark fabric of his clothes.

- Look at you, Simeon, all this talk and you acting like you are better than me, but you yourself didn’t go too far from me… Fine. Let me take control of this situation, - you licked your lips in anticipation of Simeon's cock.

You took off his black pants along with his boxers and started scrutinizing his huge dick. Before taking him in your mouth, you slowly ran your hand over his penis. You began to slowly insert his cock into your mouth, while already looking at his eyes without any shame.

If it were possible, he would have pierced you with his gaze. His eyes followed your every move very intensely.

With your rhythm, you began to slowly suck him off. Room was filled with your slurping sounds. It was not enough for him.

- I deeply apologize, but I can’t handle it anymore – with that he started to fuck your throat in a quick pace. Simeon pulled you by your hair and thrusted in you very deep.

The angel barely restrained himself, his thrusts were sudden, but you liked this attitude from him. The way he was just focusing on his feelings and pleasure, it was so seductive and hot.

You knew that he was close and decided to help him reach the peak, by moving your head towards his hips. His face was so divine, the way he grimaced with pleasure, you could just cum from the thought that he was having a good time.

- I am… ahhn. A-am close! Haaahn~ - he came and you swallowed all of his seed, and then showed your tongue. Panting he said: “Good little lamb” and petted your head.

- Now let me take care of you, my love – he kissed you, his tongue dancing with yours in a passionate way.

While you were kissing, there was a knock on your cabin. You helped Simeon with his clothes and fixed yourself as fast as possible. You exit the cabin with Simeon and try to be as calm as possible. It was Lucifer who knocked on the door, he was very disappointed when he looked at the both of you.

- If I am not mistaken I already told you to do your “things” in your room. Did you not hear me that time? – you awkwardly laughed at your situation.

- Don’t worry Lucy, we definitely will, right little lamb? – he smirked at you. “We need to finish this after all…”

#obey me #obey me side characters #obey me simeon #simeon om #simeon x mc #simeon smut #simeon x reader #simeon cult

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hobivore · 4 years ago

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Cobalt blue

↠ PAIRING: KTH x reader x JJK

↠ WORDS: 11.3K

↠ GENRE: smut, artist (painter) au

↠ RATING: explicit (18+)

↠ SYNOPSIS: you ask Jungkook to draw you like one of his French girls.

↠ WARNINGS: pwp, m x f x m threesome, soft power dynamics (sub/switch!Jungkook, switch!Reader, dom!Taehyung), noona reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, oral (f and m receiving), pussy worshipping (sorta?), drawing of specific body parts (yes it’s pussy), fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, (wrap it before you tap it!), dirty talk, mild overstimulation, orgasm denial, marking (hickeys, nail marks), choking, praise, Jungkook is a bit bratty but also a good boy, creampie, cumplay, longhaired!Jungkook and black perm!Taehyung because they live in my mind rent free, RIP Namjoon’s couch

↠ A/N: this really got away from me and somehow ended up being over 10K. Shoutout to @hesperantha and @wwilloww for their endless support and help as my beta readers for this fic. Please check them out if you want to read some wonderful writing!

“Shit!”

You look down, wide-eyed, at the blue goo seeping into your white cable-knit sweater. It drips all over your hands and trickles down the front of your pants.

Realising you’re still holding the glass jar you somehow managed to save from shattering to pieces — cobalt blue scribbled in messy handwriting on the sticker — you hastily put it back in its place, cursing both your clumsiness and Taehyung’s science experiments in what he calls “the search for van Gogh’s soul”.

Disgruntled, you look at the potpourri of pots and jars filled with colourful paint. You bet the post-impressionists did know how to tighten a lid.

A blue blob runs down your wrist and you watch how your sleeve soaks it up eagerly. The thought of having to wring van Gogh’s spirit out of your sogged sweater makes you wince — the poor man has been through enough already during his days on earth, and your recklessness just might have made the afterlife a whole lot worse.

Speaking of the course of one’s life, you are not ready to die of cobalt poisoning just yet; slowly withering away like the cornflowers on the roadside verge behind your grandmother’s house, rich pigment seeping through your skin to taint your blood.

Wiping your paint-covered hands on your butt — pants deemed a lost cause long ago — your eyes scan the studio for something to change into. Taehyung and the two other artists he’s sharing the workshop with will often leave some spare clothes or aprons lying around.

The studio is a roomy place with a high ceiling, located in an old elementary school. It could’ve been cold and impersonal if not for Namjoon’s thoughtful touches; he might as well be called Midas with the way he can transform a room.

A variety of houseplants are scattered around the place, some drooping down from the ceiling. Terracotta pots and tattered Persian rugs fill the studio with an earthy warmth and the large leather couch and armchairs give it a more homey feel.

You already know you’re not going to find anything wearable in Taehyung’s workspace; he prefers to not let his supplies lie around.

Taehyung has set up his easel next to the tall windows which gives him the opportunity to use the natural light he likes so much. It’s one of the reasons why he picked this atelier, the other two being the company and the space — he teaches art classes sometimes, and the room allows for up to eight students.

Hoping she’ll forgive you for nosing about you scramble around Maggie’s workbench, eyeing the delicate sculptures waringly. Please don’t elbow one off the table.

Meticulously slow to avoid smearing any paint onto Namjoon’s plants — he takes pride in being a pacifist, but you have the feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you hurt any of his leafy children — you bumble around, eyes sweeping over heaps of clay, pottery tools and glasses filled with suspiciously coloured liquids.

Maggie and Namjoon are away for two weeks on some sort of silent meditation retreat and it appears they’ve taken most of their belongings with them. Namjoon’s corner is filled with nothing but canvases, jars with more paint (you make sure not to touch any this time), and other art supplies. Still no clothes, not even a raggy apron.

You pause at Namjoon’s easel, a large canvas resting against the wood. Hundreds of small dots form the outline of a blue lake tucked away between green mountains.

It’s beautiful even in its unfinished state: it gives it an inescapable, unpolished feeling.

Tilting your head you take in the landscape. You might prefer it this way — with all its slight imperfections, a little rough around the edges.

Namjoon of course won’t rest before he’s dotted down the last dot. Shoulders slumped above the canvas, working diligently for hours on end. He always works in complete silence, saying he prefers having enough room in his head to let his thoughts flow freely.

Silence makes you jittery: it takes you a long time to be at peace with your thoughts, to bridle them without constricting.

It was Namjoon who suggested you try figure modelling after he’d seen you pose for Taehyung once. Told you it might help organise the mishmash of ideas in your head.

You can’t say you’re fully there yet — but you’re trying.

Last week you posed for Taehyung’s advanced figure drawing class. One of the students forgot his pencil studies and Taehyung has hung them on the sides of his cabinet.

You walk over to his workplace and stop before the collection of sketches. Your own face is staring back at you in graphite — eyes solemn, hand-drawn snippets of a moment in time. You resist the urge to trail the lines with your fingers. How much of it is really you, and how much of it is the artist’s interpretation?

Sighing, you turn to the window and watch the snowflakes falling outside. You’ll have to wait until Taehyung comes back from the store and face the mortification head-on.

You can already picture him laughing: head thrown back and wheezing, clutching his stomach while he slowly rolls off the couch in his typical dramatic fashion.

But then you spot it out of the corner of your eye — half-hidden under Namjoon’s en plein air studies.

Your saviour.

You’ve never been happier to see a quilt. You have to thank Namjoon for always being so thoroughly prepared. It’s the middle of winter and despite the roaring heater, one can never have enough blankets.

Stretching out your hands to snatch the blanket away you realise they’re still covered in barely dried paint. You squint at them — Namjoon prefers high quality, natural materials over polyester and you’re not going to ruin his expensive blanket by plastering your grabby cobalt blue-covered hands all over it.

You’ll have to wash up first. Reluctantly, you leave the blanket and head towards the bathroom. You flick on the lights and—

Oh.

There really is paint everywhere. Which is a stupid thing to think, because you already knew that, but somehow you were still not prepared for the absolute mess you are.

Something about curiosity and a dead cat crosses your mind — except it looks like you did the killing and the animal in question was a giant squid.

You snort. The contrast between your white sweater and the deep blue splatters covering you from neck to thighs make you look like an antique plate out of your grandmother’s China cabinet.

Slowly, in an attempt not to cover the entire bathroom in paint, you strip out of your clothes until you’re left in nothing but your underwear. At least the paint hasn’t soaked all the way through and your white bra and panties are still spotless.

You turn on the sink and start washing your hands and arms, watching the blue pigment spiral down the drain. It curls and whirls around the clean water flowing from the tap in a delicate dance. It really is a pretty colour — of oceans and lakes and bright skies.

Glancing over at the pile of clothes on the floor you briefly wonder if you should try to get the paint out, but that might only make more of a mess. At least you’re clean again; you can try and save whatever’s left of your clothes later. If it’s even worth trying.

A door slams close and you flinch at the sudden sound — Taehyung must have returned. You dry your hands and arms with the towel, rubbing at your tender skin until there are no specks of paint left.

You check your reflection to see if you’ve missed any spots. You know Taehyung worked hard on getting the pigments just right and now you’ve ruined one of the most difficult colours to make.

He’s going to sulk for a bit, and after that he’s going to laugh his ass off and never let you live this down.

You take a deep breath, hand on the door handle; better to rip the bandaid off in one swift motion and just get this over with.

You wince when the door bounces back against the wall — thrown open with more strength than intended — and step out of the bathroom, only to immediately halt in your tracks.

Dressed in all black: cargo pants and combat boots, a backpack slung over his shoulder — the man standing in the middle of the studio, wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights, is definitely not Taehyung.

“Jungkook? What are you doing here?”

His eyes flash over your figure before anchoring themselves on the wall about two feet above your head.

“H — hi noona,” he splutters, big cozy scarf still wrapped around his neck and a sketchbook under his arm. He looks completely out of place between the colourful paintings surrounding him, a bewildered look on his face. “I came for the lesson? I’m sorry — am I too early?”

The lesson. Shit. You glimpse at the clock above the door — is it really 4 pm already? It seems you lost track of time while you were busy cosplaying a Jackson Pollock painting.

Jungkook is still studying what must be a particularly interesting spot of plaster, gaze dropping to his shoes when you continue to gape at him without saying a word. You’re not even going to ask him where he got the key — Taehyung gives out spares freely like the Pope bestowing blessings.

Today’s lesson was supposed to be about drapery and clothing folds, something you are currently terribly ill-equipped to help with.

The sensible thing to do would be to play it cool: excuse yourself for being late, walk over to the other side of the room and drape yourself in Namjoon’s blanket like a proper 17th century lady.

Then make sure to never talk about this again. Pretend it never happened.

So—

“Draw me like one of your French girls!” You blurt out.

“I — what?” His eyes finally land on yours, confusion written all over his face.

Great. If it wasn’t enough to spill a full jar of paint all over yourself, you’re spilling words now too like the mindless fool you are; your mouth running away from you once more. Like the last time you saw him, at Jin’s birthday party — when you almost choked on a cupcake and accidentally let it slip that this was nowhere near as fun as Taehyung’s hands around your throat.

He hadn’t been able to meet your eyes for the rest of the night.

“Yes,” you force yourself to sound chipper instead of anxious, “like this.” You wave your hand a little too stiffly up and down in front of your body.

Jungkook appears to be mulling over your words, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Okay,” he’s sounding a little unsure but holds up his sketchbook, “if that’s what you want?”

What you want is for the earth to open up and swallow you whole, but there’s no way back now.

“Yes. Good. Um, right. Where do you want me?” You cringe. Stop making this even worse.

If he notices you wincing, he doesn’t acknowledge it but gestures towards the couch instead. You silently thank him for it.

“Where’s Taehyung?” He takes off his jacket and scarf and hangs them over the back of the armchair before plopping down, loose black shirt billowing around his agile frame. You watch how it gets tucked between his back and the chair as he sits, fabric straining across his chest.

That chest, which looks like it would feel so firm under your hands—

You stifle a cough and take the couch opposite him, grimacing at your sharp movements, a stark contrast to his.

“Tae went to the store to get some coffee. I need my 4 o'clock caffeine fill.”

A small smile pulls at his lips. “He might’ve mentioned you get really cranky without your coffee.”

You raise your eyebrows in mock surprise. “He said what? I can’t believe he would expose me like this.”

“So he’s right, then.” Jungkook looks up at you, eyes glinting. The little brat.

“You might just find out if it takes him any longer.” You can’t help but laugh at the way he scrunches his nose at that, the tense knot in your stomach loosening up a little.

Jungkook grabs his backpack and lays his graphite set on the coffee table, neatly placing his pencils in order of hardness. Your eyes trail over the crowded ink on his right hand and arm — he tends to wear long sleeves, so you haven’t had a good chance to look at them since he added the most recent tattoos. It’s messy, a little jumbled, but it oddly suits him.

He selects a yellow 2B pencil and flips his sketchbook open on his lap, eyeing you expectantly.

You pull your legs up so you're sitting on your side, half-reclining with your elbow resting on the arm of the couch, fingertips softly pressed against the side of your head. You lay your other hand on top of your thigh and smile at him in what you hope is a reassuring manner.

“Like this?”

Even though you were the one to pitch the idea to him in the first place you realise you have no clue what either of you wants.

His eyes drift over your body, taking in the way the winter sun paints you in a soft glow. It’s as if he is looking at you for the first time — really looking at you, and you feel exposed under his warm gaze. It lights a fire deep in your belly and you force yourself to look out of the window, focusing on the snowy branches outside, willing that spark not to travel any lower.

It’s just modelling. You’ve done this countless times before — for Taehyung, for groups of middle-aged men and women, for art students just fresh out of highschool.

Nude, semi-nude, draped in silk: it’s nothing new. It’s not exciting. It’s cramps and stiff limbs and cold coffee and hours of being stuck in your head. You were just caught off guard, that’s it.

He finally nods and clears his throat, tearing his eyes away. His hand hovers above his sketchbook, pencil clasped firmly between his tattooed fingers.

When he turns his attention back to you the look in his eyes shifts; it’s one you recognize all too well. You’re no longer just you — you’ve transformed before his eyes into an assembly of shapes and curves, a playful dichotomy between light and shadow.

He sets his pencil down and draws the first line.

Much like he’s studying you, you’re watching him. You’ve known Jungkook for a while now but you’ve never taken the time, or gotten the chance, to watch him this closely. Of course you’ve sneaked a few looks and stolen some glances — there’s no denying he’s a handsome man. You’ve got eyes.

You might have watched the way his thighs flex under those ridiculously tight jeans he likes to wear sometimes, or how his eyes glimmer when he recalls one of his many pranks — just like you’ve studied the slope of Hoseok’s nose or the pillowy shape of Jimin’s lips.

You’re also extremely bad at hiding your ogling, to Taehyung’s great amusement. He does it on purpose sometimes — flaunting his friends in front of you until your cheeks heat up and you slap his arm playfully in mock frustration. You’ve never said so outright but he knows you enjoy it as much as he does. His friends, of course, are more than happy to play along.

It’s a good thing he’s not the only one who knows how to play this game. You remember the way he almost choked on his champagne when you introduced him to Lisa and her famously tight red dress at Hoseok’s New Year’s Eve party. It’s been almost a year and he still won’t shut up about it.

Granted, neither do you — it is a very well-fitted dress and the thought of peeling it off of her plays prominently in some of your fantasies.

You shift your legs, trying to shake off this dangerous train of thought before it completely derails, thoughts circling back to the man in front of you.

Jungkook’s head is tilted slightly and he has his legs crossed underneath the coffee table, eyes switching attentively between you and his sketchbook, lingering on your figure every now and then.

He’s told you that he wanted to improve his drawing skills. Jungkook is a game design major and a long-time friend of Taehyung, which is why he’s been getting lessons on the house. You told Taehyung not to give discounts to friends or else he’ll never make a dime, but he pointed out how Jungkook has never asked for a markdown unlike some of his other friends. And he remembers his own time at the academy, trying to make ends meet while living off instant ramen and cheap, watered down coffee.

Artists need to support artists, he insisted.

And that’s how you ended up agreeing on modeling for Jungkook for free. Okay, maybe his bright smile and strong hands had something to do with it — one of the latter currently holding the pencil in a loose grip, thick veins running along the back. Your eyes trail their meandering path across the muscles of his forearm, how they disappear in the crook of his elbow. Still, your gaze travels further. You press your legs together as you follow the curve of his bicep, trying to picture the tanned skin that continues under the fabric of his shirt.

You imagine how his hands would map your figure with as much resolve as they’re currently tracing it on paper. How his fingers would press into your skin, your body pliable under his touch.

The way he sketches every curve is filled with confidence — the gesture of a guy who doesn’t treat anything in a desultory fashion.

You feel it again, that heat, and you swallow down the embers before they grow from a harmless spark to something hotter and harder to quench.

Stealing a glance at his face — hoping it’s discreet enough — you let your eyes sweep over his strong jaw and nose. On someone else they might have been too blunt but his features are softened by his large, round eyes and the gentle curve of his cheeks.

His hair has been getting longer. He likes to tie it up these days to keep it from falling in his eyes. He used to hide behind that curtain, sometimes, but this look befits him. It highlights his neck and jaw, a few loose strands framing his face.

You know him as a man of few words, carefully assembling his feelings before speaking. It’s not that he’s shy, per se — just thoughtful in the way he expresses himself.

He sometimes looks out of place at parties: staring off into the distance, seemingly lost in his own world. But you’ve also seen him bounce up and down in excitement, giggling at a joke or whining when he’s the one who got the short end of the stick for once.

Here however — bent over his sketchbook, brow creased in concentration — everything falls into place: all the facets that make up Jungkook are coming together.

Maybe you should talk, ask him about his studies. How is his mother doing? Did his sister pick a date for her wedding yet?

He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek and holds his sketchbook at arm’s length, letting out a barely audible huff before bending back over the paper, face so close the pencil almost pokes him in the eye.

You smile. Not wanting to distract him, you draw the blanket of quiet closer around the two of you. Slowly, the remaining tension in your limbs dissipates — the soft scratching of pencil on paper the only sound in the room.

“Having fun without me?”

The both of you had gotten so lost in the moment — you in your thoughts, Jungkook in his sketchbook — that neither of you noticed Taehyung entering the studio.

Jungkook’s head snaps up, pencil clattering on the concrete floor. He scrambles to retrieve it before it can roll underneath the couch and you chuckle, sticking your hand up to wave back at Taehyung.

You’ll just have to play it cool. Don’t think about the pile of paint-soaked clothes in the bathroom and certainly don’t think about the fact that you’re sitting on the couch in nothing but your underwear.

In front of Jungkook. Who should be drawing layers of silk and linen right now.

Taehyung puts the grocery bag on a workbench and unbuttons his coat, throwing it over the easel behind him. Rolling up the sleeves of his patterned dress shirt he walks towards Jungkook and glances over the younger man’s shoulder at his sketchbook.

Taehyung’s cheeks are flushed from the cold and his dark, curly hair is covered in snowflakes, rapidly melting in the heated air. The lighting makes them shimmer like a dusting of minute diamonds whenever he moves his head.

“Looks like you don’t need me anymore.” He captures your gaze, mischief gleaming in his eyes and a teasing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. You feel your cheeks heat — so much for playing it cool.

Jungkook sighs solemnly. “I do. I can’t seem to get her hands right.”

Taehyung smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re here, aren’t you? Let’s get started.”

He walks over and you feel the couch dip when he wedges himself behind you.

“If you find yourself getting stuck, a change in pose can help.” He gently pulls you upright into a sitting position, his legs on either side of yours and your back resting against his chest.

Despite his chilly hands — you might have stolen his gloves earlier this morning — your skin feels feverishly hot, all too aware of his body against yours and Jungkook’s wriggling in the chair opposite of you, fiddling with his pencil.

Taehyung never touches you during his lessons; you’re experienced enough to know what poses he wants to see without him having to do so much as ask.

He nuzzles your neck, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Sorry about the cold hands,” he murmurs against your skin. Liar.

Suddenly, he pulls back. “Why do you smell like paint?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re in your studio, Tae. Everything smells like paint.”

“Maybe…” He hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But you smell like one in particular and I happened to notice that your clothes are gone. Or are those two things unrelated?”

You try to keep a straight face but your heart leaps in your chest in a dance of embarrassment and desire when he concludes, “Looks like we should leave your drapery lesson for another time, Jungkook.”

A dense silence seems to stretch out between the three of you, cold shiver travelling down the length of your spine. You watch a look of bewilderment take over Jungkook’s face — undoubtedly a mirror to your own expression, eyes widened and mouth slightly agape.

Curse Taehyung and his damned velvety voice. Curse Taehyung and his distaste for alcohol and his stupidly good memory, remembering every tipsy moment you’ve spent rambling on about his friend’s absurdly well-proportioned body.

Something along the lines of telling him Jungkook could probably snap me in half like a twig springs to mind and it takes all your willpower to resist the urge to bury your face into your hands.

Taehyung slides his icy palms down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Curse him indeed.

“Is this okay?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear. “We can stop anytime you want. Just tell me.” He looks at Jungkook, letting the question hang in the air between the two of you.

Jungkook has stopped fretting — body stilled and taut like a rope. Something dark swirls behind his eyes when he holds your gaze and nods.

“Yes.”

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Go on then.” You stick your chin out and angle your face towards Taehyung, watching him through your lashes, ignoring how your own voice betrays you — coming out wispy and much higher than expected.

“Hm, bossy.” The corners of his mouth twitch and he unclasps your bra with nimble fingers, sliding the straps off your shoulders in one smooth motion.

Jungkook’s hands jerk involuntarily, eyes dropping down from your face to your breasts, your nipples hardening when Taehyung’s cold hands brush up against them.

Jungkook swallows thickly and you feel the cinders in your belly flare up again — but this time you allow them to combust, flames licking hotly through your veins.

Taehyung’s warming fingers trail lazily down your sides, taking their time until he reaches the hem of your panties. He hooks his thumbs underneath and you lift your hips to let him slide them down your legs.

You kick your panties under the coffee table, Jungkook’s eyes closely following every motion. The rough material of Taehyung’s woolen dress slacks grazes your skin and you press your thighs together awkwardly, feet pressed to the cold floor.

“What do you like to draw, Jungkook?” Taehyung’s voice is deep and steady, his heartbeat slow against your back. His thumbs draw soothing circles into your thighs.

It anchors you, finding comfort in the familiar feeling while your own heart so desperately tries to hammer its way out of your chest.

Jungkook clears his throat with a sharp cough. “Animals. Plants. Flowers, mostly.”

Your eyes drift to his right arm, a large tattooed flower on full display, surrounded by the myriad of ink.

You can feel Taehyung smile into your hair. “You’ll find that the human body is not so different.”

Without warning he slips his large hands under your thighs and slowly spreads them open, hooking your legs over his knees, leaving your feet dangling off the couch.

Across you, Jungkook makes a choking sound and you fight the instinct to close your legs, taking in the way his eyes darken and his entire body tenses up. If you thought he was tightly wound before it’s nothing compared to him now: shoulders rigid, his knuckles whitening around the pencil.

It sends a new wave of arousal straight to your core.

“Are you familiar with Georgia O’Keeffe’s work?” Taehyung inquires.

You recognize what you call his teaching voice — matter-of-fact yet pleasant. It’s a stark contrast with the heat between your legs and Jungkook’s taut jaw.

The younger man nods, strained.

“Come closer.” Taehyung says and Jungkook rises to his feet a little too fast, nearly dropping his sketchbook on the floor.

“Bring your sketchbook. We’re not done yet.”

Jungkook closes the distance between you and drops down to his knees on the small rug in front of the sofa, eyes level with your centre. With the coffee table no longer a barrier between you, you could touch him if you lean forward — the thought sending your pulse racing.

He’s looking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes and you want to reach out and fist your hands in his hair — anything to bring him closer, to feel his mouth and his tongue and his hands all over your body.

You want to feel the muscles underneath his shirt, you want to trace your tongue along the edge of his jaw, you want—

“Stay there. No touching.” Taehyung’s voice drops lower, the pleasant tone turning into something darker.

You squirm in Taehyung’s grip when Jungkook’s eyes travel over your body, embarrassment flaring up again as he drinks in the sight of you spread out before him. Unsure of where to leave your hands, you settle with resting them under your breasts, fingers intertwined to stop yourself from reaching out to him.

Taehyung slides one of his hands to the inside of your thigh and dips two of his long fingers between your folds. You whimper at the sudden intrusion, his light graze gone in the blink of an eye. It’s nowhere near enough — you need more, more than just a hint of his touch. A soft whine escapes your lips, Taehyung's other hand squeezing your thigh in response.

“Just think of flowers, Jungkook.” He brings his hand up to his face, studying his fingers coated in your slick and admiring the way they glisten in the afternoon sun.

“So wet already, and no one’s even properly touched you yet?” He turns his head back towards you. “Needy girl.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks when you hear rather than see him suck on his digits, pulling them out of his mouth with an audible pop.

He hums, the low sound vibrating in his chest, “You taste so good.”

Jungkook is still frozen in place, enraptured by the way Taehyung’s tongue swirls around his fingers, licking up every last drop.

“Do you want a taste too, Jungkook?”

The other man’s eyes snap up at him. “I — y-yes,” he stammers, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“Yes what?” Taehyung’s breath ghosts the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle with desire.

“Yes. Please,” Jungkook corrects. He rubs the top of his thighs with his hands, sketchbook and pencil lying abandoned on the ground next to him. His body sways softly from side to side, fighting a silent war against the urge to bend forward and taste you himself.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Taehyung raises a questioning eyebrow at you. “Should we give him a taste?”

The sight of Jungkook patiently waiting on his knees is enough to persuade you. You whisper your affirmation and this time, you’re prepared for Taehyung’s touch; angling your hips up in a feeble effort to chase his fingers, but his grip on you is too strong.

Taehyung stretches his arm and Jungkook leans forward to take his fingers into his mouth, lips closing around them as he savours the taste of your arousal, a low hum reverberating in his throat.

“See?” Taehyung grins at the other man’s eagerness, “Sweet like nectar.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, brow creasing, the outline of his hardening length clearly visible against the fabric of his pants. He moans a muffled response around Taehyung’s fingers and you feel yourself get impossibly wetter at the sound.

When Taehyung decides his fingers have been thoroughly cleaned he pulls them out of Jungkook’s mouth. His friend, in turn, opens his eyes again — pupils blown wide, irises so dark they’re barely distinguishable. He holds your gaze as he licks the remnants of your taste off his lips, relishing in the way you watch him through your lashes with heavy-lidded eyes, chest heaving a little faster than before.

“Fuck, that was hot,” you breathe and Jungkook lets out a low chuckle.

“Want to make you come on my tongue,” he whispers, “if he’ll let me.” He nods towards Taehyung, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Do you want me to, noona?”

There’s a teasing lilt to his voice which rolls over your skin like a wave of burning desire — the thought of his mouth on you enough to have your mind reeling.

Taehyung lets out an amused huff and nudges Jungkook’s knee with his foot.“Don’t get too eager now, we’re not done yet,” he motions towards the floor, “pick up your sketchbook.”

Jungkook puffs up his cheeks but sits back on his heels and — much to your disappointment — grabs his pencil, flipping to a blank page.

“Then show me,” he says, eyes fixed on you as he sets his pencil down on the paper.

Normally, when you pose nude, artists will skim over the more private details and focus on the lines and curves of your entire body.

But here — exposed, held bare before Jungkook’s eyes — there’s no place to hide. Taehyung’s large hands hold you in their firm grasp while Jungkook kneels between your legs, filling page after page with his sketches.

No one’s ever studied you like this and it sends another wave of heat down your spine, pooling between your thighs.

This time his focus doesn’t shift. He works diligently, but there’s a tension in his jaw and a strain to his hands — as if he has to force himself to keep dragging every stroke along the paper.

Taehyung’s hand travels down your stomach again, fingers skimming along your outer lips as he splays them out in a v-shape, spreading you even wider.

“Look closely,” he instructs Jungkook, “isn’t she pretty?” He sweeps his thumb over your clit and you moan weakly, body turning to putty in his arms.

“Such a pretty little cunt.” Your breath hitches in your throat at his lewd words, heat spreading through your limbs.

Slowly, Jungkook inches nearer, until your feet are almost touching his shoulders. He’s close enough now for you to notice the fluttering of his lashes against his cheeks and the little moles dotted on his skin — as if someone took a constellation out of the sky just to adorn his face with.

It would be a lie to say you’ve never thought of him like this. You’ve thought about it many times but nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you — for the way he manages to look like an amalgam of saccharin and sin. For the way he drinks you in so openly, so truthfully, setting every inch of your body alight with his eyes alone.

“She is,” he breathes, unable to tear his gaze away, “so pretty.”

You’re burning with need, wanting him, someone, to touch you so badly. He’s so close yet so far away, breath fanning against the inside of your thigh every time he turns his head to look down at the paper.

You groan and shift around between Taehyung’s legs, grabbing his wrist to try and get his hand to move, desperate to find some relief.

He chuckles softly and drags his tongue from the crook of your neck to your ear. “Relax, sweetheart. I bet you’re dripping on the couch, making a mess,” he slides his hand along the apex of your thigh, fingers ghosting the edge of where you need him most — “isn’t she, Jungkook?”

Between your legs, Jungkook swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “Yes,” he groans, palming himself through the fabric of his trousers with his free hand, “sh— she’s so wet, Tae.”

You grind your hips, feeling Taehyung’s firm length press against your lower back. You repeat the motion, hoping it will evoke a reaction, but he doesn’t budge.

“Please, Tae,” you plead, “touch me.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue and circles one of your nipples with the pad of his index finger, grinning into your hair when you arch into his touch. “Always so messy. Always so impatient.”

With one of his hands currently occupied, you try to close your legs but he’s one step ahead of you — both hands firmly back in place before you can snap your legs together.

You pout, but Taehyung ignores your failed scheme and turns his attention to the man before you instead.

“Jungkook,” he says firmly, “you’ve worked hard. Put your sketchbook away.”

The younger man plants his left foot on the ground in an undignified scramble, hand on his knee—

“Did I tell you to get up?”

Jungkook shakes his head and resumes his kneeling position, twisting around so he can put his supplies on the coffee table. He adjusts himself in his pants, cock visibly straining against the material.

You bite your lip, trying to imagine how heavy he’d feel in your mouth, how well he’d stretch you open.

“Tae!” You gasp when there is a sudden nip at your earlobe.

Said man laughs softly, soothing the skin with his tongue.“Baby, you’ve been so good,” he murmurs, “both of you have been so good. Do you think we should let Jungkook get a proper taste?” He looks down at the kneeling man, who seems captivated by the way you clench around nothing at Taehyung’s question.

You grasp Taehyung’s forearms, angling your hips up in a silent plea.

“Use your words. Tell him.”

When you look down at Jungkook you let out a bated breath, mesmerised by how wrecked he looks already — eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed and bottom lip swollen from where he’s been chewing on it.

“Kook — want you,” you breathe, inwardly cursing yourself for how pathetically needy that sounded.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time, nuzzling his nose against the inside of your thigh before licking a broad stripe through your folds, groaning at the taste.

Your head falls back on Taehyung’s shoulder, knuckles whitening around his forearms when Jungkook’s tongue swirls around your swollen clit. He wraps his lips around the bud and sucks, your cries only muffled by Taehyung’s skin as you press your face into the crook of his neck.

Taehyung twists his arms out of your grasp and grabs your chin, tilting your head towards him, lips finding yours in a messy dance of tongue and teeth.

“Ahh, fuck—” you keen into Taehyung’s mouth when Jungkook’s teeth graze softly over your sensitive clit.

“You like that, noona?” He looks up at you, eyes gleaming as he takes note of the way you writhe under his ministrations, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer towards his face.

“Told you I wanted to make you come on my tongue. Been thinking about it since we first met at Tae’s birthday party.” He dips his head to give another generous swipe of his tongue that has you faltering. “That tight little skirt haunted me for days.”

You can’t help the string of curses falling from your lips — “Shut up,” you hiss, but there’s a fondness buried underneath the words, “I liked you a lot more when you couldn’t talk.”

You twist your fingers into his hair and push his face back between your thighs. He laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin and sending little jolts of pleasure through your body.

Jungkook’s lewd, sloppy noises and your loud moans are the only sounds in the room — it’s filthy and messy, the way he eagerly laps up every fresh gush of arousal. The world turns blurry when he flattens his tongue, the paintings surrounding you reduced to colourful patches along the edges of your vision.

When Jungkook pulls back briefly, Taehyung sees a chance to slap your clit playfully and a surprised yelp falls from your lips, hips bucking up involuntarily. Jungkook grins into your cunt, moving his head to give Taehyung more room.

“I can’t wait to feel you tighten around my cock,” Taehyung groans into your neck, slippery fingers now rubbing small circles on your clit, alternating with the agile flicks of Jungkook’s tongue.

“Can’t wait to watch Jungkook fuck you.” He punctuates his words with a tweak of his fingers. “You’d like that, don’t you?”

You whimper a meek response, unable to speak up, head lolling back as their combined motions wind you up tighter and tighter. Bringing your hands up to your chest you pinch your nipples between your thumbs and index fingers, simultaneously rolling your hips.

Jungkook stiffens his tongue and loosens his grip a little, letting you grind on his face. Your toes curl, legs starting to shake, “Tae — ah, Kook — please,” you pant, vision swimming as the two men push you closer towards the edge you’ve been chasing, climbing higher and higher—

Suddenly Taehyung’s hand is gone, fisting into Jungkook’s hair and pulling him off you. “Not yet, Kook.”

You whine and buck your hips up in an attempt to get Jungkook’s mouth back where it should be, but Taehyung’s other arm wraps around your waist to hold you firmly in place.

He chuckles, low vibrations against your back, “Like I said. Always so needy.”

Jungkook is still kneeling between your legs, chin covered in your slick and Taehyung’s hand in his hair — previously neat ponytail now a messy bun, loose strands falling into his eyes. He looks just as stunned as you, flushed and wide-eyed at the sudden loss of your building orgasm on his tongue.

“Don’t you think Jungkook has worked hard enough already?” Taehyung whispers in your ear, tilting his friend’s head up to meet his eyes, “don’t you think he’s been a good boy?”

You don’t miss the way Jungkook’s lashes flutter at the words and the faint whine that leaves his lips when Taehyung releases his hold on him. It’s a soft, melodic sound, barely audible but clear like glass.

It might be one of the best sounds you’ve ever heard and you decide you want to hear it again, and again, and louder.

Rising to your feet you tuck a loose strand of hair behind Jungkook’s ear.

“You’re right, Tae. He has been a good boy.” You let the words roll off your tongue and dangle them in front of Jungkook, who latches onto them hungrily.

You hold out your hands to help him up, his movements stiff after kneeling for so long. He groans, stretching his arms above his head. Your eyes fall on the little sliver of skin above his belt before drifting down to the prominent bulge in his pants.

Taehyung stands up behind you, eyes following your gaze. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispers in your ear, too soft for Jungkook to hear, “I know you can’t wait to sink down on his cock.”

He grins, and you inadvertently shiver when he continues, “but I want you to take your time. I’ll be watching.”

He straightens his back and smiles at you, all teeth and bright innocent eyes as if he didn’t just promise you the imminent gratification of another man’s cock.

You should’ve known that Taehyung, the man who never rushes a meal, who savours every experience and draws your pleasure out like a stroke of his brush on a canvas would be no different when it came to Jungkook. His words tug at the simmering embers in your belly, arousal dripping down your thighs.

He walks over towards the armchair, sitting down with elegant ease. If he were a forest lake, you would be the torrent rushing down after the first sunshine has melted the snow high up in the mountains. Long limbs draped gracefully, he rests his chin in his hand and cocks an eyebrow at you.

You smile at him. He might appear serene, features stilled as if he was carved out of marble, but even the calmest lake can’t escape the springtide. Eventually, you’ll meet.

Jungkook is still standing in front of you, arms folded and eyes darting between you and Taehyung.

“Where do you want me?” He mirrors the words you spoke to him earlier that day, eyes glinting mischievously.

While you thought he was nervous when he didn’t dare to look at you it appears he was only trying to be polite — not a shred of that well-mannered behaviour left now, his head tilted slightly as his gaze roams freely over your body.

You can’t wait to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“Don’t get too cocky now, Kook.” You are all too aware of your state of undress and the fully clothed men watching you. “Take your clothes off and lay back on the couch.”

You steady your voice and stare at him when he meets your eyes, his brazen expression slowly faltering. “Put your arms behind your head.”

He nods eagerly and scurries out of his clothes, letting them fall on the ground.

Now it’s your turn to trail your eyes over his body — all hard planes, from his chiseled chest to his toned stomach. The intricate pattern of ink winds its way up along his right arm, interwoven letters and figures mottling his shoulders, which are emphasized by his small waist. You feel your pulse quickening when your eyes drop to his strong thighs, cock hanging half-hard between them.

From the glimpses you’ve seen and the way he religiously hits the gym every day there was no doubt in your mind that he would look good — but you’re still caught off guard by exactly how good he looks.

This is fine, it really is, it’s superb, outstanding, terrific, absolutely fab, tip-top, please don’t say any of that out loud—

For the second time this day you find yourself tangled up in a knot of thoughts, unable to do anything but stare.

He doesn’t give you the opportunity to ogle him for long, however, hastily fluffing up a cushion and lying down on his back, arms folded behind his head.

You climb onto the couch, straddling his thighs. You take a moment to admire him — the way his chest rises and falls with every breath and how his skin flushes slightly under your heated gaze.

He’s taken out his hair tie, black hair framing his face in gentle waves, slightly creased by how tightly he’d wrapped the elastic. He looks up at you, absentmindedly biting his bottom lip in anticipation of your next move.

“Can I touch you?”

He nods, his affirmation a whisper on his lips.

Resisting the urge to crawl a little higher and sink yourself down on his cock — Taehyung’s reminder still floating somewhere at the back of your mind, his presence sticking to your skin like honey — you run your nails up Jungkook’s thighs and he inhales sharply, eyes still fixed on your face.

“You like that, Kook?” You press your nails into his skin, a little harder this time.

And there it is — that sound. Eyes closed, he lets out another whine as you watch how purple crescent moons blossom underneath your fingertips.

You lean forward until your face is next to his. “I want to mark every inch of your body,” you whisper into his ear and he hums in response, trembling underneath you when you trail your teeth down his clavicle, sucking dark bruises into his skin.

“Noona— ahh,” he gasps as you nibble on the sensitive spot behind his ear, soothing the marks with your tongue.

You pull back, hands tracing his chest. When you lean forward again it’s to press your mouth against his, soft lips parting willingly when you swipe your tongue along their edge to deepen the kiss. It’s calmer than you expected it to be, languid strokes and swallowed whimpers, the faint remnants of your taste on his lips.

You rake your nails over his chest and he moans into your mouth.

“Let me hear you,” you sit up, eyes finding his, “don’t hold back.” He nods and you trail your hands down his stomach, exploring the solid muscle underneath your fingers.

It’s so firm — he’s lean, like Taehyung, but where the older man has a certain softness to his edges, Jungkook’s body is rugged and sinewy. It’s pliable under your hands, sensitive to the most featherlight of touches you bestow on him.

You wrap your lips around one of his nipples and flick your tongue against it. He whines, louder this time, and you suck softly in response. After lavishing the other nipple with similar attention you move downwards, eyes tracking the expanse of golden skin to where his cock lays against his stomach, still untouched. The reddened head glistens with pre-cum and you wrap your hand tentatively around his length, squeezing softly. He lets out a low hiss and you flick your wrist up, thumb spreading the moisture over his silken skin.

He bucks his hips up into your hand and you sit down on his thighs, letting his cock drop back against his stomach.

“A little too eager.” You grin, “I need you to stay still for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” It’s coming out strained and the muscles in his arms twitch but he keeps them folded behind his head.

“What was that?”

“Yes, noona.” He nods, brows knitted together in earnest, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Good boy.”

His cock twitches and you take him in your hand again, the heavy feel only inciting the ache between your thighs.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Taehyung, who’s lounging comfortably in the arm chair, long legs spread out as if he’s watching the evening news. He’s staring at you impassively but you know him well enough to see it’s just a front: his gaze even more intense than usual, chest rising and falling a little faster.

You bend down and trace a thick vein on the underside of Jungkook’s cock with the tip of your tongue. A low growl resonates in his throat and you wrap your lips around his length, tongue swirling around the head, determined to make him fall apart in a mess of moans and whines.

With one spit-slicken hand wrapped around him and the other gripping his thigh you take him deeper into your mouth, feeling the repressed stutter of his hips as he forces himself to stay as still as possible when his cock hits the back of your throat.

Pulling back, you watch him through your lashes, a string of saliva dangling between your lips and the head of his shaft. He has his eyes closed, head pushed back into the cushion.

“Look at me,” you whisper, and he tilts his chin down to meet your gaze.

You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on the two of you, never leaving, encouraging you to put on a show as much for his pleasure as for Jungkook’s or your own.

It has your nerves soaring and when you take Jungkook into your mouth again you don’t stop until your nose hits his pubic bone, a string of loud moans and curses ringing in your ears when your throat constricts around him.

It’s messy and loud, the way you flick and swirl your tongue around his sensitive head while taking him deep into the warmth of your mouth — sloppy, wet noises mixed with his throaty whines. He does exactly as you told him: not holding back, moans slowly rising in pitch and volume, muscled thighs tensing underneath yours.

You can feel the heat pool between your legs and slide one of your hands down, plunging two fingers inside yourself in a desperate attempt to find some relief. You imagine it’s Taehyung’s cock instead, stretching your walls slowly. It only adds more fuel to the fire — the angle slightly awkward, fingers a tad too short and pleasure just out of reach.

Jungkook’s frantic inhales and the stutter of his hips tells you he’s close — so you pull back, leaving him whining and writhing underneath you. Strands of hair are plastered against his forehead, heaving chest coated in a dewy sheen.

“Noona, please—” he gasps and you wrap your slick hands around his length, stroking him slowly, keeping him teetering on the edge.

“Ah, you want more?” You dip your head down and flick your tongue against that particular spot on the underside of cock — the one that makes him squirm in your grasp — before pulling back again, “like this?”

He lets out a hoarse whimper, fingers tangled in his hair to keep himself from grabbing yours. You wrap your lips around his length again, preparing yourself to—

“Wait,” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the room. He rises to his feet and walks towards the couch, glossing his hand over your hair and down your back, fingers ghosting over your sodden cunt. You lean into his touch, delight washing over you at having him closer again.

Taehyung’s other hand comes up to wrap around the back of your neck. “I want to see Jungkook fill up this pussy,” he muses, emphasizing his words with a tap of his fingers before letting go of you and stepping back, sitting down on the coffee table.

He doesn’t have to tell you twice — you’re moving as soon as the words leave Taehyung’s mouth, one hand wrapped around Jungkook’s cock as you slowly lower yourself down on him.

You let out a shaky breath, bracing both hands on his chest to give yourself some time to adjust to the feeling of him buried deep inside you.

Jungkook groans and closes his eyes, jaw slackening. His arms jerk in an unconscious response to your walls tightening around him but he keeps them behind his head like you told him to.

“You’re so good for me, ah, Kook—” you grit out when you roll your hips, lifting yourself off of him, only to sink back down again in one fluid motion.

With every drag of his cock against your walls the heat is building inside of you again and you throw your head back, letting yourself get carried away, two voices mingling in pleasure.

Taehyung watches how Jungkook’s length gets soaked in your arousal with every roll of your hips. Dark brows drawn tightly together and eyes glossy, bewitched by the intoxicating view in front of him, his carefully crafted expression is faltering. His cock strains painfully hard against his slacks and he clenches his jaw, fingers wrapped stiffly around the edge of the coffee table.

You’re grinding down on Jungkook with all the strength you can muster, trying to find that angle that has you seeing specks of white behind your eyelids.

“Are you gonna make her come or should I lend a hand?” Taehyung goads, playful amusement lacing his words.

Something dark sparks in Jungkook’s eyes and he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He’s always been competitive — you know it, Taehyung knows it, everyone knows it.

And Taehyung has always been the one who knows exactly how to pull his strings.

“Please…” Jungkook sounds strained, begging through his teeth. You know it’s taking him every inch of his resolve to stay still and keep himself from thrusting up to meet the smooth roll of your hips.

The notion of what he could do when you give him your word sings through every fibre of your being, thrumming in time with the pounding of your heart against your ribcage.

You slide your hands over his chest, face hovering above his. “Make me come,” you whisper, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging at it roughly.

Much like yourself, Jungkook doesn’t waste any time — hands gripping your waist tightly as he thrusts up, throwing you off balance and sending you face-forward into the crook of his neck. Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders in a feeble attempt to remain upright, but you are no match for his strong arms as he slams you down forcefully to meet every stroke of his nimble hips.

Your body goes limp against his, unable to do anything but allow him to let pleasure rain down on you with every thrust. The change in angle has your clit rubbing against his pubic bone, the friction setting your nerves alight.

Taehyung’s face floats in front of you, deep brown eyes lost in a haze of ecstasy as you try to focus, your vision blurry.

“Jungkook’s fucking you good, baby? You like that?”

You try to answer but the only sounds that leave your lips are a mess of moans and shaky whimpers that sound vaguely like his name.

“Look at you, you’re taking him so well.” He smooths his hand over your cheek — you’re positive you’re a mess, drooling all over Jungkook’s shoulder, but you have thrown all care out of the window long ago.

“Fuck—ah, noona, hyung— feels so good,” Jungkook groans next to your ear, tightening his grasp on you. He shifts his hips slightly and you gasp, the head of his cock brushing against that spot you have been chasing for what feels like eternity.

Feeling your walls flutter around him, Jungkook nearly pulls himself out fully before sinking back inside you with a tantalising drag that has you moaning and trembling in his grip. With every stroke of his hips you feel yourself tightening around him, closing in on your climax until a particularly sharp thrust sends you tippling over the edge.

You fist your hands in his hair and he slows down his pace, dragging out your orgasm as you coat his cock in your slick, face buried in his neck.

His breathing comes out in ragged pants and you roll your hips, encouraging him to move faster. He picks up the pace again, rhythm erratic and faltering. It’s almost too much, too deep, and you hoist yourself up, planting your hands on either side of his head. You watch how pleasure overtakes him — hips stuttering, his brow creased and eyes closed when he spills himself inside of you.

The two of you stay still for a moment, catching your breath, a tangled mess of leaden limbs.

“Knew you didn’t need me,” Taehyung grins at Jungkook, “see?” He jokingly pats Jungkook on his head, the latter trying to swat his arm away, softening cock threatening to slip out of you.

“Don’t move,” Taehyung warns and you both still. He sits down behind you, mirroring your pose. Grabbing your hips with one hand he lifts you up gently, Jungkook’s cum trickling down your thighs as he pulls out of you.

You whimper when Taehyung gathers the mixture of juices with two fingers and pushes it back into your sensitive cunt.

He reaches behind him with his other arm, grabbing a large cushion and stuffing it between yours and Jungkook’s hips, angling your ass up and preventing Jungkook’s cum from spilling out of you. His fingers are moving slowly, careful not to push too hard.

“Tae, ah— too much,” you gasp, his motions bordering on the edge of pain. He hums in response and presses his thumb against your clit, knowing his way around your body almost better than you do. He eases you into the discomfort with slow, languid strokes, it soon making way for pleasure again.

“That’s it,” he coaxes when your soft moans are growing in volume, fingertips searing your skin with every touch. He bends down to lick the glossy remnants of Jungkook’s cum and your arousal off your thighs until they are completely clean, thumb still circling your clit at a leisurely pace.

A hand comes up to your face and you open your eyes — you don’t even recall closing them — to see Jungkook drinking the sight of you. He slides his hand to the back of your neck and brings your face down to his, your arms braced on his shoulders. He swallows your moans when Taehyung’s long, slender fingers brush smoothly against your swollen walls.

Taehyung removes his hand and spits on your cunt, watching how it trickles down between your folds before sliding his fingers sloppily through the mess, groaning at the sight.

“Fuck.” He pushes two fingers inside you again in a scissoring motion and you arch your back at the intrusion, forehead pressed against Jungkook’s. “You think you can take some more?” A hint of desperation laces his voice, fraying at the edges of your resolve.

“Yes.” You breathe, pushing yourself eagerly back onto his hand. He curls his fingers, chuckling at your impatient response. “Please, Tae.”

Then his hand is gone, the sound of him unbuckling his belt enough to have you soaking the inside of your thighs again, anticipation tightening in your chest.

When nothing happens you crane your head around to see what’s taking him so long, his hands on your hips and face lit up in a broad grin.

“Tae, I swear to God if you’re not gonna—”

The end of your sentence is cut off by your own gasp when you feel the blunt head of his cock push against your entrance.

“Then what?” He teases, sliding his length through your lower lips and strengthening his grip on your hips to prevent you from moving. He bends forward, breath hot against your ear. “I don't think you're going to do anything. And I’m not nearly as desperate as you.”

You whine, squirming in his grip.

“Stop moving.”

You cease your wriggling, his cock straining heavy against the curve of your ass.

“What do you think, Jungkook?” Taehyung straightens his back, looking over your shoulder at the man below. “Should we give her what she wants?”

Jungkook looks up at you and you send him a pleading look. “Tae—Kook, please.” You’re not beneath begging, with Taehyung so near yet so far away; you want him closer, the need to feel him inside of you making your mind foggy and clouded with lust.

“Please fuck her, Tae.” Jungkook groans, eyes darkening and bottom lip reddened from chewing on it.

Taehyung chuckles, “Lucky you.” You whine at the faint burn as the head of his cock breaches you, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth.

“Shit.” He groans as he slowly inches deeper, watching how his length gets coated in Jungkook’s cum and your own arousal, “such a pretty, tight little pussy.”

When he finally bottoms out he stops, chest heaving. He smooths a hand over your lower back. “Are you okay?” His voice is raspy, restraint slowly unravelling as he loses himself in the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

You push yourself back on his cock, wiggling your ass a little, hoping it entices him enough to move.

“Patience was never your strong suit,” Taehyung laughs. “Looks like you two got that in common.”

You roll your eyes and Jungkook lets out a huff, but before you can counter Taehyung’s words he snakes a hand up your torso and wraps it around your throat, lifting your body up so your back is pressed against his chest. The soft cotton of his shirt tickles against your skin — something about him being fully dressed while you and Jungkook lie naked underneath him making your chest tighten with desire.

Taehyung is watching you through thick lashes, with heavy-lidded eyes and slightly parted lips. His tongue darts out and your eyes follow the motion, captivated by the movement. No matter how often you see him this up close, he never fails to enthrall you; tanned skin coated in a glistening sheen and brown eyes darkened to a deep hue, black messy curls framing his face.

When he kisses you it feels warm, earthy and familiar — but still just as exciting.

“Tell me what you want.” He pulls back, lips ghosting along the edge of your jaw.

Of course he already knows exactly what you want.

“Tae,” you plead, “please move.”

He nips at your earlobe and bends you over, left hand taking hold of your hip and his right grabbing your shoulder. You rest your forearms on Jungkook’s chest and his arms come up to steady you when Taehyung finally rolls his hips, your breath hitching in your throat.

His pace is agonizingly slow, letting you feel every inch as he nearly pulls himself out entirely before sinking back again, slick noises mingling with your moans.

Jungkook slides his left hand under the cushion to adjust his hardening cock, pressed between the fabric and his stomach, groaning at the friction when Taehyung picks up his pace.

The ache between your legs grows stronger, the room slowly fading into the background until all that remains is the two men surrounding you, your voice nothing but a hoarse whisper.

“Tae, ah—harder, please.” He gives into your request, groaning as he pushes you down onto his length with fervent devotion. “Ahh.” He hisses, “you feel so good around my cock.” His hair falls into his eyes in messy tangles, gaze fixed on the sight in front of him. “So wet. So tight.”

Your eyes fall shut, the three of you a tangle of limbs and throaty moans.

Beneath you, Jungkook stirs.

“Fuck,” he breathes, watching how pleasure overtakes your expression. “So beautiful.” He brings his tattooed hand up and closes it around the column of your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Wanna watch your face when you fall apart.” He murmurs, “you think you can do that for us, noona?”

You whimper weakly when he tightens his grip, fingers pressing into the soft skin under your jaw. Your cunt clenches around Taehyung’s cock and his hips stutter, a string of husky moans falling from his lips.

You feel like you’re floating, Jungkook’s hand around your throat and Taehyung’s grip on your hips the only things preventing you from collapsing onto Jungkook’s chest, arms shaking as you try to keep yourself upright.

A raspy sob falls from your lips when Taehyung angles your hips up and the head of his cock brushes along the spot that has you trembling in his grasp. He slides one hand between the cushion and your body, fingers finding your clit.

You don’t even care about how fucked out you must look — pressed between the two of them, flushed and sweaty and still wanting more.

“Please… Tae…. gonna —” you’re blabbering, unable to wrap your tongue around the consonants caged behind your teeth.

“Then come.”

It’s too much and not enough all at once — your orgasm washing over you as the taut string they’ve kept you dangling on snaps with a pinch of Taehyung’s fingers.

Jungkook curses, hand tight around your throat and hips rutting against the pillow, eyes never leaving your face.

Taehyung’s grunts are getting increasingly more desperate when you soak his cock, your walls throbbing around him. It doesn’t take long for him to follow you off the precipice, body slumping forwards and pressing you against Jungkook’s. He rests his arms next to the younger man’s shoulders, trying not to crush you under his weight.

“Fuck,” he groans into your hair and Jungkook chuckles. “Fuck indeed.”

Taehyung punches his shoulder half-heartedly and rolls on his side, pulling you with him. Pressed flush between them, you feel their steady heartbeat as the hazy bliss slowly lifts. It’s tempting to close your eyes and just stay here, in the moment, the snow still drifting down outside and covering the world in an ivory blanket.

“You might need a new couch.”

Jungkook looks down and grins sheepishly. “And some new pillows.”

“Namjoon’s gonna kill us.” Taehyung sighs, wincing when he sees the mixture of cum dripping down your thighs. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we make even more of a mess.”

“You can use my shirt, I have a spare.” Jungkook lifts his head and stretches his arm towards the pile of clothes on the floor, just out of reach.

Taehyung untangles his limbs and clambers over you and Jungkook, fastening his belt. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be right back.”

“You brought an extra shirt?” You look up at Jungkook, fingers trailing the ink on his shoulder.

A light pink dusts his cheeks. “I planned on going to the gym later so I brought my workout clothes.” He hesitates, waving his hand around, “but then, um, this happened.”

“Can I borrow your clothes?”

“My clothes?” He frowns. “Why? I mean, sure.”

“Thought you might need an excuse to drop by to pick up your clothes sometime.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he laughs, “As if I need an excuse.”

“What on earth is this?”

Jungkook’s head snaps up, eyes widening when he sees Taehyung standing in the doorway of the bathroom, holding up your paint-soaked clothes with an amused grin on his face.

“Oh, no.” You groan, tugging on Jungkook’s arm to wrap his body around you, burying your face into his neck. “I was never here.”

Thank you for reading!

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