#it’s done. with all slots used. is the thing

[jimxnslight]

The Odd One Out

Summary: When BigHit faces financial struggles, the unthinkable happens: a girl is added to BTS. For the seven members, the change is unsettling, especially for Namjoon, who doubts her place among them. But for Y/N… it's a chance to finally be seen.

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Genre: idol au

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I randomly got the urge to write but wasn’t really feeling any of my wips at the moment, so tell me why I opened a new doc and then 3 hours later this appeared? Like damn, I’m not used to this kind of motivation lmao

“This is a joke, right?”

A heavy silence followed Namjoon’s words, the band’s leader the only one with the guts to voice his mind. But really, someone had to point out how ridiculous the plan being proposed to them was. 

“Now I know it’s not very traditional-”

“It’s not breaking tradition that we’re concerned with,” he countered instantly, “it’s the fact that you’re proposing to bring a girl into the group.”

“I think we all just want to know where this is coming from,” Hoseok offered, inquisitive eyes traveling from Namjoon to their longtime friend and producer now sitting before them. 

Beomgyu sighed, taking in the small recording studio packed with the bright and young members of Bangtan. He had half a mind to call Sihyuk and give him hell for making him be the one to propose the solution they’d spent months coming up with. It was more than clear that the members weren’t on board with the plan, some outright rejecting it while others reluctant, which was a problem because only Beomgyu knew that they didn’t really have a choice in the matter. 

“Look,” Beomgyu raised his hands in surrender, not wanting this to fester into something dramatic, “I get it. The thought of someone being added into the group this late is a bit wild, especially that someone being a girl, but that’s exactly why we’re doing it.”

“So it’s a move for attention?” Yoongi commented, unimpressed. A single brow disappeared behind his light grey hair as he leaned back into the small sofa, arms crossing over his chest. Beomgyu could only purse his lips.

“The company’s been facing a lot of financial issues, especially ever since the girl group prior to your debut disbanded. They had hoped that perhaps your last album could have done well enough to keep us afloat until your popularity increases, but even I knew that was a long shot.”

“Then we’ll make a better album,” Namjoon said, determination making his voice firm, but Beomgyu shook his head.

“You guys don’t get it, do you?” 

The boys all gave Beomgyu a curious look, heads tilting and murmurs rippling amongst themselves. Beomgyu watched them all, feeling sympathy for the boys that deserved so much better.

“The Big Three companies have been buying up slots in awards shows and TV programs. They’ve been booking interviews everywhere - anywhere they can get their hands on. There are no places for us to market your group, nothing we can buy up because BigHit has no money. We’re lucky enough that the sales you guys make cover the production costs and some debts, which is way more than what we anticipated.”

He leaned forward in his chair, fidgeting with a stray pen, “you guys have made so many songs that should have been absolute hits, but they never did. Why? Because they can’t gain that kind of trajectory in a company so small. The only realistic thing to expect is to gradually gain popularity - but that takes time. Time we don’t have considering the fact that BigHit is sinking.”

The room was silent, everyone processing the weight of the situation. It made sense, as much as the boys hated to admit it, they were tired of putting all their blood, sweat, and tears into making their albums, only for them to gain minimal traction. They tended to put the blame on themselves most of the time, feeling as though they weren’t good enough, but Beomgyu knew the truth. Had they been in a bigger company, their songs would have been sellouts.  

“Come on, talk to me. You guys are my friends first, and I don’t want you to feel like we’re forcing a horrible decision on you,” Beomgyu begged, especially taking note of how quiet the younger members had been this entire time. 

He was relieved when Jimin sat forward on the couch, running a hand through his black hair slowly, “it’s just… this is weird. Not only for us, but what about the girl too? I can’t imagine she would feel comfortable being in a group with seven guys.”

“And doesn’t this decision seem a bit… permanent? Why not do something more temporary?” Yoongi piped in. 

Taehyung laughed, shaking his light brown hair, “what? Like dating rumours?”

Seokjin grimaced, as though the idea left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Things like this tend to get a bigger reaction when the consequences are more permanent, or at least that’s what I was told,” Beomgyu offered. He was only a producer after all, most of the hard work had been done by the management. 

“And to answer Jimin’s question… well, the girl has already signed the contract, so she must be fine with it.”

That had all the boys’ heads snapping to Beomgyu.

“She’s already been picked out?” Jungkook asked, doe eyes wide in surprise. They widened even more when Beomgyu nodded, causing a frenzy amongst the boys. 

“You wanna meet her?” He asked with a relieved smile, glad to be out of the danger zone. 

Taehyung was the first to jump from his place on the couch, his leg accidentally bumping into Jungkook who had been sitting on the floor at his feet. He mumbled something in annoyance as his dark brown hair was pushed into his eyes.

“Okay, hold on.” Beomgyu’s words made the boys pause, “technically you’re not supposed to meet her until next week, but she told me she’ll be in the studio to record something for your next album today so I don’t think it’ll hurt to pay her a small visit.”

“You’ve met her already?” Hoseok asked, his tone slightly surprised. So much seemed to have changed in the span of 20 minutes. 

Beomgyu nodded, ushering everyone out of the recording studio to begin their journey to the one down the hall. Taehyung was right behind him, a boxy grin gracing his features. 

“So if you’ve met her, what’s she like?”

He seemed to have been the only one excited by the odd plan from the start, much less skeptical compared to his bandmates. But then again, Beomgyu wasn’t surprised. Taehyung seemed to have a natural liking for anything unusual. 

The other boys didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm, but he could see the hints of curiosity in their gazes. Even Namjoon trudged behind everyone reluctantly, though notably still skeptical of the plan. 

Once they had reached the door, Beomgyu knocked on it twice and then turned around to give them a look. 

“Regardless of your feelings towards this situation, let’s not try to overwhelm her, alright?” He said, his gaze then straying to Taehyung, “she’s a nice girl and she doesn’t deserve to be treated badly.”

Beomgyu didn’t actually believe any of the boys would be rude, he knew them better than that. He just hoped they also understood how nerve-wracking this would be for you, because he hadn’t lied, you really were a nice girl. 

The door behind him opened to reveal another producer.

“Alright then, let’s meet your new member.”

-

-

-

“God, you have no idea how much I’m enjoying this right now.”

Your head tilted in question at the comment, hands coming up to steady the headphones encasing your ears. This was probably your third hour in the recording booth, Hyowon seeming to want to make sure your voice didn’t work before he let you off.

“You enjoy getting rid of my voice?” You asked with an amused smile, the comment making him shake his head with a laugh.

“No, no, that’s not it, I swear. It’s just your vocals,” he explained, “I’m sure you already know we don’t get a lot of high notes around here - I mean don’t get me wrong, Jimin and Seokjin do an incredible job, but there’s nothing like a female high note.”

“I’m assuming you’re a fan of high notes?” You asked, almost bursting into laughter when he nodded instantly. 

“You should ask the guys, they’re sick of me telling them to sing one every two minutes- oh my god,” he exclaimed suddenly, a thought evidently coming to him, “please tell me you can do a whistle.”

You chuckled shyly, a bit embarrassed by your answer, “my vocal coach doesn’t want me to do it much until I get the proper technique down, but I’ve done it a few times.”

“Oh, Y/N. You’re gonna get so sick of me.”

You laughed, beginning to take a liking to Hyowon. It was nice to know there would be at least one person so easygoing and friendly in this company. It was going to make these next few months a lot easier if the other members decided they didn’t like you.

You knew technically it didn’t matter, but that thought had been playing around in your mind a lot lately. The entire situation was weird, even you had to admit, but the moment BigHit had given you a call and proposed the idea, you knew you’d have to be crazy to turn something like this down, especially considering how difficult it’s been trying to stay afloat as a solo artist from a small company.

Unlike what the company had in mind, however, you weren’t planning on staying in BTS forever. Your plan was to just join the group for about a year, ensure your name got out there while you and BTS grew in popularity, and then announce your disbandment from the group with a heartfelt goodbye. Rest assured if any of the guys weren’t a fan of your presence, they would only have to hold out for a few months.

Still, the people pleaser in you was hoping they didn’t hate you immediately. 

“Okay, I think that just about wraps up-”

A knock suddenly sounded from the recording studio’s door, causing the two of you to eye it curiously. 

“I thought there was still 20 minutes left until my fried chicken came, it must have come early…” Hyowon muttered, getting up from his seat to get to the door. 

You slid the headphones off your head with a relieved sigh, satisfied with the work you put in today, though your mind was already racing with ways to improve for next time. You let them whirl as you strolled out of the recording booth and gently placed the headphones back on the table. But when you turned around, you were surprised to find a number of other men in the room.

Not just any men too, but your soon-to-be bandmates. 

And all their eyes were trained on you, making your own widen. 

You’d technically seen them all in photos from the research you’d conducted after BigHit’s call, but those didn’t seem to do them justice at all. They didn’t capture the tender look in Yoongi’s eyes, or the pretty accents in Hoseok’s features. Jin, who you had already thought looked straight out of a k-drama, somehow looked even better in real life, while Namjoon’s aura seemed to exude the feel of a leader. Even though the rest were sort of hidden behind the older members, you could tell they were all attractive; it was so intimidating.

Before you could say anything - or sprint out the door like you really wanted to do right now - you caught sight of Beomgyu in the lineup of men, a friendly smile gracing his lips as he made his way to your side. 

“Hey guys,” he greeted, clapping Hyowon on the back before placing a more gentle hand on your shoulder. It was difficult to meet his eyes when your gaze kept flickering wearily to the boys surrounding you, “we thought it would be nice to drop by and see how the recording was going.”

Hyowon leaned a casual arm on Beomgyu’s shoulder, a testament to their evolved friendship over the years.

“It’s going very well,” he answered, excitement radiating off him in waves, “the high notes in your next album are going to be incredible.”

A series of groans rose from a few of the boys, only two of the seven harbouring amused smirks. It took a moment for you to place their names: Jin and Jimin, Bangtan’s main visual and lead vocalist. 

The latter accidently caught your gaze, black hair and sharp jawline giving him an almost charismatic intensity. But before you could quickly look away, his face broke into a warm smile, soothing a few of your nerves instantly. 

At least one of them didn’t seem to hate you. 

“Well, then…” Beomgyu began, catching everyone’s attention, “Hyowon and I have a couple things we need to work on, so… um, we’ll be right here if you need us?”

Hyowon snickered at the awkwardness before Beomgyu grabbed his shirt and dragged him to the computer across the room, which of course wasn’t that far with how small the studio was. You still missed the comfort of his hand on your shoulder, now feeling very alone while facing people that may potentially hate your existence. 

Still, you had to make at least some effort, right?

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you offered, voice smaller than you meant for it to be. 

A series of greetings sounded from them, some softening at your tone, while others were unmoved. It was difficult to gauge their general feelings on your presence, which only seemed to make you more nervous. 

Taehyung broke off from the group to stand closer, a boxy smile aimed right at you. You tried not to, but even you couldn’t stop yourself from ogling his almost perfectly structured face and the tousled hair that fell so effortlessly across his forehead when he moved.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, and you couldn’t help but smile shyly at his excitement. If you hadn’t been so timid, you might have noticed his lingering gaze on your features, “this is all so cool, isn’t it?”

You’d never really thought about it like that, your views on the situation being controlled entirely by your nerves up until now. But when he put it that way… you supposed he was right, it was kind of cool. 

“I guess so,” you admitted, slowly warming up to the idea. 

“I mean, seriously, this is so crazy!” He continued on, facing the other members,“it’s not everyday a group gets a new member three years in - and that too a girl! This is kinda uncharted territory, you know?”

“That’s what makes it a bit scary,” you admitted with a chuckle. You noticed Jimin’s eyes soften at your words and his lips part to say something, but before he could, Jungkook piped up from behind Seokjin’s broad shoulders.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Y/L/N Y/N, would you?” He asked, his tone almost as shy as yours. You honestly hadn’t even realised he was there, but now that you had, you took in his doe eyes and ruffled dark brown hair. He kept having to push the silky locks out of his eyes, a motion you found insanely distracting. 

You nodded mindlessly, distantly surprised that he knew your last name without offering it. 

“Oh. Cool,” he nodded. Then he noticed your questioning look and quickly rushed to explain, “I think I’ve, um, heard your name somewhere.”

Seokjin’s gaze narrowed as he looked back at the younger boy, “hey, wait. Isn’t that the artist Jungkook listens to like all the time-?”

“So what’s your position?” Jungkook interrupted quickly, a bright shade of pink engulfing the sides of his neck. 

You blinked at Jungkook’s sudden change of topic, though you didn’t miss the slight panic in his expression. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, slightly amused by his reaction. Seokjin’s comment had not gone unnoticed by you; the fact that Jungkook liked your music was a comforting thought. 

“Vocalist,” you replied, deciding not to tease him over it, which elicited a look of relief on Jungkook’s face, “though Hyowon has said I’ll be doing so much harmonisation work with Seokjin and Jimin that it might as well be my actual position.”

Seokjin chuckled quietly, his plump lips spreading into a charming smile, though his gaze didn’t meet yours. In fact, you started to notice that he was keeping his gaze strictly on the other members even as you spoke. 

“Good, it’ll finally get him off our backs,” Yoongi muttered, revealing a much more laid back personality instead of the cold persona he seemed to emit on camera, “I’m a rapper and that man still tries to get me to put in a couple high notes.”

Hyowon turned from the mixing desk to face the group with an evidently offended huff, reminding you of the producers’ presence. 

“You all complain now, but just wait until you hear the final product. You’ll be thanking me.”

“Sure,” Yoongi deadpanned, turning to you once again, “can you rap?”

You tilted your head in thought. 

“I think I can hold my own if I had to, though it’s not really my style.”

“That’s fine, you’re one of us vocalists,” Taehyung waved his hand around dramatically, throwing a possessive arm around your shoulder as he eyed Yoongi, “no one wants to be one of the rappers anyway.”

“Weren’t you just yesterday begging Namjoon to let you on Cypher?” Jimin raised a brow.

“No.”

“Do you dance, Y/N?” Hoseok asked, interrupting the ridiculous conversation before it turned into a fight, though the way he leaned forward made it clear he was very interested in your answer. 

That question had you nervously rocking against your heels, a hesitant breath escaping your lips before you replied, “definitely not as good as you guys, but I’m ready to put in a ton of work to get better, I swear.”

Unlike the look of displeasure you expected, Hoseok nodded in your direction with a satisfied smile. It was a relief that he was willing to at least give you a chance before jumping to disdain. His gaze lingered as he scanned you from head to toe, assessing your potential with intensity.

“Hard work is a must,” Namjoon emphasised, the first time he’d spoken since walking into the room. Even though no one had been speaking, it felt as though a hush had washed over the group, a testament to the weight of his words as a leader. You’d been noticing Namjoon staring at you from the beginning, the look not exactly scorn, but not very inviting either. It made you squirm in your spot, doubt creeping into your thoughts, “being a soloist is pretty different from being in a group, which means you’ll have to put in a lot of hard work - it’s not going to be easy.”

You straightened, feeling as though you were being tested, “I understand completely. I know it won’t be easy, but I’m ready to put in the work. You don’t have to worry about me being a drain.”

Namjoon’s hard gaze flickered before he regarded you for a moment, no indication as to whether you had passed his mini “test” or not, “alright.”

A soft hand squeezed your shoulder gently, belonging to none other than Jimin. The proximity of his warm eyes made your face heat, something Jimin seemed to notice. His smile became teasing, “don’t say that, no one here thinks that you’re a drain. I think you’re going to do great. And if you have any questions don’t hesitate to-”

“I have a question actually,” Namjoon’s voice sounded once again, gaze still trained on you. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of tension run through you every time he spoke, “I’m curious to know why you agreed to this whole thing.”

You pursed your lips, not entirely sure how to reply. On one hand, you didn’t mind telling them about your plan, in fact, you bet they’d be relieved to hear it. But on the other hand, you were slightly afraid that they might think you were using them - which technically speaking you were, but also technically speaking they were using you too. It was an odd predicament.

“My solo career wasn’t doing as well as I had wished it would - plus, the excitement of something new mostly,” you offered. Only half the truth, but just enough to relieve you of your guilty conscience. 

“Well, the contract’s been signed and you’re here now, so you’re one of us,” Taehyung exclaimed, and you couldn’t help but be grateful for how welcoming he’d been since the start. Not that the others haven’t, Jimin’s presence had been like a warm blanket while Jungkook’s secret admiration had been an honour. And you completely understood everyone else’s hesitation, you’d be weirded out too if someone was randomly added to your group three years later. Still, the warm welcomes had made you insanely grateful. 

Taehyung steered you towards the door of the studio, “and what better way to celebrate than to eat some steaming barbeque and noodles.”

“Oh oka-” You barely had time to answer before you were being steered out the door by an enthusiastic Taehyung, the rest shrugging before following behind with casual chatter and mumbles. Soon the studio was empty, no one but Namjoon, Beomgyu, and Hyowon left. 

Namjoon stood with his hands crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the door when he spoke.

“The contract’s already signed, huh?” he repeated, gaze shifting to the other two men in the room, “and what if we had said no?”

“Namjoon,” Beomgyu pleaded, his face falling, “please don’t make this harder than it has to be…”

Namjoon’s gaze softened, realising that he was directing his anger onto the wrong people, “sorry. I know this isn’t on you, man.”

“Come on, Joon,” Hyowon said, feeling bad for his friend, “she seems nice, and she’s got an incredible voice. You may not like the situation, but at least she’ll be a good addition to the group, no?”

Namjoon’s gaze strayed back to the open door, letting his thoughts whirl around in his head. He didn’t want to voice them out loud because, technically speaking, he didn’t really have any tangible evidence that went against what Hyowon was saying yet.

He uncrossed his arms with a sigh.  

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

[mercurygray]

Advice for a Long Fic

Someone asked me recently for advice about writing a long fic, and I started making a list before realizing this was probably a post rather than a message.

I know I've said most of this before, and none of it is new advice. As with any advice, take what you think will serve you and leave what you think will not. Everyone's process is different.

-*-

Start a new folder in the place where you save your things. This is your new big project folder. You are going to save all the things here.

Decide whether you are going to write the whole thing and then post it, or post it as you go. There are benefits to both of these approaches. I am a post it as you go person, and I have friends who think this is the dumbest approach imaginable. It is whatever works for you and causes less anxiety.

I have a spreadsheet for all of my characters. While I didn't reference it too often while I was writing, the act of making the document helped solidify people in my mind a little. It was also nice to have in case you felt like doing an askbox game on a slow day.

Come up with a naming convention for the things in the big project folder. When your chapter is 'done' it should be switched to the naming convention. Mine was Darkening Sky - Working Chapter Title (for things that were still in progress) and Darkening Sky - 35 - Chapter Title for things that I'd finished. This helped me find things later after I'd been working for three years and would not have remembered what was in a document.

I personally like the model of doing a separate document for each chapter. This allows me to move these episodes around at will without the danger of possibly deleting a large chunk of text. This does not work for everyone! If you like one big document, use one big document.

The other reason I liked lots of little documents is that it gave me the opportunity to slot in other things that I didn't think were originally going to be chapters. When I first started working on TDS, I had a lot of flashes of ideas for different things throughout the whole story, and I wanted to get them down all at once. Some of those made it into the final story. Some did not. Some of them were written for one part of the story but got recycled into a different part. But they are all in the big document folder in case I needed them.

I also did something for TDS that I've never done for a story before - I wrote down all the different story beats and show beats on notecards and I laid them out on my floor underneath cards that had the show episodes on them. (You may have seen pictures of this.) By putting the plot points on notecards, rather than a list, I had maximum flexibility to move them throughout the story and could visualize over a larger space where the story was going. This also allowed the story and the characters to go places I did not think they would go.

Give yourself grace and time. It will not all happen overnight. It does not need to all happen overnight. The people who are expecting it to all happen overnight are not the people you need in your life.

Having said that, a schedule can be a wonderful and valuable thing. I was trying to post a chapter every two weeks during the pandemic, and then when work picked up again I scaled that back to once a month. The schedule was not for the readers. The schedule was for me. Having something to keep myself accountable was helpful to me to prevent burnout (a chapter a day, no thank you) but keep myself moving forward.

I am going to say something provocative here: There is Writing the Fic, and there is Doing Fandom On The Fic. Doing Fandom On The Fic is the "New chapter coming soon!!!" sorts of things. I would be very cautious about feeling like you need to do the second thing. Work on it first. When it is done, it will promote itself. (If you have already created the Doing Fandom thing as a part of your creative process - great! share that! But don't go out of your way to Make Something Just To Have Something.) There is a time and place for the second thing, and it fills a specific need, but there is a different and I would argue more effective way to do that, which is -

Find a Pit Crew. This is an endurance race, not a sprint, which means at some point you are going to look at what you have on the page and you're going to want someone to tell you that you are doing a good job. You're going to need someone to change your tires and change your oil and talk to you at ten o'clock at night when you want to rip everything up. This is not a big public server - this is one or two trusted friends who will listen to your bonkers AUs and what your characters ate for breakfast. Create a server for you and those two people and go have fun. If no one else shows up to this party, you and those two people are still having a great time, and that is what counts.

[fanficfactory333]

Poking the Bear (pt.3)

Gregory knew Freddy was hiding something.

And if Freddy wasn’t going to tell him what it was, then Gregory had to find out himself.

So, he went back to the archives.

He had already searched through most of the data storage before. But now that he had a new name—Evan—he was looking at everything differently. He combed through every forgotten file, every ancient security log, every outdated employee record.

And that’s when he found it.

A small stack of VHS tapes.

Tucked away on the lowest shelf, hidden behind a loose panel of the cabinet, as if someone had deliberately tried to keep them out of sight.

The only label on them was “Memories.” Each one was numbered. 1, 2, 3…

Gregory frowned.

Who still used VHS tapes?

He grabbed the first one and slipped it into the rusty old TV in the corner. The screen flickered, static buzzing for a moment—

Then, a voice.

Deep. Measured. Calm.

Gregory felt his stomach turn.

It was William Afton.

—

Gregory’s hands were shaking.

The old VHS tape spun inside the worn-out player, its mechanical hum the only sound in the room. The dim blue glow of the security monitor screen flickered over his face, but he barely noticed.

Because in his ears—through the crackling, warped audio of an ancient cassette—a murderer was speaking.

"Hello, whoever you are. You just found a cassette tape hidden in my bedroom. Isn't that strange?"

The voice was smooth. Almost casual. Like this was any other conversation.

Gregory’s stomach twisted.

Then—

"That was me."

A chill ran down his spine.

He had suspected. He knew the rumors. But hearing William Afton himself just… admit it—so easily—made his skin crawl.

He stayed completely still, listening, barely breathing.

And then—

"Michael did it."

Gregory’s pulse stuttered.

Wait.

"Not a surprise, most people know that, but it wasn't an accident. He keeps saying it was but he's a liar."

Gregory’s eyes widened.

Michael.

The name was familiar. He had seen it in the files before. Michael Afton. William’s son.

But the way Afton said it—the venom in his voice—

Gregory swallowed.

"He hates me. And he hated Evan."

Evan.

Gregory’s breath caught.

That was the name Freddy had almost said. The name he had slipped up with.

"Michael wasn't settled with being a failure, and how I loved Evan just so much more. So he tormented him. Eventually, killing him."

Gregory’s whole body tensed.

No.

No, that—that couldn’t be right.

He knew Freddy wasn’t Afton. He knew he was someone else. And now—now there was this other name.

Michael.

Freddy had freaked out when Gregory called him a murderer.

Freddy had acted like he was guilty.

Because—

Oh, God.

"Ever since he killed him, I’ve wanted to put my hands around his neck and just squeeze the life out of his lungs..."

Gregory felt sick.

He stared at the screen, at the warped text rolling across it as the tape played, and for the first time since this all started—he didn’t know what to do.

He had been so sure.

Freddy wasn’t Afton.

But now—

Now there was a different monster in the picture.

And it was Michael.

Gregory’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Freddy wasn’t William Afton.

Freddy was Michael Afton.

And Michael was a killer, too.

Right?

Right?

The tape clicked, the recording coming to an end. The last words still rang in Gregory’s head, sharp and terrifying.

"So you'd better put it back, Michael. As neatly as you can. And start running."

Gregory swallowed hard, slowly turning to look at the door.

Where Freddy was waiting.

—

Gregory’s fingers trembled as he slotted the next tape into the player.

The first one had been bad. Really bad.

But he wasn’t done yet.

He had to know more.

The screen flickered. The tape whirred. And then—

William Afton’s voice returned.

"I'm trapped..."

Gregory’s breath hitched.

"The locks went off, while I was wearing it..."

His stomach dropped.

He leaned forward, pulse pounding in his ears.

"Somehow, I thought that thing would protect me… After all, I'm not good with thinking on my feet..."

The voice was different this time. Weaker. Pained.

"Now I'm awake..."

Gregory’s breath came shallow.

"My heart stopped beating, and they put the boards back up, so there goes my only way out..."

He swallowed hard.

This wasn’t a confession. This wasn’t Afton gloating about his crimes.

This was him dying.

"Either way, it hurts too much for me to get up... I guess it works the same for me as it did for them... I died, and end up as one of these... I just wish I knew about that part earlier..."

Gregory shivered.

So that was it.

That was how it happened.

William Afton had trapped himself inside a suit, just like the stories said. The Springlocks had snapped shut.

And he had died in it.

But he was still aware.

Gregory clenched his jaw.

"I don't know how long I'm gonna be in here..."

The tape clicked. Stopped.

Silence.

Gregory exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

This changed everything.

He had spent the last few hours assuming William Afton was still out there somewhere—lurking, manipulating, maybe even inside Freddy.

But no.

William Afton wasn’t in Freddy.

William Afton was stuck in a suit.

Which meant…

Gregory’s breath slowed.

Which meant Freddy—Michael—really wasn’t lying.

Gregory swallowed hard.

He had been watching Freddy with suspicion this whole time, thinking he was some twisted serial killer in disguise.

But if that was true, then why had Afton hated him so much?

The man on the tape—the monster who had bragged about killing kids—despised Michael. Blamed him. Wanted him dead.

That didn’t sound like a murderer’s accomplice.

That sounded like someone who had already suffered.

Gregory sat there, staring at the blank screen.

The weight of what he had done earlier—accusing Freddy, fearing him, running from him—settled heavy in his chest.

He had been wrong.

—

Tape Three.

"They're still alive... I can hear them moving around outside... someone must have put them back together..."

That was when the panic had started creeping in.

Who? Who was he talking about? The kids he killed? The ones in the animatronics?

Gregory didn’t know. And worse, he didn’t want to.

—

Tape Four.

"I bet they're wondering why they're not up in Heaven right now..."

Gregory had wanted to stop listening.

But he couldn’t.

"We're not going anywhere, because He doesn't care. God doesn't care about 'justice' or what's 'right' or 'wrong'... God just likes to watch interesting things happen..."

Gregory swallowed thickly.

That was the moment he realized something else.

Afton wasn’t just evil.

He was insane.

—

Tape Five.

"The hidden room in the bathroom hallway. The boards. Break them. I'm in there."

Gregory’s chest had tightened.

This was it. This was when Afton had still been trapped.

"I'm in there. Michael. Your father. I'm your father. I want to talk to you. I only want to see my boy."

Gregory’s breath had gone shallow.

Then—

"MICHAEL!!! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!!!"

The sound had physically hurt.

The banging. The screaming. The pure, raw desperation.

Gregory had been too stunned to move.

Because that meant—

That meant Michael had been there.

That meant Michael had walked away.

That meant Michael had left him to die.

And Gregory didn’t know how to feel about that.

But he didn’t have time to process it.

Because then came Tape Six.

—

"How could you do that, to your own father?! I hate you. I've ALWAYS hated you."

The voice had changed.

It was raw. Furious. Rabid.

"I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to make it HURT."

Gregory had flinched.

Not just from the words.

From the rage.

The kind of rage that never dies.

The kind of rage that still exists today.

Because William Afton was still out there.

And he was still looking for Michael.

—

Gregory had almost stopped there.

Almost.

But then—

Tape Seven.

Afton had started breaking.

"How could you just go without me and leave me rotting in a room for God knows how long?"

Time had blurred for him. He had been stuck for years and didn’t even know how long it had been.

Gregory had stared at the screen, his chest tight.

It was awful.

But he still hadn’t felt pity.

Because this man didn’t deserve it.

Not after what he did.

Not after what he had become.

Not after—

—

Tape Eight.

"I GOT OUT—I GOT OUT, I GOT OUT!"

Gregory’s entire body had locked up.

"I don't know where they took me but somewhere new... so much more room to breathe..."

He had shivered.

Because this was recent.

He knew where Afton had ended up.

And the worst part?

"They have your mask, Michael, the fox... hehehehe—I HATE looking at it, it makes me feel so alive..."

Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael.

William had never let him go.

Not even after death.

— — —

Gregory sat in the quiet, his head spinning.

Michael had been there. Michael had listened to all of this.

He had walked away.

And now he was here.

Right outside.

In the body of an animatronic.

Gregory’s fingers twitched.

He had been so sure Michael was a killer.

But these tapes…

These tapes didn’t sound like a father mourning a lost son.

These tapes sounded like a monster screaming about a disappointment.

Like a mistake.

Like someone he hated.

And that? That didn’t sound like Michael was his accomplice.

That sounded like Michael was his victim.

Gregory exhaled sharply.

And suddenly, for the first time since this all started—

He wasn’t scared of Freddy anymore.

—

The room felt too quiet.

Gregory sat hunched over the desk, staring at the blank screen, the weight of what he had just heard pressing down on him. His brain was still reeling, trying to make sense of everything.

Michael had been here. He had listened to all of that.

He had walked away.

And now he was Freddy.

Gregory swallowed hard.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

A soft mechanical whir came from the door.

Gregory tensed.

Heavy footsteps. Slow. Steady. Close.

His breath caught in his throat.

He turned just as Freddy stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Freddy’s optics glowed in the dim light, scanning the room. His frame wasn’t tense, but Gregory could tell something was off.

Something in the way he stood.

The way he looked at him.

Then, Freddy sighed.

A quiet, subtle sound. Too human.

“…You know, don’t you?”

Gregory’s chest tightened.

He didn’t even try to play dumb.

“…Yeah.”

Freddy’s optics flickered slightly. He stepped forward—slow, careful movements—and Gregory had to fight the instinct to back away.

Not because he was afraid of Freddy anymore.

Because he didn’t know how to face him.

Freddy stopped a few feet away, looking down at him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then—

“Which one did you find first?”

Gregory hesitated. “The first one.”

Freddy hummed. “Of course.”

Gregory shifted, gripping the edge of the desk. “I kept going.”

Freddy let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “I figured.”

Gregory licked his lips. “You knew they were there.”

It wasn’t a question.

Freddy nodded. “Yes.”

Gregory frowned. “Then why didn’t you destroy them?”

Another pause.

Then—

“…Because I wanted to remember.”

Gregory’s breath hitched.

Freddy wasn’t looking at him anymore. His optics had dimmed slightly, as if he was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere far away.

Gregory’s chest ached.

For the first time, he saw how tired Freddy really looked.

“…I almost didn’t listen,” Freddy admitted. His voice was quieter now. Softer. “I told myself I didn’t need to. That I already knew what he thought of me.”

Gregory swallowed.

Freddy’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“But when I found them, I… I played them anyway.” A bitter laugh. “Call it morbid curiosity.”

Gregory didn’t say anything.

Freddy inhaled slowly, optics flickering. “I thought maybe—maybe there would be something there. Some final admission. Some regret. That maybe—”

His voice broke.

Gregory stiffened.

Freddy clenched his jaw, forcing himself to continue.

“…That maybe, deep down, he still saw me as his son.”

Gregory felt something heavy settle in his chest.

Freddy let out another short, hollow laugh. “But no. That would’ve been too much, wouldn’t it?”

Gregory bit his lip.

Freddy’s servos tightened.

“He never loved me,” he said flatly. “Not even at the end. Not even when he thought he was dying.”

Silence.

Gregory looked down at his hands.

He wasn’t sure what to say.

For so long, he had been watching Freddy, doubting him, testing him.

And now—

Now he realized how wrong he had been.

He had spent all this time looking for a monster.

But all he had found was a broken son.

Gregory inhaled sharply, standing up from the chair.

Freddy blinked, straightening slightly as Gregory took a step forward.

For the first time, Gregory wasn’t looking at him like an enemy.

“…I’m sorry,” Gregory murmured.

Freddy blinked again.

Gregory swallowed hard. “For what I said earlier. For… for calling you a murderer.” His hands curled into fists. “For thinking you were him.”

Freddy studied him for a moment.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“…It’s alright, Superstar.”

Gregory frowned. “No, it’s not.”

Freddy shook his head. “You were only trying to protect yourself.”

Gregory exhaled. “Yeah. And I almost hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

Freddy’s smile faded.

“…You don’t think I deserve it?”

Gregory’s brow furrowed. “No.”

Freddy’s optics dimmed slightly.

“…I do.”

Gregory’s stomach twisted. “Why?”

Freddy looked at him for a long moment.

Then—

“…Because Evan is still dead.”

Gregory’s breath hitched.

Evan.

The kid from the tapes. The kid Afton had compared him to. The one he blamed Michael for killing.

Freddy turned away slightly.

“I still see it,” he murmured. “I still hear it.” His voice wavered. “Every single night.”

Gregory couldn’t breathe.

“…You didn’t mean to,” he said weakly.

Freddy laughed. But it wasn’t happy.

“No. I didn’t.” His hands clenched. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”

Gregory opened his mouth. Then closed it.

He wanted to tell Freddy he wasn’t a murderer.

But Freddy already saw himself as one.

Gregory’s throat felt tight.

Freddy finally turned back to him, his usual warmth dimmed but still there.

“…Do you still trust me, Gregory?”

Gregory hesitated.

Then, after everything—after all the running, the accusations, the tests—

He finally gave the only answer that mattered.

“…Yeah.”

And for the first time, Freddy looked like he actually believed him.

[lavampira]

I’ve temporarily given up bidding on a house again so I’m tempted to redecorate d’alia’s apartment :o)

[ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up]

The Krew works out together, usually honing a particular skill that they wish to work on (agility, weight lifting, defensive maneuvers, etc). Gideon is always extremely excited about it, and as the only one who's actually into fitness, he likes to hype up everyone especially when they beat their PB.

He'd never admit it but seeing Gideon happy is the reason Kremy actually gives a shit rather than phoning it in. The rest, while it's a bit of a struggle, do enjoy having a skill to get them out of a bind.

Hootsie gets put in a little coach outfit too, she's not helping really but isn't she cute???

[ladyinthebluebox]

🎉 oughhh, resolved the conflict between Shathann's grafted horn and Taash's jewelery 🎉

[valiasims]

Cozy Cabin Collection - Nursery

Hey everyone!

Sorry for the delay I was working a lot on this to be the way I wanted it to be but here it is! The next part of the Cozy Cabin Colletion is the nursery.

This time I wanted to bring a cozy, bear themed nursery with neutral colors and elements that represent nature.

This set has started a little difficult and I had to change some things because I wanted to include windows too but I realized there are so many things I want to make that the windows have to be left out this time. So I basically wasted a 3-4 days. Technically those days aren't wasted because I'll include the windows hopefully in the next set but I had less time for the items in this set.

I had a rough time with the curtains because at first these looked more thrown on the crib but I discovered that the arch is exactly the same as some in-game arched windows and I wanted them to be useable more ways so I redid them to be more curtainy. This inspired me to do arched windows so maybe I'll do them next, I'm not sure yet.

So about the items. I made these arches with the wooden frames to go together as you can see. All of them come in all 3 wall heights. The best to place them with half tile placement turned on with the F5 key.

I added 3 different furniture to slot into the wooden frames. You can mix and match these however you like or use them separately. With the half tile placement you can put them next to each other perfectly. 2 of them are shelves and one is a dresser with dresser functionality.

I mentioned the curtains the fit perfectly under the arch so you can use them like a canopy above the crib.

The changing table is base game and functional.

(The armchair and deco cushion is from the previous Entryway set.)

I think that's it, please let me know how you like it and if you have any errors, problems let me know as well! Hope you have a nice day/night and enjoy this set as much as I loved to create it. Despite some things being difficult I really enjoyed doing these items and this is my favourite collection I've done so far.

The Set Includes

Crib

Changing Table

Wooden Arch (3 heights)

Wooden Frame (3 heights, Left and Right variation)

Dresser

Shelves (2 variations, with tree design, without tree design)

Sheer Curtains

Bear Lights (3 heights)

Baby Blankets

Stack of Books

Children's Books

Lying Bear Plushie

Sitting Bear Plushie

Wooden Bears Family Deco

Round Rug

-DOWNLOAD HERE- Public release on the 17th of December 6PM CST

[yeyinde]

18+ | noncon. implied kidnapping.

In retrospect, camping all by yourself in a national park teaming with bears was probably high on the list of "dumbest things you've ever done in your life." But in your (shaky) defence—it really wasn't the wildlife you had to worry about anyway, but rather man.

In particular, a man.

That surly, gruff park ranger who happened to look just like a grizzly at first glance. The same one who found you all alone in your pitiful little tent, flashlight clutched in your trembling hands as you stared at him through the crack in the opening, visibly relieved that the thing you heard stomping around outside wasn't a bear, and quickly decided that pampered city princesses ought to be taught a lesson on what survival out here really means.

But he's merciful, he claims, and gives you a headstart to try and escape him (and the thick, unmistakable bulge in his pants, the dangerous look in his eye; naked hunger—that same, dead-eyed thing you'd seen in a big grizzly as he charged an elk earlier in the day) before he takes his prize.

And so, you run.

Except making good decisions doesn't really seem to be your strongest point.

In an instant, something is slamming against your back before you even make it halfway up the hill, pushing you to the ground on your belly. A warm, thick body following down after you. Crushing you into the soil.

You're too dazed by the impact to struggle when your hips are lifted. Pants, panties shoved down. Warm, rough hands cupping between your thighs, groaning at what he finds (all wet for me, mm, sweetheart?), and when you do, finally, begin to struggle you're met with an immovable wall. The strength of a man with more power in the single hand he keeps anchored against the back of your neck than you seem to have in your whole body—

"Don't know a thing, do you, sweetheart?" He growls, pushing your cheek deeper into the softened soil. "Not supposed to run from a bear, love."

Oh. Right.

Before you can squeak out an okay or sorry or please let me go, your knees are shoved wider apart by his thick, hairy thighs as he slots himself between your legs. Mounting his spoiled little prize on the cold, damp ground like a beast.

"Dangerous animals out here," is all he rasps before he's shoving inside of you, groaning about finally claiming the sweet little prey he's been diligently stalking through the park since he first laid eyes on you in the visitors centre. "You don't have a lick of sense in you, do you, sweetheart? No. Didn't even notice me followin' you. You need somethin'—someone—to protect you from dangerous predators, mm. And a firm hand to teach you a lesson."

He pries you open on his fat cock before you can spit out the dirt in your mouth to refute that claim, rutting into you like an animal on the cold ground in the middle of a national park as he makes good on his promise to show you what happens when you try and run from predators. A lesson that tastes like geosmin. Peat. And salty, tobacco-stained fingers. And aches like a broken bone after he set a maddening pace behind you, jerking your body against the upturned soil. Small rocks, and twigs digging into your skin.

When he's finally done, pulling out of you with a bullish grunt and landing a heavy, satisfied slap against the stinging cheek of your ass, he gathers your limp, sore body up into his arms, and brings you back to the lookout tower he calls home (temporarily).

A stop along the way, he assures you before setting out to teach his spoiled city princess more "survival skills"—like how to swallow his cock the way he likes, and how to take him as deeply, and as often, as he wants to give it to you.

(and often really is the foregone conclusion; it's mating season, after all.)

And as he pulls you down to lay against his furry, damp chest, cock softening inside of you (a thing you'll just have to get used to, sweetheart because he has no intentions of pulling out until he's ready to), and starts purring about mates and cubs and how lucky you were that he found you first before anything else had a chance to sniff you out, you think maybe you should have just gone to New York instead.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

[rafeysbunny]

Ok rafe doing coke with the reader and then having a fuck fest 😌

a/n. this has been sitting on my asks for a while now, i really hope you get to see it anon! thanks for the request!

you are giggling softly as rafe's finger gently rubs a tiny bit of coke onto your pink gums for the second time tonight, the effects of the drug already kicking in —even though he was careful enough not to give you too much.

is it bad that you love getting high with him?

you can't help but suck his digit in a playful manner before he finally pulls his hand away, a thin thread of saliva stretching in between his finger and your lips as he takes it out of your mouth.

"now stay still for a sec, baby," he mutters, pouring a bit of the white powder for himself over your sternum.

your shirt is laying somewhere on the floor of his living room, boobs on full display while he does a line on your chest using his credit card —he has been insisting on doing this all night, and it's not like you can deny him anything.

every little brush of his fingers lights your skin on fire, more than it usually does, and you know that's the cocaine doing its thing. your little nipples are hard, panties already wet as you watch him lean forward to snort the cocaine from between your tits, his tongue sliding all the way up your flesh where the coke was just laying when he's done so none of it goes to waste.

you gasp in response to his actions while you reach out to tangle your fingers in his soft, blonde hair. you give it a slight tug, knowing how much he loves it when you do that, and you're rewarded with a little grunt of his own.

he leaves a trail of wet kisses all over your chest, collarbone and neck as he makes his way up your body, aiming for your lips. he kisses you like he's starving as his large hands force your thighs open so he can slot himself in between them. you're both panting when he breaks the contact.

"how you doin', baby?" he asks breathlessly, lips still brushing against yours while he talks, "feeling good ?"

you nod in response. "so horny, rafey," you pant out, your hips unconsciously bucking up to grind your pussy against his cock over your clothes, desperate to feel him.

"suck a needy, little slut, huh?" he chuckles darkly, wrapping a hand around your slender neck.

he's just as turned on as you are, his hard dick throbbing insistently inside his pants while he stares at your semi-naked body squirming beneath him on the couch. your breath hitches slightly at his rough grip and you can feel your cheeks blushing when he grinds back, the friction making you shudder.

"dirty girl... so fuckin' desperate for cock," he murmurs hoarsely.

his calloused thumb gently presses against your pulse point —feeling your fast heartbeat there, while his free hand reaches out to grasp the waistband of your shorts and yank them down your smooth thighs, exposing your black lace underwear. when he slips that same hand inside your panties, he finds you soaking wet for him.

"drenched already ? haven't even touched you properly yet... what a pathetic whore," he taunts.

he smirks against your flushed cheek as he pushes two of his thick fingers inside your tight cunt, and your pussy flutters around them. the dirty talk, added to the degrading words sent your way, has you turning to putty in his arms.

"gonna fuck this slutty cunt the way it deserves, you hear me?" he says, curling his digits inside you to hit your g-spot. when you moan and nod eagerly in response, he adds, "yeah? want me to ruin this fuckin' perfect pussy? words, baby."

you shiver at the demanding tone he uses with you, his raspy voice filling your ears and striking just the right chord in your brain to make your pussy drool.

"yes, need you to fuck my pussy so bad," you answer between pretty whimpers.

"you're gonna get it, a'right."

he's quick to get rid of your remaining clothes and then he undresses as well. once naked, he grips your hips roughly to turn you around, bending you over the couch. as he positions himself behind you, his hands are restraining you, one of them forcing your head onto the cushions so your back is arched while the other is pinning your hands at the bottom of your spine.

when he finally thrusts into your sloppy cunt, you're seeing starts behind your closed eyelids as you let out the loudest moans he's ever heard from you, which only motivates him to fuck you harder, hips slamming roughly against your plush butt and pussy squelching lewdly around his cock. he'd make you cum again and again, fingers bullying your swollen clit until you're begging him to stop, pretty cheeks wet with tears. only then, he allows himself to cum.

"baby, fuck, so good f'me," he'd moan while he fills you up, dick throbbing inside your spasming cunt as he fucks you through his orgasm, "such a good little slut."

more.

[byoldervine]

Foreshadowing Ideas

• Character themes/motifs. I’ve heard of one writer who tries to give each character their own theme for similes, metaphors, descriptions, etc so there’s like a theme to the way they’re portrayed. You could use that to foreshadow notable secrets about the character that will later be revealed, or if at any point they’re disguised then you can use that to tip off the reader that they have the same motifs and so might be related/the same person

• Tiny details hidden in lists. Say the MC was trying to work out the identity of a bad guy, who we know was wearing a red shirt on the day of a big bad event. A few chapters later, MC is checking around their best friend’s room to find them, with the place its usual mess with discarded takeaway boxes, the bed unmade, a red shirt left on the floor that could use a good sweep. The red shirt might not click with all the readers, but those who register it upon their first read will eat it up

• Inconsistent behavioural patterns. Once we have a good idea of what a character is like, having them act out of character can set off alarm bells and make us question what’s occurred to make them act this way. Let the other characters register it too, if it’s reasonable that they would, but let them ultimately brush it off quite quickly to keep it subtle. Or just call it right out, whichever you prefer

• Unreliable narrators. Let one character say one thing and a second character say another, even if they both ultimately agree on the same thing but get one or two small details wrong. Ideally do this two or three times in order for the reader to know it’s not just a mistake in the plot but an intentional inconsistency, but even if it’s only done once and it’s taken as a mistake it’ll still slot together like puzzle pieces in the end and they’ll be kicking themself for dismissing it

• In-universe red herrings. If you’re going to add red herrings as foreshadowing, it’s helpful if the red herring aligns with the intentions of someone person aware of the upcoming plot twist who’s trying to control the narrative. Say the plot twist was the reveal of a mysterious character’s identity to be the best friend of the MC, the best friend might have deliberately thrown the MC off their scent by planting suspicions in the MC’s mind that a different character was the mysterious character’s identity all along. This is less about foreshadowing the actual reveal, of course, but rereads will be a punch to the gut when everyone realises that all this misinformation and red herring business came from someone trying to cover their own ass rather than coming from misunderstandings or multiple other random sources

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[biteyoubiteme]

redlightdesign

fem!reader x hyunjin 

synopsis: you get tattooed by your favorite tattoo artist. 

warnings: !!!🔞!!! tattooartist!hyunjin, tattooing, needles, pain, oral (f!rec), use of teeth, overstim, multiple orgasms (f!rec), squirting, fingering, pussydrunkvibes, subspace kinda, prob forgot some sorry 

wc: 5.2k

an: I want a new tattoo </3 feedback appreciated! [m.list] not proof read sorry ;-;

You didn’t think you would ever get a consolation let alone an appointment with redlightdesign. For over three years you have been submitting a request anytime their books were open. You set timers for when the form dropped to make sure you were one of the first to be seen but everyone was doing the exact same thing. 

redlightdesign would make an announcement that the submissions were closed an hour later saying they were booked solid for the next three months. The process repeats itself and every time you pray you get a response. 

Thirteen forms later and you finally got an answer. Your dream tattoo will be underway in a matter of weeks. You made sure to keep the perfect space open for the piece. Not a single artist is the right fit to do your idea justice the way Redlightdesign could. 

Before you read the email you didn’t even think you would ever be picked, your thigh would just always be bare for the possibility that never would come to fruition. But sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning avoiding finishing your homework for Monday's class you jump on the opportunity to check your phone when it dings. Post notifications for redlightdesign on since you started following them. Every time they announced open books or a dropped appointment you jumped to put yourself up for the running. You remember the magazine article Redlightdsign had been featured in that started your obsession. The anonymous tattoo artist is based in Seattle and New York, traveling across the states to get a wider audience. Not that they needed the help, they were globally known, with people submitting forms all around the world, purchasing plane tickets after they confirmed an appointment. 

It was stiff competition and the anonymity of the artist was sacred to each client. There was barely any information about Redlightdesign on the internet besides the finished product, and the address to their studios was only given out just before your appointment. Once the details of the New York studio had been doxxed online and redlightdesign had stopped working for a year, packing up and shutting down in well deserved retaliation. When they came back to their socials they made it clear the next time they wouldn't stop for a year but quit entirely. No one shared any information after, only stating that Redlightdesign was one of the nicest people they have ever been tattooed by and a photo of the beautiful work after. 

But there sipping on an almost empty drink avoiding work that needed to be done you felt your pulse race just like every other time you've submitted a form. Only this time your stomach bottomed out seeing the email that popped up in your inbox a few minutes later. 

h.rldesign/gmail.com Hi, I love your idea and sketches. I think this would transfer perfectly in my style. If we are to do the piece on the thigh at the size you want I think it's best we split the work into two appointments. My open slots for this would be January 9th and 10th. Let me know if these dates work for you and then I can get started on designing and cleaning up your idea. -redlightdesign 

even just knowing their email address was shocking enough, seeing a response could have sent you into a coma. If Redlightdesign needed you on the 9th and 10th you would do everything in your power to be right at their door. You didn't care if you had to call in sick, you would put on the most convincing fake cough known to man; you would sell out stadiums with the performance if need be. 

You couldn't type a response fast enough, needing to send in a confirmation just to know it was solidified. Within seconds you got a link for a deposit to hold the dates and a promise that Redlightdesign would be working on your piece asap. You were too excited to even think about your work anymore, sitting in the coffee shop staring down at your phone in disbelief. 

It was only a few days later when the first drafts of the tattoo you would be getting were sent over for you to approve. You could tell the work had been drawn in a sketchbook and scanned to send in an email, the charcoal lines and highlights showing the detailed work. It was everything you could have hoped for, redlightdesign taking the amateur rendering of your idea and turning it into the masterpiece sitting in your inbox. They promised to have perfected versions ready when you arrived early on the ninth, reminding you that they would transfer it into the stencil and use a pen to finish drawing the finishing touches to make sure it flowed with your body just right. Make sure to eat before the appointment and don't wear any lotions on the tattoo area. Take care to remember we can take as many breaks as you want you have the day booked up with me so no need to rush through just to get it over with. 

You made sure to dress appropriately. A pair of shorts you didn’t mind getting ink on in case any decided to ruin them. It was cold the morning of the ninth, a drizzle setting in as you made your way towards the address you had been sent before you had woken up. Even just seeing the street name and knowing this whole time you’ve been a fifteen-minute walk away from Redlights studio was bizarre. How many times have you driven by the building without ever knowing? 

The email with the address had said the door would be open and to take the stairs up to the loft. The separate space on the ground level was a bakery, the sign flipped to closed. But as you felt the first droplets of rain you pulled on the handle for the door only for it to not budge. You check the address again to make sure it is right, you can see the windows to the studio above but the curtains are pulled shut. You were running over the email you could send to redlightdesign, reading it over once more when someone reached past you making you jump. “holy shit you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathe your phone pressed to your chest. 

The soft laugh of the person beside you is muffled behind the black medical mask they wear, long dark hair hanging on their brow leaving only smiling eyes glancing over you. “I'm sorry I was running late and didn't make it in time to beat you here,” they push their key into the lock twisting until it clicks, painted nails wrapping around the handle to hold the door open for you. 

You give a weak thanks stepping into the little hallway leading to the stairs waiting for them to step in and follow. 

You're trying hard not to make it seem like you're staring at them but it's almost impossible not to. Right in front of you is the person whose identity has been hidden from the public for years. You've tried to imagine what redlightdesign looked like since you read that magazine article. Now with the early morning mist still stuck to their hair you were seconds away from knowing exactly what they were like. Watching how their long fingers flipped over the keys looking for the one to unlock the loft door, how they used their shoulder to push open the door turning back to give you smiling eyes, waving you in. 

They moved around to pull open the long cream-colored curtains, the gray light pouring in revealing the space. The walls have tacked up charcoal drawings, painted landscapes, and oil pastel flowers. A worn brown leather couch pushed to one side, heavy white blanket pushed back like someone had taken a nap there against the throw pillows. Tattoo bed next to rows of inks and past designs. On another wall a cluster of polaroids, stepping closer you can see its every tattoo that redlightdesign has done here. You're excited to see ones they haven't posted on their socials, so distracted you don't hear a closet door opening and the wheeling of a cart behind you. “I wanted to be set up so we could get started right away but,” when you turn you see them shrug. The view outside of the waterfront off in the distance matches some of the paintings done during different times of the day. 

“It's okay I can wait, we're booked all day right?” 

“yes that's right,” they go through their bag pulling out a large sketchbook, “here take a seat and we can go over some of these together,” 

they sink into the couch pushing back the blanket to make room for you to follow. Your thighs touching before they hand over the sketchbook. You're amazed by the craftsmanship, and the detail put into each variety of the tattoo idea you have given them. No other artist has given you so many possibilities, maybe one of two but a whole spread dedicated to small details was never on the table. redlightdesign had taken time working through this with passion. “Wow,” you breathe not knowing where to look first. 

“do you like it? It's a big thing, a tattoo of this size, and I wanted to make sure it really had all the elements you wanted in it while also not being too chaotic and messy. You see this one has less shading and seems more open but this one is heavy-handed if you're into that kinda style. I see you have other work done on your arms and if you want to go that way style-wise I think this one would be perfect,” they point at the one you've been focused on knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. 

“It's amazing, they all are, I'm so impressed redli-“

“Hyunjin, you can call me Hyunjin,” they chuckle, “I should have introduced myself earlier but I was late and it slipped my mind I'm sorry,” 

“no, it's okay thank you hyunjin,” you try the name in your mouth, “I think this is exactly what I want, better than what I could have imagined,” 

“great I'm happy to impress let me get this printed in a stencil and we can add anything else after we find the right placement,” you watch as they stand moving to the corner with a desk, you can't see their face but know they've taken their mask off as they turn on the printer. “Do you live around here or was it a commute?” 

“oh I live right up the street, I was surprised to see how close it was to my place actually,” you say over the sound of the scanner. 

“that's good, sometimes I have people coming from all over it's fun to finally have a local visit,” 

“I would have come out to New York if that's where you would have been,” you admit. 

“I haven't been out there in a while, they are doing construction on the street the studio is on so I've been located here for a while now,” he states pulling out the stencil sheet. “I did a few different sizes to start with,” 

he turns around and you're shocked at how beautiful Hyunjin is. In all the time you've thought about redlightdesign never did it cross your mind to account for prettiness but if you did your scale would be broken. You're still seated when he comes over and kneels in front of you. 

“Can I?” he asks looking up at you, your hands in your lap covering your thighs.

“oh yeah sure,” you're flustered lifting your hands away. 

“left or right?” he asks, holding two of the stencils over each leg. 

“right,” your hands sinking into the couch as Hyunjin wipes his thumb over your bare thigh. He shows you the three different sizes and you decide on one before he asks you to stand in front of the mirror so he can place the stencil on. 

“Here,” he mutters, being gentle to get the placement right in the first go. “We can always print more if you don't like it here,” he blows cool air over the purple lines traced on to make sure it's dry enough for you to move. He slides his hand behind the pit of your knee tugging your leg. You reach out to steady yourself with his shoulders, the backs of your hands feeling the tickle of his long hair hanging past his ears. He lifts your leg enough so that your foot is resting on his thigh, his hands slipping over your skin checking it looks good. 

You love the way he's found the perfect spot on your thigh so that it flows with your body, “I think you got it first try,” 

“Look in the mirror first just to make sure,” he lets you go, pulling himself to stand behind you so that you can see yourself. 

“yes it's perfect,” and he nods, grabbing a purple pen. 

“finishing touches then,” he gets back down in front of you lifting your foot back to his knee so that he can steady you. The marker is cold on your skin as he draws, adding lines and shading in spots to make the work blend better. When he blows on the wet lines of ink you shiver especially when he draws on your inner thigh, your skin so sensitive you swear you could imagine his fingers tracing shapes instead of the pen. “Perfect,” he states, giving your knee a tap letting you know he's done. “Let me set up and if you need the bathroom before we start I'd go now. I have water and a kettle for coffee over under the desk, and we can stop for lunch around let's say twelve or one-ish?” 

You nod, taking your seat on the tattoo bed. He's set it up so that you're slightly leaned back but still sitting up. You watch him pull on black gloves and get all of the inks and needles ready, following a system you've seen done before. He clicks on a stereo the soft song playing in the background just loud enough for us to talk if we wanted to or just to listen. you adjust in your seat when you hear the sound of the tattoo gun whirring, hyunjins free hand stretching your skin in preparation, “The hard part will be around the knee so let's get that area out of the way,” 

you nod watching as he starts, the familiar burn of the needle digging in but not too painfully. He was right that it was worse than some of your other tattoos but not unbearable. What distracts you is how concentrated he looks leaning over your leg, hair pushed back behind his ears but one strand hangs across his forehead, the corner of his lip between his teeth. 

He starts to ask you small questions about yourself, the conversation leading to learning about him and how he got into tattooing. He talks about his art and the little things he likes. Both of you are so invested in one another that you don't even notice how far you've come in the day, lunch already rolling around before you know it. He's gotten through more than half the outline when he starts the loose wrap to keep it clean while you go out for lunch. The bakery is just downstairs offering lunch deals you can't refuse and when you get back upstairs both of you sit on the couch and continue your conversation. Giggling over nothing much but being comfortable in each other's company more than what you could have asked for. 

redlightdesign could have been a total dick but you were blessed enough to get someone so genuinely kind and talented. And when you got back in the chair to finish the day's session you were sad to know that tomorrow would be the last time you saw Hyunjin unless you somehow got another appointment. The idea in it of itself was making you dread leaving. 

“Could you tie my hair up?” he asks lifting his wrist up to you, a hair band waiting for you to take off. You lean over taking the tie from him and running your fingers through the dark strands. He hums as you brush the hair from his face gathering it all to tie into a ponytail. “thank you,” he nods letting the end bob up and down, a sweet smile teasing his lips before he goes back to the linework. 

When he finally declares you done for the day you sigh, his thumb smoothing over the ends of the tape he's put to hold the wrap he put over your thigh. His finger slips across your inner thigh making you jolt harder than when the needle was to your skin. “sensitive?” he asks and you nod, not wanting to think too much into it. You were definitely sensitive but not from the pain, watching his long fingers work over your skin didn't put the cleanest image in your head. 

He starts to break down his workstation, cleaning up and wiping everything to disinfect. While you put on your coat he asks, “Do you want to get dinner?” you turn to make sure he is not on the phone but he is in fact asking you, “I know this great spot a block over it's not that far a walk if you're up for it?” 

“Sure,” you nod and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know if you're not busy or anything I don't usually ask clients out for dinner but we were having a good chat and you know if you don't want to,” he drags on his ears pink, it was cute to watch him flustered. 

“I'd love to go to dinner with you hyunjin,” you smile following him out. 

You share an umbrella as you make your way to the small cafe-style restaurant, outdoor seating covered with a canopy so you won't get hit by any rain. Sitting across from one another, Hyunjin asks to see your other tattoos. You lay one arm down on the table, hyunjins fingertips ghosting over your skin as he traces the lines of all your other work. “I think I've seen this one before, did you get it from Felix? Or what's his username…”

“youg.ink?” you nod, “I actually got it because I saw you mentioned them before and it introduced me to their work. instantly fell in love with this when he offered it up,” 

hyunjins not even paying attention to the tattoos anymore as he lets his fingers glide over your smooth skin. Most times after a client was done for the day in his chair he walked them to the door, waved goodbye, and worked in the studio on the next person's design. Most times he had people who he didn't mind not seeing again but you and your laugh, your gentle conversation, made him want to break his own rules for once. He walks you home after dinner and promises to see you tomorrow at the same time. 

When you show up for your second session you're double fisting two iced coffees; the door is already unlocked as you make your way up the stairs. Hyunjin is sitting at the desk with headphones on sketching away before he sees the movement in the corner of his eye. He gives you a big smile, all teeth and is so cute. He tugs his headphones off letting them hang around his neck, “you got me a coffee?” 

“Maybe or maybe I have a caffeine addiction,” you joke, handing over his cup. You look over to see what he's working on and he leans back to give you a better view. 

“The next client wants their back done, it will be spaced out over the next four months. first sessions tomorrow,” 

“I wouldn't even know where to start on something that big,” 

“the same way I started yours,” he looks down at your legs, the wrap still in place only today you're wearing a skirt instead of shorts. The only other clothing item you felt would give him space to work today. Hyunjin looks back to his sketchbook, shutting it and standing. “let's get you up on the chair and get started,” 

you follow his instructions, sinking back into the chair and letting your skirt bunch between your legs to expose your thigh. Hyunjin starts to set up his station, pulling on his gloves after flipping to the sketch of your design to have to glance at while he works. “might hurt today with all the shading if you need any breaks let me know we can go as slow as you need,” he peels away the tape before cleaning your leg with a towel and watered down soap. “It already looks good,” he nods, pressing around the tattoo. 

“I think I can handle it,” 

“Okay, we can work the bottom to the top again today, get the area closest to the knee and get the most painful bit first,” 

and you think you can handle it and you can for the most part but the dragging of the needle over the still red outline from yesterday is painful today. Your hand bunching in your skirt as you remind yourself to breathe. You let your head roll back in the chair not able to watch anymore, focusing on the music playing, the dull hum of the tattoo gun usually comforting you but now a reminder that you're here for a while. 

hyunjin is trying to concentrate, he's great at what he does, but what's testing him is how you're flashing your panties at him. he was going to say something, bring up a conversation about anything but when he looked up, a simple glance he was face to face with the dark grey fabric, the outline of you silencing him. You didn't even notice, your neck exposed as your free hand not holding your skirt gripped the armrest. 

Tattooing people made nudity and almost nudity normal. It was why Hyunjin preferred his private studio so that he could make people feel comfortable, it was better than having someone who wanted a hip tattoo strip in a shop where anyone could watch. But with you sitting in front of him he forgot that he shouldn't look so close. Because instead of ignoring the view he was imagining ways that he could make your pain more bearable. Imagining how if he reached over and brushed where he knew your clit would be waiting you wouldn't be moaning in pain. 

It's not until lunch that your skirt is let go but it's done the work of keeping Hyunjin hard for the entirety of the progress he's made toward the tattoo. When he sprays the tattoo down with the soapy water beads roll back up your leg because of the way the chairs are angled. The cold water feels great against your hot skin and Hyunjin apologizes for the mess passing you a paper towel to wipe any that got too far. You slightly lift your leg to wipe your inner thighs, the movement flashing Hyunjin again only this time the droplets of water had dampened your panties. The gray fabric was dark where he had been fantasizing they would be. 

He doesn't even want to think about standing from his stool knowing that the second he does he will have to adjust himself only drawing attention to the fact he is very hard. He tries to make a list of things in his head as he wraps your thigh. To think about how it's almost over, that you will be gone in the next hour or two but that only makes it worse. You would be gone when he was this needy? He wanted to make an excuse to have you come back for another session. But it was quite obvious he would be dragging out the appointment when he only needed to do a small section when the two of you were done with lunch. He could have waited and finished, pushed your lunch back, and waved goodbye but no. 

He swiveled his chair away from you, taking a sip from his almost empty cup of coffee as you slid down the bed to stand. Hyunjin takes a breath and prays you don't notice but it's the first thing you see when he turns, the strained outline not very well hidden. You pretend to look out the window, feeling your cheeks get hot. All you can think about is if it was your noises that did it, all the whimpering wasn't usually how you handled tattoos but this one was the biggest piece you've gotten, and didn't know two sessions would make your usually composed self break so easily. it would explain the silence compared to yesterday. So you toy with the idea, how far would he go if you made yourself available? 

You grabbed lunch together, hyunjin putting a pillow over his lap to steady his plate of food but both of you knew that wasn't the real reason. And when you were back in the chair you intentionally let your skirt roll up this time. It doesn't help that he's now working on the part of the tattoo closest to your center, how he wraps his hand around your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to reach a spot on your inner thigh. Gloved fingers brushing over your panties for the smallest second, your hips sinking into the seat to keep yourself from moving. Hyunjin noticed but needed to get through the rest of the tattoo, if he stopped now he wouldn't know when he would start again. Your lip between your teeth he watched as you tried to close your legs again to block your exposed panties, now wet with your slick and nothing else. He could see the spot and almost ripped his gloves off as soon as he finished his work. But now he was teasing you. Cleaning the tattoo down and wiping it down. He doesn't even bother with the normal photos he would take right away instead putting on the second skin to protect the tattoo. As he smooths the thin film over your inner thigh he lets his fingers slip up brushing against your center to see your reaction. 

Your head rolls to your shoulder watching him through your lashes as he takes off his gloves and tosses them on the cart. He lifts the armrest on the tattoo chair before reaching behind your knees to pull you to the edge of the seat so your legs are dangling off the side. “how is it someone can make the prettiest sounds and sit so still for me?” he leans down and plants a kiss on your tattooless thigh, “because all I could think about was how I wanted to see your legs shaking for me while you whined like that,” 

you tried to draw your knees together but he was in the way, kissing up your inner thigh, nipping at your skin with his teeth. When he reached your skirt he flipped it up with a lazy hand giving you no time before his thumb was over your clit rubbing a harsh circle over the fabric. You felt the shock run up to your stomach, your voice breathy as you whimpered his name. He followed the wet line down the front of your panties before hooking his finger along the seam to pull them back. He wanted one taste, needed one taste but knew he wouldn't stop at just one, not when you looked this edible and ready for him. 

He ravages your clit, your hands shooting to his head burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks. He's careful of your tattoo but your other thigh is fair game for him to wrap his arm around and push you open, fingers bruising with how he spreads you. His free hand prodded your entrance, circling in your wetness before slipping in knuckle deep. “Hyunjin,” you whine, your hips rocking against his lips, feeling the build up of your orgasm. He curls his fingers pressing up into you enough to make your legs jerk from the new angle. 

You're seeing spot before too long, hips stuttering as he gives a final hard suck, fingers still as you clench around them. You're moaning so loud you're sure someone will hear but you don't even care. Hyunjin doesn't stop the flick of his tongue against your clit making you cry out, “I said I wanted to see them shake,” devilish smile covered in your slick before he latches on to your clit again. Fingers pumping in and out of you before he presses deeper into you. You can feel tears at the corners of your eyes, and when he pulls away slightly to let his teeth brush your clit you're done for, legs trembling as you cum. He is persistent and you have to tug his head away, a slight smile stuck on his wet lips as he watches your body shake from the overstimulation. “once more?” 

“I can't- I can't do it,” you shake your head but he drags his fingers out slowly before inching them back in, your hips jumping. 

“I know you can, you've been doing so good for me already, one more time won't hurt,” he hums, dipping his nose down to brush over your nub. Jolting at the feeling he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh, slowly building up speed with his fingers, “can't you do just one more?” it's the way he asks so softly, the heavy gaze under heavier eyelids that makes you nod. 

You're so sensitive that one lick has you shaking, your orgasm feeling so far and yet so close all at once. His tongue laps through your folds circling your clit. Hyunjin is obsessed with the taste of you, completely under the spell of your pussy and how it responds to his touch. He could go all night eating you out, watching as you fell apart again and again before him. Your cries are getting louder and before you know it your back is arching into him almost coming off the seat, your orgasm so intense you don't expect the clear fluid to squirt out of you until it has. 

You're breathing so labored you place a hand over your chest to try and calm yourself. hyunjins pleased grin is the only thing you see before he pulls his fingers out of you and sticks them in his mouth to clean them. Every once in a while your legs jerk from an aftershock, the delight in his eyes worth how tired you feel. Your thighs are sticking to the leather seat under you as Hyunjin pulls your underwear back into place leaning down to leave a ghost of a kiss over your clothed clit. “next time I want you to cry this pretty for my cock okay?”

[3amfanfiction]

What is your favorite trope woth each CoD guy?

I love favorite tropes. Okay so starting off strong we have:

John Price who I love to see in the exhusband role (the one where everything works out in the end ofc). Give me a John who fought but conceded when you insisted on a divorce. Irreconcilable differences.

But you wouldn't be able to tell from the outside looking in because he doesn't change his actions at all. Still does the yardwork for you every weekend, goes to the grocery store and stocks your fridge, you'd better not leave out a to-do list that you're meaning to get to bc that man will see it sitting on the counter and take it as orders.

And heaven help you if you come home stressed and anxious and he happens to be there (you've taken his key three times, how does he keep getting in?) bc he's pulling you to the bedroom and proceeding to work every bit of stress out of your system enthusiastically. You're going to be a wobbly-kneed foal by the time he's done with you.

And then we have Kyle Garrick who I love to read in the 'everything he's saying could be true but he could also be spinning it to keep you from acting out'. This is a little darker but I love when reader is kidnapped/forcefully relocated through extenuating circumstances and the reasoning he gives could technically be true. But it could also be a line, used to keep you manageable.

Bc he's so pretty and he's so well spoken that surely he wouldn't lie to you. And what he's saying makes so much sense, how could it not be true? All the while he's facilitating things that corroborate his story, pulling you in deeper and deeper until you don't even think of running away anymore.

Johnny MacTavish? Breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink. That man was raised catholic and he wants his own house filled with the pitter-patter of tiny feet. He wants chaos in his home and he's not above a little stealthing to make sure it happens. Give me a man who wants (fictional) babies with me so badly that he would do anything to see it through.

And finally Simon Riley who I'm unafraid to say is my favorite and who I love in any role he plays. But my favorite is when he's half of a ghoap pairing, being so good-naturedly dominant and letting Soap have his lead, running around and getting in trouble while he follows behind and glares at anyone who might upset his boy.

And then Johnny does something silly like kidnapping you and bringing you home as a present (after he spends a little one-on-one time with you first ofc). Then here comes this mountain of a man, looking at poor little kidnapped you, all teary-eyed and pleading and Johnny--grinning like a cat that caught the canary. Proudly showing off his new toy.

Simon who takes it all in with a slow blink before slotting you into their lives like you'd always been there, no you can't leave pet, this is your home now.

[jamminvroomvroom]

adrenaline, baby.

ln x wife!reader

ahahaha i couldn’t help myself. wrote this at godspeed (20 mins) and i’m not even sorry. not my finest work but i could not care less this is peak brainrot (waving at you @lavenderlando). feral is the only word on my mind at this time. gg lando.

warnings: listen it’s porn with minimal plot. minors dni i am so serious!! 18+, smut, fluff, breeding kink, implied overstimulation, mentions of pregnancy, marriage, it’s just unhinged idk

your back couldn’t have hit the bed soon enough, touch starved bodies moulding into the cloud-like mattress. you’d waited all weekend to get him on top of you, and now that the stress of the race weekend had melted away, you’d been able to put the do not disturb sign to good use.

lando’s adrenaline rush had sent him feral.

he hadn’t stopped touching you since he’d been able to, practically dragging you through the mexican paddock, into the car, through the door of your hotel suite. he’d attended to his race duties and now lando had a wife to attend to.

six months of married bliss meant one thing: a lot of sex in a lot of places. you didn’t know how to keep you hands off of one another, proud of yourselves for making it behind closed doors this time. it meant you could take your time, that he could take you apart just how he liked to, and that’s what he did.

“c’mon, baby. need you nice and ready for me.” lando muttered into your neck, punctuating his words with a kiss below your ear. he had two fingers working in and out of you, curling deliciously against your walls. “did all of those overtakes, and then i did them again. now, m’gonna make you come for me again and again.”

he was a man, possessed.

a strangled cry tore from the back of your throat, zero regard for the neighbouring rooms as you fell apart, spasming into the white bed linen. lando didn’t stop, fucking you through the waves of pleasure until tears pricked your eyes and you were squirming away from him.

there wasn’t a second to recover, his curls tickling your thighs as he slotted between your legs, tongue lapping up the mess he’d just made. your ears were ringing, eyes squeezed shut, thrashing hard before your body dissolved completely under his touch. you couldn’t figure out where the pleasure started and where it ended, all you knew was that your second orgasm was approaching faster than lando has made up all those race positions.

“oh my god.” you repeated over and over like a prayer, blindly tipping over the edge, his tongue stroking your clit while his fingers coaxed you to your second release.

“i’m not done with you, baby. gonna fill you up again, just like you keep asking me to.” lando groaned, scaling up your body. you shuddered at his words, your body set on fire. it was a sort of given, at this point, that you were trying. or, to put it more accurately, not not trying. it did something to you, the idea of him letting loose, not a single barrier between your intertwined bodies, and he loved it as much as you did.

a litter of soothing kisses were placed up your throat, before he reached your lips, his own slotting over yours. it was messy, passionate, quiet whimpers being traded between you as he found his rightful place between your parted thighs. your legs were hooked over his hips, pulling him in, the tip of his cock painting over your folds. and then he was inside of you, slick bodies at one, and a switch in him flipped.

lando went deep, rocking into you like it was the last time. it definitely wouldn’t be. he could have left an imprint of your body in the mattress, holding you down as he ruined you. it was desperate, new urges unlocked in him since you’d started this new venture in the bedroom, no limits. you couldn’t keep up with him, letting him do all the work, just how he liked it. and you fucking loved it.

all you could do was clamp down on him, a beautiful mess at his mercy, his name chanted into the room. everything was hazy, nothing, there was only him and you. you arched into him, clawing at the bronzed, glowing skin of his lean back, eyes rolling in your skull at the way his muscles felt as they tensed under your touch.

“one more for me, baby, one more for now and i’ll give you what you want. gonna make me a daddy?” lando’s breath fanned your face as he spoke, watching with a smirk at the way you absolutely lost it.

you were sobbing when you came, the aftershocks continued by the way you felt him reach his own release. white heat pricked your skin and you collapsed even further into the bed, wrecked beneath him. you were grinning lazily, panting hard, eyes shut from the exhaustion. lando kissed away the tear tracks, residing inside you as you both came down from the high.

the air changed drastically, softer, intimate. he found your lips again, gentle this time, affectionate pecks reviving you.

“you okay, my love?” lando whispered. you breathed a laugh.

“you’re too good to me.” your voice was raspy, your vocal chords shot from a weekend of screaming his name in every possible context. “proud of you, honey.”

lando hummed softly, grateful for your praise. he scanned your face, an angelic glow gracing your features. his beautiful wife.

“gonna get you cleaned up.” he went to roll off of you, but your legs tightened around his waist.

“not yet. wanna stay like this for a minute.” your voice was laced with sleep, and lando couldn’t help but smile.

“this might have been the time, y’know.” lando’s words came out excitedly, unable to contain his delight at the idea of having a family. your family.

“and even if it wasn’t, i don’t mind the free practice.” you teased, but the giddy feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something, and so did the test you took four weeks later.

-

idk what came over me idk what happened lol. bye.

[heechwe]

arrival | 𝐤𝐦𝐠

୨୧ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader || ୨୧ word count: 0.3k || ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut || ୨୧ tags: established relationship au, oral (f receiving), dirty talk || ୨୧ synopsis: "Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you." || ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: For my darling @gyubakeries!

↪ WANT A DRABBLE DIARY ENTRY? REQUEST ONE.ᐟ

You had expected for Mingyu’s arrival home from Hong Kong to be an intimate one, more so than normal. He had been all over Asia for the past month without one break or time slot available for to come back home.

But it’s a surprise when his request comes once he sets his bags down in the hallway, his face expression borderline sinful as he says it. “Come into the bedroom and sit on my face, baby. Let me show you how much I missed you.”

Missed you he desperately did.

He lets you smother him as his mouth and chin drips with your essence, your body thrumming as he curls and then flattens his tongue against you.

“You’re so wet, so perfect,” he grumbles into your mound. “How did I go without you for this long?”

You’ve missed the feeling of riding him, any part of him, so it’s no surprise you come in record time. Tears border your eyes at the euphoria washing over you as he continuously circles your clit with his lips.

He smirks into the center of your thighs and continues pressing his tongue to the insides of your still-quaking walls.

“Min, I-I’m too sensitive,” you stutter. Your words say one thing, but you still use your body’s remaining energy to buck up into his face.

“We’re not done yet, baby,” Mingyu whispers, his breath on your slit making you even wetter than before.

Clearly, his idea of being welcomed back home will last all night.

@yvnempire @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

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