#magenta x reader

[prael]

An Oral Agreement

QWER Magenta x male reader

Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)

She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.

Magenta.

No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didn’t take long).

She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.

Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.

There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.

Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.

Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.

When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?

Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didn’t care.

You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days she’s even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.

You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.

"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.

With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.

She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.

"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."

Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"

"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairy—it's me."

Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."

"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.

"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"

So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.

"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.

"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."

Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymore—she has won this battle (just like all others).

"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.

Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"

With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.

-

It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.

You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.

That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.

One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?

Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!

When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.

Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.

"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."

It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.

"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eye—and she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.

"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."

"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.

She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.

It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.

Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.

With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.

"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.

Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.

She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.

The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you remember—but never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.

"You're so sexy like this," you say.

The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.

With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.

Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokes—

You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.

"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.

Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.

You want her tits.

She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.

She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.

It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.

As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."

So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.

The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?

At first, you try holding back—you want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.

And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.

"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."

That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.

"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.

After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.

"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.

"What about it?"

"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinking—"

"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."

Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."

That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"

Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and you’ll find out."

[rd0265667]

Magenta x Reader: Of Seasons and Symphonies

A/N: This is a fic that might not catch as many of your eyes, given that Qwer and Magenta aren't as big as the usual groups I write for, but I do hope you guys read this and hope this helps to kickstart the QWER fanfic community

Spring

This isn’t a fairytale. Not even close. Fairytales don’t begin in places like this, where hope feels like a ghost, faint and fleeting, like it’s forgotten why it came in the first place. Once upon a time, the world was flawed but breathtaking—messy and wild in a way that almost felt intentional, like it was daring us to do better. We had room to grow, to screw up, to try again. Choices, too—ones we didn’t always get right, but at least they were ours.

But now? Now, you look out the window and see what’s left. A fractured mosaic of humanity, held together by threads so fragile they shimmer, ready to snap under their own weight. Down there, in the shadows of something that used to matter, people don’t live so much as survive, clawing their way through each day because the alternative isn’t any better. And up here, in a palace of glass and gleaming steel, you just watch. Helpless. Or worse—complicit. You wished you could do something about it. But everything had changed too quickly, and now, there is nothing to do but watch.

The world didn’t fall apart slowly. It didn’t even give us time to grieve what we were losing. One moment, there was a path forward; the next, the ground had disappeared under our feet. But even then, we had a chance to fix it. We could’ve fought for what was left, planted our feet, and rebuilt. Instead, we ran.

We turned our backs on the flames and pointed to the stars. Mars. It started like all big ideas do—idealistic, hopeful, wildly expensive. A handful of the world’s wealthiest pooled their fortunes to terraform a planet and call it paradise. And in a way, it worked. Mars became everything Earth could no longer be—pristine, abundant, perfect. A utopia, if you could afford the price of entry.

At first, it was just the billionaires who boarded the ships, their wealth carving out seats for their families and a few carefully chosen friends. Then it was the upper class, the “almost rich,” their one-way tickets bought with every penny they had. The rest of us stayed behind, watching the rockets vanish into the atmosphere, one by one, taking the future with them.

Governments tried to step in, to level the playing field, but the math never added up. The cost of salvation was always just out of reach. What remained of Earth became a pyramid scheme of survival. At the top, the upper-middle class lived comfortably enough to forget how bad things really were, literally living upon mountains, as if to emphasise their self supposed superiority. Below them, the rest of humanity scraped by, scavenging scraps of a once-golden age, living more like cave dwellers than citizens of the 21st century.

“Focus,” your mother snapped, her sharp tone slicing through the room like the crack of a whip. You dragged your gaze away from the window, back to the banquet table, its surface an explosion of opulence. Gilded plates, sparkling crystal, an array of dishes so rich and vibrant they almost looked alive. Lifeless. It was suffocating. Just like everything else here.

“Apologies, Mother,” you murmured, though the words felt as hollow as the polished silver centerpiece. You should be used to this by now. The rigidness, the rehearsed movements, the unspoken rules that turned every family meal into a performance. And yet, it still felt foreign.

“As I was saying,” your mother continued, turning to the butler who stood stiffly in the corner, “the trespassing problem. What’s the latest update, Beakley?”

Beakley cleared his throat, his voice as measured and flat as always. “There has been an uptick in attempts to breach the mountain barriers. The enforcement units have dealt with the intruders.”

Dealt with. Such a tidy little phrase for what he really meant.

“And those trying to leave?” your mother pressed.

Beakley didn’t miss a beat. “A few individuals have been caught attempting to descend into the slums. They were… managed.”

“Sneaking into the slums?” your father scoffed, his voice thick with amusement. “How utterly moronic.” He chuckled, low and earthy, and your siblings joined in, their laughter ringing out like the clink of champagne flutes.

You didn’t laugh. You couldn’t. You just sat there, hands clenched in your lap, forcing your face into an expression that wouldn’t betray the disgust curling in your stomach.

They laughed. Laughed as the world burned.

The dinner continued with that lifeless conversation, you and your siblings finally being excused. As you gazed out from your balcony, you sighed, looking out at the open lands below you. It smelt of Spring. You used to love Spring.

You leaned against the railing, letting your gaze drift across the dark landscape. That’s when you noticed it—a break in the fence. Small, almost unnoticeable, but there. A jagged edge where the metal had bent or rusted away. No guards patrolled nearby.

And then, you heard it.

A voice, soft and low, carried on the breeze, accompanied by the twang of a bass guitar. A song, lilting and sweet, threaded with melancholy so raw it made your chest tighten. The melody danced just beyond reach, but the voice—hers—was unmistakable. It wasn’t just singing; it was an invitation. A tether to something real, something alive, somewhere down there in the darkness.

You pressed a hand to the cold railing, your pulse quickening. For the first time in ages, you felt something stir in you—something reckless, something alive.

The song lingered in the air, tugging at you like a thread unraveling a tightly wound spool. You gripped the railing, your knuckles white against the polished metal, and stared at the jagged tear in the fence below. The world up here, pristine and glittering, suddenly felt suffocating—an artificial cage that smelled of rosewater and desperation. Down there, in the shadows beyond the break in the fence, was something raw and untamed. Real.

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat urging you forward. You stepped back into your room, quickly pulling on a dark coat over your dinner clothes, its hood heavy enough to mask your face. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess what you were about to do.

The halls were silent, their marble floors gleaming under soft, calculated lighting. You moved quickly, your steps light, your breath shallow. The guards wouldn’t expect anyone to leave the compound. Why would they? No one in their right mind would trade gilded cages for the chaos below.

But the chaos was calling you.

You slipped through a side door near the kitchens, your pulse quickening as the cold night air wrapped around you. The fence wasn’t far, the jagged edge glinting faintly in the moonlight. You crouched low, keeping to the shadows as you moved closer, every rustle of the wind making you freeze in place.

When you reached the fence, your fingers brushed the rough metal, and you hissed as a sharp edge nicked your palm. You ignored the sting and pressed on, tugging at the damaged section. The metal groaned, loud enough to send a spike of panic through your chest.

“Come on,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Finally, the gap was wide enough. You slipped through, the jagged edges catching on your coat as you emerged on the other side. The ground here was different—uneven and raw, dirt kicking up beneath your shoes. You were outside the perimeter for the first time in your life.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath clouding in the night air, the fence a silent sentinel behind you. And then you heard it again—the song.

It was closer now, the voice clearer, rich and haunting. The melody wound through the darkness like a ribbon, pulling you forward. You followed it, your steps cautious at first, then quicker as the song grew louder. The air smelled different here, earthier, filled with the sharp tang of something alive.

She was sitting under a cherry tree, the blossoms stark and ghostly in the moonlight, her bass guitar resting across her lap. Her fingers moved over the strings with a practiced ease that made the song feel effortless, though you could hear the ache in every note. Her head tilted slightly, the movement revealing sharp cheekbones and the soft curve of her mouth, a contrast that stole the air from your lungs.

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped until the music did.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes—dark and unflinching—landed on you. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then she stood, the guitar hanging loosely from its strap over her shoulder, and planted her boots firmly on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the stillness.

The warmth of her song was gone, replaced by a razor-sharp edge that made you hesitate. She crossed her arms, her stance radiating defiance, as if daring you to take one more step.

“I…” You faltered, suddenly feeling foolish. What could you say that wouldn’t make this worse? “I heard your song.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You heard my song?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “And you thought that was an invitation to waltz on over like this is your backyard?”

“No,” you said quickly, your heart pounding. “It’s not like that. I just… I couldn’t stay up there anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze dropping to your coat, your shoes—both of which were far too clean, far too well-made for anyone who belonged here. “Up there,” she echoed, her voice thick with disdain. “Of course.”

She stepped closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off her in waves. “Let me guess,” she said. “You got bored of your glass palace? Thought you’d come slumming it with the rest of us for a little excitement?”

Her words hit like a slap, but you held your ground. “It’s not like that,” you said, your voice firmer now. “I left because… because I needed to. I can’t explain it, but when I heard you—”

“Oh, I see,” she interrupted, her tone mocking. “You heard a pretty song and decided to go on a little adventure. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom.”

“It’s not freedom,” you said, your chest tightening. “There’s nothing free about it. You think I don’t know what this means? That I don’t know what’ll happen if they catch me down here?”

For the first time, her expression faltered. Her eyes flicked to the fence in the distance, then back to you, as if weighing your words against her instincts. “Then why risk it?” she asked quietly, the sharpness in her voice giving way to something softer. “Why come down here at all?”

You hesitated, struggling to put it into words. “Your song was the first real thing I’ve experienced in, ages.” You took a step closer, your voice dropping. “It felt real. Like I could finally breathe.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her guitar. “Well, that’s poetic,” she muttered, but her voice lacked its earlier bite.

“It’s true,” you said, taking another step. “And I think you know it too.”

She glanced back at you, her eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to trust you. “You’re really not like the rest of them, are you?” she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

You shook your head. “No. I’m not.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees. Then she sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. “Magenta,�� she said abruptly.

You blinked. “What?”

“My name,” she said, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Figured I should tell you, since you’re apparently risking life and limb to hear my music.”

“Your real name is Magenta? What’s the meaning behind it?” You ask.

“My parents weren’t poets, neither am I, my name’s Magenta, that’s that.”

“Magenta,” you repeated, the name settling on your tongue like a secret. “It suits you.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said, though her smirk lingered. “You’re still a rich kid trespassing in my world.”

“And you’re still just a singer with a bass guitar,” you said, unable to hide your grin.

Her laugh was quiet but genuine, and it sent warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re trouble,” she said, shaking her head. “I can already tell.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, your gaze locked on hers. “But so are you.”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she looked at you with a mixture of exasperation and intrigue, her walls cracking just enough to let you see the person beneath. The distance between you felt smaller now, the night pressing in around you, making the world seem impossibly close.

“What song was that? An original creation?” you asked, sliding down to sit beside her. You leaned back against the cherry tree, your eyes drifting toward the fields stretching before you—worn paths of dirt and grass where people like Magenta’s family likely lived, their lives tethered to the earth in a way you hadn’t known in years.

“It is. I call it Rough,” she replied, tossing you an apple from her bag with a casual flick of her wrist. “You like it?”

You caught it, weighing the fruit in your hand before biting into it. The sweet juice dripped down your chin as you spoke, your voice laced with the faintest amusement. “You do realize I’m risking my life to hear it, right?”

Magenta raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Guess I’m just that good.”

You chuckled but didn’t let go of the question lingering in your mind. “I have to ask, though… is that song for anybody? It sounds… kind of romantic.”

She hesitated, her fingers absently picking at the strings of her guitar. The night felt suddenly heavier, as if the air itself were waiting for her answer. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice softer, almost unsure. “The lyrics just came to me one spring day, you know? Like they were already there, waiting to be sung.” She turned her gaze away from you for a moment, staring out over the fields. “Guess sometimes the songs write themselves. Maybe I’ll know why the song chose me one day.”

“And you say you’re not a poet.” You say, your eyes with a teasing glint.

“Oh shut it rich kid, or I’ll stop singing.” Magenta teases back, nudging you with her shoulder, her velvet smile more beautiful than anything you had seen in years. Perhaps the most beautiful thing you’d ever see

Summer

The summer sun hung heavy in the sky, draping the orchard in a golden haze. Everything smelled like ripe fruit and freshly turned earth, the kind of heady sweetness that clung to your skin long after you left. You wound your way through rows of cherry trees, the bag over your shoulder growing heavier with each step, though you couldn’t quite summon the energy to care. You already knew where she’d be.

And you were right. Magenta sat perched on the low branch of that same old cherry tree, her guitar resting on her lap, its worn wood catching the sunlight like it belonged there. Her hair shimmered as though she were something out of a dream—or maybe something sharper, something too smart and too fleeting to pin down. She glanced up when she heard your steps crunching over the dry grass and gave you that grin—the one that always landed somewhere between playful and cutting, like a dare and an invitation rolled into one.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice lilting in that teasing way that made it impossible to tell if she was actually annoyed or just liked keeping you on edge. Probably the latter.

“I had to smuggle this past a fence, you know,” you said, jerking your chin toward the overstuffed bag weighing down your shoulder. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to climb while also keeping contraband intact?”

Her gaze flickered to the bag, and for the briefest moment, her expression wavered. Her walls went up so fast it felt like watching shutters slam closed. “I told you not to do that anymore,” she said, strumming a soft, dissonant chord. “It’s not like I asked for this. I don’t want—” She stopped, exhaling hard like she was trying to push the words out. “I don’t want this relationship to feel transactionary.”

“Good thing it’s not,” you replied easily, setting the bag down between you and dusting your hands off like it had been some monumental task. “It’s not even for you. It’s for everyone. You just happen to be the only one sitting under this particular tree…the tree I always come to.”

Her lips twitched, but she stubbornly fought the smile threatening to break free. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Funny. That’s not what you said last time,” you quipped, brushing a hand across your brow for dramatic effect. “If I remember correctly, you called me a saint. Or was it an idiot?”

Magenta snorted, finally setting her guitar aside. “Definitely an idiot.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

For a moment, the air between you held its usual electric charge—the one that always felt just shy of sparking, like a storm that hadn’t quite gathered itself. Then she hopped down from her perch, landing with a soft thud beside you. Up close, she was all sharp edges softened by the sunlight, her quick smile disarming even as her eyes stayed guarded.

“So, what’s the grand prize today?” she asked, nodding at the bag but keeping her hands conspicuously to herself.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you teased, unzipping the bag slowly, savoring her impatience. Her eyes darted toward the contents like she couldn’t help herself. “Honeycombs,” you said, pulling a jar out.

“This is your big smuggling job? A honeycomb?” she asked, though she didn’t put the peach down.

“That’s not what I brought for everyone. For everyone, I brought just a variety of foods, whatever was free at the kitchen and pantry. I got you the honeycombs because you were complaining about your throat that one time, besides, it’s sweet, kinda messy, and a pain in the ass to deal with, just like you.”

“Wow, thanks for the compliment.” she said dryly, plucking the jar from your hand. 

“You’re welcome,” you said, leaning against the tree and watching as she twisted the lid open with her bare hands. She dipped a finger into the jar and took a bite without hesitation, her expression carefully neutral as she licked the honey off her finger. “Good?”

“It’s fine,” she said, shrugging, though the way she reached for another taste betrayed her.

“That’s the highest praise I’ve ever gotten from you,” you said, grinning. “I think I might cry.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible,” she muttered around a mouthful.

“And yet, you keep inviting me back,” you said, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and crossing your arms like you’d won some kind of battle. “Why is that, Magenta?”

“I don’t,” she replied quickly, almost too quickly. Then, softer: “You just keep showing up.”

“Same thing.”

She groaned, throwing her head back, but there was a smile pulling at her mouth now, something genuine breaking through her carefully constructed defenses. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here we are,” you said, plucking a peach for yourself and taking a deliberate bite. “Speaking of exhausting,” you added, gesturing to the guitar she’d left lying in the grass. “What’s the latest masterpiece?” You asked, settling back against the tree trunk, your voice light but with just enough weight to make her feel cornered. You knew she hated being put on the spot almost as much as she loved proving people wrong.

Magenta stiffened, her fingers twitching toward the guitar before stopping, like it wasn’t worth the effort. “It’s nothing,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter now, the bravado she always wore peeling away like old paint.

“Oh, come on.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, the teasing edge in your tone softening. “I know it’s going to be good, like all the other songs. What’s it called?”

Her jaw tightened like she was chewing on the answer, debating whether or not to spit it out. Finally, with a sigh so dramatic it should’ve come with its own sound effects, she muttered, “Summer Rain.”

“Wow,” you said, letting out a low whistle as you bit into the honeycomb you’d been holding. “Summer Rain for the season of summer. Truly groundbreaking stuff, Magenta.”

She shot you a glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Do you want me to play it, or do you want me to murder you?”

You grinned, sticky honey smearing the edge of your mouth. “I mean, ideally neither. But if I had to pick…” You dragged the words out just to get under her skin. “I’d say play it. We can revisit the murder option later.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but the way she lazily slung the guitar strap over her neck betrayed her. She was going to play it, and you both knew it.

She adjusted the guitar on her lap, her fingers brushing over the strings like she was coaxing them into cooperating. The first few notes came softly, tentatively, like they weren’t sure they belonged. Then her voice slipped into the gaps, low and unpolished but so achingly real it made your chest tighten.

She didn’t look at you while she sang—not at first. Her gaze stayed locked on the space just above her hands, like the music might fall apart if she acknowledged you were there. But as the song stretched on, her eyes started flickering in your direction, fleeting and sharp, like she was daring you to say something, to ruin it, to tell her it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

When she finished, the orchard seemed to hold its breath, the buzzing of insects and the rustle of leaves suddenly muted, like the entire world had paused to listen.

“That,” you said softly, the word feeling too small for the moment, “was incredible.”

Magenta scoffed, her fingers still resting on the strings. “It’s nothing,” she said, her tone casual, but the way her hands fidgeted betrayed her. “Just something I’ve been messing with.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insisted, leaning forward like you could physically close the distance she was trying to create. “It’s you. And it’s beautiful.”

She froze, her fingers tightening around the neck of the guitar. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her expression unreadable, and then she turned her head sharply, her gaze flicking to the horizon like she couldn’t handle the weight of yours.

“Shut up,” she muttered, but the words came out softer than usual, and her lips were already curling into that faint, shy smile she always tried to hide.

“Make me,” you teased, leaning back against the tree with a grin. “Although, fair warning, you’ll have to use some pretty impressive insults to top that song.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, her smile gone but the light in her gaze unmistakable. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” you shot back, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she set the guitar aside, her hands finally free to pluck the jar of honeycomb from your lap. “That’s because I haven’t figured out how to get rid of you yet.”

“Don’t bother,” you said, your voice dipping lower as she unscrewed the jar’s lid with a deliberate twist. “I’m like this orchard. Sticky, sweet, and entirely too much in the summer.”

Her laugh burst out before she could stop it, a real, unguarded sound that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” you said, watching as she dipped her fingers into the jar and pulled out a small chunk of honeycomb. “But I’m also right about the song.”

She popped the honeycomb into her mouth, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she chewed. “You’re exhausting,” she said, but her voice had softened, the edges worn down by whatever it was you managed to get past her walls.

“And yet, you wrote a whole song about me,” you said, crossing your arms like you’d just won the argument.

“Summer Rain is not about you,” she shot back, rolling her eyes so hard it looked like it might hurt.

“Oh, sure,” you said, raising a brow. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about me every time you sang about love.”

She groaned, leaning her head back against the tree, but this time she didn’t fight the smile. “Shut up, or I swear to god, the murder option is back on the table.”

“Make me,” you said again, your grin wide and shameless.

Autumn

Summer came and went, and soon, Autumn dawned, and all you could think of was, what new symphony had Magenta cooked up

"Your father has requested your presence. You will head to the main hall immediately," Beakley’s voice came through the door, as crisp as ever, a reminder of everything you couldn't escape. His uniform, perfectly pressed and stiff as always, made your stomach tighten, like you were already expected to be something you weren’t.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair and quickly straightening your shirt. You hoped your nerves weren’t showing as you hurried downstairs. Your father sat at the large mahogany table, his expression a perfect mask of authority. Across from him was Mr. Suputhipong, a businessman whose smile didn’t reach his eyes, and beside him—Natty.

"Where are your manners?" Your father’s voice snapped, making you wince. "Come, greet Mr. Suputhipong’s daughter."

You gave a stiff bow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. "Good morning, Mr. Suputhipong."

He gave a sharp nod, his voice booming but empty. "Ah, lovely. Now, if you would, take my daughter for a walk in your garden." It wasn’t a request. It never was.

You nodded and motioned for Natty to follow you, and the two of you stepped outside, the heavy door closing behind you like a lock clicking into place.

The garden, with its manicured hedges and perfectly laid paths, felt like yet another gilded cage. You didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to walk with Natty like this—playacting under the watchful eyes of parents whose plans were already made for you both.

"So…" Natty’s voice cut through your thoughts, light and easy, as though it were nothing at all. "Guess we're stuck with each other for a bit."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like it."

She shrugged, her hands slipping into her pockets, her posture relaxed in a way that seemed effortless. "At least we’re outside," she added with a small grin. "Could be worse."

You chuckled at that. It was true—things could always be worse—but Natty’s casual ease made you feel like she didn’t take any of this seriously. You had to admire that, even if you didn’t feel the same way.

“So... this is what we're doing now, huh?” she said, her tone more dry than curious, but there was an amused look in her eyes. “Walking around pretending like we care about all this nonsense?”

You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, pretty much." It was like living in a play where you were always the understudy, never the lead. “I can’t say I’m a fan of these… arranged encounters.”

"Arranged, huh?" Natty’s voice was playful, but there was an edge of weariness to it. “Guess we both know why we’re out here. Both are just tokens in their little plan.”

Her bluntness surprised you, but it also made something inside you snap into place. "Yeah," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "Pretty much. Just pieces in a game."

Natty snorted softly, her lips curling into a dry smile. "Funny how they pretend it's all about alliances and family pride when it’s really about keeping us where they want us. Like we're anything but chess pieces."

You didn’t have to think hard to agree. It wasn’t something you’d ever quite put into words before, but Natty had said it exactly right. You both knew the truth, even if neither of you wanted to say it aloud.

"You’re right," you said, your voice quieter now, the weight of it all pressing down on you. "They want us to fall in line. To just... follow the script."

Natty leaned against the garden wall, her gaze drifting across the horizon as if searching for something beyond the perfectly neat rows of flowers and trees. "Yeah, well. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the script," she said, her grin playful but with a hint of rebellion. "I’d rather be anywhere else right now."

You chuckled, though it felt more strained than you wanted to admit. "I’m getting there too."

The conversation fell into a comfortable silence. You both stood there for a moment, side by side, the shared understanding hanging between you, unspoken but undeniable. The arrangements, the alliances, the families using you as pawns—it all felt suffocating. But as much as Natty was easy to talk to, to be around, the truth was clear: she wasn’t her

There was someone else. Someone who wasn’t part of this world.

Magenta.

You thought of her, and your chest tightened. It wasn’t just a passing thought, either. She made you feel like you could breathe, like you didn’t have to conform to the rigid mold that had been set for you. When you were with her, you could be yourself. Unpretentious. Untethered to expectations.

She was real.

And you couldn’t get her out of your mind. The way her laugh seemed to make the flowers sing back in a harmonious melody, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved. The way she never tried to make herself something she wasn’t. You thought about her when you woke, when you closed your eyes at night.

You thought about her now.

But Natty, standing next to you, was just... easy. She wasn’t Magenta, and it wasn’t fair to either of you to pretend that she could be.

"So, what about you?" Natty’s voice pulled you back into the present, her eyes suddenly sharper, as if she had read the shift in your expression. "Anyone in your life?"

You hesitated, the weight of her question lingering longer than you would’ve liked. Magenta’s face flashed in your mind, her smile, her energy, and your chest tightened all over again.

"Yeah," you said finally, keeping your tone neutral. "But it's... complicated." You didn’t need to say more. Natty didn’t press.

She looked at you for a moment, her gaze softening, as if understanding the layers behind your words. "Yeah, me too," she said with a small, knowing smile. "We all have someone, don’t we? It’s just… in this world, it’s never really about what we want. It’s about what fits. Like we’re jigsaw puzzles first and humans second."

You nodded, the unspoken truth between you both like a weight that refused to lift. "Exactly. It’s never been about us."

The silence that followed was comfortable in a way, but it was also heavy. You both knew what was coming, even if neither of you wanted it. The arrangements. The alliances. The marriages.

And the truth you couldn’t ignore: you were both stuck with futures that weren’t yours to choose.

"I guess we just have to play along for a little while longer," you said softly, breaking the silence.

Natty gave a small, resigned nod. "Yeah. For now."

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, a resigned look as you lean on the railing.

“I’m sorry too.” Natty responds in earnest, the both you stuck in this sick game

“You’re late,” Magenta said, her voice teasing but warm as her fingers strummed effortlessly across her guitar, the sound carrying lightly in the cool evening air. She didn’t look at you as she played, but you could hear the smile in her voice.

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I swear, you always know when I’m running late. Are you watching me from the window?”

She smirked, still not looking at you. “I’ve got my ways.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, sure,” you teased, walking closer to her, boots crunching on the wet grass. “And what’s your excuse? You were probably waiting here for ages already.”

Magenta finally looked up at you, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I don’t need an excuse. Time doesn’t pressure me the way it does you.” She grinned, letting the last note of her guitar linger in the air before she added, “Though, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I made it before you started your solo concert,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you took a step back, mock bowing as if she were the star of the show. “Should I be impressed?”

Her lips curled into a playful smile. “Oh, absolutely. But if you’re so impressed, you better be ready to hear my new song.”

“New song?” you asked, leaning against the nearby tree, intrigued. “Well, I’m all ears. What’s it about this time?”

Magenta’s fingers moved with ease over the guitar, the chords shifting into a new pattern. “This one’s called All About You.” She said it matter-of-factly, but there was a hint of something behind her words, something she wasn’t quite sharing.

You raised an eyebrow. “All About You? Seriously? Sounds a bit... on the nose, don’t you think?”

She shot you a playful glare but didn’t respond, letting the song speak for itself. The melody was soft at first, a gentle flow that pulled you in, but it quickly became clear that the song was filled with emotion—warmth, longing, and something far more intimate than you were expecting.

By the time the chorus hit, the words were unmistakably romantic, and the way Magenta sang them made it feel like she was pouring every bit of herself into the song. You couldn’t help but grin, listening closely as the lyrics unfolded, each one wrapping around you like a thread tying you to something she couldn’t hide.

When the song finished, you couldn’t help but give her a knowing smile. “Wow, that’s definitely... all about someone.”

Magenta set the guitar down with a light laugh, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks. “What? You think I wrote it for you or something?” she asked, her tone defensive, though it only made the blush on her face more obvious.

You smirked, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I didn’t say anything. But if I’m the first one that came to mind…I mean, it sounds like it’s about someone. You really think you can write a song that sappy and not have it be about... well, someone?”

She rolled her eyes, clearly flustered, but she wasn’t backing down. “It’s not about you. I didn’t even mention your name.”

You held up your hands in mock surrender, trying to suppress your grin. “I didn’t say it was. But it’s obvious, right? All those lyrics about being captivated, about waiting for someone—come on, Magenta. That’s practically an open declaration.”

She huffed, looking away, but her lips betrayed her with a tiny smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” you said, stepping a little closer, not wanting to push too much. “But that song is definitely about someone. I mean, I could see how someone might get the wrong idea with all that heartache in it.”

Magenta’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—perhaps annoyance, perhaps embarrassment. “It’s not about anyone specific,” she muttered, but even as she said it, you could tell she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Just... inspiration.”

You chuckled, knowing full well that she was trying to brush it off, but it was clear from the way her fingers tapped nervously on the guitar that she was a little more rattled than she was letting on.

“Well, whatever it’s about, it’s a beautiful song,” you said, smiling genuinely this time. “But come on, it sounds like you’re secretly in love with someone. Or... at least have a crush.” You teased, nudging her shoulder lightly.

Her cheeks reddened again, and she shot you a glare. “I don’t have a crush on anyone, okay?” She said, voice slightly tight, though the amusement was still there in her eyes. “It’s just... a song. Not everything has to have a backstory.”

“Sure,” you said, holding her gaze, though you couldn’t help but push a little. “But it’s pretty obvious that you’ve got feelings for someone. It’s a lot of emotion packed into one song.”

Magenta shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to laugh it off, but you could see it. That flicker of something. She liked someone. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want you to know about it.

You decided to drop the teasing for a moment, though the thought of her love life still hung there, unexplored. Instead, you let the moment sit in the air, both of you feeling the weight of it in silence. Magenta, with all her bravado, wasn’t as immune to vulnerability as she liked to act.

“Well,” you finally said, breaking the tension, “whether it’s about me or not, I still think it’s a great song. Really.”

She sighed, exhaling through her nose with a soft laugh. “You’re impossible,” she muttered again, but there was no malice in it this time. She was just... flustered.

And honestly, you found it endearing.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re definitely hiding something,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Magenta turned her head, pretending to ignore you as she picked her guitar back up. “Not everything needs to be about me, alright?”

You laughed, but there was something else there now, something more... serious, between the two of you. Magenta had a way of hiding her emotions behind that tough exterior, but you weren’t fooled. You weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was the song, maybe it was just being here together—but it felt like something had shifted.

Then, without warning, you decided to bring up something else entirely, something that had been weighing on your mind since you’d gotten here.

“So, there’s this girl,” you started, and even though you hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, it felt important to say. “Natty. My father wants me to... well, to marry her. It���s all part of some arrangement with Mr. Suputhipong.”

Magenta’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings, the air around you suddenly feeling heavier. She looked at you, disbelief flickering across her face before it quickly morphed into something more guarded. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her gaze piercing through you like she was trying to make sense of your words.

“Marry? As in, marry, marry?” she finally asked, her voice flat, though there was a quiet tension in her tone that you couldn’t ignore.

You sighed, leaning back against the tree as the weight of the situation settled back on you. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I mean, it’s not definite yet, but with how my father operates... it’s probably gonna happen. My siblings are already being set up with other kids from Mr. Suputhipong’s family too. It’s all this whole arranged marriage thing. Mass marriage bullshit, really.”

Magenta’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought she might say something sharp or dismissive. Instead, she just let out a breath, looking at the ground as if she were weighing her words carefully. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, though—a mix of frustration, confusion, maybe even jealousy. It was there, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath. “So just like that, you’re supposed to be... what, married off to some stranger? All because your father says so?”

“Pretty much,” you said, trying to keep the tone light, but inside, it was anything but. “I don’t know. I don’t want it, but... it’s just the way things are going right now. It’s all about business and alliances and all that. My feelings don’t even come into play.”

Magenta shook her head, her expression a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something that looked almost... hurt? “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You hesitated, not really knowing how to answer that. How could you explain that you felt trapped, like your life was being decided for you? You wanted to fight it, but at the same time, what could you do against your family’s expectations?

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, trying to brush it off. “It’s just something I have to deal with. You know, family stuff.”

But Magenta was still staring at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she were trying to find some clue in the way you were talking, some hint of how you really felt. She bit her lip, frustration clearly simmering under the surface. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that defensiveness slipped away, replaced with something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“You’re... not serious about this, right?” she asked, voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “I mean, you don’t actually want to marry her, do you?”

You felt your stomach churn at the question. There was something in Magenta’s voice—something fragile—that made you pause. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you standing in the clearing, everything else fading away.

“No,” you said quickly, trying to reassure her. “I don’t want to marry Natty. I don’t want any of this, Magenta. It’s just... expected. You know how it is with my family. But I’d never just go along with it. I don’t want a life like that.”

Magenta’s eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of uncertainty there. She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering away from you as if she were trying to collect herself. “So... you’re saying, if you could choose—” She hesitated, as if the question was harder than it should’ve been to ask. “You wouldn’t marry her? Not if you had the choice?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Of course not. I don’t even know her, Magenta. I don’t want to marry someone just because my father says it’s a good idea. I’ve got... other things I want. And if it were up to me, I wouldn’t go through with any of it.”

Magenta took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if trying to process everything. Then, after a long pause, she looked at you again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then what do you want?”

‘You.’ You opened your mouth to speak, but for a moment, the words didn’t come. There was something in the air between you, something unspoken that made the moment feel bigger than it was. You didn’t know what you wanted, not entirely—but in this moment, with Magenta standing so close, you had a pretty good idea.

“I want...” you started, then paused, considering how to put it into words. “I want to be in control of my own life, Magenta. I want to make my own choices, not just follow what other people think is best for me. And right now, that means I don’t want to marry Natty. I don’t want to marry anyone unless I really choose to.”

Magenta’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she just nodded, her arms still crossed as she looked down at the ground. Her expression was harder to read now, a mix of relief and something else—something more subtle that you couldn’t place.

“Well,” she said quietly, “I’m glad to hear that. I just... I don’t like the idea of you being stuck with someone you don’t care about.” She shifted, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “And I definitely don’t like the idea of you marrying some stranger.”

You took a small step closer, your voice soft. “I promise that I’ll do what I can.”

Magenta finally met your gaze, the tension in her expression easing just a little. “Good,” she said, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips. “I mean... if anyone’s going to marry you, it better be someone who actually matters, right? Someone good with the guitar at least.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the way she said it, the mix of playfulness and something deeper that made your heart flutter just a little.

“Right,” you said, your voice light, but underneath it, you both knew there was more to it than just words.

Winter

The winter wind cut sharp, carrying whispers from the upper levels down to where the air always seemed a little heavier, a little colder. Magenta had heard the news—everyone had. Mr. Suputhipong, the head of S2, had announced a new round of transport capsules bound for Mars, seats reserved for his family and their extended network.

Magenta hadn’t cared at first. Space travel was a rich person’s game, nothing to do with her. But then someone had mentioned the list, rattling off names like they were celebrities. One name had stopped her cold.

Natty.

Magenta’s fingers froze over the guitar strings, the name ringing in her ears. You’d mentioned her not too long ago, but it made sense now, all the talk about marriage alliances, the quiet weight in your voice when you’d brought it up. This wasn’t just a rumor. It was real. You were leaving.

You were going to Mars.

You were leaving her.

Magenta let out a low grunt as she slumped back against the gnarled tree. The bark pressed into her spine, grounding her even as her thoughts spun out of control. Her fingers moved again, plucking lazy, dissonant notes from her guitar, but her mind stayed stuck, clouded, frantic.

She couldn’t let you go. That much was clear. But how could she stop you? How could she even begin to ask you to stay? Her mind raced, sifting through excuses, schemes, anything to keep you here, on this Earth, in this moment with her.

But for all her sharp wit, for all the teasing comebacks she always had ready, Magenta couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

She shouldn’t ask. It was selfish. Even by the standards of the upper levels, Mars was the closest thing to heaven. To deny it was stupid, and as much as she’d tease you and prod you for the slight bursts of stupidity that she often found more endearing than anything, you had to jump at any chance to go to Mars. Even if it meant leaving important things here back on Earth, it only made sense to leave. What would you most mind leaving on earth? Magenta wondered if she made the list.

You hadn’t mentioned it to her, this move to Mars, not once. All winter, she’d been waiting for some small hint, some casual drop of your plans. But it never came. A tiny, bitter part of her wondered if you’d ever planned to tell her. Maybe you were just going to disappear, leaving her sitting here under the wish tree, strumming her guitar and waiting for someone who was never coming back.

She glanced down at the scratched notebook in her lap. Her new song, Wish Tree, stared back at her, the ink still fresh, the lyrics mocking her now. It had come to her on the same wind that had carried the news, and she’d written it in a rare moment of hopefulness, her fingers moving faster than her doubts.

Her songs had always leaned melancholy, romantic with an edge of longing, but this one was different. Wish Tree was a hopeful ode, a soft prayer for staying together, for finding a way through the chaos. And now, just as it had started to sprout, the news had come, ready to uproot everything.

Magenta closed the notebook and leaned her head back against the tree, exhaling a shaky breath. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d written about wishes, but she hadn’t made one. Not yet.

She wondered if she’d waited too long.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the familiar crunch of your boots on the soft mud.

“I’m early! Right?” You asked with an almost joking tone.

Magenta smirked, a quick, automatic reflex, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Depends what you mean by ‘early,’” she said, her fingers idly strumming a chord. “You missed the winter solstice, but I guess you’re on time for… Tuesday.”

You grinned, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, the wind making a mess of your hair. “Guess I’ll take that as a win.”

Magenta’s gaze drifted back to the guitar strings. She didn’t know why her hands were still moving, picking out a quiet, aimless melody, but it felt safer to look at the guitar than at you. “I wrote something,” she said, almost too casually, like she wasn’t sure the words should leave her mouth.

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your face. “Yeah?”

She nodded, brushing her thumb over the strings, the sound soft and tentative. “It’s not finished,” she added quickly. “Probably needs, like… a bridge. Or a chorus that doesn’t sound like a bad diary entry. But I—” She hesitated, her usual teasing confidence faltering just enough to make you take a step closer. “I could play it for you. If you want.”

Your smile softened. “Of course I want to hear it.”

As Magenta began to strum, the light breeze carrying her harmonies, your mind began to whir. The song was hopeful, uncharacteristically hopeful for Magenta’s music. Did she really not know? Not heard about the new capsules? You had been pondering for weeks on how to properly tell her, but now, sat in front of her, mesmerised by her symphonies as you gazed into her eyes, you wondered if it would be better to give it all up. Attempt to run from your family, gargantuan task as it is, risky too, but if there was anyone you’d do it for…

“Did you like it?” Magenta’s voice pulled you out of your reverie. 

“Of course I liked it, Magenta. It was exquisite, just like you.” You almost whispered the last words, catching Magenta’s gaze.

You shook your head, stepping closer until you were standing just a few feet away. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice quiet, almost reverent.

Magenta’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, brushing her hair back from her face like she could shrug off the compliment. “You always say that. You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, grinning slightly. “But I mean it.”

The silence stretched, the winter wind tugging at the edges of it, neither of you quite ready to fill it.

And then, so softly it was almost lost to the breeze, she asked, “When were you going to tell me?”

Her voice was quiet, almost steady, but she wouldn’t look at you.

“Tell you about what?” Magenta was right, you really were stupid.

“The Capsules. News travels down here too, you know.” Magenta replied, scoffing, her mood clearly having taken a turn for the worse.

“I…I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I was-” You tried to explain, but Magenta quickly turned toward you, glaring at you.

“You were what? Going to Mars? Leaving without a word or even a goodbye?” Magenta challenged as she stepped closer to you, almost cornering you into the cherry tree.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to go.”

Magenta didn’t move at first. Her eyes were locked on yours, disbelief rippling through her like a wave about to crash. Then she laughed, sharp and humorless, the sound cutting through the cold air like broken glass.

“You’re not sure if you’re going to go,” she said, her voice dripping with incredulity. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”

“Magenta—”

“No, don’t ‘Magenta’ me,” she snapped, stepping closer, her words coming fast and fiery now. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You’re telling me you’d give up Mars—Heaven, for God’s sake—for me?”

“Yes!” you said, the word bursting out of you like it had been trapped inside too long. “Yes, Magenta, for you. I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to stand here, under this stupid tree, and act like I’m worth that. I’m not.”

“Stop,” you said, trying to close the gap between you, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“No, you stop,” she said, her tone sharp and cutting. “Do you even hear yourself? Mars isn’t a vacation. It’s a whole new life. A better life. And you’re telling me you’d throw that away for what? For me? For some girl who spends her days sitting under a tree and writing songs no one even hears?”

“I hear them,” you said quietly.

Her mouth opened, then closed, her breath hitching for just a moment before she threw up her hands. “Well, great. One audience member. Guess that makes me worth uprooting your entire future.”

“Magenta,” you said again, your voice softer now, pleading. “I don’t care about Mars. I care about you. You’re worth it. Can’t you see that?”

Her eyes burned as she stared at you, her jaw tightening. “No. No, I can’t, because it’s not true.”

“It is—”

“Stop!” she yelled, and the force of it made you freeze. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her voice trembling now, even as she tried to keep it steady. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re just—you’re just trying to make this easier for me, and it’s not. It’s not easier.”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” she cut you off, her voice cracking at the edges. She sucked in a shaky breath, her anger slipping for just a moment, just long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the hurt underneath. “You think this is what I want? You staying here, wasting your chance, looking at me like I’m worth more than heaven?”

“You are,” you said firmly.

She laughed again, bitter and cold, and it broke something in you to hear it. “God, you’re so stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her voice dropped, quieter now but no less sharp. “You’re going to regret this. Maybe not right away, but someday. You’ll look at me, and you’ll see all the things I can’t be, all the things Mars could’ve given you, and you’ll hate me for it. And I can’t—I won’t let that happen.”

“Magenta—”

“Just go,” she said, cutting you off one last time, her voice tight, her eyes refusing to meet yours. “Go to Mars. Forget about me. It’s better that way.”

You stared at her, your chest tightening, words piling up in your throat that you couldn’t force out. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. 

You turned and walked away, your footsteps crunching against the frozen ground, the distance between you growing with each step.

You didn’t see her crumble the second you were out of sight. Didn’t see her drop to her knees under the gnarled branches of the tree, her hands clutching the cold earth like it could anchor her to something, anything.

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking, her breath coming in broken gasps. She did the right thing. It had to be the right thing. Or else, that would mean…mean that she ruined the only thing she ever really loved.

She pulled herself up from the ground, dragging herself onto the tree that had been your meetup point for so long. Your cherry tree, your Wish Tree. 

Spring

(Imagine the pre chorus but slowed down and sang through sobs)

It had been a year—a whole, impossibly short, impossibly long year—since you appeared out of nowhere, stumbling into her life like some cosmic accident. A stranger, in a place where strangers didn’t just happen. A year since she’d looked up from her guitar, startled by the sound of boots squelching through the muddy ground, and seen you standing there, impossibly wrong and yet somehow exactly right. Like you’d been meant to find the cracks she hadn’t even realized were there.

She’d told herself she wasn’t counting. Not really. But she knew. Knew it had been exactly one year since you wandered into her orbit and tilted everything, just enough to let the light in.

Now, lying beneath the gnarled branches of the cherry tree that had become yours—not hers, not yours, but yours, together—Magenta couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. About the capsules.

The capsules.

Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep the image out. It didn’t work. Her fingers dug into the damp grass beneath her as though holding on tight could somehow stop the inevitable. She didn’t want to see it—the sleek, gleaming capsules with their yawning doors, ready to whisk you away. To lift you up, out, beyond. Somewhere she couldn’t follow. Somewhere she wasn’t sure she could even imagine.

She should be happy for you. That was what she told herself, again and again, the words looping endlessly through her head like a melody she couldn’t escape. This was what you’d been waiting for. The chance to leave, to start over, to escape the heaviness of this place. To find something better.

It was what she deserved, wasn’t it? She’d told you to go. Pushed you to go, her voice steady even when it felt like the weight of it might break her in half. She’d told you she couldn’t be the reason you stayed, couldn’t let you throw away a shot at something brighter, something easier, just because she wasn’t brave enough to let you go.

But lying there, staring up at the branches shifting against the pale winter sky, Magenta felt the truth settle deep in her chest, heavy and sharp-edged. She wasn’t noble. She wasn’t selfless. All she wanted, in the quietest, most desperate part of her heart, was for you to stay.

And then it came. That low, growing hum, the sound that swallowed everything else. The capsules, rising in the distance, their engines roaring as they tore away from the earth and into the sky. Magenta’s breath hitched as she watched them climb, higher and higher, until they were nothing but a distant speck. Until they were gone.

Her hands found the guitar beside her, her fingers brushing against the strings like muscle memory. It felt wrong to play it now, cruel, even. The song she’d been playing the day you first appeared. What had once been the beginning of everything now felt like a cruel epilogue to what she’d lost.

Still, the melody spilled out of her, her voice soft and trembling: We are revolving because we can’t meet

We are like parallel lines

If I could run through time and become an adult

I will hold your hand in this cruel world

We aren’t closing in, that one tiny bit

We are like parallel lines.

When the last note faded, Magenta folded forward, her body curling into itself as the tears came, hot and unrelenting. She pressed her forehead against the guitar, her shoulders shaking, her breath coming in broken gasps.

And then, softly, the words she’d never expected to hear again, carried on the breeze like an impossible dream:

“Would it be too much to ask for an encore?”

Her head jerked up, her breath catching. And there you were, standing beneath the cherry tree, the same tree where it had all begun. Your face was sheepish, almost apologetic, as you took a slow step toward her, then another.

Magenta blinked, her tears blurring the edges of you, but there was no mistaking it. You were here.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet, her fists against your chest, her sobs spilling over as the words tore out of her.

“Why didn’t you go?” she shouted, her voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “You could’ve had it all! You could’ve gone to the closest thing to heaven, and you stayed—for what? For me?”

Your hands found her shoulders, steady and warm, and when she didn’t pull away, you pulled her closer, wrapping her into the kind of hug that felt like it could hold her together, even as she fell apart.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and lingering, and when you spoke, your voice was quiet, like a secret meant only for her.

“Oh, my love,” you murmured. “What’s heaven got that beats a picnic in spring, just you and me?”

[hotpinkboots]

~~~~~

~Yandere!𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 & Yandere!𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 x Reader Headcanons~

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Note(s): Reader is a human, it only takes like 10 hrs to get to Transylvania bc this is fanfiction and I don't have to obey the laws of time and space, I'm not writing Magenta and Riff as being in a relationship together for obvious reasons even though they are in the movie so they're just both crushing hardcore on the Reader in this

Warning(s): Yandere behavior, kidnapping, brief non-con + mentions of sex, cannibalism, drugging the reader, delulu aliens, etc. Minors DNI. Don't like it? Don't read it. You are responsible for your own content consumption.

~~~~~

"MASTER! DINNER IS PREPARED!" 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖆 announced proudly, a smile lighting up her pale face as she struck a confident pose for presentation. Unfortunately, she only was met with an aggravated Frank-N-Furter, who gave her nothing more than a minimal dismissive wave of his hand in return. "...Excellent," he breathed exasperation. Magenta's mood was quickly dimmed. Her big grin slowly faded into a grimace.

Suddenly, she wasn't so proud of herself for the meal she had prepared...that is, until you tried to make up for Frank's lack of excitement by offering Magenta a grateful smile, and complimenting her cooking at dinner (while remaining unaware that she had cooked and served poor Eddie). You were so darling. Magenta had taken notice of every time you supported her, spent time with her, and loved her when Frank wouldn't.

𝕽𝖎𝖋𝖋 𝕽𝖆𝖋𝖋 shouted as Frank kicked him in the back, sending him toppling onto the ground. What had he done to deserve it this time? Making a single mistake by raising the machine too high, and failing to lower it exactly when Frank wanted him to? Riff Raff grunted and lifted himself off the ground, returning to crank the handle counterclockwise. He briefly lifted his head, catching a glimpse of your worried expression, and the way you instinctively began to trot over to make sure he was alright.

Riff Raff shook his head no, and put his right hand out in a "stay there" motion. It wouldn't do any good for you to get in trouble for helping him. Just seeing that you wished to tend to him was enough. You were so darling. Riff Raff had taken notice of every time you came to check on him, kept him company while he was busy at work, and loved him when Frank wouldn't.

~Magenta and Riff Raff are known to be secretive and mysterious. They don't let anybody into their duo. They can practically read each other's minds by exchanging one brief look. They aren't just related, they're linked and inseparable. Neither of them fell for you first, it was a silent mutual agreement that they both loved you.

~At first, they were annoyed by you. Just another human to toy with. They were suspicious anytime you offered emotional support, or anytime you offered to do something for them after they had a long day of work. You were so sweet that it was suspicious.

~Eventually, they found that you were just as kind as you seemed. You didn't command them as though they were nothing but lowly servants, you always asked them politely if you needed something, and spent genuine quality time with them. The siblings had full trust in you, especially when you had seen through Frank's fabulous personality to find the ugly, self-entitled brat that he truly was.

~One does occasionally grow jealous of the other. They sometimes fight for your attention like it's a competition to be the favorite. Riff Raff tends to do this more than Magenta does, as he can be more insecure than she.

~Your loving comfort did nothing to dull the ache of their homesick hearts. They needed to go home, but they couldn't leave you on Earth. Magenta and Riff Raff couldn't be happy on Earth with you, but they also couldn't be happy on Transsexual without you.

~What else could they do? They had to take you with them. Surely you'd be happy there. You're too special to stay on Earth, anyway. The siblings would miss you, wouldn't you miss them, as well? They came to the conclusion that they needed to take you with them- you'd love it there! Such a beautiful planet.

~But there was no way you'd come willingly. You'd never leave Earth, you'd be terrified. They had to think of a way to coax you into it- verbal communication would be the easiest, but it would all be fun and games until it came time to actually leave Earth. You'd back out of it fearfully. They'd have to find out a way to get you to follow through.

~One night during dinner, Magenta was paying close attention to you while you ate. At first, she had been staring intently to see if you liked the food, but then it hit her. She was forming a plan in her brain, and Riff Raff could practically see the gears turning in her mind. Why couldn't they take the easy way and put something in your food to keep you quiet for awhile...? Magenta found herself to be amused that they had been planning all this time, when the answer was right in front of them.

~Her eyes slowly drifted to Riff Raff to get his attention. At once, he returned the glance and watched as her eyes flicked to your meal. Riff Raff seemed to get the gist, and was fully on board with the idea when she told him about it later. Of course, they didn't want to cause too much trouble by doing this, who knows what could happen if they used a drug that your body didn't know.

~Before they put their plan into action, they decided to wait long enough for you to not suspect them. While you loved them dearly, you also knew they were...a certain way. You could never fully trust them, and they knew that.

~A couple of months went by.

~Every now and then when you went out, you'd see a person who you thought vaguely resembled Magenta or Riff Raff. Magenta had a better chance at not being spotted by you, as you rarely saw her without makeup and she could simply disguise herself by not wearing it while she was following you from a distance.

~Riff Raff was easier to spot- tall and lanky, recognizable face. He was more careful when he went out of the castle to watch you go about your life.

~They saw everything you did. Everyone you talked to, everything you bought, everywhere you went. They were careful with this, of course. They couldn't be too obvious.

~If by chance you had any sexual relations with anyone, they wouldn't care.

~But the very moment they saw you growing very fond of somebody, fond enough to let them into your heart and to treat them softly with pure love, they wouldn't allow it.

~Jealousy wouldn't be necessary. They wouldn't have a reason to be jealous, because that person would be easily taken care of. They're very confident in their abilities to rid useless people off of the planet.

~The very night they put their plan into action, they made a "special" dinner for you. A new food, and of course, something in the food to make you "sleep" (unconscious).

~You didn't even notice the difference between chicken and the special meat they fed to you, but you did notice their eyes staring at every bite you took, and slowly glancing away when you noticed them looking from the corner of their eyes.

~You also noticed that your lover had suddenly been rather distant- as in, you never heard from them again. You never connected them to the dinner Magenta made for you. You'd never know what you ate, or rather, who you ate.

~Not long after your meal, you began to feel frighteningly dizzy and exhausted.

~Magenta walked you to your room so you could lay down, while Riff Raff was busy taking care of (killing) Columbia, Frank, Rocky, and shooing the three unwelcome humans out of the Castle.

~Meanwhile, Magenta took the time to lay with you and have you to herself while Riff Raff was busy. She stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, treated you like royalty.

~By the time you were unconscious, the Castle had taken off. You woke up confused, disoriented, and with a horrific pounding migraine.

~You also woke up with Magenta's velvet soft tongue between your thighs and Riff Raff's hands caressing your body.

~They halted their actions when they saw you felt unwell, instead taking care of you to stabilize you before you discovered your new surroundings.

~You had an instant freak out, and in response, they watched you in an eerily calm manner, explaining how you'd be happy here. How you'd grow to love it, how you belonged here and not on the planet you were born on amongst all of the boring humans.

~They never took you home.

~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

~Love, HotPinkBoots

[cursedyuri]

thinkin about how vi would absolutely ruin your white towels every time she dyes her hair. there’s also drops of magenta dye all over your bathtub that simply refuse to wash out with bleach. eventually you give up and buy red towels for her, and accept that the tub will never be perfectly white again.

[houseofshy]

Sleep Token as colour scheme - 1/?

♡ wallpaper sized

Ivy in Magenta

○ Pic Cred to myself

Other versions:

IV ○ III ○ II ○ Vessel ○

[cinnbar-bun]

Bad Romance (Various Valentine's Guards x Reader)

Characters: Blackmore, Magenta Magenta, Mike O., Ringo Roadagain, Wekapipo

Prompt: "I want your love, and I want your revenge / You and me could write a bad romance."

Summary: These men faithfully serve your father, Funny Valentine, but what can they do when their heart craves to be known to you as more than just your bodyguard?

Rating: NSFW I have no excuse for this.

Notes: parts SFW mixed with some NSFW hcs. I think maybe Wekapipo's is a bit mean but nrjkgnjrg. GN!reader, no parts mentioned, Reader is Funny Valentine's child. Also sorry I call him Magenta Magenta lmk for next time if I should just use Magent Magent.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Tagging: @bruabbina (bestieeee come get some Ringo food!!!) @uminozerol (I don't know if you wanted to be tagged but as you are the resident Blackmore lover and FV enjoyer in my life I think you deserve some Blackmore food)

Blackmore 

Blackmore has always been loyal to the Valentine family since he was hired, especially to the president himself. 

Blackmore believes the Valentine family to be the most ‘worthy’ family ever, with Funny as the head and you, his child, as a worthy and divine successor. You are something unearthly that Blackmore cannot comprehend. 

Normally, he isn’t always the first bodyguard assigned to you, but occasionally, Funny orders him to or you personally request him. Blackmore can’t help but feel elated when you do so, choosing him to escort you around on your daily activities. It makes him feel wonderful knowing that someone as magnificent and beautiful as you allows him within your presence. 

He takes his job of protecting you seriously, quietly removing any potential threat (no matter how minor) as to not disturb you. He hates the idea of you having to witness the things he must do to protect you, nor does he want you to be exposed to the darker parts of the world. 

At first he assumed the way his heart was pounding around you was due to his loyalty and eagerness to show he was useful to the family. However, it became pretty clear to him after a while the emotions he felt for you were far different from the loyalty he felt for your father. 

He’d never want to act on these feelings, instead choosing to continue serving you in silence, eagerly carrying out any and all orders you may have. 

He keeps himself calm around you, never allowing his voice to raise or his breath to quicken in your presence. You deserve much better than him yearning for you in such a display. 

Yet, occasionally, you will linger your hands near his whenever he is escorting you in the rain, claiming that you just want to stay under his umbrella. Blackmore is confused, since the umbrella is clearly large enough for the both of you to stay comfortably under (he made sure of it himself). 

Then you demand his presence more and more, even beyond things like needing an escort for going outside. He complies nonetheless, as serving you is his biggest honor. 

But you… you’re too much, sometimes. You know how protective your father is of you, yet you deign to be more casual with Blackmore like he is your equal. Blackmore is flustered by such a notion, but he doesn’t want to act on it, refusing to cause you shame. 

And then you corner him one day, but yet he does not mind. 

“‘Scuse me… we must be getting back to the White House, soon,” he reminds you. But you insist, practically begging for him to touch you. 

The way you whisper in his ears makes him want to throw his whole life away in order to serve you eternally. What could be more grand, more holy, than caring and serving you, the most glorious existence in this world? 

He lets you take charge, offers himself as a sacrifice to you as you say you want to ‘thank’ him for all his hard work and loyal service to your family. Your lips and hands on his body feel divine, and he thinks he has passed away from the way you touch him. 

He shouldn’t really be doing this, he argues. “What would your father think? He asks me to protect you, not… aaa… desecrate you…” 

But soon, he can’t help himself, finding himself touching you back and devoting himself to making sure you feel just as much pleasure as you do. In fact, he gets greedy, especially with the way he kisses you so frantically while the rain is pouring outside. 

“Such a perfect thing… you deserve to be worshipped, from this world, to the next.” 

Magenta Magenta 

A bodyguard who already acts far too casual for his standing with you. While your father appreciated Magenta’s work, Magenta’s attitude had often made him hesitate to pair the unprofessional man with you. 

But, honestly, how could you resist him? Every ‘good morning’ he said to you was loud and proud, as if this particular morning was the best one yet. Poor pick-up lines, bad puns, and silly little magic tricks would occur soon after, making you laugh at his behavior. 

“You know, you’re the only who has a sense of humor here,” he says while juggling some ice casually. “The others are so boring and act like they’re all better than me, or something.” 

He finds your laugh wonderful, wanting to hear it almost every day as he comes up with new material to tell you. Being the president’s kid in this strict White House has got to be boring, so he takes it upon himself to not only protect you, but to entertain you. It gives him more opportunities to not only make you smile, but to also talk with someone who doesn’t find him annoying. 

Magenta is not subtle at all with his feelings for you. He’ll pull out roses he picked from the White House lawn (he almost got chased by the gardener) and casually hand them to you, playing up the act of a suave gentleman. He’s not even afraid to flirt with you in front of the others, something Wekapipo smacks and reprimands him for. 

“Tch, he’s just jealous of what we got.” 

Magenta isn’t too scared of what Valentine thinks, mostly concerned about your happiness here. He’ll often suggest sneaking out of parties under the guise of ‘getting some fresh air’ so you two can hang out privately away from the highbrow guests. 

While you were more proper before, thanks to Magenta’s casual behavior, you shed your overly polite ways and relax around him more. 

And… well, you certainly become more bold around him. You talk of wanting to run away with him and the both of you enjoying the world by yourselves. He adds that you two should get a plane and fly it across the globe. 

You lean in closer to him, far too close for any bodyguard to be around their ward. He leans in closer, not minding the distance at all. 

He’s made it no secret he’s attracted to you, and seeing you try to get closer to him without telling him your feelings gets him excited. 

“Tryna get me killed by your dear daddy, darling? You know I’m not allowed to make the first move for you. I don’t wanna look like the bad guy or something.” 

Once you finally make the first move, then he’s all in and all over you. 

He’s not a refined gentleman, not in the slightest, as he’s just focused on grinding against you and kissing you all over. He just touches and squeezes wherever he can from you. 

It’s sloppy, it’s messy, but it’s passionate. All the love and tension you two had between each other since he began serving you comes out in full swing. 

Do note, Magenta is a loud man. This fool forgets he isn’t supposed to be having sex with his boss’s kid, and often just gets loud and whiny in your ear. He does continue to make jokes during the act, but majority of it is praising how wonderful you feel or how pent up he is. 

After the first time you did it, he’s gonna be wanting it more and more, and he’s going to try and get you two to sneak away for a bit so he can fuck the proper mask right off of you. 

“There, much better, huh? Don’t worry, I know those high and mighty assholes bore you to death. So let’s have some fun, you and me!” 

Mike O. 

If you thought Blackmore was holding himself back, Mike O. takes the cake. 

Mike is your father’s personal bodyguard, and Mike takes pride in his job. Hell, the fact Funny allows him to guard you and trusts him with you the most should be seen as the highest honor for anyone. 

So why can’t he just keep it like a job and not want to hold you? 

He was simply trying to do his job and make sure everything was in tip-top shape for you, yet the more he learned about you, the more he fell for you. 

He’s dedicated beyond belief, especially to you. If any staff even messes up something miniscule for you, he lectures them and gives them a warning, perhaps even having another staff member care for you. If a person outside the staff bothers your threatens harm, if he doesn’t personally take care of it in the case of an emergency, he’ll head to your father and ask for permission to do something about it. 

“My president… these men have been giving them a hard time. Permission to execute them? Or shall I make them simply regret having crossed the Valentine’s?” 

He does find your more relaxed and easy-going nature pleasant compared to your father’s stern and secretive behavior. You may insist on treating him like an equal or being friendlier to him, but Mike doesn’t want to cross into even more unprofessional territory and will respond stoically. 

He shows his care for you through physical acts of service, as that can’t be misconstrued too easily as an admission of his feelings for you. His face remains completely cold and serious, always on the lookout and always searching for any potential threats. But he makes sure your tea is the perfect temperature for you, or opens the window to let in the right amount of sunlight that you enjoy. Subtle things that none can trace back as him wanting to be more than your bodyguard. 

He would like more than anything to be able to be upfront with you and shower you in affection and love that you deserve. He sees the way potential suitors behave around you, and while he silences his envy in order to keep watch, he will never stop you from pursuing them if you choose to. He gives his honest opinions when you ask for them, never letting it slip that he hates them and wishes they’d just leave. He makes detailed files and potential pros and cons for them, never deluding himself into thinking he has a chance with you. Staying by your side is all he will allow himself to do. 

For god’s sake, you’re the president’s child. A mere bodyguard like him should not be anywhere close to you like that romantically. It’s simply wrong. He beats it into his brain over and over so he doesn’t reveal how admittedly relieved he is when you reject another potential suitor. 

He does wonder why you reject them all, even ones that seem like perfect fits, but he’ll never give himself the hope that it’s because you perhaps like him back. Even if you stare at him too long or ask for his help for everything or request his presence too much, it surely cannot be that. 

But you can’t resist him, and when you call for him one night to your room, you finally release the feelings you’ve kept lock and key. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. It would be inappropriate. I am just a bodyguard and-” his rather poor argument falls apart when you tell him he’s more than just a bodyguard, but your most trusted companion and the man you truly love. 

Something within him snaps, but he still tries to remain cool and collected. You kiss him gently and all restraints within him break. For so long he’s desired it, knowing this would surely get him killed by Funny’s hands. 

He’s a gentle but passionate lover. His hands move with a grace and fluidity of a man who knows exactly what needs to be done. As if he knows exactly what you need from him at that moment. 

Not to brag, but his fingers are truly wonderful and can easily bring you on your knees. His hands are amazing. 

He doesn’t talk much during this tryst, merely exhaling into your ear and asking if you are feeling good. 

“Ah… there is no greater feeling than your body in mine. Let me lead you to a world of pleasure, my ward.” 

Ringo Roadagain 

Although polite and caring for your safety, Ringo does not admire your presence at first. Labeling you a ‘conformist’ in his mind, one who simply does as told, who lives in the shadow of your father’s, he writes you off as perhaps another spoiled and coddled person. 

However, you see his skill with a gun and his general attitude, and you beg him to teach you how to shoot or defend yourself. He doesn’t mind teaching you, but he wonders if you are actually serious enough about it. 

You are determined, even if you’re not the best, and he begins sensing an inkling of that ‘spirit’ within you. It makes him wonder if you are able to surpass the expectations of others and become something greater than you’ve ever imagined. 

He doesn’t tell you this, not wanting to be too inappropriate with you, but he hopes you can surpass the others and be the one to kill him and complete his spirit. 

After these many training sessions, he does reveal more of his own self and gentlemanly behavior. You are of higher status than him, but he will not treat you like a porcelain object. He expects you to stand strong for yourself as well, lest everything you’ve learned be for nothing. 

The feelings he has for you are not something he is ashamed of nor does he deny. It just is. And it takes a real man to acknowledge them head on and do something about it. 

His mentality on fairness makes him believe he should not be the one to monopolize your time only. He’ll back off when the other men guard you, as he is not possessive or overbearing towards you. You are your own person, and he will not allow himself to overstep your boundaries. 

Ringo is often the one appointed to handle you and any potential suitors, given his nonchalance and calm behavior. Again, he doesn’t think much of that, given you’re your own person, but he has to admit that these ‘boys’ who try and talk to you are a ridiculous bunch. 

Ringo isn’t a fool, though, and notices when you are being cheeky or trying to get his attention. It’s not his place to mention it head on, but he does know how you feel. 

But you never seem to confess it to him straight, so eventually, when you two are alone and you again try to seem innocent in your flirting, he gives you a serious expression. 

“Darling, you’ve got to make up your mind and say what you want with your whole chest.” 

The shocked expression on your face makes him chuckle in amusement, but he continues. “You’ve been acting coy for so long around me. I’m surprised your father hasn’t noticed such brazen behavior from you. But if you want to pursue me in a real relationship, you must be honest.” 

Honesty is the best policy, and it doesn’t take long before you’re on top of him. Ringo admittedly enjoys the thrill of being with you, as it gives him a high that he cannot replicate elsewhere. 

He encourages you in that low voice to make some noise and let him know how he’s doing. He’s not particularly concerned about whether or not Funny catches him or knows. He gets you and a possible battle, both of which spur him on more. 

Skilled and methodical. He is not a hungry beast, but it’s as if it’s his life’s mission to get you to scream his name and leave you a heaving mess on the floor. 

When you two are finally finished for the night, he makes sure to clean you up and take care of your sore body. But he can’t help himself and leans in to you, quietly whispering into your ear-

“Welcome, darling, to the world of ‘men’.” 

Wekapipo

The opposite of practically all these men. He keeps it strictly professional. Does not talk to you. Does not humor you. Does nothing but what Funny asks. 

He doesn’t have much else to care for in this life, so he’s just trying to do his job. But you complicate everything. You insist on being a pest and doing almost anything other than what your father wants. He sighs often with you. 

Truthfully, you aren’t that bad, but he’s a closed-off man who just wants to live peacefully. Any time you try to casually ask him a question or chat with him makes him act unamused and remind you he is just a guard. Not your friend. 

“Please do remember that your father has hired me to keep watch of you. It would be unwise of you to attempt to get close to me, when we have such a difference in title.” 

Doesn’t stop you from trying, though, which only frustrates him to no end. 

Not to mention, for some god forsaken reason, you always keep attempting to be friendlier with him and ‘reward’ him for his service. 

“Why are you giving me this? Do you understand that I am simply just doing my job? I did not take this just for a chance at your gifts. I know my place. You should know yours, too.” 

He doesn’t know what to do with the amount of stuff you’ve attempted to give him or insist on doing for him, despite being your guard. He just sighs and leaves it in his room and complain aloud about while internally thinking it’s nice you chose them for him. 

Yeah, he’s crashing hard. Although now, you annoy him not because he finds you a nuisance of a ward, but because of how burdensome these feelings are for you. He just wants to get paid and go home, and wanting to have his boss’s child as a romantic partner isn’t exactly in line with that idea. 

So he quells it and continues, acting as he usually does- stern, cold, detached, and even more done with your behavior. He feels that if he acts more serious that these pesky feelings will die off and reveal themselves to be nothing more than childish delusions he imagined. 

Except it does the complete opposite, where him pulling away makes you come closer, and it makes his heart beat out of his chest knowing how much you care despite him being… well… Wekapipo to you. 

Wekapipo denies any and all feelings for you if Magenta brings up how overbearing he is with you. He insists it’s just part of his duty and that he’s doing his job correctly. 

Despite his aloofness… he is quite the jealous and possessive man. He hates others getting close to you or wanting to guard you. That’s his job, and if it was so easy that anyone could’ve done it, he would not have been specifically chosen to guard you. 

His frustration gets worse when you keep on teasing him or attempting to be coy. He knows what you’re pulling- he’s not an idiot, you know- and he has to hold back from telling you off and kissing your mouth shut. 

One day, after you tease him far too much, he pins you down and glares at you. “Have some decency, will you? Really, do you throw yourself at every other man like this? I doubt your father would like to know the stunts you’ve been pulling.” 

He lectures, but it’s clear by the way he’s shaking and can barely look you in the eyes just how flustered and angered he is by this. Yes, he wants you, he wants you a lot, damn it, but he can’t do this with you! 

And yet you always bring out the worst in him, making him throw caution to the wind as you embrace him and kiss him, making all his pent-up frustration come out. 

He doesn’t want to be rough, but admittedly, all this time pining for you while you two engage in this forbidden act makes him lose his mind and all restraints. He wants you, he wants you now, he wants you so bad it’s ridiculous and he cannot contain himself. 

He’s on you like a starved man, panting in your ear and cursing himself for falling victim to your charms. 

“Damn you… damn my foolishness. You’ll be the death of me! Making me want you like this, begging me to ruin you- you have no idea what you’ve just unleashed. I’ll make sure to set you straight!”

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

SİNCE sbr is coming.. can i get a really really underrated characters headcanons with reader? Like the valentine's henchman lol (please dont forget to include my man axl in it too) love your work!

Heck yeah, gotta commemorate the occasion~

An Axl RO fan you’re so real for that, seriously underrated man-

-Various SBR secondary characters x reader headcanons-

Cw: various relationship statuses (dating/married/planning to get engaged), drinking, death

Characters: Dr. Ferdinand, Ringo Roadagain, Blackmore, Magenta Magenta, Wekapipo, Axl RO

Dr. Ferdinand: Dr. Ferdinand had a reputation in the earth science community for being eccentric and extreme, so when whispers got around that he was getting married there was some hope that married life might calm him down a bit. He’s an intelligent and talented scientist underneath his difficult demeanor, so if he were just a bit more reasonable then maybe he’d actually get in with a good university as a professor or something. His research could be groundbreaking.

His marriage decidedly did NOT temper his more extreme personality traits. You’re just like him! How did he even find someone who gets equally offended on the earth’s behalf over every tiny indiscretion?? If anything, you might make each other a bit more intense.

You’re also a scientist, a passionate one at that, and the two of you LOVE to talk to each other about earth science. Anyone who accidentally eavesdrops on the two of you will probably have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s a bit of a funny sight, you sitting on his lap, very in each other’s personal space while you romantically twirl a lock of his hair around your finger but you’re just yapping about how obsidian is made and he’s yapping about why the dinosaurs went extinct.

Anyone who knew him before can tell he is super happy to be with you, his whole demeanor is a bit sunny when you’re around, and he’s completely devoted to you, only really interested in talking to you.

So the two of you become more elusive in the science community, only making appearances together and only taking an interest in each other’s research.

At least he’s extremely happy with you, even if the two of you are difficult to communicate with and have a tendency to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. The two of you once yelled at someone for five minutes straight after they accidentally dropped something on the ground.

Ringo Roadagain: You’ve accepted long ago that Ringo intends to go somewhere you can’t follow. And with your clear acceptance that Ringo’s end goal is only a fair duel to the death, he lets you into his life eventually.

You and Ringo live a simple life. While he’s calm and composed in all aspects of his life, he’s mostly dedicated to dueling, improving, achieving that vague idea of a “real man” he’s so assured in. You practice too, for your own purposes. Something a little more tangible in your opinion, a couple of talents that’ll keep you alive and help you hold a steady job once Ringo finally bites the dust.

Much like the nature of his stand, the reach of your relationship could only go so far.

You are partners, in the sense that you keep each other company in your otherwise rather isolated lifestyle. He doesn’t talk much with you, at least, not small talk. You know him on a deeper level than anyone else does, so most conversation topics are meaningless between you.

You have no future together. So instead you simply appreciate each day you have with him, one at a time. He’s not affectionate or doting with you; his initial draw to you was your independence, and he does not open up much about his past or anything like that to you often. Not that he needs to. And honestly you don’t want to know. You stick with him for now because otherwise you’d be lonely. Getting too emotionally involved was only gonna hurt you more by the end of this short, tragic tale.

Blackmore: The two of you have a strictly professional relationship on the outside, two of Valentine’s most dutiful bodyguards, following him around like loyal dogs…

While Blackmore was the strategist, with a meek manner of speaking, content to stay out of the spotlight; you were the warrior, with a fiery and bold personality, always the first to use your stand to threaten and fight in sharp contrast to Blackmore’s more reconnaissance style stand. A deadly assassin duo. And while you could work well together professionally, when you were off the job anyone would think the two of you would avoid each other. You actually get along quite well, even if it seems like you boss him around and talk over him.

It’s just the nature of your relationship. You’re the more dominant one; he’s content to let you take the lead when you’re not working, he doesn’t care much for small talk, and he doesn’t mind letting you make a bunch of the small decisions for the two of you. You often tell him he needs to not apologize so much and speak up for himself more. He apologizes to you and says he’ll do so…next time. Ugh. He really does make it look like you’re a bully, even though it’s completely unintentional on his part. Ah well. It’s not like anyone even knows the two of you are much more acquainted beyond coworkers, let alone lovers.

Actually, now that you think about it…even Funny Valentine himself doesn’t know. You imagine he’d be quite surprised given how he also occasionally muses out loud about how entirely opposite his personal bodyguards are.

Magenta Magenta: You were the darling sweetheart waiting for him back home that he occasionally bragged about that obviously no one really believed him on. Magenta? Had someone waiting on him? Yeah right.

That is, until you actually showed up to see him before him and Wekapipo headed out to intercept Johnny and Gyro.

Even at the sight of you clinging excitedly to Magenta and kissing his face all over, it was Still hard to believe you were actually here for that man.

You really adore Magenta Magenta! He’s so funny, and he has such interesting things to say! Everyone else you’ve dated before has been so uptight…but not Magenta. He actually made you smile, lowered your guard, and he was FUN. He said after this job, he’d have enough to buy you a ring and finally get hitched. And of course you didn’t want to interrupt his super important job for the President, but you just missed him so much!

It’s kinda obvious Magenta likes you because you’re hot and super down bad for him, but he’s honestly pretty sweet on you; always getting you what you want and hyping you up and holding your hand whenever he can.

He’s honestly not so sure about actually marrying you though…that’s…kinda a big commitment. Too bad he can’t help but say whatever will put a big smile on your face…he’s kinda obsessed with making you feel happy with him.

He’s not actually ready to settle down, so he was kinda hoping you’d forget about that little comment…oh well…the President would pay him handsomely for his work, hopefully he could buy you a whole bunch of stuff that would distract you from that stupid promise. You’re both good at spoiling each other, but your relationship hasn’t really gone anywhere since you started dating a couple years ago. Much to your disappointment.

Wekapipo: He’s serious, here to do a job, get his reward, and nothing more. Messing around behind closed doors with a secretary in the White House wasn’t a part of his plan. And yet here he was, leaving a small bouquet on your desk in-between his assignments, lingering around the places you’d frequent, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, maybe a chaste kiss as long as it was in secret.

He wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with you, tried to keep his distance, focus on his work…but when you heard about his intention to stay in America, you had brightened up, took his hands in yours, and sincerely expressed how happy you were that you would still be able to see him once his work was done.

So sweet. You were comfortable. Peaceful. And oddly insistent about following him around. Though he may seem like a man who’d prefer a low-maintenance partner, he doesn’t mind doting on you a bit. But only to a certain point. He’s protective by nature, but has no intention of entirely coddling you. He needs to be able to trust you before he actually opens his heart to you.

At one point it had seemed like a stupid, foolish idea, asking you to come live with him once he’s gotten what he wanted from Valentine.

But your gaze often lingers on him, and a bitter look crosses your face when you talk about what will happen when the SBR is over.

You realized you wouldn’t be seeing him nearly as often as you had hoped, even though he’d be staying in the states, given the nature of your job.

But he’ll be set for life once he’s fulfilled his end of the deal. It would be easy for him to take you with him. Too bad he’s terrible at actually talking about his feelings. Even though you’ve been in an unofficial relationship for some time now, he’ll struggle to discuss what the two of you actually are, and what he wants with you.

If you want to go with him, you will have to say something first.

Axl RO: You’ve known him for a long time, being the only person he ever really talks to after his great sin. He won’t talk about it, even to you. You already know he’s made a terrible, unforgivable mistake that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Once when he was young he said he would become a musician. You’d travel around, and he’d get rich doing what he loved, and life would’ve been good for the two of you.

You were newly married when he was enlisted into the army.

He came back different.

Didn’t talk to you, didn’t look at you either. You worried he was going to drink himself to death at a young age.

He only ever confessed to you once, when the voices from his newly manifested stand got too loud to bear on his own anymore.

As he expected, it disturbed you to hear what he had done.

He thought you would leave. Instead, you quietly thanked him for telling you, and said you’d feel more comfortable spending the night away from him. You just needed some time to think.

Neither of you talk about it. That guilt haunting him every single day was probably a heavy enough of a punishment. That wasn’t something you could forgive, but you didn’t need to remind him of that.

You live a much quieter, idle life than you had once dreamed of when you and Axl were young. Despite everything, he’s still someone you’re comfortable around, somehow. And, well…you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone. You’ve been together long enough now that you can’t imagine a life without him.

He doesn’t sleep well. Usually doesn’t sleep at all, if he can help it. When he does, he has terrible nightmares.

He doesn’t like to talk about it, and he won’t say anything but…he does appreciate when you try to stay up with him when he can’t sleep.

-

I wish Axl RO got more attention in the manga. My faves were probably Magenta Magenta and Wekapipo, but Blackmore is also super cool.

[peachbubbless]

Steel Ball Run Fanfic Week - April 12th

Requests open

Hi guys! I'm sure you've heard the speculations about the SBR anime being announced on April 12th, and to celebrate I'd like to do a week of daily SBR fics from April 12th! And if it somehow doesn't get announced, we can all cry together and console ourselves with some fanfics.

So if anyone has any SBR requests, my inbox is open ;)

I'll still be taking / working on my non-SBR requests but I wanted to do something fun to celebrate (or potentially mourn) Part 7 <3

Everyone is encouraged to join!

SBR Fanfic week has started!

Jojo nation we won with the SBR announcement 🤠

See my masterlist for all the fics ;)

Let’s celebrate nyo ho!

[yanderebluelockfan]

Itoshi sae fanart by @kanai_kurokawa on instagram (me on insta)

[smelly-welly69420]

Cupcakes & Commitments

A little Riff Raff x reader proposal fic I wrote and decided to post here!! Reader is gender neutral. It's so much tooth rotting fluff lol. Columbia and Eddie are a couple here too btw

Characters that appear: Reader, Riff Raff, Columbia, Eddie, Magenta, Frank n Furter.

Mentioned characters: Brad, Janet, Rocky

Black... purple... red...

Black... purple... red...

Black... purple... red...

You fall into a soothing rhythm, carefully placing fondant flowers atop each cupcake, murmuring the order under your breath to ensure consistency. Each of your sweet creations is adorned with the same three blossoms, evenly spaced and perfectly placed.

You’ve decided that, as a gift to everyone, you're going to make a dessert for the end of dinner tonight. Everyone is accounted for, each cupcake a different flavour to match their personal tastes: birthday cake for Columbia, lemon for Magenta, red velvet for Frank, cookies and cream for Eddie, vanilla for Rocky, almond for Brad, and strawberry for Janet.

But the ones before you now are your personal favourite: dark chocolate – for Riff Raff. And you’ll admit, you’ve made a few extra just for him. Frank might raise an eyebrow at the lack of surplus in his name, but you don’t care. Only the best for Riff Raff.

Picking up another black fondant flower, you gently squish it into the sweet icing, carefully securing it in place with the practiced touch of someone who’s done this many times before.

The taste of dark chocolate icing still lingers on your tongue – bitter and sweet all at once. You’ve tasted each icing to make sure they’re perfect, but the richness of the dark chocolate overpowers the taste of the others in your memory.

As you reach for a purple flower to place on the cupcake, you hear the soft click of a familiar pair of heeled boots echoing down the corridor. You keep your back turned, waiting. You know it’s your boyfriend. Maybe he’ll enter the room or maybe just linger in the doorway, as he often does. You pick up the piping bag in your other hand and listen to the noise of his quiet footsteps. He moves with deliberate quiet – but not quiet enough to go unnoticed by you.

Sure enough, the footsteps come to a halt just behind you, right in the doorframe.

Pretending not to notice him, you begin to softly hum to yourself. It’s a tune you know he finds endearing, something delicate to fill the silence between you.

It stays like this for a while – you, busy with decorating the cupcakes, and him, silently watching from afar.

After a moment, you place the final flower on top of the cake, a small red rose, and turn to face him. The sight that greets you leaves you breathless.

Riff Raff stands before you, his face the same shade as the flower you’ve just placed, blue eyes firmly locked on the floor. But it isn’t his face that makes your heart lurch.

It’s the small, velvet box clutched between his trembling hands.

A black ring box.

Your eyes widen. You quickly set the piping bag down on the counter behind you, your hands suddenly unsteady. The two of you stand in silence, an electric stillness stretching between you, until finally, Riff Raff shifts nervously, clears his throat, and looks up at you.

"I wasn’t sure when… or how," he murmurs, voice hushed and uneven. "But this felt right."

A tightness grips your chest and your eyes well with tears, your face warming into a soft pink. You can practically hear your heartbeat in your ears, fast and loud and all-consuming. You’re barely breathing.

He doesn’t get down on one knee, probably for the sake of his bad joints, but it doesn't matter. To you, this is perfect.

His face is unreadable, as it usually is. To anyone else, he might seem detached, indifferent. But not to you. You can read him like an open book. Every small shift, every tiny breath, every twitch of his fingers is a letter in a language only you understand. And how you love to decode him.

Though his face gives little away, his eyes tell you everything you need to know.

God, it’s all in his eyes.

He looks at you in a way he never looks at anyone else. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability. His pupils are blown wide, and in the low light of the kitchen, they seem to shimmer.

He takes a shaky breath and opens his mouth once more.

"Y/N… Will you marry m—Ah!"

Before he can even finish the question, you fling yourself at him, nearly knocking him off balance. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands find their way around your waist, still holding the box, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You feel the furrow of his brow press against your skin, and soon, the damp warmth of tears follows. He’s crying, quietly, trying not to let it show. But you feel it.

You stay embraced for a while, letting him quietly sob into your shoulder.

When you finally pull away, he’s smiling – truly smiling, wide and radiant. It’s rare, and it undoes you.

His slender fingers fumble with the ring box. When he opens it, your heart swells all over again. The ring is gorgeous: a dark titanium band encrusted with tiny black pearls that shimmer iridescent in the light. The star jewel, however, is a single heart-cut black diamond – impossibly clear and beautifully bold.

You pluck the ring out of the box to examine it further. As you turn it toward the light, the diamond catches the glow of the kitchen bulbs and flashes a bright, brilliant purple. You turn it the other way, and it gleams a deep, illustrious red.

"...It’s perfect." You whisper, awestruck. You see Riff Raff relax at your words, as if he was worried that you wouldn't like it. He had no need to be worried. You would say yes even if your ring was made out of old string and tinfoil.

He takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before taking the ring from you and slipping it onto your finger. It's a perfect fit. Secure, but not tight. It feels like it belongs there.

He takes his own matching ring out of the box and puts it on his own finger. It suits him beautifully, dark against his pale complexion.

Your hand finds his, and your fingers intertwine.

"You’re shaking," you whisper.

He nods, lips parting, searching for something to say. "I... didn’t think I’d be this afraid," he admits, voice frayed and raw. "Or this happy. It's... disorienting."

His other hand reaches up and cups the side of your face. His hands are warm, unusually so for him. Your lips lock together in a passionate, yet tender, kiss and your eyes flutter shut. You feel the corners of his mouth tug upwards as he smiles into it.

Riff Raff breaks away first, a puzzled look on his face. He swipes his thumb over his bottom lip before speaking.

"…Is that dark chocolate?"

You laugh softly, reaching for one of the cupcakes.

"You tell me," you say, handing it to him.

He lets out a satisfied hum and takes a bite.

"Hmm. Those are delightful." He says, mouth half full. "I like the flowers."

"I thought you would." You reply, happy with your craftsmanship. "Made extra for you."

He holds the cupcake out for you to take a bite too, but just as you're about to sink your teeth in, a loud CRASH sounds out from the corridor, followed by a "Columbia! Wait up!" In Eddie's usual sing-song voice.

You both turn toward the sound, hearts leaping. You’d left the kitchen door ajar.

Columbia skids into the room on socked feet and slams face-first into the wall, her ruby hair a wild mess.

"It smells amazing in here! Whatcha bakin'?"

Eddie enters next, running past you and towards Columbia. He grabs her waist and hoists her into the air, causing her to squeal. They both burst out laughing, the kind of full, uncontrollable laughter that fills every corner of the room.

"Ha! Told you I’d catch you!"

Eddie finally notices you and Riff Raff standing together on the other side of the kitchen, acknowledging the both of you with a small "Oh! Hey, guys!"

You don't have his attention for long before his eyes drift towards the counter, and he suddenly shouts, "WOAHHH! CUPCAKES!" loud enough to rattle the windows.

Magenta walks in after, eyebrows drawn into a scowl. She speaks through clenched teeth, her voice low and sharp. "What have I told you about chasing each other through the castle?! Frank is going to flip when he sees that broken vase!"

Magenta pauses when she sees you and Riff Raff standing shoulder to shoulder, faces calm, matching rings glinting subtly in the kitchen light. The small ring box still sits on the counter.

She raises a brow.

Columbia notices next, eyes narrowing as she glances between the small box and the cupcakes.

"Wait a damn minute. YOU'RE ENGAGED!?"

"TO EACH OTHER!?" Eddie blurts out afterwards, dropping Columbia in his shock.

She bends her knees to absorb the fall, landing with practiced grace. Without missing a beat, she prances over to you, grabbing you by the arms and frantically shaking you like a rag doll.

"Do you have any idea what this means??" She questions, voice tinged with dramatic dread.

You reply, brows furrowed and slightly dizzy from the shaking. "Uhh... what does it mean?"

"I owe Magenta twenty bucks!"

"You bet on our engagement?" Riff Raff asks flatly, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"No," Columbia says, eyes sparkling. "We bet on whether you were emotionally functional enough to pull it off."

"Rude." Riff Raff comments, sarcastically rolling his eyes.

"And I won." Magenta interrupts, her expression proud and sly. She gives her brother a playful punch on the shoulder as a silent way of saying I knew you could do it.

"Ahem"

Every head turns toward the doorframe. Behind Magenta stands a very displeased Frank-N-Furter, cape billowing theatrically despite the lack of wind in the castle. Knowing Frank, he's definitely turned on a fan to make sure his cape looks good.

You can immediately tell something is wrong because his lipstick doesn't match his heels. He crosses his arms, casually inspecting his nails as he speaks.

"You mean to tell me you two are getting engaged without my explicit and quite possibly choreographed consent? Informing me beforehand was the absolute least you could’ve done!"

Riff Raff steps forward, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. "And why is that?"

"So I can prepare! My outfit must stun. The lighting must flatter. I need time to plan my dramatic entrance! And the food must be protein-rich so Rocky can maintain those delicious muscles of his—"

"Speakin' of Rocky", Columbia cuts in, "where is he?"

Beginning to gently herd everyone out of the room, you reply, "We can tell Rocky, Brad, and Janet over dinner. Why don’t you guys go set the table?"

"OK!!" Columbia and Eddie yell in unison before tearing off back down the hallway toward the dining room.

Frank exits dramatically, turning the fan up to maximum as he passes. He immediately starts practicing his grand entrance in the hallway mirror, utterly unaware of the broken vase crunching under his heels.

Magenta decides to linger in the kitchen a little longer. She glances at the cupcake tray, then at you and Riff Raff.

"When you get married, I guess that’ll make me your sister-in-law," she says with a rare softness, patting you on the shoulder. "You two make a lovely couple."

"Thank you, Magenta," you reply warmly.

She wraps Riff Raff in a bear hug before finally heading out the door, closing it behind her with a click.

"I better be the maid of honour!!" she shouts from down the hallway.

"Nuisances. The lot of them." Riff Raff mutters, though there’s a flicker of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You embrace him once more, tracing small circles across his back. "You don't mean that."

He takes your hand and raises it, slipping effortlessly into a waltz position, and the two of you begin to gently sway. He smoothly turns the kitchen radio on, and it begins to softly play, buzzing every so often.

"I don't. But all the noise they make is quite irritating when I want to be alone with you."

"Well, you have me alone now."

"I do." He says calmly, slotting his head in between your shoulder and neck again.

The scent of sugar and chocolate still lingers in the air, comforting and warm.

You break the silence one last time.

"...Should we make everyone wear black at the wedding?"

He replies. "Of course. Anything else would be indecent."

"And Frank?"

Riff Raff lets out a deep sigh. "He can design the napkins. That should get it out of his system."

You giggle, giving his hand a playful squeeze.

The radio in the corner crackles as a new song begins to play – something old, crooning and sweet. He hums along to it under his breath, the notes just barely audible over the soft static.

And for the first time in a long time, everything feels beautifully, perfectly right.

HIIII GUYSSS i had so much fun writing this so please tell me what you think!! Incase it isn't already obvious enough riff is my favourite character and I loved writing him here ♡♡

Dividers are from @huraxy from this post :)

@sosoribro thank you for being so sweet and encouraging ♡♡♡ now you can reblog cause I didn't post it early like an idiot this time

[delight-angelsbliss]

Man Amy is so cute and pretty I really wanna change my blog theme to smth brighter and cuter to match it to her but idk cuz I'm already quite happy with this one

Idk why because I really like more pastel and brighter colors lol but I also love this magenta and black duo because it pops sm I mean I can always change it back if I want to why is deciding stuff so hard

[agaypanic]

tbh if you started writing for sky high 👀👀👀

zach and magenta <3333

-📖

bruh atp i might (but they would obvi be aged up. i forgot that most of the characters are supposed to be like 14😭)

everytime i start thirsting over a character, i feel like i might as well just start writing for them bc a lot of the time, nobody else is. or if there are fics for the character, they’re either really old or have the vibe of being written by ten year olds😔

[daydream-believin]

got back home late and didn’t let go all night

[hotpinkboots]

~~~~~

"The Rocky Horror Picture Show" + "Shock Treatment" Fanfiction Masterlist

Yandere!Dr. Frank-N-Furter

Yandere!Riff Raff & Yandere!Magenta

Magenta Comforting Her Girlfriend

Magenta Finding The Reader Wearing Her Clothes

"Sleeping Beauty" (Magenta x Reader)

"Late Night Lovers" (Magenta x Reader)

Nothing here, yet! Throw in some Shock Treatment requests!

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: K-Pop Demon Hunters has me in a chokehold and I have so many ideas floating around in my head but I’m really bad at actually writing and executing them. But I had to write something to help with this fixation. Also, I don’t know how the Honmoon works. Like, can anyone alter or control it after some training? Do you need to be born with a certain predisposition? So, I kinda just made some stuff up.

Edit (7/11/25): Please do not steal or plagiarize my work, I worked hard on this series and have a lot of pride in it.

Edit: Now has Part 2! Part 3! Part 4! Part 5! Part 6! Part 7!

‼️SPOILERS FOR KPDH‼️

“Okay, you guys are just going down there, right? I’m gonna go pick up some groceries,” You tell the three girls in disguise.

“Thanks, (Y/n)!”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks, (Y/n).”

Sighing, you wave over your shoulder as you separate from the girls. You managed their wardrobe and visuals, you were able to take the vague ideas in their heads and their music and bring them together in stunning visuals while maintaining their individual styles and own input.

But, you were also Rumi’s twin sister. You grew up alongside her under the guidance of your Aunt Celine. You trained with her, learning to fight, dance, and sing with her. However… You were never able to tap into the Honmoon like her or Mira or Zoey.

Which meant you couldn’t debut with your sister or help her with the Honmoon. All you could do was support her and the other girls how your Aunt Celine taught you: Cover up, keep your patterns hidden, cook for them, clean for them, make sure they always look beautiful, no fractures or faults in their image. And no faults of your own must ever be visible either.

You love your sister, there was never any doubt about that. And you love Mira and Zoey too, they were practically your sisters too. But you couldn’t help but feel… invisible and jealous sometimes. You wanted to perform too. Just once.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You were shaken from your thoughts by a smooth, male voice and a colorful flier being held out to you. Looking further up, your eyes widened and your face warmed at the sight of such a handsome guy right in front of you. You were no stranger to beauty working in the idol industry, but wow. Soft, black hair, warm brown eyes, clear skin and a soft smile. Your heart couldn’t help but skip.

“Uhm, I’m sorry,” You shook your head, trying to focus on listening to what the boy said. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, your face still hot, “Can I help you?”

He smiled kindly, “My friends and I are having our debut performance this afternoon just a street over. We’d love for you to come watch and support us.”

Flustered by his charm and his beauty, you took the flier from him. “The Saja Boys…” You read. Looking around, you tried to spot the rest of his group.

You were startled when an arm suddenly landed on your shoulders. Actually, make that two arms.

Looking up, two more gorgeously unreal guys were on each side of you, an arm around each of your shoulders. One was a buff beauty with shorter magenta hair in a yellow beanie, his shirt hanging on for dear life. The other had longer pink hair that framed his face in a heart shape.

“That’s right,” the long haired guy smiled on your left.

“We’re the Saja Boys,” the buff guy on your right smirked. The two boys spun to slide into place on each side of the black haired guy, the three posing. “I’m Abby,” the muscle man posed, flexing which caused his shirt to strain.

“I’m Romance~” He blew a kiss at you.

“And I’m Jinu,” the black haired guy winked, smiling which made your heart pound all that harder to be the center of attention of three gorgeous guys. “We also have Baby and Mystery who are passing out fliers somewhere as well.”

“Right here, boss.” Oh great, more hot guys to make your heart explode.

A mint haired guy looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he walked past, joining the other three with a cool air. Another guy with long, pastel hair that covered most of his face walked past as well. Did he just smell you…? Was he purring…?

Oh boy. These boys were gonna give you a heart attack at this rate. Your heart was racing and you felt so flustered and awkward having their attention. “Uhm, wow, sorry, I’ll try to be there to support your debut! If you’ll excuse me,” You gave a small bow. Escape. Too many hot guys.

“You promise, sweetheart?~”

Your face flushed darker and you hurried away faster, “Y-Yup! See you there! Good luck!” You had groceries to get.

After getting enough groceries for you and the Huntr/x girls, you checked the time and noted that you had time to see that debut performance. The girls hadn’t texted that they headed back yet so they must still be at the doctors. Carrying the bags, you walked over to the other street, which was only a little more crowded than usual.

It seemed like you were just in time as a cloud of pink smoke grew in the middle of the street. You got closer as music started to fill the street and from the smoke, the five boys appeared.

“Don't want you, need you~ Yeah, I need you to fill me up~ 마시고 마셔 봐도~ 성에 차지 않아~ Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)~ You could be everything that~ That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)~ Every sip makes me want more, yeah~” The black haired guy, Jinu, seemed to take the main vocals. The song was so bouncy and catchy that you couldn’t help but bounce your shoulders as the crowd grew around you. You got pushed to the front of the crowd and blushed as Jinu winked at you. You blushed, holding your groceries tighter.

“You're all I can think of~ Every drop I drink up~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~ Cool me down, you're so hot~ Pour me up, I won't stop~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~”

Okay, Huntr/x would always have your whole heartfelt support as your favorite group, but the Saja Boys were also really good… Like, if you weren’t Rumi’s sister, you might’ve jumped ship…

You were just a girl after all…

You blinked when some of the boys started blowing kisses into the crowd, launching hearts out of thin air. If they were just debuting, how’d they afford such great special effects…? These boys must’ve worked hard.

At least you thought so until you saw a flash of demon patterns and eyes on some of the boys.

You gasped. Were they… like you and Rumi? Part demons? Wait, no, they can control their demon features, you and Rumi can’t. No matter how much you tried to hide the growing patterns inching across your skin, it never worked. All you could do was cover up with long sleeves and pants.

They were just performing though. The girls would probably kill them as soon as they could once they caught wind of this demon idol group, because demons were all evil, emotionless creatures… But, if they were just demon guys performing because they wanted to perform, if they were nice demons, then wouldn’t that help prove that it was okay for you to live too…?

They helped the girl at the corn dog stand and gave those stressed kids some gifts, and they didn’t try to suck a soul once.

Your heart pounded, not just with how attractive the five were, but with hope.

The performance ended as the boys took their final poses before taking a moment to wave and send kisses into the crowd. As you scanned the group of boys, Romance sent you a flying kiss, Abby flashed you some finger hearts, Jinu’s smile widened at you, Baby raised an eyebrow at you, and Mystery gave a head nod.

What were you supposed to do now…?

[starpens]

CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of sweat from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an inexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asking him am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, gege.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”