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prod-ddeonu · 1 year ago

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UNDER THE COVER | s.jy

MDNI! MDNI! MDNI!

pairing: librarian!Jake x fem!reader

cw/tw: librarian!Jake, badboy!Jake, smut, fluff, mentions of assault and sa, drugs, sex in a public building, pet names, praise, face fucking, masturbation, kissing, mentions of murder (one line)

synopsis: Love was never your goal, preferring to keep your nose in a book while sitting in an isolated corner of your favorite library. But then you met Jake Sim: the quiet librarian who wore sweaters and button downs, the man who treated every book like a treasure, the man that you felt was perfect for you. You knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but who would have known your quiet library crush was the exact opposite of what you'd expected?

featuring: jay and sunghoon (iconic bffs!)

wc: ~6.9k

PART 2

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“Finals are kicking my ass, man,” Sunghoon stretched his arms above his head as he dramatically groaned.

Jay nodded, his notes every shade of the rainbow from his color coded highlighting method of studying. “You can say that again,” he capped the red highlighter and put it behind his ear.

“Finals are kicking my ass, man,” Sunghoon repeated, laughing when Jay threw the yellow highlighter at him.

The two turned to you, your head falling as your eyes began to shut. “Y/N!” Jay shouted. Sunghoon pressed his finger against his mouth and shushed him. “Piss off, Hoon. We're in a soundproofed study room,” Jay sneered.

Your head shot up, hands flying into the table to catch yourself. “The proper function is forty-four,” you mumbled as your eyes opened. “Oh, sorry. I had a dream I had already taken the final,” you rubbed your eye with your wrist.

Sunghoon put his hand over your forehead. “Y/N, if you don't sleep enough, your score’s gonna be a forty-four,” he said, his tone laced with worry.

You smiled, pinching the bridge of your nose. Sunghoon ran his hand over the ponytail you held your hair in, bringing the hair over his head. “Jay, you think I could work long hair?”

“I don't even think you can work basic algebraic equations,” he scoffed. Sunghoon frowned, sitting back upright.

He looked at his notes before groaning in agony. “I'm done for the night, guys. It's, like, seven at night and I'm tired,” he whined.

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna head home, too. You coming, Y/N?” Jay asked as the two stood, packing their notes and pencils.

You shook your head. “No, I'm gonna get a little bit of reading therapy in,” you smiled, thinking of your favorite character.

The two boys looked at each other with a raised brow. Sunghoon wiggled his at Jay, the other returning the action to create some sort of impromptu language. “Are you sure it's therapeutic reading?” Jay asked tenderly.

“Or is it ‘I wanna fuck that hot librarian’?” Sunghoon finished the point, sliding onto the table in front of you.

Your ears turned red, the mental image Sunghoon painted making you sweat. The two burst into laughter, clapping loudly and pointing at you. “She totally does! Y/N has a crush!” Jay shouted.

You slapped your hand over his mouth. “It's soundproof in here, not a solitary confinement cell! They can definitely hear your walrus laughter!”

Jay faked shock, slapping his hand against his chest and holding the table for support.

Ignoring him, Sunghoon leaned his elbows against the table next to you. “So, whatcha likin’ about this dude?”

You squeaked. “I- um-”

Jay returned to his position on the other side of you, his hand on your shoulder. “Is he loud, badass, smokes a lot of weed and parties all night, muscle tees and ripped jeans, maybe a print-”

“Alright, alright!” You shouted. “Remind me to put some soap in your mouth, Jay,” you wagged your finger in his face. He snapped his jaw at you, following your finger. “He's the exact opposite, actually. He's quiet, really kind, he’s not into the party scene, he doesn't wear anything too showy-”

“So he's just like you?” Sunghoon interrupted, pulling the edge of his sweater onto his shoulder.

You nodded, a cheesy grin coming over your lips. “And how do you know all this?” Jay raised his brow. “I doubt you've hung out with him.”

“I can just tell,” you sighed dreamily. You kicked your feet underneath you in excitement.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes. Because you read minds.”

Jay clicked his tongue at you, crossing his arms. “Y/N, did nobody ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover?” He asked. “What if you get your hopes up, and then you find out that he's some rager that breaks your heart?”

You shook your head. “I don't think so, he seems pretty genuine from the way he looks.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes playfully again, “Delusion is one of your few flaws, Y/N. Your other one is reading for fun.”

You sat with your knees against your chest in a small corner of the library. The seating arrangement in that corner was a long, wooden bench that wrapped around the corner of the room. You liked to sit against the corner, your back to the wall and feet facing the shelves in front of you.

In the book you were reading, the main character had gone out with her boss in order to escape her manipulative boyfriend and catch him cheating. Her boss was icy, tall, and young. You'd barely managed to catch it, but it seemed that he was younger than her. The main character was a happy woman who let her naïvety get the best of her, which her boss had helped her get past.

You were in the scene where her boss confesses to her, but you weren't sure where the story was going. He told her he was falling in love with her, which she reciprocated, but he was holding her so close, and the word “heat” and “member” kept appearing in sentences.

You saw a shadow loom over you, shading your book from the light. A large hand rested on top of the book, tilting it back. “Are you enjoying the book so far?” A deep voice with a thick accent asked.

You nodded, not looking up. “It's really good, I'm just a little confused as to what's happening. I don't know who this member is and why they're so hot, but it doesn't make sense for her to be kissing them and not the main guy,” you rambled.

The person let out a deep chuckle. “Cute,” he said under his breath. “This is my favorite part, actually. If you don't know what all of that means, though, maybe you should skip that scene. It's not really important to the plot, anyways,” he continued.

The dim light above you bounced off of his rings, his long finger tapping on the spine of the book lightly in a fidgeting manner.

“I want to know what it means,” you sighed. “Can you explain it to me?”

When the person didn't respond, you looked upwards. Your breath caught in your throat as you squeaked.

The librarian you'd been harboring a secret crush on stood above you, his mouth slightly agape and his cheeks pink. His eyes grew wider with shock the longer you looked into them.

You turned back to the book, your eyes not really reading any words. “I can figure it out myself, sorry,” you whispered.

The man scratched the nape of his neck, a shy laugh leaving his lips. “No, it's okay, that scene is just…”

“Just what? Confusing?”

“Just not something you'd want a stranger to explain.”

“If you love the book, though, wouldn't you be good at explaining it?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside you.

He took the book from your hands, folding the corner of the page you were on and closing it. “Let me go check this out for you. I'll tell you at the counter, then you can read the rest at home, ‘kay?”

You nodded, willing to do anything he suggested. He walked you to his counter, scanning the book. “That scene you were reading is probably one of the most well-written sex scenes a reader could ask for,” he casually commented, smirking when you covered your mouth. “You can Google the words you don't know, but tell me if you still enjoyed the book when you return it!”

He placed the book in your bag, waving to you and leaning against the counter.

You sound around, mouth open to speak. “Name’s Jake, by the way,” he smiled handsomely at you, nodding his head up once. “I was gonna introduce myself to you properly, but you kinda jumped the gun on that one, miss sex book girl.”

You blushed, looking away in embarrassment. “You don't have to call me that,” you barely whispered.

“Yeah?” He poked his tongue at his lip with a teasing smile. “What can I call you, then?”

“Y/N,” you looked at the floor before spinning around and walking to the door.

Jake waved behind you, a smile still prevalent on his face. “Have a safe night, Y/N,” he called out behind you. “Hope you enjoy your book!”

Oh, you enjoyed that book alright. With Jake’s words looming in your head, and a trusty Google search (turned out, member did not mean another character), you finished the book with a foggy mind and a whole lot of nervous swallows.

Jay and Sunghoon sat across from you at your local cafe, your bag on the table and notes strewn about. “Hoon, I think you should change majors,” Jay sighed, his palm against his forehead.

Sunghoon chewed his straw nervously while the other reviewed his notes and practice exam. “Why? I thought I was good with my pre-med stuff,” he grabbed the paper from Jay’s hands.

“‘What do you call a row of stitches holding together the edges of an incision?’ was the question, Hoon.”

He looked it over. “I don't see what I did wrong.”

You peeked your head up from your notes, reading the question. “You wrote ‘satire,’” Jay deadpanned. Sunghoon cursed under his breath and erased the answer, writing suture in its place.

“Could've sworn I put suture for that,” Sunghoon mumbled. You pat his back reassuringly, a small frown on his face. “I think I'm just burning out, I've been studying all of this for so long. Jay, gimme your card, I'm gonna go buy us a round of espresso.”

Jay swatted Sunghoon’s reaching arm away. “Dude, no! Use your card, I'm not rich,” he scoffed.

“Oh my gosh, Jay, please,” you whined. “I'm so tired, I barely slept last night.”

Jay’s brow flew to the top of his forehead, the corner of his lip lifting. “Is it because of a certain librarian you stayed late to see?” He lightly punched your shoulder jokingly.

You held your shoulder and cried out in pain dramatically. “C’mon, Jay, you owe her now,” Sunghoon waved his fingers at Jay to make a grabbing motion. Jay sighed, rolling his eyes and giving the card to him. “First round’s on Jay!”

Sunghoon skittered off to the counter to order the drinks, leaving Jay to interrogate you further.

He scooted his chair closer to yours, his arms folded over his chest. “So,” he started, “what's the reason you were up all night?”

You squeaked nervously. He laughed, placing his hand over yours softly. “I was reading a book Jake said was good,” you almost whispered.

Jay shot backwards into his seat, letting out a loud gasp of shock and earning concerned stares from the rest of the customers. You shushed him, to no avail. He spun in his chair, calling out to his friend. “Hoon! Hoon!”

Sunghoon turned to face him with a scowl. “What?” He mouthed.

“She got the hot librarian’s name!” He shouted, not caring whose morning he disturbed.

Sunghoon ran out of line, sliding back into the chair across from you and resting his hand against his chin. “Soooo,” Sunghoon dragged out, “what's his naaaame?”

You shrunk into your seat. “It’s, um-”

“It's Jake!” Jay shouted, leaning over the table.

Sunghoon and Jay brought their hands together, ooh-ing in a high pitched tone as they wiggle their fingers. “Anything else happen? Did he hold the door open for you?” Sunghoon swooned at you.

You shyly laughed. “No, he just told me to read this book,” you blushed, pulling it out of your bag. “He told me what some of it meant, and it really helped!”

Jay flipped the book open to the folded corner, reading a paragraph quickly. He closed the book, furrowed his brows, reopened the book, re-read the paragraph, and turned to you, pointing at the pages as he let his mouth hang open. “He told you what this meant?”

You nodded, blushing. “I was a little embarrassed, but he was super nice about it,” you crossed your ankles and swayed slowly.

Jay shut the book and slid it into your bag, Sunghoon reaching in and pulling it out as he turned.

“Y/N, my dearest, sweetest, bestest friend,” he placed his hand on your shoulder with a smile. Suddenly, his grip turned hard, squeezing into your collarbone. “HE IS FLIRTING WITH YOU!” He seethed.

You swatted his hand away. “Then what do– ow, that actually hurts still– I do?”

Jay peacefully made a tent with his hands against the table. He blew his bangs out of his face, the brunette pieces flying upwards. “You go back there, and you ask him out,” Jay smirked evilly. “And then, you come back and relay everything to us.”

You nodded, saluting and grunting in comprehension.

Sunghoon gasped loudly, causing you and Jay to whip your heads to him.

He slammed the book against the table, scattering Jay’s highlighters and your pencils. “THIS IS A SEX BOOK?!” He shouted.

You blushed while Jay put his hand to his mouth in order to stifle his laughter. Sunghoon slowly turned to you, disgust apparent on his face. “You're such a nerd you read porn?”

“Hey, man. She reads it for the plot,” Jay snickered.

After your embarrassing exchange with your friends, you went back to the library to return the book (and stare at Jake). You held the book in front of you, sad to part with it. Jake had opened a door to a new world that you'd never heard of: the world of erotic romance books.

You blushed at the thought of the genre being his favorite. Swinging the door open, you took in the scent of paper, dust, and the slight hint of lavender you always caught when you walked in. Your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

Jake scanned a book at the counter for a woman, his long, black hair being accessorized by his usual pair of round, metal-rimmed glasses.

You watched silently from in front of the door as he performed such a melancholy task in such a charming way. The sleeves of his blue pullover came to the edges of his palm, his white turtleneck beneath covering his skin. You watched his pouty lips curve into your favorite smile, a slight wink being thrown to the older woman.

The woman slipped the book into her bag, giggling and walking towards the door. Jake’s eyes met your own, a happy wave being sent your way.

You felt yourself begin to melt at the sight.

You waved back, walking towards where he was standing. You placed the book into the counter as he smiled at you. He laughed lightly. “Guess it wasn't your cup of tea, seeing as you're bringing it back the next morning?”

You shook your head, “The opposite, actually. I finished it all last night, I just couldn't put it down!” You smiled.

Jake raised a brow, putting his elbow onto the countertop and resting his chin in his palm. “Yeah?” He asked with a thick accent. “What made it so enjoyable?”

This is the flirting Jay was talking about, you thought to yourself.

You bit the tip of your tongue, looking around the room in thought. What could you say to add to the flirting? You hadn't been in a serious relationship in years, you had little to no current experience.

“I guess I really liked the main character's chemistry with her boss,” you smiled at him, “and how he had a different side to his character that he only showed her.”

Jake nodded, leaning back and rocking onto the heels of his feet. He slid the book across the counter with a low whistle escaping his lips. “You're the first person I've met that tried to find something romantic in this book.”

You mentally facepalmed yourself. “Is that not what I was supposed to do? The writing was really good, I just-”

“Hey, hey,” he laughed. “Don't worry your pretty self over that, I think it's cool that you didn't just admire the smut aspect of the book,” he scanned the barcode on the back cover and placed the book onto a cart.

“I did enjoy that part a little, it just felt awkward to read,” you lied. You actually re-read that section of the book three times after finishing the book.

Jake’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip to wet it with a smile. He walked around the counter, pushing his book cart in the direction of the young adult section of the library.

You turned to walk to your usual corner of the library, ready to surrender this golden opportunity to your awkwardness. You took a step forward, spinning back around quickly as Jake coughed.

You made eye contact as his mouth opened to speak. “Can I have your number?” You blurted out.

Jake’s mouth shut with squinted eyes. Rejection.

“Can you read my mind or something?” He asked.

You shot him a confused look, a toothy grin splayed across his face. “I was-” He cleared his throat nervously, “I was just thinking about how I wanted to ask you to hang out after I close up, sorry if it came out weird.”

You felt clouds lift your feet, making them take even steps before landing in front of him with your phone out. He chuckled as he put his number into your phone. “Doesn't this place close late, though?” You asked.

He nodded. “It closes at nine, but if I'm being honest, fun never really happens until after dark.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking. He was not.

He shrugged, continuing to push the cart. “Just text me your address, I'll pick you up. I'll make sure it's a date that you'll never forget,” he smiled.

Your heart soared. It raced. It pounded. More importantly, it stopped. Time stopped. “Date?” You squeaked out.

He laughed, his ears turning red. “Yeah, I figured it should be a date. Don't wanna waste a good time with a pretty girl like you, y'know?” He scratched the back of his neck.

You nodded eagerly. “It's a date! What do I wear?”

“Just some comfortable clothes, you don't have to do much to impress me. I'll be wearing what I usually do, anyways,” he placed a book onto the shelf, examining the next book.

You walked to the cart, grabbing a book from the other side. “I know it's not very romantic, but can I help you put away the books? It might help you close faster,” you smiled.

He pulled the cuffs of his pull-over off of his hands. “I find it very romantic that you want to do the most boring part of my job with me, actually,” he joked.

That same lavender scent you would get hints of came flooding your senses as the two of you worked closely. You closed your eyes, taking a long breath. Jake smelled like lavender, and god, it made your knees weak.

Jay and Sunghoon, although strongly against the date, showed up to your place at seven sharp to help you get ready for it. “I mean, what kind of guy asks a kind and unsuspecting girl to go out after nine?” Sunghoon asked as he curled your hair.

He looked up into the mirror, eyes locking on yours. “A sex offender,” He released your hair from the contraption, waving the wand in the air as he spoke.

Jay groaned as he laid different outfit combinations across your bed. “For the tenth time, Sunghoon, he wouldn't be able to work at a public library if he was a registered sex offender!” Jay tapped his toes in thought before throwing a red shirt of yours onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor.

“Maybe he's not a sex offender yet,” Sunghoon replied, “but our little Y/N could end up being the body they find in the ditch.”

You sighed as Jay struggled to not throw a hard object at his friend. Sunghoon and Jay had been going at it since they arrived, Sunghoon erring more on the “worried mother” end of the argument.

“Sunghoon, stop worrying so much. He's super cute and sweet, he probably just wants to watch a movie or something,” you smiled.

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. “Let's recall what he said. ‘Wear something comfortable’, because tight clothes cause you to bleed out slower. ‘A date you'll never forget’, because you'll be dead by eleven.”

“‘I just want to have sex with you and then send you home at four in the morning,’” Jay commented. “You make it sound like she's going out with Michael Myers. Don't forget, Hoon, she already agreed to share her location with us in the groupchat.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running his fingers through your curls. “So we'll know what corner of the road her body ends up on, but what about her head?”

“Oh, God, you're going off the deep end,” you pressed your hand to your forehead.

You stood from the chair, doing a small twirl for the two. You had already done your makeup before the two arrived, but you were a lost cause with fashion and hair.

Jay clapped, his lower lip jutting out in an impressed expression. “Wow, Hoon. Maybe you should drop out of college and become a hairdresser,” he commented, earning a threatening jab with the hot iron from Sunghoon.

You unplugged the appliance, taking it from his hands and carefully placing it down. Jay held a shirt and skirt to your body, nodding for the other man to look at the combination.

Sunghoon patted the man on his back, a smile on his face. “See, if I had to send my only daughter off to possibly go missing, this is the outfit I think she'd want to go in.”

You walked out of your door at exactly a quarter past nine, Jake’s text message reminding you of a drunk message from Jay.

Hey um he uh, um out sigh in the blocker period sore we eve this cumster you we're, um using speech to text period

You figured it translated roughly to, “Hey, I'm here, I'm outside in the black car. Sorry if this comes to you weird, I'm using text to speech.” You just couldn't figure out where cumster could've come from.

You giggled as you sat in the car. Your purse clinked loudly with the pepper spray, pocket knife, seatbelt cutter, lockpick, whistle, and body reflectors Sunghoon wouldn't let you leave without.

You closed the door, turning to Jake. You audibly screamed when you saw the man in the front seat. He jumped, looking into the backseat and out of every window. “Shit, Y/N, what's wrong?!” He shouted, equally as scared as you.

You looked at him in disbelief. “Jake? Is that really you?”

The man who was sitting next to you was wearing a black wife-beater and baggy jeans with large tears at the knees, a small book pendant hanging off a gold chain. His body, now uncovered by layers of clothing, was covered by layers of ink. He had a paw print on his inner arm, the name Layla written inside of it, along with many music tattoos and smaller symbols across his arms and chest.

You looked down, noting that it seemed even his legs had art on them. His eyes followed yours, a small gasp leaving his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Guess I forgot to mention all that,” he smiled. “They're everywhere, but they all mean something.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. You may have painted him as a modest man, but you'd be lying if you said the Jake in front of you didn't make you feel butterflies. “They're pretty,” you commented, reading the tattoo on the side of his neck.

“Love is a great beautifier.”

Jake self-consciously ran his hand over it. “It's from Little Women,” Jake smiled softly.

“I love that book,” you commented, continuing to admire his look. His hair had fallen messily over his forehead, his glasses seeming to have disappeared.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Me too, actually. It's what got me into reading,” he looked forward as he put his seatbelt back on. “Look, if you find that I look too weird like this, I can put a jacket on or something-”

“No! I like it, actually. You look… good,” you blushed as you put your seatbelt on.

Jake reached his hand under your chin, lifting your head to look at him. “Look me in my eyes and say it again,” the corner of his lip lifted. “I want to see you say it, don't hide your face from me.”

You mumbled, “You look good.”

“I'll take it,” he smiled fully, throwing the car into drive and pulling into the road. “Just know, I don't let pretty girls hold their tongue around me.”

You looked out the window in an effort to hide your nervousness. Jake turned his radio on, playing a band you didn't know.

He started humming along to the song as it got closer to the chorus. He had a beautiful voice, which only added to your nervousness.

“Where are we going?” You asked, noticing a familiarity in the direction he was driving in.

He tested his elbow against his center console as he drove with one hand. “I figured I could take you to the library after hours, y'know? We'd be alone but it wouldn't be like you didn't know the place. I can show you my favorite spot, too.”

You shot a glance in his direction. “Jake, isn't it closed?”

“Yeah, and?”

“As in, we can't be there?”

“Yes we can,” he smiled.

You rolled your eyes. “If you're trying to break into a building, I think we should call this off.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he laughed, his accent shining through, “it's not breaking in.”

“Entering with a key doesn't count.”

“It does when you own the place,” Jake pulled up to a stop light, wiggling his eyebrows at you before laughing loudly. Your jaw was to the floor, an unreadable expression in your eyes. “I've never made it obvious that I owned it, because it was given to me by my grandmother when she retired, but I've owned it since I moved here. My cousin opens the place on weekdays while I go to college, but I close every night and spend the whole weekend there.”

“You'd have to live there to pull that off,” you rolled your eyes.

“I do,” he responded. “My place is right next to it.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Of course you're handsome, funny, good at singing, and you own a business.”

You felt his hand land on your leg, his fingers tapping rhythmically to the music. You turned to him, your eyes trailing up his arm. “You can continue,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

You lightly hit his arm, pointing to the road. “Light's green,” you turned to hide your blush.

Jake walked you into the familiar building, a small smile on his face as he pulled a projector from the office room. “Come and sit down, pretty girl,” he plugged a handful of cords into the device and turned it on.

You walked past the nonfiction shelves to see pillows forming small seats on the floor, a basket of movie snacks and drinks in the middle. Jake had thrown some last minute fairy lights into the mix, wrapping them around the seating area and putting some candles on the ground. “Jake, this looks amazing.”

He sat on a pillow before laughing and motioning to the other. You ran over, sitting down and immediately putting on a movie.

You didn't watch a single moment of the movie. Although Jake seemed immersed, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. Your eyes took in the slight shine against his skin from the movie, the light in his eyes looking like stars. You didn't miss the way he chewed his tongue when he got focused, or when his hair was blown awry by the air conditioner.

Your brain took a turn for the worse as a more romantic scene in the movie arrived. Your eyes raked over his exposed skin, feeling like a Victorian man who had just been introduced to short sleeves.

You looked at his tattoos, really looked at them, and saw countless music notes with small letters in them, a guitar, small pictures or animals, and a lot of book references. You never expected Jake to have been fully inked up, but you also never expected to find that as a huge turn-on.

You squeezed your thighs together to hide the fact that a simple doodle in perfectly smooth skin had put you in such a predicament. Jake turned to you, wrapping his arm around you and pointing to the screen. “See that actor?”

“Yeah, what about him?” You asked.

Jake let his hand fall onto your lap, turning to you. “Even he can tell you're not paying attention,” he pushed your hair behind your ear. “Wanna tell me what you like so much that you've been staring at me the whole time?”

You gawked. You geeked. You'd fumbled.

Jake slid his hand onto your back, and in a moment he was above you. “Tell me, sweetheart, what's so attractive that it's got you squeezing those pretty thighs so tight?”

You gulped, your thoughts having gone anywhere but where they should. He tapped his finger against your lip, a sinful smile on his face. “Your tattoos,” you whispered.

Jake leaned back, messily pushing his hair out of his face and laughing darkly. “You like my tattoos so much that you're getting wet over them?” He asked, looking down at you.

You nodded. “I like how cool you look, wanna see the rest.”

“You want to see the rest of the ones on me, sweetheart?” He asked in that thick Aussie accent you couldn't get enough of.

With a small squeak, you nodded again, feeling smaller than usual in his gaze. He looked at you the same way you'd assume a predator stared at its prey in its final moments, but you felt a strange sense of safety with him.

He slowly leaned in, his arms caging you in as he pressed his lips to yours. He held your hip with his large hand, his fingers gripping your ass while his palm held you down. He slid his thigh over your core, pressing into where you needed him most.

Your lips parted, letting out a moan. Jake swallowed it whole, sliding his tongue against your own slowly and sucking on your bottom lip. The two of you built a slow rhythm, his thigh grinding into you as you arched your back like clockwork.

His hand never left your hip, holding you in place to keep you victim to his torturously slow lips and thrusts. He loved every noise that left your mouth. Jake pulled away from you, his eyes taking in your wet, puffy lips. The two of you were breathlessly panting to catch your breaths.

His lips parted in thought. “Didn't think you'd be such a good kisser,” he mused. “Almost like you were made for my lips.”

You giggled, pushing him off you as he went to press more kisses to your lips. “Jake, I want to know more about you,” you whined.

“For one, I'm a really good kisser,” he wiggled his eyebrows jokingly as he settled back into his seat. His arms came behind him for support. He seemed to not worry about covering his obvious boner, leaning back and looking at the ceiling.

You hit his arm. “I know that already,” you fussed. “But, like, what are some hobbies of yours?”

He jut his bottom lip out in thought. “I play guitar,” he shrugged, “and there's nothing I love more than getting high and reading a good book.”

You blinked slowly, his eyes coming to yours with a smile. “What does being high even have to do with reading?”

“Makes the experience more realistic. Feels like you're there, you start feeling what the character feels and all,” he sighed. “I like to read romance books, though.”

You bit the back of your lip. “Does that really work?”

“Wanna try it?"

Jake had lit a joint for you, showing you how to hold it and even going so far as to hold it for you while he played with your hair.

The world started to move slower, certain colors waving in your vision. “Do you feel it?” Jake asked, running his hands through your hair. You nodded, looking around the room. “The rest’ll hit soon, just know I'm right here if you need me.”

He put his arm around your shoulders as he took his own hits, resting his head against your own.

He put the joint into a small ashtray, standing with you and grabbing one of the many books he'd brought into the soundproofed study room off a table.

The two of you read through it, laughing when one of you wouldn't be done with the page as fast as the other. Suddenly, the book began to describe a racier scene, one with hands all over the main character's body and kisses being pressed over her.

Jake watched you closely, taking note of how you squirmed in your seat every time the girl felt a new sensation. “What's wrong, Y/N?” Jake asked in a low voice, leaning into you. “You seem… worked up.”

You swallowed hard. “N-No! I’m just cold,” you lied. Jake clicked his tongue, closing the book and holding you by your thigh.

He used his hand to pull you closer, his lips connecting to your own. “Sure, sweetheart. I believe you,” he lied with a smirk. He glanced at your lips again before wrapping his fingers around your throat, pulling you in to continue his rough kiss.

A groan slipped from Jake's own throat, his body reacting before he could. He pulled away, his hand sliding up your closed thighs. “Not,” he continued, connecting your lips again. You opened your legs slightly, giving Jake the ability to use his hand and pry them open.

He ran his fingers up and down your clothed slit, just barely giving you the friction you craved. You felt how hard he was through his jeans, his crotch subtly grinding against your leg. He continued his assault against your lips, never once stopping for air.

You hit his chest, moaning into his mouth as he pulled away. “Jake, stop teasing me.”

“Oh, I'd never tease you, darling,” he responded with a mischievous grin. “Just wanted you to feel how good you're gonna feel with me.”

Jake took his hand off your skirt and brought it into your other hand. He brought his lips to your neck, biting down and tracing the marks with his tongue. You moaned out his name, making him groan lowly into your neck.

“I can't wait anymore,” he said as he stepped back and began unbuckling his belt. “I need to feel your throat around me.”

You stood, walking to be in front of him and pushing his back to the table. His breath caught in his throat as you sank to your knees in front of him. He hurriedly finished unbuckling his belt, reaching his hands to his waistband to pull down the rest of his clothing as you held his hand to stop him.

“Wait, Jake, are you sure about this? We're both high and in a study room in the library, what if the cameras pick up the noise?”

Jake leaned against the table behind him, his hands holding onto the edge of it at his sides. He looked at you with such an intense heat behind his gaze, you could feel the lust of it gathering into your underwear.

He slid a hand into your hair, pulling you to him and smashing his lips to yours. He brought his thigh outwards to catch your body between your legs. Your eyes shut at the feeling, the messy kiss fogging your brain.

“These rooms are sound-proof for two reasons. One, for studying or reading. And two, so I can fuck your throat as hard as I want.”

He released your hair, making you fall back to your knees. He pushed his pants and boxers down to his knees, giving you a grand view of his cock.

It was veiny, thick, and the tip was such an angry red that the precum leaking from it almost screamed for you to lick it all up. Without warning, you grabbed it and took it between your lips.

Jake threw his head back, a moan bouncing off the walls of the room. You heard him suck a breath in through his teeth as you sucked on the tip. You let your tongue glide over his slit, collecting his precum and swallowing it.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so good at this,” he moaned. Your wetness was dripping down your legs, you felt it. You moaned around him as you took more of him in with hollowed cheeks.

He held the sides of your head, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Remember what I said, sweetheart. Wanna fuck your face, if that's okay.”

You hummed on his dick, giving him the go-ahead. He slowly began to thrust into your mouth, not pushing in all the way. When you began to bob your head further, Jake took it as his sign to go deeper.

He added more force and speed to his thrusts until you were taking him whole, each thrust hitting the bottom of your throat and making you gag around him. Your saliva was dripping down his balls and onto his legs as you used one hand to rub your own clit.

You were so close, but you wanted to wait until his cum was pouring down your throat to finish. “Such a good girl for me, so sweet for taking my dick down her throat,” Jake hummed, his eyes never leaving the sight. It all felt so good.

Jake’s legs began to shake as he let out more moans. Jake was not afraid to be loud, nor was he afraid to speak his mind. He constantly praised you between his little moans.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “‘M so close.”

You moaned against him again, his hips jolting forward. “Gonna make me cum down your throat like that, bet you want that don't you?”

His tip slammed into the back of your throat, his thrusts growing erratic. With each thrust he gave to the back of your throat, you circled your clit faster. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he groaned.

His hips stuttered to a halt, warm liquid spilling into your stomach. “Taking it so, so good,” he sighed, his hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. “Atta girl, my girl, so beautiful with my cock down her throat.”

You moaned as you felt your orgasm take over you, moans spilling around Jake’s cock and slightly overstimulating him. He thrusted one more time into you, a lazy smile on his face. He pulled out of you, watching bits of spit and cum dribble down your chin.

You looked like an absolute wreck, your hair messy and your mascara running with spit down your chin. Jake loved it. You looked stunning to him.

“Y/N, that was amazing. Thank you,” he pulled you up to sit you in a chair. He ran out of the room to get water for you, as he'd told you when he walked out.

Your eyes darted around the room. You opened your phone to see four missed calls from both Sunghoon and Jay.

You dialed Jay’s phone number, a groggy smile on your face. “Hey, what's up?”

“Y/N, are you still with Jake?”

“Yes, why?” You asked, stretching in the chair.

He sighed over the phone. “We've been waiting outside the library for half an hour, get the fuck in the car.”

“Jay, I'm capable of bringing myself home-”

“Y/N. Get out of there, now,” Jay said, his tone cold. “I don't know how to say this, but-”

“Jay, you can't control me. I'm an adult,” you rolled your eyes, pacing around the room. “If you're so uncomfortable with me dating someone-”

Jay interrupted you, saying a sentence you'd never think to hear about anyone, much less the guy you sucked off less than three minutes ago. His words had you quickly grabbing your belongings and running out of the building, hoping Jake didn't see you go.

“He’s wanted for murder, Y/N.”

notes: MURDER?? oh boy.. didn't see that one coming ;) expect the next part to be... Eventful. Originally, Jake was supposed to be a camboy, but I figured that possible criminal Jake would be better LMFAO. I reccomend listening to Arctic monkeys or chase Atlantic when you read this series.

tags: @heesitation @vizstars

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, and thank you for reading! stick around for part 2!!

2K notes · View notes

blessedbucky · 5 months ago

Text

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 1)

pairing: satosugu/reader

word count: 8k (oops)

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, suguru has depression, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant sex, vaginal sex, anal play, you and satoru are gonna rizz suguru with the 'tism, uhhh let me know if there's something else i need to add!

comments: once again it's just pure self-indulgence! we need more autistic reader inserts! and more autistic satoru! this is also posted on Ao3!

No.

Yes?

As you tap the pencil against the table irritably, you squint down at the sketchbook. You twirl the pencil around and move to erase the bottom portion of the sketch but hesitate. Did it…? Ugh! Why are you like this? You’d been so keen to soak in all the distinct details to remember those that you completely missed the basic. Did this damned cursed spirit have legs or not? The rest of it had been so floaty. Surely, it wouldn’t have any use of them. Right? Then again, the forms of curses sometimes make no sense at all.

Hmm, alright. There had been a ripped, worn cloak. Red and blue ribbons that could easily be mistaken as toilet paper to a panicked non-sorcerer. Unkempt hair and bald spots. There’d been a mask, but the curse sensed no hostility or prey, so it didn’t reveal what was underneath. You debated on calling a sorcerer in to lure the spirit in to a fight, but you don’t have the energy to deal with strangers and anyone close would snitch.

You tap on the screen of your phone, flicking away the text that you’ve already read. There is someone that could collect that curse for you…but then he would wonder why you know about the exact location in the first place. No, no. Best not to tempt fate like that. Besides, if you have to sit here and debate whether it had legs or not, isn’t that some indication that there had to be something there in the first place?

About twenty minutes later, the front door opens, and you’re finishing sharpening the colored pencils. A shame that you can’t color this particular sketch, you think as you flip back to the front, but your much less non-threatening sketch of Nue needs to be colored, anyway.

“I’m home!”

There’s a noticeable crinkle of bags that gets closer and closer to the kitchen. Many of them. Perhaps it’s your humble upbringing or it’s inherently you, but this inclination of his for spoiling you will never not fluster you. These days, you can let it slide a little more since it’s not only you that’s being spoiled anymore. Or maybe, after nearly a decade of knowing him, you understand that this is a way he communicates.

When you look over your shoulder, you can’t help but smile at the sight of him in the doorway. Sure enough, he’s loaded up with bags. Some are plastic ones from the konbini, some a little nicer and prettier, and some are outright designer bags. Those ones, you note, are not for you.

“Welcome home, Satoru.”

Satoru hesitates before he tosses all the bags away from his arms and throws himself at you with what can only be described as a manly squeal. “Waa! I have the cutest wife!” You’re prepared for a full body attack, but Satoru only plasters himself across your back, and wraps you up in his arms. He’s unbearably gentle about it. “How are my babies, hmm?” His hands flick away some pencil shavings before they rest on your belly. “Ugh, I could kill those geezers for keeping me away for so long. You’re so big now!”

You tilt your head back, deadpanning his upside-down face. “You’re so lucky that you’re married to me. I think other women would think you’re calling them fat.”

“Would they?”

“It’s like you don’t pay attention to people at all.”

“I only pay attention to the ones I like!”

You pat the tops of his hands. “I know, darling. I know.” It’s then that you notice a little something. You turn around in his arms so you can study him fully, specifically his neck. “Speaking of people you like…” Curiously, you reach up to touch the bruise just barely peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. Satoru tenses at your touch, smile faltering, but relaxes when you only ask, “Why on earth did they call for Suguru?”

“Eh. You know the protocol when there’s more than two Semi-Grade 1’s.”

Your eyes light up. “There was more than one?! How many?! What did they look like?!”

“Why yes, dearest, we’re both fine. Thank you so much for asking, dearest. Oh, no, dearest, don’t be so concerned since you’re oozing with it right now.”

You wave away the sarcasm. “Shut up. Did one of the spirits have a technique to switch bodies? Because you don’t know how much you sounded like Suguru just then.” Satoru snorts. You won’t let him interrupt your very important research. Vibrating with excitement, you spin around to snatch your sketchbook from the counter and start flipping for the next open blank page. You don’t have many pages left, though. You need a new sketchbook. “You got sweets, right? Describe the spirits while we taste-test them!”

From over your shoulder, a hand slaps down on your sketchbook so hard that you squeak. “Darling,” comes Satoru’s sing-song voice. Shit. “My most beloved Sketch,” he goes on to croon. He’s pressing you against the counter to block your escape. You wonder if you wiggle your ass if that could distract him. If he’s still got hickeys, it hasn’t been too long since Suguru fucked him, but Satoru seems like he’s having a good day, and his libido is sky-high on those days. “Mother of my child,” he stresses. “What is that?”

Oh, you’re definitely sweating now. You could try to lie…or you could play dirty. Yes. That one. You pull on the perpetuate restlessness that’s set in since you were benched and that puts tears in your eyes. Once again, you’re turning around in his arms and looking up at him.

“It was Aka Manto, Satoru!” You fist your hands in the front of his jacket. “Aka Manto!” The way that he tilts his head back and slaps a hand over his eyes means you’re successfully hitting him below the belt. “How could I resist? That would be like putting Agumon, here and in the flesh, right in front of you and expecting you to walk away!”

“Agumon?” Abort! You shouldn’t have invoked his special interest! “Okay, if I was you and I was pregnant and Greymon was the one in front of me then you’d have a case! You risked your life for an Agumon-level spirit? I don’t know whether to be mad or disappointed! You could’ve totally resisted that!”

“I couldn’t! I heard those teenagers gossiping and heard them talk about the red and blue toilet paper and all the possibilities started running through my head!” You blindly slap a hand against the sketch. “This is a good thing! I can keep myself busy with researching! I have to figure out if it’s a true vengeful cursed spirit or an imaginary vengeful cursed spirit before I register it!”

“Register?” Oh. Oh, no. You’ve done it now. “Register implies Special Grade.” You know you’re in serious trouble when he slips his blindfold off. Damn your empathy! You should’ve made sure every single light in the apartment was on before he got home! Satoru is one of the few people that you can stand eye contact with, but not so much now. You don’t want to make him angrier, though, so you look at his forehead instead to give the appearance of eye contact. “I know my super intelligent wife wouldn’t put herself alone with a Special Grade.”

“Never,” you chirp nervously. “On a totally unrelated note, did you know that those geezers are super pissed right now? They had to fork over a ridiculous amount of money to reward Mei-Mei for capturing a Special Grade. Heh…heh…”

Then, Satoru…disappears.

The sudden loss of his support makes you stumble, and you have to catch yourself on the counter. The gust of wind from his warping sends colored pencils rolling off the counter. Just as you’re crouching down to pick them up, Satoru is back, and he’s not alone.

“Oh. Hello, Sugu—”

“Talk some sense into your stupid best friend!” Satoru demands of a flustered Suguru who is trying to recover from being warped so suddenly. To everyone but Satoru, warping is jarring.

“Isn’t that you?” Both you and Suguru intone at the same time.

Satoru harrumphs before he’s stomping off to pick up all his shopping bags and leave the kitchen. Knowing him, he’s going to sit on the couch and aggressively eat his haul until he makes himself sick. This temper tantrum is starting to get under your skin, especially when you think about him getting crumbs on the couch. Just the thought of sitting on the couch and getting bombarded with them makes you want to claw at your skin already.

Suguru touches your shoulder in warning before he slips it under your arm. “Let me do that,” he insists before he helps you up on your feet. Then, he crouches down to gather up all your colored pencils, examining the ends on your behalf. He separates out the ones that will need to be re-sharpened. “What have you done now, Squid?”

“Sketch, Squid—can you two come up with cooler, more original nicknames for me?”

“Those are original,” he replies with a smirk. “You have no one to blame but yourself. It’s not my fault that you were torturing a squid spirit when we first met.”

“I was six, Suguru.”

“And have you changed at all since then, Squid?” You refuse to answer that. Suguru, though, has known you longer than anyone else. “That’s what he’s angry about, right? That’s the only reason he drags me into your fights. As if I’ve ever been able to stop you from doing what you want.”

“I have a cursed technique!” You announce loudly enough that Satoru can hear you from the couch. “Have you both forgotten that the whole point of my technique is to not be seen by spirits? I can pacify them! If I actually thought that I was in danger, I wouldn’t have gone near it!”

Suguru sighs softly before he raises up to his feet. “You know that you have a tendency for tunnel vision when you’re excited.”

“It was Aka Manto,” you whine.

“Aka Manto is Special Grade?” His nose crinkles in disgust. “Ew.”

“Just based off a preliminary search, the legend has been around since the thirties, at least. It could be longer. So, it’s had time to establish itself and accumulate power. I’m surprised it’s gone so long without being exorcised, but a spirit that haunts bathrooms is probably something that sorcerers think are beneath them—”

Suguru interrupts your hypothesizing with a finger to your lips. “This isn’t only about you anymore, okay?”

“No one cared about this before I got knocked up,” you snap.

“They did,” he sings. “You don’t want to admit it because you’re trying to be manipulative right now.” The accusation has your jaw dropping. “You’ve always been a non-combatant sorcerer, Squid. Just like Shoko, hmm? When you’re on a mission, you’re paired with an active sorcerer. Does that sound like no one caring?”

You try to dismiss the point with a snide, “They only care about me like a prized scientist, same as Shoko. I’ve dedicated all this time to studying and researching cursed spirits out in the field. I can categorize them and seal them better than any other sorcerer can.”

“The higher-ups only see you as that, but Satoru and I don’t. There are others, of course. Most of the auxiliary managers adore you. More importantly, there’s Nanamin, Shoko, Nanako, Mimiko, Tsumiki, Megumi—”

As quickly as your temper flared up, all that wind leaves your sails. “Alright, Suguru, I get it. You don’t have to keep adding salt to the wound.” You shuffle past him to plop down in a chair. “It’s just…hard.” And since you know that Satoru can and is listening to this conversation, you add, “Imagine Satoru being completely cut off from anything Digimon for nine months. This is my Digimon. Cursed spirits are my thing, y’know?”

Suguru follows after you, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to pull you forward. You bury your face against his belly, practically purring when he starts lightly scratching his nails against your scalp. “I’m really proud of how well you’ve been dealing with all these changes. I know that is even harder. The unexpected pregnancy, the…what do Americans call it? Shotgun wedding?”

“Changes are easier when I have you and Satoru,” you mumble against his shirt.

Suguru’s hands momentarily still. “You make things so hard on me, Squid.”

“I know.”

“It’s not for the reason you think.”

“What’s the reason, then?”

“Nothing that I can talk about.” Your brows furrowing, you tilt your head up, digging your chin against his stomach hard. With how toned it is, you doubt that he can feel it. Cryptic asshole. “Why don’t I start collecting curses again, hmm? It’s safer when they’re under my control.”

“No.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “Who is treating who like glass now? Don’t you know? I’m Special Grade sorcerer, Geto Suguru. I can handle swallowing some cursed spirits—”

“I said no.”

As if you would add to his burden like that. As if you’d add fuel to the fire. Suguru doesn’t think that you and Satoru can’t see he’s in an episode right now. If he hadn’t been forcefully called out on that mission, you aren’t sure how long he’d go on with locking himself away from the outside world. The girls help bring a piece of the world to him, keep him afloat when he blocks you and Satoru out, and give you updates on how he’s doing.

It’s a slippery slope, the curse consumption. It’s like rot. Too much and it can fester inside him. It could be something else like the loss of a student. Sometimes, it’s reminders of that fateful day during second year of high school or that night that he found the twins.

Whatever the trigger, his episode always starts the same. Sleepless nights that leave him sleeping throughout the day to make up for it, though nothing ever helps ease that overwhelming exhaustion. Teaching drains what little energy he has. Parenting doesn’t help, either, because he always tries to put on the best face that he can in front of the girls despite how much he’s fraying at the edges.

So, a normally punctual Suguru begins to be late to work. The circles under his eyes grow darker. His lack of attention can almost match Satoru’s. Conversations are forgotten, plans are dropped. It builds. It’s when he starts missing meals, not only for himself but also for the girls, that his self-loathing gets bad. They know how to cook for themselves, but you always tell them to call you or Satoru immediately if they have to do it more often in a week than not.

“I’ll deal with it,” you insist. “I need a new hobby, anyway.” You lock your arms around him, squeezing tight. “I’ve had to watch a bunch of documentaries to help me sleep. Sharks are really cool.”

“We’ll take the kids to an aquarium, then,” he whispers.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Your eyes meet his. “Do you mean that? Are you done ignoring me and Satoru?”

Suguru closes his eyes, sighing softly. Then, he smiles, taking being called out in stride. And, by stride, you mean simply avoiding the conversation. “Shall I bring the girls to stay the night with us?”

“Please.”

“You’re so spoiled, Squid. You’re no better than Satoru.”

“You’d be spoiled, too, if you let us.”

“I’m already spoiled enough as it is.”

“How?”

Suguru gives you one last scritch on the scalp before he steps away and calls out, “Satoru, would you like to take me home so I can pick up the girls? Do you think we should stop for Megumi and Tsumiki?”

Pregnant lady privileges give you access to the shower first.

Throughout said shower, you can hear the raised voices of competitive children and Satoru as they all have a tournament on the old 64. It’s a welcome distraction since you got so scatterbrained that you forgot to bring clothes with you and have to sneak back to your bedroom.

There’s a hoodie on your side of the bed, one that you’ve never seen. Your expression softens at the sight of it. The bag off to the side tells you that this is something Satoru bought for you, and this is also his way of reaching out after your earlier argument. It’s both an olive branch and a warning that he wants to talk, that he’ll do it in good faith, and that if his natural bluntness comes off as rude or out of pocket then it’s unintentional.

You shove your face against the hoodie after you pick it up, rubbing your face against it like a cat because the material is so soft and feels so good. It’s thin, too, so it won’t leave you sweltering since your temperature is running hotter these days. It’s two-sizes too big, so even Satoru can fit in it. You wonder how far his sweetness goes—if he got it so big so that he could wear it because he likes how it feels or because he’ll leave his scent on it for you? It’s probably both.

“Kitten.”

Keeping the hoodie pressed against your cheek, you turn your head to pout at Suguru. “You’re meaner today than usual.”

“Giving you cute nicknames is mean?”

“How is squid cute? Octopi are the cutest cephalopod.”

Suguru merely hums and leaves it at that. You don’t miss the click of the lock behind him before he saunters over to stand beside you. “Earlier, you asked me how I’m spoiled,” he starts as he drops down on the edge of the mattress. “I had an answer, but it wasn’t an appropriate time to give it.” He glances up at you from under those thick lashes, with those violet eyes, acting so damn coy. “Do you want to hear it now?”

“Does it have to do with all those hickeys on Satoru’s neck?”

“It does.” You slide between his legs spread so wide that it’s obscene. The gesture, along with reaching out to grip his shoulders, is enough to tell him that you’re okay being touched today. You think you are, but then his hands brush along the side of your bump as he’s going to place his hands on your hips, and you flinch away from the touch with your whole body. “Shit. Sorry. I read you wrong—”

You check yourself. It wasn’t so much the touch, you think, as it was the reminder that Suguru has been…avoiding you a lot more than he does Satoru. “No. Um…” You rein it back in and stop touching him. “I want to make sure I’m not reading you wrong. We haven’t…y’know…since before I got knocked up. Well, before I started showing, anyway.” You wave a hand over your bump. “If this bothers you, I can go get Satoru.”

Suguru breathes out your name. “I don’t want him right now. I want you.” His gaze darts away, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. After you made the announcement, I didn’t want to cause you more stress.”

“When have I ever held back from telling you that I’m not up to it on any given day? Isn’t that how this whole thing between us three started? For the days when my libido and Satoru’s can’t synch up?”

Jujutsu sorcerers like to fuck.

When you live your life in such a bleak and deadly world, you cope however you can. It’s mostly through smoking, drinking, and sex. You, Satoru, and Suguru are no exception. Satoru may be the worst, though, because he never really has the chance to go all-out in the field. Most of the time, if he’s not overstimulated or mentally drained, then he’s buzzing with physical and mental energy. So, when he is home, he fucks like a stallion.

In your role, you work with people a lot. You may meet with the higher-ups more often than Satoru does to report on research or answer their questions after an incident. The more stressed you are, the easier it is for you to get overstimulated, and you don’t like to be touched when the world is screaming at you from every angle.

You don’t even remember how the idea came up…

Oh, it might’ve been you and Satoru making dirty jokes about sore wrists. After you and Satoru complained to Suguru about how old touching yourselves was getting, he offered himself up. It’s a win-win, he reasoned, because he’d been on too long a dry spell that he wanted to break, and you and Satoru could get your needs taken care of without one or the other feeling guilty or having your hands or fingers falling off.

Greedy you, greedy Satoru…how could you both turn that down?

“You’ve had a lot more to worry about the past five months than sucking my dick.”

“You ever think that sucking your dick makes me worry less?”

Suguru laughs and holds out a hand. “Come here, Squid.”

That’s how you end up where you are now. Face down, ass up, pillow tucked under your tummy, and Suguru doing his best to be quiet as he pounds into you in case any little ears are up against the door. You’re biting down on your chew necklace because it’ll be a cold day in hell before you willingly bite down on cloth for an extended amount of time. You don’t know how Satoru does it, but he doesn’t know how you can handle rolling around in wet sheets. If he forgives you now, he’ll be pissed again when he hears you dropped your towel and jumped Suguru’s bones.

The second trimester saw you getting hit by the horny truck. It hasn’t even been that long since he got his cock inside you, but you’re a fucking livewire these days. You exist on a low burn and you’re always on a hair trigger. Your nipples are off limits because the first trimester tenderness still has a chokehold on you, so he’s keeping his hands busy by spreading your cheeks and watching the slide of his cock in and out of you.

Suguru, who can get a little mean in bed, thumbs at your asshole, and that sends you over the edge. You catch yourself before you give the game away to the damn kids, throwing your head forward to bury your face and your moans in the mattress. Your entire body trembles and Suguru’s hips slow to a crawl, letting you come down without sensitivity, groaning quietly as your pussy tries to milk him for all he’s worth.

He hunches over, back bowed over yours, leaning until his breath is hot on the shell of your ear. “This is how you spoil me,” he husks as he reaches down between your legs. You hiss when his fingers quickly glide over your clit. “You and this perfect little pussy.” You roll your face against the sheets, moaning because if he doesn’t shut the fuck up, you might come again. “I can’t believe you thought that I wouldn’t want this.”

Panting, you turn your head to the side and spit out the gem-shaped silicone in your mouth. “Sorry for thinking that pregnancy doesn’t look good on me.”

“You should be sorry. It looks beautiful on you.” Your hand flies back, digging fingers into his ass, trying to keep him inside you when he slides out. You whine at the loss. “Impatient,” he chides. “On your back. Let me see that gorgeous body.” Heat crawls up the back of your neck, the tips of your ears.

“Stop it. You know I’m bad with sarcasm,” you grumble. You do as he says, though, and roll over. The pillow, previously under your stomach, is now in the small of your back and you sigh in relief. Your back has been aching something fierce lately. “Ugh, Suguru!” You cover your face with your hands because he’s staring at you. Gaze sweeping over your body, fingers following along with his eyes. “Stop looking! Leave that for Satoru.”

“It’s not sarcasm. Pregnancy looks so good on you.” You squeak when he grabs your hips, roughly hauling you down to settle the backs of your thighs over his. You’re not looking, but he slaps his cock against your pussy, making you squirm. You do dig a heel against his ass, trying to hurry him up. “It may have been an accident, but knowing that Satoru came inside you…” He slides back inside your pussy. “Knowing that it stuck…” His hands cup the sides of your bump. “You have no idea how jealous of him I’ve been.”

Your hands fall away from your face. “Okay.” Shyly, you reach down and lace your fingers through his. “Next time, I’ll let you accidentally knock me up.”

“It’s not an accident if it’s planned.”

The two of you snort and grin and you just start giggling. “You’re such an asshole.” You throw your arms over your eyes. You think you might cry. You’re a whirlwind of emotions—horniness and happiness with a shit-ton of longing. “Can you just let me say I wanna have your baby?”

I love you.

Would Satoru be mad if you said it now?

“A married woman saying things like that?” Finally, Suguru starts moving. It helps distract you from the words stuck in your teeth. “How lewd.”

“Pregnant Married Woman Begs for New Daddy—how’s that for a JAV title?” Suguru can’t hide the hitch in his breath, the way his fingers dig harder into your skin, how his thrusts pick up speed. You lift your arm up, peering at him, grinning in sadistic delight when you see how red his cheeks are. “Do you wanna be our daddy, Suguru?”

Suguru can talk all that sexy shit but can’t take it? Because he reaches down to start rubbing slow circles around your clit, knowing that letting your orgasm build slowly makes your brain leak out through your ears. Sure enough, the heat starts in your toes, and pleasure rushes through your veins.

“You first,” you breathe out as you clutch at his wrist. “Want that come inside me when I go off.”

“Whatever you want, darling.”

You’re not sure how long you doze after you and Suguru were done. He’d wiped you down because you hate your skin to be sticky, same as Satoru. Which, speaking of, he’s in bed with you when you wake up—propped back against the headboard, shirtless, and on the 3DS. You shuffle closer, putting your head in his lap, and listen to the familiar sounds of Ocarina of Time 3D.

“I can’t wait until the new Animal Crossing in November,” Satoru gripes.

“Just play Pokémon. Did you know that there’s this challenge that’s spreading around on the internet? It’s called Nuzlocke and it’s supposed to be super hard. It’s up your alley.” His thumbs briefly pause. You know the challenge entices him. “You’re not betraying Digimon by playing Pokémon, I promise.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He snaps the 3DS shut, not even bothering to save his progress.

You lean forward to kiss his tummy, right over the scar that runs from his neck down along the upper half of his body. The day that he got this scar…it was and still is such a stark reminder that, no matter what, all sorcerers share the same fate. Just because Aka Manto didn’t notice you doesn’t mean another spirit won’t. “I’m sorry, Satoru,” you apologize quietly. “I really did fuck up with this. It’s so easy for me to forget that these aren’t pets or even comparable with wild animals.”

“I get it, I guess. Well, not really. It’s like me cutting myself off from sweets and I don’t think I can do that. So, I don’t get what it feels like when you can’t be around your thing. Ugh. Why did we ever get in a relationship? Talking about feelings sucks.”

You giggle. “You’re doing well.”

“You’re not being sarcastic, are you? Because I’m kinda freaking out. I’ve got four months to get my shit together.” He digs the heels of his palms against his eyes, groaning with frustration. “Yeah, sure, I can handle teenagers or those kids out there.” He means the twins and Fushiguro siblings. “They’re not babies, though. What the fuck do I do with a baby? And, let’s be honest, those kids are all pretty fucked up already, but the thought that I can fuck a kid up?”

You raise up on an elbow, watching him. “Satoru…”

“Oh, Christ. I’m having an existential crisis, Sketch. I’m a walking cliché right now. What if I become my old man? Are you gonna end up resenting me, too? Holy fuck, what if we turn into my parents? I have a horrible personality. I’m so selfish and conceited. I’m going to hurt this kid. I—”

Oh, okay. Has Satoru ever had a panic attack? Because you think he might be having one. “Satoru,” you call out as you press your hand against his chest. Under the skin, his heart is beating like crazy. “Hey, Satoru, I need you to look at me.” He does as you ask, sparkling blue eyes a little crazed with his dread. “Why isn’t Infinity on?”

“Huh?” He blinks out of the haze and looks down at where you’re touching him. “What? Why the fuck would Infinity be on right now? You’re touching me.”

“Right, but you’re scared right now. Infinity is your defense mechanism. Sometimes, you don’t even realize it’s flaring up when you get overstimulated. It usually blocks everything out.”

He squints at you before he repeats, “You’re touching me.”

“If you were selfish, your body wouldn’t care that it’s me, right? You’re not even thinking about it consciously. Keeping me safe, even from yourself, is instinct.”

“You might be reaching…”

“You could’ve let the Zen’in clan take Megumi,” you point out. “You took in the children of the only man that’s ever gotten close to killing you.” You lift up from the mattress completely, yanking the sheets up and over your bare shoulders. “You actively participate in the system you hate because you want to rework it from the inside-out, top-down. You want to protect kids, so why wouldn’t that extend to your own?”

“Fine, I won’t actively hurt the kid and I’ll make sure they don’t get physically hurt. That doesn’t mean—”

The pieces start to add up. Suguru isn’t the only one that’s been spiraling. “Were you doing retail therapy? Is that what all the bags are for? Don’t answer. I already know.” No wonder he’s been so snippy lately. “We got shoved into this. I’m doing okay right now, but I’ve lost my shit sometimes when you’re not around. I’m scared shitless that I’ll end up exactly like my parents, too. But…if I keep thinking about it then I will end up like them. I’ll get so lost in my head that I ignore this baby.”

“You’ve lost your shit and didn’t tell me?”

“That’s what you’re focused on?” You shake your head, chuckling in disbelief. “Yes, I did. Because I’m pretty sure that having a mental breakdown is a rite of passage for soon-to-be parents.” Lacing your fingers through his, you give a reassuring squeeze. “I know how terrifying this is. This might not help calm you down because you’re a little bit of a control freak, but you need to get it in your head now that we’re never gonna have all the answers and we’re gonna fuck up. All we can do is apologize and try to do better.”

Satoru’s cheeks puff out and his bottom lip juts out. “I hate unknowns.”

“Like I said—control freak.”

“Shut up.” He tugs at your hand. “Hey, come here. Sit in my lap.”

“Yes, yes.”

Satoru holds out his other hand, letting you use them as support while you climb up to straddle his waist. He tilts his head forward, shoving his face right between your breasts, and sighs happily like the little pervert he is. You only encourage the behavior with your quiet giggling.

“Sorry for being a bitch earlier,” comes a muffled apology.

“You weren’t being a bitch. Dare I say…you were actually mature about it.” He digs his fingers into your ticklish side, making you squawk. “I’m being serious! You knew you didn’t have a level head and couldn’t handle it sensitively, so you went to get help.”

“Ha!” He leans away from your chest. “You’re definitely overthinking my actions. It boiled down to me not wanting to deal with you anymore.” Yeah, right. What a fucking liar. “And what good did it do me to get that asshole? He leaves me to babysit his kids while he fucks my pregnant wife.”

“Joke is on you because you’re into sloppy seconds.”

“Heh! Fuck yeah, I am.” He sighs sadly. “I wanna fuck you so bad right now. I wish I had the mental energy to get it up.”

“We’ll cuddle tonight and have really gross, lovey-dovey morning sex. Sound good?”

Satoru bats those big, stupidly blue eyes at you. This drama queen somehow has tears in them and his bottom lip wobbles as he asks, “Can I suck on your nipples? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“We’ll see.” You run your fingers through his hair. “You did really good today. If they’re too sore, I’ll make you chocolate chip waffles, okay?”

“Best wife ever.”

***

In the morning, you spoil Satoru.

You’re in his lap, on his dick, and his mouth never leaves your tits.

It hurt when he first put his mouth on them, you’ll admit, but it’s not enough pain to overload your brain. It’s that addicting pain, like how good it feels to stretch out a sore muscle. If it was a bad day, you wouldn’t want to deal with the confliction. That’s how you know today will be a good one.

And why wouldn’t it be a good day?

It’s a full house. All your favorite people are here. Suguru is curled up in the guest bed, Nanako and Tsumiki on either side of him while Mimiko is sprawled out and drooling on his chest. Megumi is out on the couch. You only hope that you can convince them all to stay longer. It’s the weekend, so no school. You’re not above bribery.

You and Satoru slowly rock. His huge hands are on your ass, guiding your movements, doing more work than you are at lifting yourself up and down on his cock. The grip he’s got on your ass gets rougher as he gets closer to coming, so it spreads your cheeks apart. Gentle as it is, sweat still lines your skin and his, so he has to sometimes readjust his grip. That’s all to say that his fingers are getting close to your asshole. Just the memory has you quickening the pace.

“Want him here so bad,” you whine.

Satoru knows immediately who you mean. Talking about Suguru in bed isn’t new for you and Satoru. “Fuck, I know. He blew my back out yesterday. Hey, wanna hear a story?” He reaches down, thumbing at your clit. “Didn’t really jerk off until I got in high school. First fantasy? Fucking your sweet little pussy while he’s plowing my ass.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting down to muffle your moan. “Yeah? You want that? One day, baby. Not now because no way I can be gentle when that’s going down.”

You pant against his neck. “We have to tell him.”

“We will,” Satoru swears. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, and he swears. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Yeah, we’re gonna fucking tell him. We’re putting a ring on that bastard’s finger.” You nod along deliriously, chanting your agreement. “We’ll romance the fuck out of him. I swear that this kid is gonna have three parents—aw, fuck, ‘m coming!”

Satoru licks his come out of you before it has the chance to drip down your thighs. After he’s done, he flops behind you, and winds his spindly limbs with yours. You didn’t even realize how early it is until Satoru’s phone flashes in the pre-dawn light and flaunts the time. There’s a little time before you two have to roll out of bed. Chocolate chip waffles with strawberries and whipped cream actually sound really good right now. You’ll make Satoru help so that the food will be done when everyone wakes up.

“Were you serious about it?” You hum in question. Satoru goes on to elaborate. “Were you coming or were you agreeing with me about telling him before the baby is born?”

“Both,” you answer bluntly. He snorts in amusement. “I’ve been thinking about how we can confess.”

“No way! Me, too!”

“I don’t even want to imagine what your idea is.”

“Rude,” he bites your shoulder in rebuke. “We can take him on a date night. Serenade him with some fine dining. Finish the night in a nice hotel—”

“I will never do fine dining ever again, Gojo Satoru.” Just the memory of the plates rotating in and out of the table with so many varying, awful textures…you gag. Your teeth start to hurt. “I don’t know how you’ve put up with that for your entire life.”

Satoru laughs. “They bribed me with desserts to put up with it.”

What a stark reminder that you and Satoru are two sides of the same coin. Whether it’s your parents telling you to starve for the night if you refused to eat something because you hated the texture or his parents bribing him to force himself to grin and bear it, it’s all the same. Even after you were diagnosed, your parents still forced you to eat whatever they made because they refused to make two dinners. You had to learn to not let the discomfort and disgust show because they’d make the same thing again, over and over until you liked it.

Filled with a sudden and fierce protectiveness, you roll over and face Satoru head on. He raises a brow at your sudden change of mood. “Infinity doesn’t recognize me as a threat,” you remind him. “So, I want you to know that I could rip your balls off, no problem. If our baby doesn’t like a food or the way something feels, no one is going to force them to put up with it. End of story.”

Satoru blinks, processing your threat. Then, slowly, he looks down between your bodies. “Oh.” His cheeks are flushed when he raises his head back up. “I’m hard.”

Somehow, you’ve been banished to the couch while Suguru and Satoru take charge of breakfast.

“Mister and Mister Control Freak,” you mutter under your breath as you shuffle out of the kitchen.

The couch is big enough that you don’t even touch Megumi when you sit down on the other side. You silently play a game on your own 3DS, trying not to wake him prematurely, but he starts to stir not soon after the smell of waffles fills the air. You reason that the girls won’t be far behind.

It’s cute, watching Megumi slowly lift up, spiky hair even wilder, blinking blearily. He harrumphs, so put upon by the waking world. You expect him to crawl off the couch and rummage around in his overnight bag to find a book to read, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, he scoots closer to you, almost touching you. His eyes droop and he starts slumping in your direction. Just before he presses against your side, he remembers himself.

Voice rough with sleep, he asks, “Can I?” It makes you gooey on the inside. Makes you want to give him shit, too. Because he can pretend to be the cool and stoic type all he wants, but he’s stupidly protective of his sister and he does sweet things like never forgetting to ask for permission to touch you.

“Yes,” you answer warmly. “Thank you for asking.”

Megumi grunts, slumps against you, puts his head on your shoulder, and yanks his blanket up over himself. You bump your cheek against his head affectionately. It’s not long of watching you game before he’s dozed off again.

Not long after, the girls emerge from the guest bedroom all at once.

Three sets of feet go running. You’re certain they’ll be lured to the kitchen by the aroma of breakfast, but they bypass it entirely, and sprint to where you are on the couch. Megumi is startled awake, and you cringe at the sound of three high-pitched voices calling out your name.

Your relationship with touch is…complicated. You’re starved for it, but you only want it from people you know. Even with them, you have to prepare for it. You try to reason with your brain that the girls are excited. They haven’t seen you in a little while. As most little girls are, they’re ecstatic about your pregnancy because they dream of when they can have that, too. But they dogpile you, crowding close, reaching their hands out to touch your baby bump. Nanako, in her excitement, even slips her hands under your shirt. Panic shoots through you and you jerk as if you’ve been electrocuted.

“Girls,” Suguru’s voice rises above the rest. You don’t look over your shoulder, but his disappointment is palpable. “What have we said about touching people?”

Suguru has only spoken with Nanako and Mimiko, but even Tsumiki knows the answer. In unison, they mutter, “Ask.” The sigh of relief you give when they back away makes you feel awful. “We’re sorry.”

“Dumbasses,” Megumi hisses at them all.

“Yo! Who taught you that word?” Satoru shouts from the kitchen. “Bad word!”

“You,” Megumi answers bluntly.

“Breakfast is ready,” Suguru announces.

Guilt and anxiety twist up your insides. For all your talk of not making your child do something, you worry about not being able to give them the things they’ll need. Babies don’t care about overstimulation. They’ll cry. When they’re older, they’ll crave this same kind of touch, and how horrible a mother would you be to deny them that? Parenting has no breaks. A child’s needs come before your own. Do you think you’ll be allowed to have days where you don’t talk? What if you’re in public with them and you have a breakdown?

“Squid.” Suguru is crouched down in front of you. “I see you spiraling.” He holds out a hand. “Come eat.”

“Not hungry,” you whisper. The anxiety has muted your hunger. “I want to go back to bed.”

“If Satoru dragged me out of my spiral, I have to do the same.” You scowl at him. How is that even fair? You weren’t the one to pull him out of his hole. “I’m being very nice right now. I won’t make you talk about it. I just need you to try and get a little something down. If it’s too loud in the kitchen, I’ll bring it out here.”

Right. Okay. You’ve dealt with being pushed to power through the overload for your entire life. If you want to be a good mother, then you’ll keep doing that. That’s what being a parent is, right? Sacrifice. If you can force yourself to do something so that your child never goes without, you’ll do that. It’s better to practice now.

With a shaky sigh, you take Suguru’s hand, and let him help you up to your feet.

***

Sunday night comes too soon.

When it’s only you and Satoru left in the penthouse, you start to scheme.

Try to, anyway.

The two of you are on the couch, hunched over Satoru’s laptop. You’re both hopeless when it comes to romance, so you think that the internet might be helpful. The two of you titter and fuss and argue over control of the laptop after the first search of ‘how to confess’ only brings up articles for high schoolers.

“Wait!” Satoru is dead serious when he declares, “We need to buy a house.”

Your eye twitches. “Satoru,” you start slowly as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “He hasn’t even said yes. We don’t know that he even will. Can we take this one step at a time, please?”

“Eh? We should start the process, though. We only have four months left and it feels like we have so much to do. On top of my assignments, my mother is on my ass about Inu no Hi. Oh, we’ve got the babymoon to schedule. And we have to go to parenting classes because it’s not like either of us are asking our parents for tips.” He brightens. “Oh! What about that? We’ll have him house hunt with us, and we’ll pop the question when we make our choice.”

If you think too hard about the list he rattled off, you will meltdown. Like you told him, one step at a time. Just ignore all the rest. “Pop the question? This isn’t marriage. We can’t be overbearing. He’s like me. He’ll hate grand gestures and a house is…big.”

“Why are you struggling so much with this? You were his best friend first. Hasn’t he dated before? What’d they do when they were trying to pick him up?”

“School in the sticks was awful for us. Everyone knew everyone. We were the weird kids who saw things that weren’t there and that stuck with us for the rest of our lives, even when we learned to hide it. So, yeah, he was hot by middle school, but no one was interested in the local freaks.”

Satoru flops back with a loud groan. “Could you guys have been any more pathetic?”

“Your sympathy astounds me, Satoru, truly,” you say dryly.

“I wish I’d had met you guys sooner,” he confesses after a moment of silence. “I was such a problem child, always throwing tantrums, so I think my parents would’ve thrown money at yours to let you guys live with me at the Gojo estate. I’d probably have a less shitty personality if I was around people who understood me.”

“That’s debatable.” He digs his toes into your ticklish side, and you swat his feet away with a squeal. “I think the worst parts of your personality come from the fact that you were super spoiled and raised to think you’re a god. I also think the good outweighs the bad, so don’t get self-conscious.”

“Me? Self-conscious? I don’t know the meaning of that, dear.” Satoru shifts his position and puts his head in your lap. It’s his favorite place, you swear. He’s on his back. As he’s looking you in the eye, he reaches up to touch your face. “Ever since I was a kid, I never thought that I could connect to someone the way I’ve done with you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You do have to look away from the eye contact this time. “You liked Suguru way before you liked me, y’know.”

“No. It was definitely you first,” Satoru corrects. “Shoko clocked me crushing on you even before I realized it. You should’ve seen how protective Suguru was of you.” He gives an airy laugh. “That’s why I’m not worried about him saying no, Sketch. It’s you. How can someone not be head over heels for you?”

You burst out into tears.

Satoru rolls with it because you’re a ball of nervous, hormonal energy these days. If you cried easy before, it’s insane how fast it can happen now. “I love you!” You definitely shouted that. You’re also definitely sobbing loudly. It’s okay because it’s with him, in private. Then, you think about how he wouldn’t care if you were in public because Satoru is the same.

Is this what true love is supposed to be like?

Because Satoru has admitted that you’ve taught him so much about his true self, but he’s taught you to accept yourself. Satoru is so sure of himself, both cocky and authentic. He knows that he doesn’t understand things like social cues, and he could give a shit less when he misses them. He’s loud and brash, especially when he’s excited. He’s blunt and a lot of people don’t like that, but a lot do. Ijichi has admitted that it saved his life when Satoru told him to quit being a sorcerer. Students have thanked Satoru for the honesty because it pushed them harder, and they survived because of it.

“I love you!”

Satoru keeps laughing but lifts up to a sitting position. “Alright, alright. I got it.” He slips an arm around your shoulders, reeling you in close against his chest. Before you smush your face against his shirt, he kisses your forehead. “I love you, too.”

#rizzing with the tism #autistic reader #autistic gojo #jjk fic #gojo smut #geto smut #jjk geto #jjk gojo #satosugu smut #satosugu x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #my fic

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zivazivc · 2 months ago

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Another work in progress I've been slowly working on whenever I found some time in the last couple of weeks. I'm really excited to finish it because it's turning out better than I expected. :D (I'm much further ahead with the illustration now than this photo but I don't want to show the near finished picture.)

A friend inspired me to try making something traditional for a change, and I decided to fish out my alcoholic markers that I haven't properly touched in many many years.

I already collected a nice pile of dead ones rip

Unfortunately all the greens I wanted to use are here. One gave its last breaths for me that you can see in the colored picture, in the rest of the picture I had to improvise most of the colors.

I think I did a good job but in hindsight I wish I hadn't put such a strong red and orange here as base colors, especially around Hed. The darkness of the red is also too close to Liv's skin tone which I am quite upset with myself about.. :/ It gave me a headache later on trying to cover it up, and I'm still not really happy with this detail because there's only so much I could do to fix it...

Oh well...

I am very happy with the water tho. I think it looks cool. :)

Here's the sketch without the colors:

Wanted to make a lazy summer day illustration before summer ends. (The weather passed me tho, it's already cold enough for long pants and a sweater. 😅)

After I colored everything with the markers, I started going over it with colored pencils, and I'm nearing the finish now! (Then I have to figure out the best way to scan it because I'm drawing on an A3 paper.)

#I might scan it in pieces with my a4 scanner and then put it together in photoshop #or I might take it somewhere to get properly scanned #answered #trolls #dreamworks trolls #my art #ex bandmates #wip #and yes I draw on the floor it's actually quite nice

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year ago

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Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now.

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that.

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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CAKE FOR A DEAD MAN (I)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER II

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, problems with food & image, mentions of stalking, unwanted gifts, death, violence, gore, blood, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Color, as most would say, is one of the best aspects of sight. It allows such a myriad of emotions to be expressed—even felt. Red reminds us of passion; navy for elegance and a certain mystique. Not only seen but processed on such a deeper level. Refractions of light that explode into the retina, rod and cone cells that send signals to the brain to help detect that phenomenon like a gift of evolution.

But when you can’t see any of that—color—who’s to explain what the red of the roses actually looks like above a deep shade of gray? That navy blue looks even darker, too. Closer to black. Light purple becomes the same hue as the curtains your mother hangs on the windows, but you can’t tell if that’s really purple or not. How can it be anything other than slate? People tell you it is…at least, those who’ve already met their partners. Their soulmates.

But there’s little hope for you on that front, really.

You wave to the photographer, calling out a broken Russian goodbye as he smiles warmly at you, nodding his head in your direction before watching you walk out of the studio room’s doors. A large gaggle of other finely-clad women surrounds you on the way to the changing rooms.

Even with three-and-a-half years of living in this northern country, your mastery of the native language starts and ends with simple pleasantries.

The modeling agency was packed today and you still had so much to do. You stuff down your internal list of scheduled fittings, meetings, and more booked photoshoots that extend into the chilled evening of Yekaterinburg, Russia. There was just so little time.

Gray hallways and white overhead lights meet your eyes between blinks, potted plants boring and drab. If you could see the shades in between the leaves you’d know you would find them beautiful, but like this…well, they’re just sad.

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the group, throwing tiny smiles to the kind, and stunning, women who you’ve had little real conversation with. One kisses you on the cheek and pats your shoulder, and you laugh brightly before pulling to the rear, face heating.

“The bastard is finally dead!” The familiar voice causes you to freeze with one heeled foot in the air—fingers picking at the strap of your silk dress absentmindedly before it, too, stills. They were always forcing you into silk with feathered accent pieces of intricate detail. Like a bird, or, Seraph, more precisely.

Blinking in surprise, you turn around just in time to lock onto the drained shades that make up Alyona Arkadyevna Solovyova before she grips your shoulders harshly.

Her collarbone-length hair swishes heavily, but it’s not as violent as the smile on her sharp face.

“Finally, little Солнышко! This is perfect news. The bastard is dead!” Alyona’s English is very good, and of course, it would be—when she was younger she dreamed of being an English teacher. That was before she realized she was just about the most attractive woman of her generation. The harsh Russian accent still bleeds through.

You laugh and grip her long, pale, arms; seeing her in a blouse and pencil skirt as you tilt your head, asking, “Christ, Alyona, give me a warning next time. If I rip anything I’m in deep shit.”

“Gah,” Your friend waves a hand and releases you, tiny eyes creasing, “forget about that—did you not hear me the first time? My father, Seraph, listen to me! He is finally dead! It happened just this morning but I only got word ten minutes ago.” She laughs, throwing her hands up, and you hide your amused exasperation, limbs tired but it won’t stop you from appreciating your friend’s enthusiasm. Alyona squeals, “A train hit him!”

You cringe internally, face pulling taunt. “Oh,” your chest sputters as you clear your throat, “that’s, uh, that’s…great?”

“Of course it is!” Hands capture your cheeks, squishing as you worry about the state of your makeup. Alyona speaks brightly, “We need to celebrate, Солнышко. Come.”

Before you can protest she’s dragging you away from the other women and the direction of the changing rooms, all had stopped and were listening intently from behind; nosey. Everyone in the Allurement Modeling Agency building, AMA for short, just had that way about them—your business was their business and vice versa.

And Alyona had no problem airing out her grievances with her estranged father to the choir. She lived for drama.

“Aly,” You huff a soft breath at her and her bobbing hair. She said it was blonde and you had no other option but to believe her. Not yellow-blonde, she had specified. Ice-blonde. “I can’t go out in company property. Plus, I have a photoshoot for Chanel in under an hour. The photographer needs me to be ready.”

But it seems your concerns fall on deaf ears and you can’t help but chuckle and grin at your friend's lack of care about work. She herself was a model, but the entire company halted when she said it should.

You were truly surprised they hadn’t fired her yet.

“And I’m sure Chanel has an absolutely hideous dress for you, my Seraph.” Ashen eyes turn back to stare at you, and once she realizes you wouldn’t fight her, her grip releases. “Some Медовик will do you good before the vultures close in, yes? Let us hope they don’t shackle you to those damning lace lingerie sets over cake.”

Your head tilts with a short sigh, and you walk beside the woman in your clacking heels. The sound of the authentic honey cake seemed to itself to coat your insides with a lust for it—dripping layers of plush gray sponge with pale cream. Your mouth waters.

“I’m only eating half a piece.” You settle slowly, though you hate your own words as your stomach rolls with hunger. Some time outside will do you good, anyway. Perhaps you’ll learn to photosynthesize like a plant. “I still have to be able to fit into those fabric contraptions, you know.”

Alyona squeals and loops her arm in yours easily, bright teeth in a grin like a cat. Ever one to run into objects and lacking a general ability to walk in a straight line, the support from Alyona was much appreciated. Her help with lending an arm went far, especially for you.

Your heart warms with soft care.

“I’ll take it! We can split one.” When you both make it to the front of the building, having grabbed your jackets and purses on the way there, you come to three familiar faces while chatting with Alyona about both of your upcoming bookings.

“I was under the impression you had the day filled,” Petya speaks, heavy accent like stone. The clean-shaven man in his late thirties was built and wearing a dark suit, the tallest out of the other two—Aleksandr and Yefim—who both wear similar outfits. They were resting in the front seating area of AMA as they’d been doing for weeks already, waiting for you to come and go like escorts.

Well, bodyguards, to be more precise. Yours.

You smile politely to them while Yefim sends one back with his boyish charm and dimples. “On break. We’re off to get some Medovik down the street. I can pay for you if you’d want a piece.”

“Of course, the three will have to tag along, hm?” Alyona huffs, staring blandly as you both slow to a stop near the large white entrance, colored as if it was Heaven’s gates. Your friend had said coloring around this building was rare. Whites and grays. Green chairs, apparently. “I’m just ecstatic.”

Petya didn’t like you, and, you assumed, Aleksandr didn’t either. With the ladder, his sharp face was always too blank to tell; body tight and unwelcoming with weasel-like eyes. Petya was simpler, blatantly more outward with his distaste.

“Not a smart idea. This isn’t a game to play, девушка.” Alyona’s face tightens, and you swiftly placate her with a squeeze to her bicep. You level Petya with a tilt of your head and a calm look.

“What harm could a bite to eat do? It won’t cost you your life.” You chuckle smoothly. “Let me get you all something—it’s nearly noon, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“I could eat,” Yefim eases in, hands resting in his pockets as he stares at you. His accent was calmer than the others, and his face softer. Out of all of them, you liked him best.

Your eyes rest on Yefim with a thankful expression. He smirks and nods. Aleksandr, as always, says nothing beyond a small scoff and a look around the room with shifting feet.

When the tallest of the group does nothing to push back his sneer and heavy glare, you hum under your breath as you expect the words before they rush from his sharp mouth.

“I will have to speak to your mother about this.” The accent makes him sound so stiff—like a statue. A man built up of gravel and snow; concrete in his veins instead of blood.��

“Oh, yes,” Alyona mutters, “the Consul herself.”

Your nose moves in a sigh, but you ease the situation with a simple, “Do whatever you need to, Petya. I know it’s your job and I’m thankful regardless, but we’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s no big deal.” You pause, plastering on an innocent look. “We’re hungry.”

For whatever reason you always envisioned Petya with dark eyes—blacks more deep than the clothes they put Alyona in to off-set your given whites when you two are fitted together. But the man’s eyes were so painfully light it made you not want to stare into them.

Petya grunts and continues to glare, working his jaw. After a moment he lets off a large huff and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Half-an-hour. No more.”

Alyona manhandles you out the door quickly, growling, “I do not know how you can stand this, Seraph. Bullshit, all of it.”

“It’s only until everything goes back to normal,” you reason, hearing three sets of footsteps behind you as the guards follow into the chilled air of Yekaterinburg. There was no reason to take a car, everything was within walking distance of one another in this dense city populated by over one million people. “My mother’s worried is all. I’m not going to make their lives harder while they’re only doing what they’re told to do.”

Light eyes dart to your face, your friend’s hand guiding you along the concrete with a dim concern. “I do not like all of this, Солнышко. It’s been months…Are the gifts still coming?”

Your expression tightens, lips going stiff. Alyona notices and changes the subject for now.

“Ah, but what am I doing—I’m ruining the celebration! Come, come, we will talk about my engagement to Nikifor while we eat.”

Nikifor, her soulmate. The one who brought her color and music with his performance at a nightclub two years ago; the only thing standing in the way of their marriage was Alyona’s strict father. Something about the man wanting someone with higher standing than a musician for his famous daughter.

“How is he?” You ask, blinking away the thought of finally being able to see color for the first time and how that must feel. A piece of you would always be envious of that.

Alyona must have blushed because she always tilts her nose lower when she does. You smile and chuckle under your breath.

“Wonderful,” is all she offers, but the giddy grin on her lips is knowledge enough.

You both make it to the small bakery at the end of the long street, heels clicking and cheeks chilled. People had turned to look at you, gaping at the two models still in their expensive clothes and attempting to take pictures on their phones. All were strong-armed by the three men close behind you who bark things in Russian.

Alyona opens the door of the bakery for you and you accidentally knock your shoulder into the frame, giving a sheepish smile before carefully walking to your regular corner table. Your tall friend goes to order while you take your seat with a sigh, Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim all shuffling in and sending glances to you; looking over the interior with sharp and calculating eyes.

It’s like they think the sky’s going to fall, you surmise, twitching your lips their way. They’ve been here before with me, do they still not trust it?

Back when things had been less serious they’d allowed you to go where you wished with them—parks, for walks, stores—now it was only work and home. As if you didn’t already feel so trapped.

“You boys can pick what you want,” you call to them softly. “My treat.”

“On the job,” is all Petya grunts before he takes his normal seat at the table closest to the door; everything in his bright sight. Your hand lightly tightens on the table, but you keep your expression placid.

You’d tried to get him to lighten up, Aleksandr too, but the two weren’t as open to you as Yefim. There was a blatant distrust of Westerners here, even if you had given up your citizenship to move where your mother works in the Consulate building of this very city.

While she was still employed by the American government, that didn’t stand in any sense with you. But on top of you being a famous model, your mother was well-known, regardless, and that ultimately fell back on you.

Yefim’s gray eyes flickered to a case of Bird Milk Cake with a hidden longing as he grasped the back of his chair and slid into it—floorboards creaking loudly. You notice and chuckle under your breath, cheeks heating at the sight as the man’s gaze moves to you and blinks in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze and clears his throat, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

You’d buy him a piece before you left; maybe kiss his cheek just to see him go all blurry-eyed. He certainly was adorable.

“The baker’s boy is staring again,” Alyona’s voice snaps into your head, and you peer at your friend’s face, startled.

“What?” You ask as a plate is set in the middle of the table holding a single piece of Medovik. Your mouth fills with saliva, fingers immediately moving like a starved dog to grab a fork and cut into the layers; you shovel it into your mouth before you hiss to pace yourself.

You chew slowly, swallow, and give Alyona a confused look.

She slides you an unimpressed frown. “The boy. At the front.”

“He’s probably gaping at you,” you take another bite, rubbing at your cheek with your free hand as people walking by the front window peek in with wide eyes; your men glare and move their chairs as the ground squeaks again.

Your friend scoffs and mutters in Russian, shaking her head. Her hand waves quickly, barking, “Look!”

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you look over and dab your face with a napkin before you get locked into a staring match with the dark eyes of the man up-front.

He wears an apron, head a mess of curls, and his upper arms stained with flour. You blink and pause, wondering if…perhaps…A pause, a sickly hope in your chest…but nothing happens and the contact is broken when he ducks his head before looking at the counter.

Gritting your teeth, you focus back on your cake and shove aside the sinking feeling in your chest.

Idiot, you criticize yourself. Now why would you think that would work?

“Nothing, then?” Alyona clicks her tongue and takes up her own fork. “Do not fret, we will find him eventually, Seraph.”

“It’s not like I would know.” The air goes a temperature warmer—bodies stilling.

While soulmate colorblindness was simply the reality of life, diagnosed colorblindness was still a curse that couldn’t be solved. If you ever saw your soulmate…you wouldn’t even know it.

All because of that stupid accident.

You act unbothered by the shift in the conversation and sigh. “You said you wanted to talk about your engagement,” your words remind the woman and she sets off into a tangent about the dress and the location after a moment of quiet concern. A church, she explained, the big one down the road where they’ll be a few days after the civil ceremony and the outer city venue.

Alyona is only twenty, but you know that it’s incredibly common here to get married this early. Listening, you offer input here and there, but as it always does, the topic falls back to you as you eat the slice of cake dedicated to a dead man.

Your knife-driven problem.

The gifts.

Already, you begin feeling uncomfortable.

“Aly,” you try to grumble, resisting the urge to eat the entire piece of Медовик as you put your utensil down. Your hand jerks over the table and you glare down at it in annoyance, ignoring the tensed nerves. “It’s not important—”

“How many more pieces of jewelry has he sent, hm? Letters?” The woman shivers and rubs at her arms. “It is horrendous behavior. Total fuck-up. And the fact that no one has caught him? Gah!”

Your spine straightens itself, eyes sliding to the people gawking outside the window and seeing the multiple faces, shuffling bodies that pile next to each other like sardines in a can.

“I just don’t want to think about it, okay?” You shake your head, turning away as a pit forms in your gut; realizing the fragility of your psyche when you think about the fact that anyone outside could be the source of your problem. The stalker. “If it’s just the gifts I can deal with them—the letters I never even read. If I ignore it they’ll stop eventually. All of this can be one big bad dream.”

Your hand continues to shake on the table, not exactly in your realm of control just as the inability to walk in a straight line is. It was no wonder why they never let you do runway shows, you think sarcastically. You’d be stuck in a photographer’s room for the rest of your career.

Alyona pushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

“Seraph…you know it does not work like that.” Of course you did, but asking for help was never your strong suit. And your mother had already given you three well-trained bodyguards to escort you to and from work—that was more than enough protection.

When you think of the expensive parcels that had been dropped at AMA’s front desk you had to restrain the honey cake coming back up your gullet. All of them had been expensive; pieces you could afford on a model's pension but still wildly elegant to even touch much less own in multitude. Gold bracelets inlay with black opal and sapphire, necklaces with Tanzanite, and rings of ruby, your mother had told you this when you had brought them to her off of only seeing washed-out tones on your part.

You never showed anyone the letters; they lived in a lockbox under the bed in your apartment. Concerningly, lately the ‘presents’ had been losing the plot. Random bits of glass and shiny items—a slow deterioration but somehow even more scary.

Even the older women at the front desk were softening the usual sneers they wore when you walked in every day, no longer chiding you in Russian they know you can’t understand. The way they seemed pitiful rubbed you the wrong way.

You pull your jacket closer to you and rub a hand slowly along your thigh in a soothing gesture. Aly pulls her brows in.

“I want to help you, little Солнышко, but I don’t think this is something I can fix with my womanly charms.” Your lips release a snort, tiny chuckles hitting the air.

Alyona joins you before silence once again lapses.

“...Do you feel alright?” Your friend asks honestly. Worry was plain on her face.

You smile, but your lungs tighten in your chest while your heart acts like a dancer and lightly skips beats. “By next month,” your hand shakes over your thigh, “all of this will be in the past. No one could keep this up forever. I just have to…wait it out. It’s only the gifts, I can live with that—jewelry isn’t hurting anybody except his wallet.”

The woman narrows her eyes at you and frowns, but it’s not long before she goes back to her half of the Медовик and takes a bite with a moan of enjoyment. You rarely lied, so you supposed she had no trouble believing you.

If only you could fraud yourself like that.

“Quite a wealthy bastard, though, no?” Alyona slyly pokes fun and you blink quickly.

“Aly!”

“I am just saying!”

You press your hand to your lips to hide your loud laugh, Yefim looking over with a certain airiness to his expression before Aleksandr jerks his shoulder to face him back forward. The two glare at each other as Petya stares violently at the front door—daring those outside to try and come in and ask for a picture.

While you hadn’t come back to this bakery in a while, the three men always seemed to pick the exact same table; the one with the perfect view of everything going on near the door. While it was a small distance away, it allowed for quick action in any direction.

You blink away as the wooden boards under the bodyguards’ table creak again, loud enough to cause Alyona to frown in that direction. Petya sends an annoyed look down and scowls.

“How do you know he’s not just stealing them,” you bring back the conversation, smirking. “You know? Maybe he’s a,” your voice lowers an octave in fake secrecy and Aly’s eyes roll, amused, “jewel thief.”

“God above,” the woman huffs. “That would be the twist.”

The both of you joked and picked fun, but that half an hour went past quickly, and soon it was time to get back to the agency so you could change again. The photographer couldn’t take pictures of air and play it off as you with a smile and a nervous stutter.

As you stand you stare long at the cases of baked goods, licking the remnants of cream off your lips

“We can buy another, Seraph,” Aly suggests, fixing her coat. You shake your head immediately.

“No, no, I’ve already had enough sugar. I had two muffins for breakfast. Chocolate.” Your face pulls into a cringe at the words. “Cheat day.”

Alyona’s lips go tighter, but she says nothing as her hair is puffed out of her face. She out of everyone knows how demanding modeling can be—your entire life is dictated by two things: calories, and appointments.

You turn to Yefim with his wavy hair and his soft, dimpled, smile; casual eyes. Not your soulmate, based on his lack of reaction the first time you had met, but in that time you’d grown a tiny crush on the man, admittingly. He was kind and treated you with respect. Capable and reliable—how could you ask for more than that?

“Yefim?” Your voice calls out, a smile on your lips. The man looks over and blinks in surprise. He clears his throat, stuttering as he shifts in his seat. The wood tilts slightly under him and he steadies himself on the edge of the table.

“Да, Ma’am?”

Restraining a giggle, you cock your head as Alyona snorts.

“Do you want a slice of Bird Milk Cake?” Petya slides you a blank look and Aleksandr taps his fingers to the table. You poke fun, “For when you’re on break, of course.”

Yefim’s eyes sparkle in their colorless state, a handsome smile taking his lips back along his face. He makes a move to stand up, floorboards squealing loudly as weight is lessened.

“I would be in your debt—”

The world explodes into a slate-gray blaze of heat and hellfire.

Your body is thrown back before you can even begin to understand that you’re in danger, panic completely bypassed for a total blank sensation of confusion. Spine slapping into the glass of the window, your form is hurled by a vast boom out of the bakery entirely before it slams to the concrete multiple feet away.

You slide, rolling in a mess of limbs and ripped silk. For a good moment, you have no idea what just transpired, confusedly lifting your head from the ground and blinking below you as everything rings. Your hand grips the side of your head, the thick liquid seeping in between your fingers as you peel it back and look with shaky vision.

Blackened blood is coated along your palm, slipping along your wrist as you tilt your hand up in horrified uncertainty.

Everything comes back in a millisecond of screaming and running feet; like a switch being flipped. You snap your head back to what remains of the bakery as blood slides down your temple.

“A-Alyona?!” Heels sliding, you stand but stumble back down just as quickly, hands slapping against the ground as you raggedly cough more, chest burning from the force at which you’d been thrown.

What the hell had just happened? An explosion?

There was little left of the bakery beside the front door, smoke billowing out of the broken windows as gray flames spark with the familiar sound of burning material—a sharp burn is taken into your nostrils.

Dragging an arm forward, you grasp something warm and wet in an attempt to get up again. You look to the side and immediately scream at what you see.

Yefim’s upper body was completely fine besides the burns and the lack of his hair, the peeling flesh…it was the absence of the entire lower body that struck you with waves of horror. You slam a hand to your lips and wail, slipping back on kicking legs as tears well in your tear ducts.

Guts were leaking over the concrete, and the dark, gaping, wound spread a fast puddle out around the sputtering that made his chest look like it was moving. Eyes flutter, lashes flapping quickly.

He looked confused, and that was perhaps the worst part of it.

Yefim died only half a man, his entrails pooling out of his ribcage, only twenty seconds after you’d asked him if he wanted a piece of cake. Your fingers hide the loud sobs as you stare into this blank expression, hand shaking so bad that it hits your nose.

“I…I,” you stutter, shapes and flashes rushing back and forth at the sides of your vision. Pressure holds at your left shoulder.

“Seraph!” The sentence falls off into feminine Russian cursing and screaming, a grip shaking you back and forth, urging you to listen.

There are wails and the roar of cars, but you don’t have to be given a speech to know the truth about the toll as the fire burns hotter and the blood runs faster. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim are dead. They had been sitting on top of something that had triggered when Yefim had released weight from it.

The creaky floorboards.

“Seraph!” Alyona tries again, grabbing you under the shoulders and dragging you away from the corpse as bystanders’ phones flash with pictures being taken. There’s just so much screaming. “Seraph, please, we need to move! The fire is spreading!”

They had been sitting right on top of it. But…but they always sat there…they…they were always…

In the corner of your eye, a dark phantom looms across the street as the first sirens of the police cars race down the road; a burning silhouette of black mist and ashen smoke.

As the bakery burns and the corpse of Yefim grows cold, it slips away into the forming crowd.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @kra-rino4ka, @cryingnotcrying, @lxne20, @not-eclipse, @theecoffeebean, @phoenixhalliwell, @h3ll-guttz, @tiinkerbell, @genjilvr, @azush4rp, @escapefromrealitysm, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @finnigansxz, @cowboybaby2, @delaynew, @doggydale, @zapphir, @littlemisstrouble, @xxtmoe, @grizzersmamma, @andreas-river, @blogdddxx, @jade-jax, @emthegrace, @lovebugmsyd, @makariaspresence, @noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog, @scythebot, @blueoorchid, @caramlizedtomatos, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler, @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

#cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #x female reader #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #ravishing allure

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rosedere · 5 months ago

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Behind the Scenes

(Yan! Neige Leblanche x Fem! Reader)

CW: implied Stalking, non con touching, implied manipulation

“Aaaaand… Action”

The lights that were previously dimmed were now fully lit above you, flashing a rainbow of cheerful colors over you in a halo.

A pop-type beat began to play around you as you patiently waited for your cue to stand up. Scanning the crowds of the audience in front of you felt like a weight had dropped onto your stomach.

You knew already there was going to be lots of people because of neige’s name being mentioned, but you didn't expect the whole studio to be completely filled with hundreds of adoring fans.

“Now welcome your morning hosts—Dev and Cookie!”

On your cue, you began to smooth your amethyst dress over before you began to stand and improvise something original for the episode.

Twirling in beat to the music, letting the rhinestones on your dress catch under the light, the audience surrounding you began hyping you up as you expertly move in your random dance routine.

The two hosts walking in together hand in hand: one wore a posh office-like outfit with a silky blue and amethyst scarf around her neck, while the man had a beige and brown suit on with a matching red tie.

Finally, the two hosts reached their seats, taking a seat as scripted.

"Today we are joined by a special guest: The Prefect! Aka (Name)”

A wave of applause was heard as you smiled and waved to the crowd.

"Alright, so let’s just rip the bandaid off (name)”

"Actually, am I able to call you (name)? Or…”

“Oh no, it's alright! As you know, it’s not a secret who I am anymore,” you laughed.

"Ah, will do (name)”

Cookie crossed her legs before setting her drink on the table.

“So spill the tea (name) is it true you and Neige will be in the upcoming musical as the main cast?” She waved her pen in the air towards you.

“It’s true! Um, I'm going to be playing the love interest and Neige’s sidekick!” You enthusiastically made a punch in the air, making the fans in the audience once again roar to life.

“Neige’s sidekick?” Dev hummed in acknowledgement,

“So essential like real life, then?”

You laughed a hardy melodic laugh.

“I will say I am ashamed to admit this in front of a huge crowd—but...”

You hung your head in exaggeration, “I wouldn't say im able to keep Sage’s island safe using a magical rose petal beam.”

A few of the crowd laughed, while others only made disappointed noises, earning a laugh from the hosts before you.

“Does that mean Neige only has an unmagical partner?” Dev leaned forward towards the marble table across from the both of you.

You froze for a second with a smile on your face.

"O-oh, no, we aren't into each other like that,” you faux laughed, “I couldn't anyway, as I'm under a certain contract that stippulates it,” your tone wavered.

Cookie and Dev paused, looking at each other awkwardly, before Cookie cleared her throat, smoothing her royal blue pencil skirt down.

Gazing into the silent crowd, you could see the different neige fans looking confused, and even a few offended fans staring back at you.

Sensing the tension, Cookie once again let her smile cross her face again.

“But in theory, would you date Neige? Rumor has it you've both have known each other since he attended RSA.”

You gulped at the question, side-eyeing the now silent studio audience, waiting for a response you weren't sure you wanted to give.

Flickering your eyes back to the hosts, they both looked at you subtly, gesturing with their hands.

Say your line.

“I think it’d depend on what Neige wants— he does have many fans that would love a chance with the “someday my prince will come” mascot,” you smiled brightly.

The hosts both looked over at each other in confusion.

“Oh! First commercial break,” Dev clapped his hands.

“When we return, our guest star will have one more surprise guest added to the list, so don't miss out!” He waved towards the camera.

An upbeat jingle played, cueing the three of you to idly chat during the countdown.

“Did you forget your line, honey?” cookie whispered

“I-uh”

“Whatever that was– don't do it again." She harshly whispered

“I don't care if your shoes are on fire; We. Do . Not. Deviate. From. the. Script” she pointed to your feet.

“On our show, we make the rules; you are a guest on the most prestigious show in the Shaftlands,” she said, crossing her arms.

“You know what our viewers are expecting,” dev interjected from his crossed-leg statue.

“5 minutes”

“Set the stage for Neige.”

You could feel yourself grow clammy as you watched your two interviewers leave the set for their dressing rooms, holding hands and talking as if they didn't just scold you like a child in front of the set.

“The prefect?”

You turned your head in the direction of the mousy stage crew employee who helped you on stage.

“Do you want to go to your dressing room during the break? We have to move the set before our guest arrives.”

Panic was all you felt, your tongue numb in your mouth.

Leaving meant running into him in the hallway, but if you stayed here, you’d be stuck sitting with him for five unprompted minutes with only his loyal fanbase in the audience watching.

“No need—I'll be taking my seat alongside my partner,” his fair voice echoed on the busy set.

Not attempting to turn around, you felt his hands wrap around you.

“It’s been so long (name)!” He happily chirped.

Astonished, you tried to push him off your shoulder.

"Hey, isn't that neige?”

“Oh my gosh, their both matching! They look like their characters too.”

The eyes on you at the moment were like rocks thrown in your direction, causing you to flinch.

You only smiled at him, hoping he’d pull away from the hug.

“I didn't know they invited you neige” you dryly mused.

Neige stood next to you, eventually sitting on the arm rest of the plush chair you were seated on.

“Ah, yes, I decided to accept the invitation when I heard you were going to be interviewed this morning.” His ruby lips curled in a smile.

You couldn't possibly know who told him; specifically, remembering you begging to your agent not to utter a word to Neige about your first appearance since the beginning of filming should have been enough to get them to stay silent.

"Oh, so you were originally invited?”

“Yes”

Neige then leaned down to where you were leaning closer to your ear.

“The only reason you were invited was because of my graceosity,” he chuckled, his breath fanning your drop-down amethyst earrings.

He then perked up, ignoring the panic stricken expression you had on your face.

“So hopefully you do well in the next interview phase! This could make or break your career.”

“Neige– take your seat. 2 minutes until the show continues,” the tech said from the wings of the stage.

Neige hesitated before getting up and sitting in the tan chair that was now beside the royal blue chair you had been assigned to sit in.

Looking at the wings, you could make out Cookie and Dev idly walking with their dressing staff touching up their makeup.

“You see those two (name)” neige mindlessly said.

“Theyve been together since they were our age—Cookie was a weather woman while Dev was a news reporter.”

"Yeah, I know—I heard their red carpet speech.” You rolled your eyes.

Neige only smiled his usual closed-eye smile towards you.

“I hope we can be like that.”

"Maybe have a few kids like them.”

His hand began to wrap around your clutched ones on the armrest.

“Everyone ready?”

“Countdown to the next segment is about to begin.”

Cookie and Dev sat back in their respective chairs across from the two of you.

Cookies eyes instantly looked down at your hands together.

“Long time no see Cookie." Neige nodded

“Ah yes, we haven't spoken since the TV nominations," she smiled.

“It seems you got The prefect to calm down.”

"Yeah, they get like that when I'm not around to guide them," neige perfectly replied.

“You know how it is when the fame just hits and all.”

“Hopefully our pep talk also helped them as well." Dev nodded in response.

"Hi, welcome back from our break! And as promiseeeed” Cookie gestured with her pen towards neige besides you.

“Yahoo everyone!” neige waved,

The audience erupted in the loudest sound you'd ever heard; not even the award shows would get this loud for you. Some of the few faces in front were waving violently at neige hoping for his attention.

“So now, as we promised on the TV guide, it is time,”

Dev grabbed the prop tea pot on the table, pouring fake food coloring into the glass cup before him.

“To spill the tea!” the audience screamed loudly.

“We all want to know today…”

The screen behind the two of you suddenly lit to life as a magicam feed was displayed behind your chairs.

“Apparently, this morning on Neige’s own public account, a photo was posted on said account,” cookie dramatically paused, causing the audience to “ooh” and “aah” in response.

“Dev and I need to hear the details of this intimate photo you both posted,” she squealed, causing the audience to get rowdy as well.

Neige laughed before leaning forward in his seat, letting his hands rest on his knees.

“It was just a photo– It just slipped my mind that I hadn't officially announced the statues of our relationship beyond filming.”

Your fake smile was threatening to fall.

"We are, in fact, in a relationship,” he cheerfully added.

The audience began to cheer, breaking the sound barrier this time.

Finally taking the liberty, you turned around in your seat.

Your stomach clenched, but you weren't expecting to see the photo fully blown up, with 1 million views and shares under it.

You remember that night: Neige promised to take you back home after a short stop together.

Drunk, you swore you saw a flash of light as you felt Neige smear his lipstick onto your face as you tried to push him off with your heel.

But, of course, that's not what the pictures showed.

It depicted you wrapping your legs around his white tuxedo as you placed your hands over his chest.

Trying to leave.

“Neige…” you interrupted, causing the hosts and neige to look towards you.

“I-wasnt aware you posted such a private photo to Magicam,” you struggled to string your sentence along.

"Well, your always so camera shy, I decided to take initiative (Name)” neige then grabbed your arm, pulling you closely to him.

A few awws were heard from the audience once more.

“You were the one that wanted to be together (name)” he said, playing with your arm he was holding.

“Because I'm the prince that will save you from the evil queen,” he chuckled.

Grabbing your face to look at him, he gave you a kiss, firmly locking your lips to his.

The audience went wild.

If only they knew what role they had forced you to play.

Note: *in vil voice* NEIGGEEEEEEEE

Also requested by: Sallade on AO3 <3

Buckle up bc they gave me too many ideas for my skurnkly brain to run off with Hehe.

#yandere twst #yandere neige leblanche #neige leblanche x reader #reader insert #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland

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cosmignon · 6 months ago

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MAGISTA, TYRANT OF SLACKTIDE 🦀👑🦀

I drew a sketch of Magista earlier in the week and then decided I needed to clean it up AND draw a follow-up pose for the boss fight :] translating a very not-anthro crab into a human design was a very fun challenge! Plus, any excuse to draw a big evil woman am I right?

Here below is the lineart + all my sketches for the right pose bc this was also drawn as fanart for the VOD of @facefullabugz and @friendlyfrankenstein playing the game and they encourage folks to show off their process ^_^ go watch their vod here it's fun!

If you like this illustration, consider supporting me! commissions | ko-fi | patreon | shop

Image ID's are in the alt text + listed in order below the cut:

ID #1: An illustration of a humanized depiction of Duchess Magista from Another Crab's Treasure, both before and after she has been infected by pollution. To the left, Magista is holding her large scepter up high as she stands upright, smirking. She is wearing a long elizabethan dress that cuts off at the shoulder with giant frills and lace, as well as sharp pointed boots and a gaudy plastic tiara with the number 30 on it. To the right, Magista is furiously driven to swing her scepter like a mace, her eyes are completely dialated and a black ichor drips from her mouth onto her collar. Her robes have been tattered and ripped apart from behind. End ID.

ID #2: The isolated lineart for the previous illustration. It is completely black except for the eyelashes for both Magista figures being colored in bright red. End ID.

ID #3: A step by step collage showing the development of Magista's action pose from the first illustration. It starts at the top left with a pencil sketch, and progresses through various iterations of digital sketches until the final lineart is shown on the bottom right. End ID.

#another crab's treasure #another crab's treasure spoilers #duchess magista #thefinearts #image description in alt text

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mikasa-imadebiscults · 1 year ago

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My Fantasy Finally Came to Life

100 Followers Event: 12/31

Aizetsu x GN! Reader

(Warning: Smut, Modern AU!, swearing, fantasy things, Master kink, etc)

I saw a picture of the evil Sponge Bob paper that came to life, and it inspired me to make this.

(Summary- You had a bad day and decided to distract yourself by drawing your dream boyfriend. Fantasizing that it would be real, little did you know that your fantasy would come true that night)

This day was the worst, absolutely dogshit you wanted to rip open the skull of everyone who pissed you off today. Currently you are driving home from work with a pounding headache. You wish you had a significant other to comfort you when you get home, but unfortunately that’s not the case. When you finally got home, you took a long warm bath to unwind and relax your entire body.

When you got out of the bath, dried yourself off, and put clothes on, you looked at your desk and decided to draw for a bit. Sitting on the desk chair, thinking about what to draw, you decided to draw your dream boyfriend, the boyfriend you wish you had. You started drawing for a few hours now and after you were finished you sat back and looked at your drawing, satisfied at the way it turned out.

You looked at the drawing for a little longer before going into your own world, fantasizing about your life with the man you just drew.

The wonderful fantasy you were daydreaming of quickly came to an abrupt end when you saw the pencil you were drawing with glowing brightly. The whole pencil was glowing a darkish light blue and slowly your drawing started to get colored in. It was so memorizing that it almost put you into a trance.

You stood up and backed away from the desk trying to prepare yourself for whats about to happen, your eyes trained on the paper drawing. You saw the paper shake and suddenly a male figure quickly popped out of the paper.

“Who are you and what is going on?” You said, looking at the male figure.

“My name is whatever you name me, after all you were the one who created me.” He took a deep breath in and slowly releases it out before beginning to speak, “That pencil has a curse on it, I can sense it, though I do not know who casted the curse but I can assure you that I have no intention of harming you.”

You observed the male for a minute, thinking to yourself that you can trust him. A few months ago you’ve heard online about a similar situation that happened to multiple others and these drawings that come to life don’t seem to cause any harm unless you’ve fantasized about it hurting another person. “Hmm I’ll call you Aizetsu, come sit on the bed.”

You stand in front of him, smiling “Finally my fantasy has come true.”

Aizetsu sat on the edge of the bed, his cheeks warming up as he watched you, “Um if you don’t mind me asking, what did you fantasize about?”

You couldn’t help it. You knew you should really get to know him better but you still bluntly told him about all of your fantasies, even the ones that had the more intimate moments.

He didn’t seem bothered by what you were saying, in fact he started blushing even more, “Well, may I please help you out?” he asked. You knew what he was hinting at and you sat down on the bed, “Sure.”

Aizetsu moves over closer to you and softly pins you down to the bed, your back touching the bed. He takes off his shirt to reveal his slim but muscular body and he kisses you gently, slightly biting your lower lip before you pulled away.

“You know, I never said you would be dominant.” You said with a smirk on your face as you watched Aizetsu face turned bright red. You quickly flipped the both of you over so that he now has his back to the bed. He let out a small whimper before you kissed him passionately, you pulled away and now you can feel his hard dick through his pants.

“Mmm~ please m-master just do it.” he begs.

“Hmm I have no idea what you’re talking about, you need to be more specific.” You teased him, while grinding slowly on his dick.

“Please~ just ride me master.” He begged as you slightly lifted up your body so that he can take off the rest of his clothes.

You decided to fulfill his wishes and ride him until he cums all inside you. Slowly, you get on his dick until the whole thing was inside, you stopped for a minute so that you could get use to his dick stretching you out.

Aizetsu waits patiently for you, hands going up and down your thighs to comfort you. “Be patient master, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon..” he said in a soft and comforting tone.

You’ve finally got what you always wanted, now you just need to enjoy this moment..

Masterlist

In the Masterlist there’s a link to make requests.

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kaciidubs · 1 year ago

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Solely for You | Spooktober 2023

❣ Summary: It’s always the ones with the pretty faces who have the filthiest kinks, and Hyunjin was not an exception. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.4k ❣ Warnings: Kink discovery, feet kink, light mommy/miss kink, Sub! Hyunjin, Dom! Reader, smut, fluff, slight humor, slight cock stepping, clothed footjob, degradation, praise, begging, kinda forced orgasm, Hyunjin's embarrassed and Reader loves it ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Hyunjin is referred to as Hyune, my love, and pretty boy, Reader is referred to as my muse, baby, and miss. The pictures are solely for fishnet aesthetic only, there is no description of the reader visually or physically. ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023

If there was one thing Hyunjin would say about himself, it would be the fact that he was helplessly in love with you in every sense of the word, for every sense of your existence - he loved you from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet.

Especially your feet.

Now, he wasn’t a man who advertised himself as having a feet kink - honestly, he didn’t even think he’d care what his potential partner’s feet would look like, but the more time he spent with you, the more intimacy that grew between the two of you, the more he realized his admiration for you stretched farther than he could’ve imagined.

It was fall, the season of coziness and embracing change, evidenced by the yellows, oranges, and reds of leaves decorating trees and spreading across the streets like pencil shavings - and with this change of scenery came the change of wardrobes.

Specifically, your wardrobe.

So many clothes came back into your rotation; hoodies, sweaters, sweatpants, skirts, leggings, and most importantly fishnet tights.

Oh, how he loved the fishnets.

The way you paired them underneath ripped jeans had his mind exploding, the variation of a slight grunge aesthetic or soft autumn vibe inspiring him in more ways than one - or the way you kept it simple by wearing them underneath a skirt of your choosing, he could never keep his eyes off of your legs.

However, the best of you wearing that stretchy netting would have to be the same way you were wearing them now; lounged comfortably on the couch after a small lunch date together, your outside outfit swapped for a large t-shirt that stopped just at the mid of your thigh while the coveted fishnets stretched down your thighs and around those pretty feet of yours.

The burnt red color of your nail polish was a nice choice - you always seemed to choose the perfect colors once the seasons changed.

Your legs were tucked slightly as you leaned against the arm of the couch, eyes glued to the tv as you watched the recap of some competitive show he had no energy to try to recall - nothing on that screen could’ve compared to the view of you right now, effortlessly beautiful without a care in the world.

“My love?”

Hyunjin blinked himself out of the stupor you fixed him in, humming, “Yeah?”

“I can feel you staring at me,” your lips pulled into a smirk as you fully met his gaze, “and I don’t know if you’re trying to make me catch a hint, or if you’re just really zoned out because you’re full.”

Gasping dramatically, his lips pulled into a pout, “I can’t just look at you because you’re pretty? Is this some new couple law? Do you have some handbook I don’t know about?”

“Oh my god,” a humored scoff floated past your lips, your right leg stretching out so you could nudge his thigh with your foot, “no, you drama queen! I just wanted to know if you wanted to say something, or if you’re waiting for my reaction because you watched this episode without me.”

His hand slid to lay over your ankle, a small smile gracing his lips when you settled into his touch, “You know I’d never do that-”

“Remember when you had that late practice and stayed at the dorms for the night?”

“I- You said it was okay!”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me!”

“I can’t read your mind!”

“I had to deal with Changbin sending me ‘spoilers without context’ pictures until I was able to watch it by myself!”

The silly argument dissolved into lighthearted giggles, your position now shifting so that your back was against the arm of the couch, legs splayed out and feet pleasantly resting against his sweatpant-clad thigh.

Your attention fell back toward the tv, and his would’ve followed suit if it weren’t for the subtle warmth radiating onto his thigh, his gaze dropping to your fishnet covered feet; the tiny pattern starting at your toes before branching up the tops of your feet and up your shins.

His left hand slid from your ankle to your foot, fingers tracing the nylon as his thumb grazed along the inside.

“Hyune, if you’re gonna do that, would you mind giving me a foot massage then? I promise I’ll give you one later, unless you want a back massage instead?”

Oh, fuck.

“Y-Yeah, I can do that, angel.”

Shifting so that he was mirroring the way you were sitting, he stretched his left leg alongside your right, corralling your feet near his crotch before scooting forward to give himself a comfortable position for the ensuing massage.

It started out perfectly fine, your right foot propped up on his thigh as his thumbs gently worked the pressure points he could recall from Felix’s many, many massage attempts on his own body - he could even feel you relaxing further, his heart swelling at the sight.

Though, his peace wouldn’t last for long; when the intro theme of the next episode floated through the speakers, you subtly danced to the catchy tune, humming along without a care in the world - and, as a further result, you began rocking your feet in time with the music.

Rocking your feet which were currently in his hold and personal space; wiggling your right foot as much as his slightly loose grip would allow, while rocking your left foot against his crotch.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched at the sudden pressure, glaringly aware of the chub he was sporting now victim to the light grazing of the bottom of your foot.

This could not be happening right now.

Just as fast as it started, it stopped - the sound of a commercial now floating through the air as your happy humming died down, though your left foot remained propped against the crotch of his sweatpants, the gentle pressure of the balls of your foot against his dick making his brain go haywire.

Could you feel him getting hard? Did you think it was weird? Why weren’t you saying anything- fuck, did you have to flex your foot down like that?

He didn’t have a foot kink, he didn’t have a foot kink - or a stocking kink for that measure, he just thought you were gorgeous, you were always gorgeous no matter what you were doing or what you wore.

But-

But.

He stole a glance to his crotch, the sight of your toes - prettily painted in the polish you asked him for his opinion on - decorated in the criss-cross webbing of your tights earning a soft whimper from the back of his throat.

“Hyune?”

The man shivered, his hips gaining a mind of their own as they tilted further into the sole of your foot - the slight increase of pressure sending goosebumps spreading along his pale skin.

Then, the unthinkable happened; you fully pressed your foot against his clothed dick, your toes wiggling lightly against where the tip laid.

Hyunjin moaned, eyelids fluttering when you rolled your ankle ever-so-slowly, massage completely forgotten as he simply held onto your right foot for support.

“Oh, my pretty boy-”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, pretty pink lips set into a pout, “I- t-this is new, I swear, I haven’t- I never-”

“Easy, baby, relax - you know I’d never kink shame you, we’re each other’s safe spaces, remember?” You watched as he visibly relaxed, well, as much as he could with your foot still pressed against the erection straining his sweatpants. “If I’m honest, I kind of had a suspicion - nothing bad, but I’d always catch the way you’d stare, like you weren’t even aware you were doing it; or the times you’d go completely into ‘focus mode’ during foot massages, or when I’d ask you to help me with the buckle on my heels.”

A hot blush flushed his face in red, “Baby, my muse-”

“Your muse,” you hummed back, a soft smirk on your lips, “you always say how I inspire you, how I push you to do better, how you love everything about me - this is just you showing that you do, and this is me showing you that I accept it. Will you let me do that, Hyune? Can I show you how much I love your love?”

The sultry stare you were giving him made him feel like he was two seconds away from dying and going to heaven, the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth being the points of contact he had on you.

With a shallow breath, and a thick swallow, he found himself nodding his head.

“Please.”

“Alright, pants off for me, pretty boy - leave your boxers on.”

He fought the cry of disdain when you pulled your legs toward your body, taking away the sweet pressure he was quickly getting used to, and hastily made work of tugging his gray sweatpants down his slender legs and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor.

You eagerly took in the lengthy print of his dick through his red briefs, the matching elastic band adoringly labeled ‘loverboy’ disappearing underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

“Look at you, this hard for me already?”

An embarrassed whine of your name fell from his lips, the blush traveling down his neck nearly rivaling the color of his underwear, “It didn’t help when you kept grinding on it!”

Raising an eyebrow, you sat up straight, “It didn’t help, hm?” Stretching your legs back out, you pressed the sole of your right foot against his cock instead, applying more pressure than you did before, “So you need more than that, is that what you’re telling me, Hyune? Need to feel me harder?”

Hyunjin nearly fell back, managing to catch himself on a throw pillow as a desperate moan shot from his mouth, “A-Ah- oh fuck!”

“Answer me, my love,” you dug your foot harder, practically stepping against the throbbing shaft, “it’s not enough to see my feet all dolled up for you, no, you need to have them on you - worship them like you do the rest of my body.”

“Y-Yes! Yes - wanna worship them, m-my muse, wanna worship you!”

A sinister laugh bubbled from your chest, the sight of him falling apart without you having to touch him with your hands sparking a fire in your stomach as you ground your foot in slow, circular motions.

You couldn’t help but notice the darkened red fabric around his tip, the cotton soaking up the precum he was undoubtedly leaking underneath his briefs.

“It’s always the ones with the pretty faces who have the filthiest kinks, isn’t that right, baby?” Your lips curled into a smirk when he keened, hips bucking up against your foot at an uneven pace, “What else do you want me to find out, hm? Anything you’re waiting for me to discover? Hell, you already let me use you like a pussy drunk toy sometimes - you always come the hardest when I’m in charge, taking care of you like a mommy would.”

The minute that word left your lips, a shivering gasp left your black-haired boyfriend, lust fogged eyes gazing at you in equal parts embarrassment and pure need, “P-Please, I-”

“Mommy, hm? Is that what does it? Or, maybe something formal like mistress, miss-”

“M-Miss,” Hyunjin whimpered, hips jerking through the uncoordinated footjob he was trying to initiate, “mommy i-is… okay, but Miss-” a shiver ran down his spine, eyes rolling when your dragged your foot up, your toes grazing against the flare of his cockhead, “-fuck, Miss is b-better.”

The airy, lilted tone in his voice made your head spin, the title stroking your ego in ways you hadn’t expected - there would definitely be more chances to explore that.

“My love,” you cooed, a sickeningly sweet smile curling your lips, “My sweet, dirty love, Miss promises to take good care of you, okay?”

His head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut and pink lips parted in an unabashed moan, “I-I’m gonna come - oh my god, ‘m gonna come.”

“Really? We haven’t even kissed - I haven’t even seen that gorgeous dick of yours, and you’re already about to come? All because of my feet?”

He whined, a pitiful sound emanating from the back of his throat, hands gripping the cushions underneath him, “I-It’s not like that- shit, y-you’re so beautiful a-and - ah- the fishnets, they- oh, fuck, please let me come, Miss!”

“Look at me, my love.”

He brought his head back down, black strands tickling his sweat-slickened forehead as rounded, desperate eyes gazed into your focused stare.

“Come.”

His dick throbbed under the sole of your foot, urging you to press against him just a bit more, the frantic thrusts of his hips shaking your leg as he fucked himself against your foot; mouth falling open in a loud moan of your name.

Hot ropes of cum spread along his hip, the cotton of his briefs immediately soaking up his release with a dark red stain left behind, putting the previous stain of precum to shame and making him feel utterly filthy.

Eventually the twitching of his dick slowed, and the jerking of his hips stopped as he settled back onto the couch - a small flinch shooting through his body when you gently prodded at his softening length with your toe.

Bringing your legs back to your end of the couch, you maneuvered yourself onto your knees and crawled between his still open legs, “Hyune?”

He blinked dazedly, breathing heavily as he attempted to recover from one of the many mind blowing orgasms of his life. “Y-Yeah?”

Hands finding their way to his cheeks, you gently held his face as you placed an even gentler kiss to his lips - laughing softly when he tried following you as you pulled away. “You did so good for me, you know that? And I meant everything I said before; I love how much you love me - personally I think I love you more than you love me - and I’m glad that includes every part of me, too.”

The look in his eyes could have only been best described as adoration and pure, unadulterated love, his larger hands coming up to cover your own with ease.

“You could never know how much I love you - I don’t think they’ve discovered the words for me to even try to describe it.” Dipping his head forward, plush lips brushed against your own, “But I can show you, if you’ll let me.”

A short laugh escaped you, eyes shining in mischief as you nodded, “You know… I really, really love your hands, it might even be a kink of mine.”

Hyunjin smirked, eyes narrowing at your attempt of a tease, “Then let me show you how much I love your love - have you worship them like the rest of me.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means I'm unable to tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #kacii's spooktober 2023

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chrrywavs · 2 years ago

Text

Tiny black shorts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: you show up to school with a new pair of shorts and Eddie’s old t-shirt drawing his attention almost immediately.

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: gagging, blowjob, 18+, perv! Eddie, praising, pet names.

╔══ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ══╗

All day Eddie couldn’t get his mind off you. It was the first period when he first saw you walk in, with his oversized band shirt semi tucked into the tiniest leather shorts he’d ever seen. Wearing his favorite color on your lips; blood red, with a pair of black army boots and the chain he had gifted you for your birthday hanging from your waist. Practically wiping the drool from his mouth.

he held you close to his side all day his hand always laying on your hip and squeezing your bare thighs whenever he could. He took every opportunity to steal a kiss whether it be during passing period or a quick bathroom break, and if you let him he’d quickly escalate it, slipping his tongue into your mouth and wrapping your leg around his waist. if it weren’t for the fact that you were on school grounds you might’ve let him keep going and Sometimes he’d hold you in front of him or tie his sweater around his waist to hide the tent that would form in his pants after. You took notice of his behavior.

But It wasn’t until he practically started grinding up against you during passing period, quietly moaning “your makeup looks perfect baby, god your perfect.” And “these shorts looks so good on you baby.” into your ear while you were fixing your makeup that you realized why he was being so needy all of a sudden.

༺✯༻

You tapped the pencil against the desk as you thought about how else you would extend this already drawn out essay. You were so lost in thought you didn’t hear Eddie whispering your name behind you, till he reached over and tapped your shoulder. You slightly jumped not having expected it before turning your head to stare at him over your shoulder. He smiled at you handing you a small folded piece of notebook paper.

You took the paper tucking it under your essay and taking a quick peak at your teacher to make sure she hadn’t seen. After a moment you pulled the note back out of its hiding place, quietly opening it.

You look really pretty today :)

You smiled to yourself feeling your cheeks blush. You quickly scribbled down your response handing it back to Eddie.

Really? Our laundry machine broke and this shirt was the only clean one I had left, hope you don’t mind.

You waited for Eddie to respond, your foot now tapping the floor. Eddie peaked at the teacher who still had her nose deep into her book, before quickly reaching over and placing the note on the edge of your desk.

Are you kidding? I hope you never fix your laundry machine if it means I get to see you in my shirts.

You held your head up against the palm of your hand, pressing against your mouth to suppress the giggle that wanted to escape. you wrote your response tossing it over your shoulder toward him.

Hate to burst your bubble Ed’s, but this is the only shirt of yours I’ve got. If you wanna see me in more of your clothes you’d have to come over later and bring me a whole load of them.

You’d heard a small amused hmph come from Eddies direction before he stood from his chair placing the note on your desk and walking towards the pencil sharpener at the front of the class.

I’ll do more then bring a whole load of shirts if you know what I mean ;)

You looked up towards Eddie who was already staring back raising both his brows up and down with a sly smirk. You playfully rolled your eyes writing your response and handing the note back to him as he walked pass your desk towards his.

Your such a pervert Ed’s.

You waited for eddie to give you back the note but after a while of nothing you’d almost forgotten of the interaction, just focusing on your final paragraph when finally he reached over handing you a different colored piece of paper most likely one he’d ripped from an old flyer.

Meet me by my van for lunch later? I got an itch I need you to scratch :)

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, eddie doing nothing but pretending to work on his essay keeping everyone non the wiser. You turned back to the note writing a quick response.

Are you seriously horny right now?

You were keeping your eyes on your teacher as you handed back the note. she had now gotten up from her desk to wipe away any notes she had written on the whiteboard. You felt Eddie gently tap your back and you reach your arm behind you to sneakily take the note back.

What can I say, I got a hot girlfriend sitting right in front of me wearing MY shirt and the tiniest little shorts I’ve ever seen, how could I not be?

You bit your lip, scribbling down a quick little response and tossing it over your shoulder before the teacher turned back around to face the class.

What will I get if go?

You looked up at the clock 11:45 class was almost over and you hadn’t finished the conclusion yet. Before you could turn back to your work Eddie tapped your shoulder.

I’ll take you out to eat, maybe some burgers or pizza?

You wrote down your response handing it back to him and turning back to your essay, at this point just about ready to bullshit the last five sentences.

And if I say no?

Eddie smiled, he absolutely adored when you teased him. He messily wrote his response and reached over letting the note fall over your shoulder.

Then you’ll have a very grumpy boyfriend to deal with for the rest of the day.

You giggled low enough for no one to hear. You wrote back the only appropriate response you could think of.

I can deal with a grumpy Eddie. ;)

Eddie quickly returned the note as if he had already written it beforehand.

No please. :(

You turned to look at him. He dramatically frowned using his finger to mimic a tear running down his cheek. a playful smirk grew at your lips. The bell rang excusing the class and you crumbled the note tossing it into the trash on your way out.

༺✯༻

Eddie snaked his arm around your waist pulling you against the lockers. “Where are you in a rush to?”

You giggled, “Ed’s I have to get to class!”

Eddie leaned in stealing a quick kiss “you got five minutes.” He smiled. “So about later?…”

“What about later?” You teased cocking your head to the side.

“Are you up for it? Imagine how hot it’d be to blow me in the school’s parking lot.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t be so hot if we got caught now would it?”

“Actually it would—“

“Eds!” You slapped his shoulder. “I’ll think about it okay? Maybe I’ll be hungry enough by lunchtime.” You winked at him.

“Oh baby,” he cooed leaning into your ear “you just made me rock hard.” He whispered.

You laughed pushing him off you. “Save it for later freak.”

༺✯༻

Third and fourth period flew by and as you stood to leave the class you whispered into Eddies ear to meet you by his van in ten minutes before running off into the bathroom. he practically jumped from his seat dashing towards his car, completely ignoring anyone calling out to him to ‘slow down’ or to ‘watch where he was going’.

Eddie sat in his warm van bouncing his leg impatiently waiting for you to arrive, his cock straining painfully against his tight jeans. his hands found their way to the mound that formed underneath his Jean and began palming himself through the thick fabric so he’d be ready by the time you arrived, he wanted to skip everything and get right into it. He bit his lip sliding his hand into his jeans and started groping his balls over the fabric of his boxers. “Fuck (y/n) hurry.” he whined.

Once you arrived. He spared now time fumbling with his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. His already hard cock springing out and bouncing against his stomach.

You adjusted yourself to the best position you could possibly find in the awkward layout of Eddie’s van making sure you had easy access to all of him. You spat into the palm of your hand looking directly into his eyes as you slicked it all over his cock coating him with your spit. He groaned shutting his eyes, melting into your touch. “Shit (y/n).” he breathed out.

You were taking your sweet time teasing him and Eddie was getting impatient. You squeezed him gently, fisting the base of his cock and licked your lips savoring him as you watched the forskin pull back revealing his red tip.

“C’mon baby no teasing please.” He practically whined. His soft eyes met yours and he caressed your cheek, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “I need your pretty little mouth around my cock sweetheart.” He cooed slipping his thumb in. With your lips wrapped around his finger you gently sucked the salty skin swirling your tongue around and releasing it with a pop. His thumb coated red with your cherry lipstick.

You slowly leaned in leaving a small lingering kiss on his neck before sinking your mouth down onto his cock. Your tongue stroked a long lick against the underside of his dick, pressing flat against the throbbing vein that ran alongside it before wrapping your lips around the angry red tip. “Fuck.” Eddie groaned as you started bobbing your head up and down taking in as much of him as you could, your spit dribbling down your chin.

Your fingers gently traced alongside his balls feeling them twitch under your well manicured nails. You savored his taste moaning as you swirled your tounge around his tip. “Shit (y/n)” he grunted “you can’t do that.” He gulped. “you’re gonna make me cum too quickly.”

Eddie gently combed your hair out of your face gathering it into a bunch in his hand. “Been thinking about you all day.” he murmured throwing his head back against the leather seat. “You and your sexy little shorts drove me crazy.” He smirked down at you followed by a loud moan when your throat contracted against him. “G-god you make me feel s-so good baby.”

You released him with a pop fisting his length. “You love when my warm mouth is on you, don’t you baby? So desperate for it huh?” You teased. Eddie nodded and small barley audible whimper escaped his parted lips. You tsk “aww already so fucked dumb for me, and you haven’t even been inside my pussy yet.“ you squeezed his shaft tightly watching his face contour into one of pleasure. “Is that what you want? To be balls deep inside me?” You purred.

Eddie nodded, his head completely dazed from thoughts. You squeezed his balls. “your words Ed’s.” you instructed.

“Fuck yes.” Eddie hissed “Fuck (y/n) shit, keep going please don’t stop.” He Panted.

You smirked at his reaction. It was rare to see Eddie so desperate, normally it’s the other way around but you didn’t mind it at all. It was nice to be reminded that Eddie craved you just as much as you craved him. you leaned down taking his balls into your mouth and lapping your tongue around the wrinkled skin. “Jesus fucking Christ baby, you’re-fuck-you’re amazing.” He praised followed by sweet murmurs of your name.

He raked his hot trembling fingers through his hair pulling away his sticky bangs from his forehead. You lazily licked all the way up from his balls to his tip parting your swollen lips around his cock. eddie bucked his hips, his dick hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag. “Sorry baby, fuck sorry.” he panted.

You felt his dick twitch in your mouth. “fuck I’m gonna cum-I’m gonna cum.” he repeated followed by a string of curses. Eddie reached for anything he could and you took hold of his hands placing them over your head prompting him to guide you at his own pace. He threaded his fingers into your hair, holding you still as you gagged, your throat contracting around his cock.“Oh (y/n)- oh ozzy fuck-“ he growled fucking into you mercilessly. Tears spilling from your eyes as his cock hit the back of your throat. A string of curses escaped his lips followed by a loud groan. you felt him spilling his hot white ropes into your mouth coating your throat.

With Eddie hunched over he started guiding your head up and down his cock at a much more slower speed as he came down from his high. Finally he pulled you from his cock. You gasped for air wiping away the tears that formed due to all the gagging. “C’mere” he said before moving you over to his lap and placing a kiss on your lips. “You look so beautiful like this.” He murmured against your lips.

“All messy and gross?” You smiled.

“Yeah” he said before connecting your lips once again. He slapped your ass earning a small gasp from you, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue through. You moaned as he lazily sucked on your tounge groaning at the hint of his leftover seed, guiding your hips in a forward backward motion on his lap.

“Eds.” you whimpered.

“Yeah?” He breathed into the kiss.

“Lunch. is almost. over.” you said in between kisses.

“So?” He murmured pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and trailing kisses down your jaw.

You moaned as he began to suck on the sensitive skin at the crook of your neck. “So I have a test later, I can’t miss it.” Eddie groaned throwing his head back against the seat. “I know baby I need it too, later okay? Come over my parents won’t be home.” You smiled cupping his cheek.

“Home? Alone? With no annoying people to distract us?” You nodded. “I like the sound of that” Eddie smiled lunging towards the crook of your neck leaving small kisses.

“Eddie that tickles!” You squealed.

╚══ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ══╝

Please leave request or ideas I’m literally struggling so hard out here:(

#80s #eddie munson #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddiemunson x reader #stranger things #perv!eddie #smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie stranger things #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #joseph quinn

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foxglovefaun · 3 months ago

Note

Hey yo!! I was just lookin over ur sketchbooks stuff, which is,,,,so grand and soulful I can’t put much words to it and wanted to ask do u use a specific type of pencil? Or any special thing like that?

thank you so much!! <3 ;0; my sketchbook is my safe place rn, so this means a lot. and i do! i have a lot of specific pencils. i have a series of tools that are in my everyday artbox, and i've narrowed down a collection that's been pretty reliable for me. i can introduce you! :) ...ok but r u ready for a infodump because

ok this is my everyday Graphite Mechanical Pencil Squad. I always have them in my box and i use them for just about every pencil drawing in my sketchbook.

(I added a post break because I didn’t think about it before :3 )

from top to bottom: - Steadtler: Mars Technico 2.0 -> used for longer pencil studies and anatomy stuff, as well as experiments with comic-style hatching. has a tiny built-in sharpener! I like using this for drawing the base for portraits coz it's got a real consistent value - Sakura: Sumo Grip 0.7 -> comfy. :) big. :) - Tombow: Mono Graph 0.5 -> my current baseline. I've used this pencil since 2021 when i first started recovering from burnout. I really like its weight balance, as the feed end is quite heavy. This pencil was engineered for writing though, so while it has a "rotating lead mechanism", it doesn't activate while I'm drawing. Apparently it's supposed to rotate the lead as you write so it stays sharp. :0 - Uni: Kuru Toga 0.3 -> very lightweight, sometimes feels fragile but is durable as hell. I use this for really fine lines, like details in the eyes or hatching around the nose in really small portraits. I used to use this size more in college, but I use it less nowadays.

speakin of that damb MonoGraph, i have S e v e r a l

I have six currently, which feels like a bananas number of mechanicals to carry at one time, but five of them carry different color leads that i use super regularly so i ignore this.

you probably are familiar with my multi-color sketches with blue and red and pink n stuff, and these are what i use for that. sometimes i use light blue to sketch, then clean it up with the dark blue, and then add portrait details with red. Other times i sketch with pink and then define everything with purple. anyway

i load them all up with Uni Nano Dia color leads. Historically I've used Pentel red leads and Prismacolor Col-Erase wood pencils, but these are my favorite now. They are all erasable and erase pretty well! (The lavender does not specify that it is erasable, but i assure you, it will submit to an eraser.)

speakin of erasers. This has actually been the most difficult squad to narrow down, as erasers are all super different from one another, even within the same brand. Sometimes they smear my shit, sometimes they rip up the paper, sometimes they lift okay but still leave a ghost. not these. These guys are reliable. They help me move. They text me back. - Muji: plastic eraser, hard type, black -> this was my biggest most recent surprise. Muji has very affordable minimalist materials that can look cheap on the surface level, but tbh I've never had an eraser serve me so well. When it comes to erasable marks, it lifts EVERYTHING off of my Talens sketchbook. I wish it came in a stick format for more control, but the brick will have to do for now. - Tombow: Mono Stick, plastic eraser -> bless. Soft to the touch but doesn't need a shit ton of pressure to lift stuff out and clean up. Performs consistently and creates a super clear surface. My favorite standard-sized stick eraser, hands down. - Tombow: Mono Knock -> badass. I've had this thing in my arsenal since 2008. I found my first pink one in Japantown San Francisco and carried it all the way to QC with me in 2020. It was finally put to rest after it broke in 2022, and was immediately replaced with the green one. It's kind of hard for an eraser, which is good because the skinny ones can tear under pressure, but it's precise, clean, and usually lifts everything out. Excellent for portraiture. It's also great for drawing on its own and I'll draw highlights or carve out shapes in big smudgy fields of grey. I highly recommend this tool. - Tombow: Mono Zero, elastomer eraser -> weird. so smol. does cool shit tho. This is my smallest eraser ever, and it took a while to find one in stock. It is so very fine that it has its own refill method and part of it is reinforced with plastic. It's clean tho, and so goddamb precise. - Kneaded eraser, brand ???? i dont remember, probably Mars : I love my kneaded eraser. I've always used it to press and lift when it comes to sketchbook stuff, but i recently learned that you can just kinda ROLL IT across your surface and it will lighten EVERYTHING, EVENLY. I lost my shit tbh, nobody ever told me I could use it like that and now I get legit excited to use it. Very satisfying. But also very sticky and sometimes Bad Texture, so I keep it in a little tin. along with the whole series i described, I also carry these with me in my box. Just misc tools that also live here. Tiny sharpener, blenders, supplementary erasers and pencils.

I also have a small frame-style box that I keep my basic wood drawing pencils in, as well as the tiny eraser and the 2.0 pencil because they fit. :)

Everyone lives in here, and i like that the box can sorta serve as a work surface too, using the lid like a lil table. It's also easy AF to just toss everything in there, so cleaning up my workspace takes less than a minute now.

i use all of these whenever doin sketchbook stuff. I always keep them in my newest travel box, which has served me very well when going down the avenue to draw outside. :)

i hope this gives u some feedback for choosing your own tools! :D I get my materials from all over the place, but when I was picking up the Mono Graphs en masse I was getting them from Stationery Pal at a pretty significant discount.

thank u for ur interest. :3 I have been wanting to assemble a post like this for a while and it felt good to just sit n think about my tools for a little bit. anyway. :3 take care. thanks <3 Hope this answered your question! (and hope it wasnt too much lmao sdfjkgskdjhfkjshd)

#fox talks #fox answers questions #art tools #sketchbook tools

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withacapitalp · 2 years ago

Text

Countdown Pt 3

Part One Part Two

Tw: Slight suicidal ideation and general grieving

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They only carry a couple things with them on the run.

Surviving the apocalypse isn’t pretty, and it’s easier to make a quick escape if they’re always traveling light. Essentials only, with a few sentimental items so they don’t completely lose their minds.

Nancy had her journals, Max had her skateboard (even if she couldn’t use it right now), Will brought a pack of colored pencils, and Steve was pretty sure Hopper had somehow saved a half a pack of smokes.

And Steve….Steve has a shoebox.

It’s an old thing, held together with duct tape and decorated with sharpie doodles. Wayne had given it to him right before he left town, along with the necklace that Steve kept around his neck every moment of every day.

He’s never let any of them look in it. They think he’s insane, but they’re not the ones with zeroed out timers.

This shoebox is all he has left of his soulmate.

What’s inside would seem like junk to most people. A handful of rocks of varying size, shapes, and colors. A leather cuff with spikes that Steve had immediately put around his timer wrist to hide it from view. A matchbook from a gay bar in Indianapolis, a Spalding bouncy ball. Some hand-sewn patches with logos he didn’t recognize, three different mini figures, a dozen faded beautiful photographs, and a single mixtape.

Only Robin knew about the mixtape. He had only told her in case they needed a song for him. That mixtape was the only thing in the world that had the song that could save his life.

But the most important thing in that box was the letters.

He read one every night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t read more than one. It was routine. When it was his turn to be on watch and the rest of their family was sound asleep, Steve would open his shoebox, pull out a letter, and read it.

The first one is probably his favorite. It was written in dark red marker on yellow construction paper, the edges ripped and torn with age. The marker bled through the back of the paper where the child who wrote the letter had pressed down too hard, and Steve could imagine the way his fingers must have stained from the ink. Blood red. The same way his fingers were stained when he died.

7/4/1971

TWO SULMAYT,

HI.

I AM EDDIE MUNSON. I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIKE TRUKS. YU SHUD LIKE THEM TO. WE CAN WATCH THE BIG TRUKS!

WHAT IS YUR NAMY?

BIE

LUV EDDIE

P. S. I HAD A NANA FOR BRIKFEST. YUM.

There was a picture of two giant monster trucks under the words, and a tiny thing Steve assumed was a banana under the postscript. Steve keeps that one tucked in his jacket pocket, just in case he ever loses his bag or his precious shoebox.

He keeps the first in his side pocket, and keeps the last one in the breast pocket right above his heart

6/13/1986

Hi Love,

The first one says ‘Two Sulmayt’ but every one after that starts with ‘Hi Love’.

Steve can’t help wondering if Eddie would have eventually called him ‘Love’ if they had gotten more time.

Well, if you’re reading this, then I guess my plan to be the one that lived really didn’t work out. Damn, that sucks. Probably a little bit more for you than for me.

I don't know how you dealt with knowing we only had five days, but I thought it was kinda fucked. Like damn, really? Five? The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it, Love? Or maybe it just hates me. That is also a very real possibility.

Maybe. But if the universe hated Eddie, then it must hate Steve more for making him continue to live. For giving him other people to love, people to care about, people to force him to not give up.

Anyways this is how I dealt with it. If you only get five days to have me, I’m going to make sure you know me. Or know who I was at least. One letter a month for the last 12 years, and a bunch of random one off ones from when I was little. Before I lived with Wayne it was kind of catch as catch can with paper and stuff, and I was also like seven, so how many letters do you really want from a seven year old who still can’t spell ‘Difficulty’?

I know how to now, by the way. Mrs. D, Mrs. I, yada yada. Do you ever wonder why all those women are married? I think that’s stupid. Forced conformity, even in our nursery rhymes.

That joke always made Steve laugh. He’s read this letter so many times it’s starting to come apart at the creases, but it still made him pause and chuckle.

Anyways. This is yours. Eleven letters a year for twelve years is one hundred and thirty two. Adding in the ones from before, it’s probably around a hundred and fifty. It’s not the same as having me around, but if you spread them out, you might get thirteen years or so before you have to start rereading them.

Or read them all in one sitting. Do whatever you want.

Steve had counted. It was one hundred and forty one. He read one new one a night, because every single day they survived seemed like a miracle right now.

He only had seventy three more left.

Not like I can stop you, haha.

That’s probably not as funny to you as I want it to be. Sorry, Love.

It wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. Steve wanted Eddie here, wanted him to tell him to wait. He wanted Eddie to write him more letters.

Oh, I also included a bunch of stuff I thought was too cool to lose, and a mixtape with songs that I wrote for my band. I thought you might want to get to hear my voice. It’s probably stupid, but you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to.

Steve listened to it. They had been forced to scrounge up new batteries for his walkman three times because it kept dying.

Everything in this box is yours, Wayne has strict instructions to give it to you. And, anything of mine Wayne doesn’t want is for you too.

Wow. A whole trust fund of trailer park trash. Some people leave their soulmates huge inheritances. I left you rocks and pictures and a shit ton of letters. Aren’t you lucky, Love?

He was lucky. He had seventy three more letters. Seventy three more reasons to survive another day.

After that…Steve wasn’t sure if he would be lucky anymore.

Now if you’re good at math- which I hope you are, because I’m terrible at it- then you might be saying to yourself ‘Is my soulmate an idiot? Does he not know there’s twelve months in a year?’

No. I’m actually incredibly smart, even though my grades don’t really show it. I rewrite this top of the box letter every year on my birthday, and then I burn the last one. It’s a fun, extremely morbid, tradition.

I’m 20 today, Love. I wonder how old you are a lot. I hope you’re close to my age at least. Maybe you’re like fifty years older than me, and I meet you when you’re on your deathbed, and that’s why we only have five days.

They had only gotten five days because Steve hadn’t just taken Eddie and run. He should have just told Eddie to go as far from Hawkins as possible the second he realized. Fuck the rest of the world, fuck stopping the apocalypse. The best part of Steve was already dead.

Two whole decades, but somehow I’m still in high school. I failed. Again. I wrote a lot about it in my letter last month, so I’m not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say I’m pretty bummed. I mean, c’mon, even Steve Harrington managed to graduate last year, and that guy barely even went to class during senior year.

That part of the letter always made his stomach turn. He hated the reminder of all the wasted time, the little nudge that always told him it was his fault they barely had any time.

If he had only looked up.

Oh, well. This one is it. ‘86 baby! I’d say I want this to be the year I meet you, but I really want to graduate, so maybe hold off for just one more year? Stay wherever you are for just twelve more months, Love, just to be safe. Then I can put a picture of me flipping off my principal in this box for you. I’ll add my diploma in too, just to prove to you I did it.

Eddie wasn’t going to get a diploma.

If you wait a year, I’ll give you twelve more letters. So just wait one more year. By then, I think I’ll know what to say to make this better. I’ll know what to do to fill the gap I know you’re going to have. I’ll have something to say that will fix all this. I say that every year, and I never do, but hey, ‘86.

Nothing anyone said would fix this. Nothing Eddie could write would fill the hole left in Steve’s soul. Nothing.

I’m sorry.

I say that every year too.

Steve didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want letters. He didn’t want a hard to hear voice on a single mixtape.

He wanted Eddie.

Well. Happy birthday to me. One more year without meeting you. Eleven more letters. You better be doing something just as nice for me in case it's you that bites it, or I’m bringing your ass back just to kill you again.

Steve didn’t care if Eddie killed him. Eddie could reappear right now and immediately shoot Steve and he would die happy. He just wanted one more minute. Just a little more time.

…Wait just a little bit longer. I’ll have better words next year.

Can you do that for me, Love?

P.S. You should read the first letter I wrote to you, just to appreciate how eloquent and charming I am in this one.

Eddie called him ‘Love’. Eddie asked him to wait. Eddie wanted to have the right words. He wanted to live long enough to save Steve from his own broken heart.

Steve wishes he had waited.

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