#showing the wips to one of my friends made him want a coffee

[floorpancakes]

i entered deme’s outfit design contest!! I don’t know what my chances are of winning but the prize money would go a long way and creating this was an absolute delight so I hope my efforts will be rewarded! whether they are or not, I’m really proud of this ~

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

��And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[songmingisthighs]

My, My, Mine

group : ateez

pairing : jealous, dom!san × reader

genre : smut, pwp, requested

wc : 3.6 k

warning : mdni, possessive!san, mentions of patriarchal upbringing, san trying to exert his dominance in the relationship, san calling mc basically slutty or a hoe but not in those words, drunken sex (so maybe kinda dubcon-ish ??? is it ??), explicit sex (bondage, denied orgasm, sadism ?? idk man, san being a meanie, mc being whiny despite g0rl power, slight dacryphilia ?? big man likes whiny crybabies, multiple orgasm, degradation, filming while having sex (you've been warned), creampie, and more idk i can't list all of them but if you think i should list more as like warning, please lmk !)

a/n : idt i've written any san smut (other than the debauchery that was ignominy) so I'm excited for this request ! i had this in my wip for quite a while and I'm FINALLY finishing it !!!

a/a/n : sorry this took a while, I had to get in the right mood for this lmaooooo hope you enjoy it !

a/a/a/n : ALSO HAPPY SANI DAY !!!

buy me coffee ?

It hadn't been that long since you and San started dating and it was quite the adjustment.

On one hand, you loved him dearly, he and all of his adorable quirks. But San, as he was raised quite conservatively by a strong, patriarchal figure, had managed to show some of the traits. Sure, you could get used to having things paid for you despite it making you feel like a burden, but having to argue with San in public when he insisted that he should be the one carrying all of your things or even waiting for you at your office's lobby when he's available so he'd be able to accompany you home was not something you like. So you both adjusted. Or tried to.

You didn't realize the extent of his views until you went to a girls' night.

During the whole time, San kept texting you about your whereabouts, reminding you not to drink too much. You'd answer once or twice but for every answer you gave, he sent five more texts and it was getting rather annoying. You realized he meant well but the way he was doing it was making it seem like he thought you were an incapable idiot who was going to need him, your knight in shining armour, to rescue you from the bad bad men of this world. You had gone through life just fine without him before and you were not some dumbass.

The realization that the alcohol in your system was stirring your emotions should have been enough to get you to sober up especially knowing that San was staying over to take care of you (a compromise you begrudgingly accepted). But your friends were egging you on and you knew that you didn't want to face San without some liquid courage. It was high time you took him down a peg. Or peg him down. Whichever comes first.

"Honey, I'm home," you slurred, giggling when you got through your front door and started taking off your shoes.

There were shuffles and soon San's voice rang through your ears. "Baby! I missed you! Where-" the words died in San's mouth when he saw the state you were in, or more specifically, the clothes you were wearing. "What the hell?" he asked, standing at a distance looking at you with disbelief in his eyes that you couldn't notice because you were too intoxicated to be aware of your surroundings. "Sannie," You giggled, stumbling to your boyfriend after you shrugged off your coat to the floor to ask for a hug. San still accepted your hug but he was oddly quiet, his eyes hard, and his fists were balled around your waist.

"I'm home now, Sannie!" you were still giggling as you started peppering San's face with kisses. It was then that San smelled the heavy alcohol in your breath which made him cringe and push you back slightly, "What in God's name have you been doing?" Then his eyes travelled down to your clothes, "And what is with this outfit?"

You immediately recognized the tone that he was using on you and you couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, "I told you I was going to a girls' night at the club and obviously this outfit is amazing because the bartender gave me 2 free shots!" you excitedly said. San reeled back and crossed his arms on his chest, "You mean to tell me you flirted for free drinks?" it took you a moment to answer but you shook your head, "Didn't have to flirt, he saw me in this outfit and he just showed his appreciation. It was no big deal," you shrugged and you tried pushing past him but he easily stopped you by blocking your path. "(y/n), I have to tell you I'm not comfortable with this. It kind of seems like you were selling your dignity so cheaply. As your boyfriend-" "Whoah, go back to you accusing me of being a hoe," you cut him off. San's eyebrows furrowed and he immediately defended himself, "I didn't call you a hoe, I'm just stating that I am not okay with my girlfriend wearing something so short, skimpy, and revealing just so she wouldn't have to pay for her drinks!" he stated.

Truthfully, San didn't have much problem with how you dress. He actually thought that you looked absolutely hot. Hell, he bought you the damn dress when he thought that you were going to wear it when you go out with him. He trusted you completely but what he couldn't trust were the rest 99% of the population who might do something bad to you when you're intoxicated in clothes that for lack of a better word, provided a lot of access. Something bad like what he wanted to do to you when he first saw that dress which was to rip your panties in two, fuck you in the dressing room, stuff you full of cum, and make you keep them safe until you both went home so he can eat the cum out of you.

Had you been sober, you could've agreed with the part about your dress being short, skimpy, and revealing because you had spent the better part of the night trying to not bend down and making sure that when you were dancing, you were shielded by your girlfriends. But the implication still didn't sit right with you and the fact that San was using the boyfriend card ticked you off.

"You're my boyfriend San, not my owner or my master. I'm still my own person and had I flashed a tit or two to get free shit, I should be able to! I get to decide what I get and what I don't get," you huffed and tried pushing past him.

Your steps halted when San shot his hand out and placed it on your chest, his fingers rigid on your collarbones and when you looked into his eyes, there was a glint of darkness and lust that made you shudder.

"Is that how it is, little Miss Independent? You really think you're in charge of whatever you get, big girl?" he smirked, voice lowering down and it was then did you realize, even through your drunken haze, that you were fucked. Or going to be. Hard.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

All hopes of your friend borrowing your dress were shattered and you had to break the news to her because right now, that dress was being used to tie your hands together behind your back while San had you on top of him, connecting his face with your pussy as he did his best to draw your third orgasm.

"Aww look at you," San chuckled darkly against your pussy, "Big girl can't handle two orgasms in a row?" The spank he delivered on your ass made your knees slip and allowed your whole weight to fall on San who happily accepted being suffocated by your sweet cunt. "S-San," you whimpered, trying to relieve the overstimulation by lifting your hips only to receive a guttural growl from below as his strong arms snaked around your thighs to ensure that you wouldn't be able to escape him. "San, please stop, it's too much" you whimpered while still trying to get out of his grip. Your senses had returned after the first orgasm when San managed to flush the alcohol out of you somehow only for it to be thrown back into a haze when he was working on your second.

Tired of your whining, San flipped you both over and allowed you a moment to breathe. Although it was hard what with the way your cunt was still throbbing and your heart still beating wildly in your chest. Despite his annoyance, San found your sprawled figure to be very delectable what with your flushed and warm skin, rising chest, and pussy glistening with sweat, spit, and arousal, making it seem like it was inviting him in again.

San grabbed your legs and pried them open, allowing him to glare at your pulsing entrance with eyes clouded in desire. "I thought big, independent girls wouldn't have to whine and beg like needy little bitches? Where's the confidence you used to get free drinks from cheap losers?" you somehow managed to lift your head to look at San who had his eyes now locked on yours as he leaned down close to your aching core, "Where's the confidence you used to allow people to think you're not spoken for?" Your back was arched and your jaw unhinged when San licked a fat, long stripe from your peritoneum up to your clit at an agonizingly slow speed. It was as if he wanted you to feel every single bit of movement he made that effectively drove your mind into overdrive. You felt your legs start to shake when he plunged three fingers into your leaking hole after spitting on your cunt, hitting your sensitive clit that he used as a bullseye.

The smug look on his face as he watch you writhe from overstimulation shouldn't turn you on so much but the way you physically reacted betrayed you completely as it chased for more of San, whatever he was willing to give you.

"You're a jerk," you whimpered through teary eyes. Though your voice was getting hoarse from the night out which was followed by him overstimulating you to high heavens, San could hear you loud and clear. "I thought you like getting attention?" San scoffed, pausing to him slapping you harshly on your cunt which caused your body to jolt at the impact, "That's why you were dressed like that, right? I'm just being a supportive boyfriend and helping you practice." The insinuation pissed you off and despite your struggling, you tried to get yourself up and away from him (and failing rather miserably), "I dressed like that for myself you possessive jerk," "Oh, so the lack of panties was what, for health?" When you couldn't answer him, he knew he got you dead on and being proud of himself, he smirked and pulled himself off of you and the bed. The sudden void he left caused you to almost whine out loud, brain forgetting that you were somewhat mad at him.

San came back to the bed completely naked and holding your phone. Immediately, he positioned you flat on your back and his thick thighs pushed onto your own firmly so you were basically folded. Your breath hitched when you felt his cock resting against your sensitive cunt a bit too casually. The skin-on-skin contact allowed you to feel how hot it felt and the way it pleasured you when it rubbed against you every time San made even the slightest movement. "You can say whatever you want and I'll do whatever I want. Seems fair, doesn't it?" Your heart beat quicker and harder in your chest simply from the way he hinted at his plan. "What are you going to do?" You asked, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. San only raised a cocky eyebrow, not even bothering to answer you properly and just simply tapping away on your phone. You had even considered that he might have contacted one of your friends or worse, call them before he fucked you.

But San didn't give you enough time to overthink because, in a moment's time, San flipped your phone sideways, pressed a button, and started pushing inside you. Your eyes watered again from the stretch and even though you were well-lubricated thanks to San's torture on your cunt earlier and also his spit, his size didn't make things easier for you. His cock glided smoothly but your muscles tensed up from the sudden intrusion, slowing his pace a bit and restricting him from being too rough. "Look at Miss Independence breaking down over her boyfriend's cock like a common whore," he chuckled darkly, relishing in the way you whimpered his name and your body arching in pleasure at the feeling of him, "Come on baby, show the camera how you're in charge of everything you get or don't get," he mocked. You were sure that your tears were not just from being overstimulated but also from the humiliation. You were a proud woman who could confidently say that you have never let a man use you even if he tried. But there you were on your back, hands tied, and mind fuzzy, hyper-aware of the way your body just submitted to San's every whim, betraying your better judgment that was still screaming for you to push him off and make him get a taste of his own medicine. But of course, your body was as stubborn as your mind as it refused to go against San.

"San, put away the camera," you whined, turning away from the camera only to have San grab your cheeks in one free hand and force you to look back at him. "Why should I? If you want me to stop, then do it yourself. Take the camera away from me," he smirked as he adjusted his knees so he could start rolling his hips into yours, creating a steady rhythm.

From the screen, he could see the way you glared at him as his words, knowing full well that although he had challenged you to do something you could absolutely not do anything due to the fact that your hands were bound behind your back. Had it been any other circumstance, San would tell you how turned on he was with you at that moment. The way tears made your eyes seem like they were glittering, the way your cheeks were puffed and flushed from frustration, and the way your body was opened up for him to use. The fire between you two was one of the things that San loved.

"Come on, (y/n), show the camera what you can do," he egged, thrusting harshly into you which elicited a high-pitched squeal from your lips. "Fuck you," you whimpered but you did as he told as you began fucking yourself back and instead of matching his pace, you fucked yourself on his cock quicker, convincing yourself that it was, in a way, you taking charge over him. Though, the satisfied look on San's face, paired with the way he licked his bottom lip as he pointed the camera to where you two were connected, proved you otherwise. "I can get fucked if I want to, I control what I get," you stated albeit slightly unconvincingly as your quivering bottom lip served as a dead giveaway. "Of course you do," San cooed mockingly before his free hand dropped to between your legs to spread your pussy lips apart, allowing the camera to capture the way your cunt was swallowing him so greedily.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes when he saw your cunt pulsing and his head was running wild with filthy ideas. "Baby, I wanna breed you so bad so people would know who you belong to," Your breath hitched when his handsome face contorted into a chesire-like grin and your so-called control was stolen as quickly as you got it. "You're not gonna do shit to me San, I mean it," at this point, your defiance was more like a facade because you wanted what he was offering but your pride wanted to twist it around. San moved his hips quickly, greedily taking all of the pleasure he could get out of you. "Fuck, my big girl is gonna get creamed," he chuckled darkly, fucking you as he tried to keep the camera still to capture everything, particularly the way your cunt leaked so much arousal that his own crotch was wet with the transferred slick.

Your body was being used so well that your limbs (the free ones at least, which were your legs) were flailing about slightly. "Stupid little baby wants to have control when she can't even control her legs, she's fucked so stupid," he teased as you whined in protest, wanting to prove him wrong. So despite the weakness in your legs from the ministrations, you shifted your body around so that you were on your side and your legs were crossed over the other. The new position trapped San's cock inside you and the sensation of his cock being trapped halted his movements mid-way and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as a guttural groan echoed in your ears. You took his response as a mini triumph. "Fuck, you got tighter," he shuddered, body shaking as he took a shaky breath, "Were you trying to snap my dick off?" You feigned innocence as you began rocking your hips again, "Maybe yes, maybe no. Maybe if I snap your dick off it'll become mine," you smirked. "You conniving slut."

No longer caring about the camera, San tossed your phone to the side and started pounding into you in a pace that was animalistic. "F-fuck- Aah! San!" you squealed when he planted his left foot firmly on the bed and pounded harder as if he was trying to destroy your insides.

"Say you won't go out dressed like that again," he demanded, face planted on your chest as his abuse of your cunt continued. He began nipping, kissing, biting, and licking all over the skin of your breast and it almost succeeded in clouding your mind into absolute submission due to pleasure. But you managed to firmly shook your head, "I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, I'll do whatever I want!" you answered between harsh pants and heavy breathing.

You heard San click his tongue before he ripped himself off of you in a flash, leaving you on the edge of orgasm and cold. "What the fuck!?" you whined, instinctively trying to get up to chase after San but your bound hands prevented you from moving easily.

San tilted his head and mockingly pouted, "If you can do whatever you want then so can I, baby." Your eyes zeroed in on his hand that jacked his hard, leaking cock and you knew well enough that it wouldn't take him much to cum at that point. Despite his treatment towards you, you wanted his cum, you wanted his cum inside you. "San, you get back here and fuck me!" you scream-whined, desperate to find release.

Hearing your demand, San went back onto the bed and got closer to you. For a moment, you thought San was going back to fucking you but he simply slapped his cock on your face, taunting you. "You want me to fuck you now? I thought you were in charge of yourself," he smirked, rubbing the tip of his cock on your skin, leaving a trail of precum mixed with what was left of your arousal. You held yourself back from using your mouth to chase his cock but your sexual frustration was at its peak and it was at that moment that your resolve broke and you whined. "Sannie, please fuck me, make me cum and then breed me so other guys won't even get close to me, please, please."

That seemed to satisfy San because his next move was to finally release your hands from the hold of the makeshift handcuffs and flip you over so you were on top of him. The pooling slick allowed him to slip inside you rather easily and once he was buried inside, you let out a gasp. "Ride me," San demanded, eyes fixated on you and hands on your hips firmly. San's words barely concluded before you started fucking yourself on his cock, letting out all the frustration both sexual and emotional from the whole bullshit. You anchored yourself on San's broad chest and used him to chase your own release.

"Yeah baby, do it, fuck yourself on me. Use my cock like the big girl that you are," San goaded, smirking and panting from the feeling of your cunt hugging his cock so tightly. "T-told you I'm i-in charge," you panted, throwing your head back as the pleasure ran through your body like electric shocks, making you tingly all over. "Sure you are, baby," San groaned when he felt his release coming.

With one swift swivel of your hips, your body tensed, legs clamped and your orgasm broke like a wave crashing. "Fuck!" you squealed, a couple of tears fell down your face as your body fell backwards without detaching your core from San. Seeing you in your own state of ecstasy, San sat up and shuffled around so he could have his chance chasing his high with you. You were in such a state of blissful release and satisfaction that when San started to overstimulate you once again with his cock, all you could do was groan and turn, trying to get away from him half-heartedly. "I'm cumming inside you, okay? I'm gonna paint you with my seed," San panted into your ear as his lips nipped at the skin, causing the area to tingle and you to whimper as you nodded weakly.

It didn't take long for San to cum inside you, fulfilling his previous promise. He let out a low, breathy moan that got your cunt clenching as he rode his release, making sure that his cum was not wasted and was kept inside you.

Neither of you spoke as you tried catching your breaths, still trying to cool down from the rigorous activity and for you specifically, your mind too far gone to recover so quickly. San momentarily peeked at the edge of the bed, particularly at your ruined dress and couldn't help but smirk, thinking that at least he had one problem done.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet

permalist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @surveilenceysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @haatohwa @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @angelicyeo @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama @kawennote09 @hongjoong-lovebot @stopeatread

[lo1k-diamonds]

A woman's best friend 💜

PAIRING: Taehyung x (f)reader

SUMMARY: When you met, you and Taehyung hit it off instantly, becoming the closest of friends. You thought he was off limits, meanwhile, he’s been begging for a chance to put an end to your friendship.

WORD COUNT: 6,992 

GENRE: friends to ?, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: mutual pining, dirty talk, body worship, nipple play, oral (both), rough, sweet, bittersweet, mentions of alchool, talks about Tae's sexuality

A.N. I heard Fri(end)s and had the idea for this fic... I love this song sooooo much 💜 Thanks to @downbad4yoongi for the beta! I don't know if I should do a part 2... we'll see 😁

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs | AO3

“Fuck, what I wouldn't give for cock right now.”

Your voice came out in a low groan right before you brought your cold beer bottle to your lips to take a few swigs. The TV was blaring a new episode of Physical:100, and you understood everyone’s obsession with Amotti’s body. For you, it was the lack of sex mixed with alcohol, hormones, and being exposed to hot guys on the TV on a Saturday night. Well, and in real life.

You looked at Taehyung out of the corner of your eye. He had taken off his black leather jacket, but his tight black shirt accentuated his chest and wide shoulders. His dark eyes had jumped to yours at your words, but he was drinking his beer and didn’t stop. He was very handsome, something you had noticed the moment you met during photography class when he asked you for help in a project. Your heart had fluttered hard, but had since calmed down — he didn’t look at you that way. He was there to admire Amotti’s abs with you. 

At least you had a friend to share these debaucheries with.

“I mean,” he voiced as soon as his lips were free. “I have one right here.”

You threw your head back laughing, “I know.” You made sure to tap his chest playfully before reaching for another cherry in a bowl on the coffee table, pulling it from the stem between your teeth. “But you know…”

He was looking at you with his usual nonchalance, with legs spread, beer in his hand, and completely relaxed into your couch, but his eyebrow twitched.

So you nodded, “Alright, let me put it better.” You suddenly realized you could be offending him somehow: it was not because a person with a cock was present that they would want to have anything to do with you. So you corrected yourself, “What I’d give for a good fucking.”

He nodded, seemingly understanding, and you smiled, turning to the TV again. You were happy your friendship was like this; you used to talk about who you were attracted to and help each other out, and now you could openly comment on your thirst. It was perfect.

“Still applies.”

You turned to look at him so quick you almost got whiplash. Your eyes were wide, and your mouth blabbered before you could think, “What? But I helped you get it on with what’s his name a few months back.”

Your head was spinning, you were so confused. That night out had been the proverbial nail in the coffin of your secretly harbored hope. 

“Yeah, so?” His voice was monotone at best. “I’m pansexual.”

Your eyes widened comically as your cheeks flushed red. “Oh… I… I…”

“Assumed?” He raised an eyebrow again, and you were flustered, but still noticed him fidgeting, with his knee jumping repeatedly.

“Well… Yeah, kind of,” you admitted, with shame forcing your eyes down. Amotti showed on the TV again and you glanced. “You only ever talk about guys in front of me.”

You knew it before it was out of your mouth that it was a lame excuse, and he did too because he scoffed, “Yeah, well. What else do you want to talk about?”

“That’s not fair,” you complained, frowning with embarrassment burning your chest.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested in hearing my thoughts on women.”

He was looking away now, and you could hear a tinge of bitterness, and it pricked your heart. 

“Tae, that’s not true,” you insisted, reaching to put a hand on his arm so he’d look at you. Was that resentment? It hurt you deeply. “I want to hear your thoughts about everything,” you admitted with a shy smile, and his eyes softened. “And I’d wish we could talk about anything. I mean, look at what I just said.”

His lips twitched before he reached to catch your hand in his. He couldn’t see you sad, especially not about something like this. It could be that you had the wrong impression because he never bothered clarifying, and that was on him too. The reason he was deeper in his feelings for you, than he had ever been with anyone else, was you saying things like those, treating him like that. It was the reason he had canceled his weekend plans to be with you last minute, it was why he wanted to hold your hand, and at long last, why he was done being just friends with you.

“Fair. You’re right,” he relented, turning on the couch to you more comfortably. “Sorry, that’s not why.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you braved through it, “Why, then? Why haven’t we ever discussed this before?”

It would have been so easy to deflect, or act offended about his sexuality even being a topic of conversation, but he wasn’t doing that. He was putting the cards on the table tonight.

“I thought… You were so open-minded and welcomed me to join your friends and… I thought that if you knew, you’d treat me differently. Like just any other guy, and then we wouldn’t have become friends.”

“Tae…” You shook your head lightly, disappointment pulling the corners of your lips. He thought that of you?

“I also needed your help with that midterm project, so it was a life-or-death situation.”

He said it sheepishly, caressing your hand in his, and you chuckled, “That was so long ago.”

He nodded, lowering his eyes to your hands, and you kept a sigh from coming out. Maybe you were wrong to presume, but it was easily done when he blended in so easily with your group of girlfriends. Not because he wasn’t manly, but because he acted with grace and care, and had no qualms holding your hand or showing affection when most guys wouldn’t be caught dead doing that to a friend.

You nodded, “I thought we became friends…”

“We did,” he agreed, though his voice was an octave lower.

“So can, or can I not, say I’m craving a good fucking?” You squeezed his hand with a grin on your face before bringing your beer to your lips again. You didn’t care about his sexuality, and you’d been friends for so long you couldn’t read more into his actions, even if you wanted to delude yourself. 

You had hoped to lighten the mood and get back on topic, and you did. Sort of.

“You can always say it,” he mused, eying you with a darker look in his eyes once they locked with yours. “The question is: do you want to do something about it?”

“What can I do about it?” you asked with amusement before taking another swig.

“Fuck me.”

You would have choked if you hadn’t already swallowed. Instead, you gaped at him with eyes like a deer caught in headlights, “What?”

“I’m down if that’s what you want.”

You blinked for a second, taking in his casual demeanor as he sat on your couch, totally chill. Then you grabbed a pillow and swatted him right across the face.

He jumped in place, checking if he hadn’t spilled anything over the couch or himself. “What?!”

“What what?” You asked, pulling the pillow and throwing it away on the floor so he’d check on himself comfortably.

“What was that for?”

“I’m being serious, and you’re messing around!”

You couldn’t help your blushing cheeks, but you could keep things casual by taking a bit of inspiration from him.

You just didn’t expect him to shuffle in his spot with a pout, “I’m not messing around, I’m serious.”

You grimaced, shaking your head in disbelief, not even able to contemplate such an outlandish thought.

But he stayed put looking at you, as laid-back as always, and you felt the consciousness sober you up a little. That was him being serious.

“You… You’d—” You swallowed, annoyed by your own hesitation. “You’d fuck me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

His reply was instantaneous, and he bit the inside of his bottom lip. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Or better yet, said it like that. It wasn’t like that was all he wanted to do. It wasn’t like he was proposing a one-night stand, for you to become fuck buddies, or— What was he even suggesting?

“Well,” you spoke up before he could chastise himself internally. He could only look at you with bated breath. “Even if you’re into women, I never thought you’d… be into me.”

It could have made his head spin, but instead he sat more upright and frowned, “Why not?”

“I’m not all fit and pretty and shit.”

You were mumbling with your eyes on the floor, and he had to keep himself from scoffing, “Are you serious? There is nothing wrong with how you look.”

“No, just—” You glanced at him and instantly knew you wouldn’t be able to explain it properly. Or, better yet, that he’d never let you have your way. So instead, you huffed and rubbed your face, “Ugh, but… you always see me bare-faced and—”

“Fuck if that matters,” he shook his head, more irritated than you thought he’d be. “You know damn well none of that matters. You look good without makeup, your curves are crazy, and you have other attributes that top it all off.”

You couldn’t help laughing and pulling your legs under you as you got more comfy. The action got you closer to him, but you didn’t mind that. You were pretty convinced he was just messing around. “Like what? My wonderful personality?”

He smiled; he liked seeing you laughing and even more that you were leaning into him, with your arms pressed to each other. “I was going to say a significant chest size, but your personality is wonderful.” You burst out laughing, hiding in his shoulder, and although he liked you being relaxed and touchy with him, he wanted you to truly hear it. “I mean that.”

“Yeah, right!” You managed to say, still laughing. “Did we drink too much?”

You were grinning and shook your nearly empty bottle before putting it on the coffee table. You sat back, still leaning into him, and saw worry on his face for the first time. “Have you? If you have, then this conversation stops here.”

“I only had one bottle…”

“Me too.”

He raised it as if to imply it was that one and took it to his lips to finish it in one go. The gesture gave you a time-off from his gaze and allowed you to try to process what you two were talking about. You knew him well enough to gather he wasn’t pranking you, but you were unsure where that landed the two of you. You couldn’t possibly reevaluate your interactions, talks, and bond over this new light. That wouldn’t be justified, and regardless, you wanted his friendship. You wanted him in your life, by your side, being a part of everything, while you made sure to be a part of his everything.

He leaned to put his empty bottle next to yours before sitting back, “Would you fuck me?”

His tone was neutral, and suddenly your stomach lurched. Fucking wasn’t the word on the top of your head, but that wasn’t what you two were talking about.

You scoffed, “I’m not fucking blind.”

“What does that matter? I’m asking you seriously.”

His gaze had all the certainty someone as handsome and amazing as he could have. Your instinct was to cover your face before your feelings could be easily read and groan, “Ughhh.”

“What?” He sat closer, facing you, though your legs were already touching.

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Ughhhh!”

“Yes or no, come on!”

“Ughhhh!”

You couldn’t see how frustrated he was becoming. Why were you groaning into your palms instead of answering his very important question?

He called your name, you groaned, and he almost tried ripping your hands away. Instead, he brushed your arms, “Words! Come on, use words! Why don’t you just say it? Yes or no? Must be a no if you’re—”

“Shut up!!” You exploded, revealing your wide, glistening eyes and pink cheeks. He was surprised. “Why?? Because it could ruin our friendship!”

“Saying if you’d fuck me or not will not ruin our friendship, even if it’s a no.”

Your face scrunched up in a mix between a plea and worry, but your lips remained sealed. He let his head fall back with a sigh, then faced you again.

“You know what might?” He paused, waiting for you to raise your eyes to him. That was all he needed to spill it out, “Saying that I want to give you the fucking you’re craving.”

You clenched around nothing right as your heart somersaulted, spreading a burn down your chest. You couldn’t even blink away from his stare, locked as you were. Instead, you swallowed, and he continued, as if spurred by your silence.

“Fuck you into a slobbering mess, and right now, I can think of like five different ways of doing it.”

You blinked, and that was the extent of your capabilities. He raked his fingers through his dark hair, and your only thought was how easy that would have been — you, a drooling mess in whatever one of those five ways. You only needed one, and it didn’t even need to be that complicated. He could start with his fingers in your mouth and—

“Starting by taking that stupid bra off and licking your n—”

You squealed and reached to cover his mouth with your hand. Your cheeks burned; thinking it and saying were two very different things!

He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away, uncovering his mouth but choosing silence. And you realized that saying something could only make it worse. You had gotten on your knees and were almost straddling him at this point. He had stayed put and, funnily enough, your deep breaths were raising and lowering your chest closer to him than before. He seemed to notice this too because his eyes roamed over your legs, your shorts, your white top, your chest, your neck, and finally made it to your eyes. You didn’t just watch him attentively observing you, you felt it in the tingles tracing you under his gaze, as though you needed to feel him somehow.

The tension was climbing up your spine, reminding you to move your neck just a little to release it, making your long hair fall over your chest instead. The simple motion was enough to draw his eyes and tighten your nipples, and your underwear clung further to you inadvertently. 

His eyes on yours had you shuddering, and his thumb rubbing your skin only amplified it. “Just say the word. If that’s what you want, just say the word.”

The last drop was his velvety voice. That wonderful trust inducing, hypnotizing, delicious voice that you’d follow to the end of the world.

You were already nodding, and you still managed to hoarsely voice, “Yes.”

His eyes read your lips, but he didn’t move, and you faltered. You were unaware of how you were leaning into him, eyes fixed on his lips, absolutely bewitched. At that moment, all your hesitation melted away as you licked your lips. You were not beyond asking for a taste when he shortened the distance between you in the blink of an eye, making you gasp.

His big, warm hand instantly reached your jaw, supporting your head gently. His lips grazing yours with the utmost softness were what convinced you to close your eyes. Screw the shock trying to freeze you and steal this opportunity from you. You pressed his lips harder, removing any hesitancy from what you were doing — you wanted this.

You wanted to feel Taehyung’s kiss. You wanted to feed your curiosity, give sense to the fantasies sprouting in your head when you were lonely and heated, and learn what that forbidden fruit tasted like. 

Truthfully, you thought your lips were the only way to feel and taste him because at any moment it would all end. But as he kissed you back, matching your eager curiosity, you sighed. You succumbed to grabbing his dark hair in your fists, breathing in shakily when his hands framed your waist without an ounce of reluctance. You kept fearing you were acting crazy, that he would push you back and laugh this off as being drunk. It was why you couldn’t stop pressing him closer, sighing into his mouth every time his hands moved on your curves, licking against his tongue when it dared teasing you, and nibbling his bottom lip whenever he dared to stray.

You hardly noticed when he moved over the couch because his lips never left yours. And whether he’d pull you to his lap or lay you under him, it mattered little as long as he didn’t stop. All he did was kneel on the couch in front of you, kissing you harder. His fingertips touched the skin just beneath the hem of your top, and you jumped, bringing them further up your sides under the fabric. You were breathing heavily just at the feel of his wide hands exploring the expanse of your stomach, but when he reached your bra, your breath hitched. His words were still burning inside you, making you clench at the thought he evoked.

You opened your eyes and found him looking at you, puffy lips bruising yours as he sneaked his fingertips under the bra, digging gently at the supple skin. His tongue peeked, licking your lips slowly in a tease as his thumbs brushed your hard nipples over the fabric, and you groaned.

You didn’t care anymore, you were irrational. Yes, you had covered his mouth out of embarrassment before — the embarrassment of how much you wanted him to do what he was saying, and now he would. You were a train about to derail and nothing could stop you.

His dark eyes were still locked with yours as you squirmed to unclasp your bra at your back, trying to get rid of it. As soon as you did and the fabric no longer protected you, he leaned down and licked through your white top, finding a nipple all too easily. You squirmed but pressed his head to your chest harder, ignoring the bra almost around your neck, looking to feel exactly what he wanted to do to you.

He, on the other hand, found the bra obstructing the view of your face contorting in pleasure annoying, and got rid of it quickly by passing one of the strips down your arm. You were so immersed in gripping his hair and feeling him lick and pinch your nipples that you didn’t even notice. Only when he caught your lips again, grabbing and squeezing both breasts hungrily, did you notice there was no bra anymore, only your moan inside his mouth. He was devouring your whimpers, drinking every sigh as you enjoyed his hands on you, unable to hide it.

His lips trailed down your jaw and neck, and you squirmed, disliking what you thought was growing distance between you two. Instead, it made you realize that he had kneeled on the floor in front of you, and that his hands were squeezing your sides before dragging your top up. His open mouth kisses between your breasts gave you goosebumps, making you eager to roll your hips against him, but it was when his hands cupped your breasts and squeezed them to his face that you moaned, melting between your legs.

“Tae,” you breathed a moan, half in wonder, half in a plea. You wanted him to have you like you never wanted anything else before.

His name on your lips wantonly like that made his dark eyes flick to yours in what you believed was a line being crossed. He pulled the top above your head, parting from your chest only the time needed for this, before finally licking and biting your nipples, squeezing and groping whatever his mouth couldn’t catch. Your moans were shooting pure desire through his veins, especially as you let your head fall back to enjoy. Your nails were holding onto his shirt by his shoulders, not trying to stop him as he traced your hips and played with the hem of your shorts, but quite simply letting his mouth work you up.

You squirmed beneath him to let him drag your clothes off, and barely contained a squeal at his mouth trailing lower. You were feverish, wet, hot, absolutely derailed not just with the view, but with the anticipation. This was why you almost keened when, feeling him kiss your legs down to your knees, you looked down. Your panties were still on, and he was pecking your skin, feeling the smoothness of your legs with his hands before stopping. His eyes fixed on yours, glistening with just as much desire, but then his eyebrows twitched.

You were already exposed, winded, flushed, dazed, and there was only one thing you wanted. “Are you going to eat me out?”

“If you let me.”

“Please,” you breathed, raising your knees to your chest in an offering.

The corners of his mouth twitched as though you had promised him candy, and he didn’t hesitate to lean down. His nose rubbed at your clothed center, and just him breathing deeply before nuzzling the skin around your panties made you hold in a shaky sigh. You would fall apart so easily if he kept teasing you like that. Your legs were trembling, you could barely take in enough oxygen, and then he pressed his lips to you. A low groan stayed inside your chest, as though the very sound could distract you from his kiss. It was both breathtaking and short of a tease to feel him pressing, grazing his lips across your covered slit, nuzzling your core to maddening effects. You couldn’t help your squirm or your hand shooting to his head with your request, and he obliged.

As though he was done with waiting, the same as you, he pulled the fabric aside and dove in. His groan was subtle, covering you with goosebumps right before you lost all sense and fell back. You didn’t know if it was the anticipation, the fantasy becoming reality, or the sheer hunger, but it floored you. His hands pressed your legs harder, almost as if he couldn’t let you get away, and he groaned. You felt it deep inside you, right as his tongue collected your slick on his way to your clit. He licked over it, driving you to squeeze your eyes shut, and in waves, barely kept you afloat. You bucked your hips to increase the friction, and he pressed his face harder, letting you feel the tip of his nose, tongue, and lips in open-mouthed kisses, but whenever you thought you would peak, he drew back. You didn’t realize your own push and pull, lulling yourself to his rhythm, until a louder whimper drew him to cup your ass and raise you to his mouth. He latched on, keeping a steel rhythm on your clit that was impossible to deny, regardless of how much you tried to writhe and keen. Your core burned with how tense you were, a sensation so consuming, you stopped breathing. You wanted the moment it sparked and covered you ablaze, and it did.

You melted from that point on, trembling and moaning so hard that you lost touch. Taehyung’s mouth was latched to your core, lavishly mouthing you as you wiggled and squirmed, grabbing onto his hair so crudely, it probably hurt him. Yet he groaned, sucked and breathed you in, and you wanted it even harder. Your peak dissolved despite your wishes, and although you had to pull him away so he wouldn’t hurt you, the vision that met you was shattering.

The sight of him covered in your come was like nothing you had imagined, quite simply because it was real. He was really kneeled between your legs, kissing your inner thighs, with his hair tucked in your grasp. Your legs were still trembling, and you wanted only to relax into the pillows with your much sought release, yet in an instant, you realized that was not what you wanted at all.

You pulled him to you as you lowered your legs to give him space, wrapping them around his waist. He let you, almost caught off balance, but you left no margin for errors. You grabbed onto his shirt for good measure and crashed his mouth to yours, kissing him with as much hunger as you could muster in your dazed, satisfied haze. You didn’t want to leave it there, and if licking your come out of his mouth didn’t convey this, then you didn’t know what did.

Taehyung kissed you back, smiling almost tenderly before scrunching up his nose at your tongue tickling him. Yet, despite your glued cores, he wasn’t trying anything else. He wasn’t pushing, or exploring you anymore, and you would have cowered, if it wasn’t for the bulge pressed to you.

You rolled over him, getting him to sit on the couch before pulling away to kneel between his legs. No way he could eat you like that if he didn’t like it or was turned on, and you weren’t over your curiosity. You wouldn’t stop until you hit all stops.

“I always wondered,” you started, reaching your hands inside his shirt so you could scratch down his chest. “What it would be like for you to touch me,” you licked your lips as he smiled. “To touch you,” you mused, reaching his flat stomach. “For you to want me,” your hands cupped the bulge in his pants, and you shuddered at the harness twitching back. “Like I want you.”

You were brimming with desire, and knew he was too when he reached to grab your hair and crash your mouths together. To your surprise, he didn’t pull or push you in one direction or the other; it was as though he simply wanted to kiss you. If anything, he only hardened under your hand.

You couldn’t think about what that meant, only that you wanted to continue and fulfill all your dreams tonight. You unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, and he helped you get them and boxers off. Your chin almost fell in awe at the cock imposing before you, so hard and stiff it was pointing at you. So close to your face, it could only have been an invitation.

You touched it tentatively, feeling the soft, warm skin covering lengthy veins from base to top. Its puffy pink tip was the perfect size for you to lick, and you did. There was usually an order to these things, but not tonight. He looked pretty and hungry, and you wanted to eat him too.

Your tongue only took a taste before you sank your mouth on him. There was no way you could take him whole, as he was already poking the back of your throat, but it didn’t matter. You were there for the experience, for his taste, for that fucked out look on his face as he closed his eyes and let his jaw slack. Taehyung was fucking gorgeous, like the peak of human perfection, and it turned out it was even better when his cock was stuffing your mouth.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your plans escaped your mind; all that mattered was bobbing your head, lapping your tongue, sucking him and doing all that with your eyes fixed on his expression. It was the sweetest part of all — he liked it. He was breathing heavily, biting his bottom lip, blushing, and finally fluttering his eyes open. They were like candy; all his strength and power surrendered to your mouth, and you drooled. You finally closed your eyes and let your head fall as deep as you could take him, just to keep him there while you braced yourself for what you wanted.

You pulled away, letting him breathe a groan before facing him. “Said you’d fuck me.”

He blinked, almost stupefied, and you got up from your knees. You moved swiftly to the entryway to search in his jacket for what you were looking for, and when you turned around, you almost stumbled. Physical: 100 was still on the TV with the contestants showing off their physique, and yet they didn’t even come close to that view. Taehyung was tall, towering over your entire living room as he stood there, naked, hard, with dark, glistening eyes set on you. Not even his disheveled hair or the pants at the bottom of his feet made him look any less heavenly. That view was perfect, and you didn’t allow yourself to think too much about it.

Instead, you waved the condom you had just found, and he nodded, getting rid of the clothes by his ankles in the time it took you to reach him. The moment your hands were cupping his cheeks, he was already pulling you by the waist, eager to hold you and kiss you. He didn't hesitate to feel your curves, reaching your ass to pull you to him, and you molded yourself to him, arching your back into him.

You were dizzy with his attention, with his big hand squeezing your ass while the other gripped your hair, but when he meant to sit down, you pulled him to stay put. You grinned, giving him the condom, then got on the couch on all fours.

You didn't see his surprise, only felt a soothing hand on your ass down your leg. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please,” you sighed.

It wasn't much of a logical thought, but the idea was to have him in as many positions as you had fantasized. You doubted you'd get far — as soon as he was inside you, all ideas would evaporate — but doggy was good to start. You wanted him raw and deep, reaching places inside you no one could. Of course, you couldn’t have him raw, but if he fucked you without holding back, you'd already consider that a win.

Taehyung got on one knee on the couch behind you after covering himself and eyed you. You were vulnerable like that, with your unblemished back arching and long hair falling over your shoulders. He’d like you in any position, but he couldn’t help pursing his lips. He touched your soft skin again, and you wiggled your ass for him, and although he bit it playfully just to make you jump and sigh, he still second-guessed it.

It felt impersonal. In all of his dreams of you, he rarely pictured being with you like this without at least a mirror so he could see you, so you two could communicate. He wanted to be with you, to feel and watch you writhe in pleasure, in the ways he could make you feel; not to turn your face away so he could use you. If anything, your face was what made it special.

You wiggled your ass again with an impatient sigh, and this time you pleaded, “Please, Tae.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw his expression softening before he got behind you. The feel of his cock brushing your folds had you shaking, but it was his nails scratching down your spine that did it. You fell back on him, unwilling to wait for him, and he let you, groaning. He helped your hips as you wiggled and searched to get him deeper, and as you did, you both sighed.

You could feel him stretching you despite your previous orgasm, and you smiled. In another circumstance, you’d just enjoy the show without thinking much of it, but just the fact that it was Taehyung turned you on again. And when he started moving, he delivered.

It wasn’t just his hips smacking yours, the crown of his cock teasing your cervix and making you groan and curl your nails around the couch armrest. It was the way he held your waist, leaned over you to peck over your spine, and responded to every reaction of yours. You mewled and tried fucking into him? He fucked you harder, adjusting the angle so you’d keen mindlessly. You moaned and hid into the pillows, feeling so tense you didn’t know your name? He reeled back, slowing down his thrusts to let you breathe. You whimpered and called his name? He was instantly all over you, kissing your neck near your ear, asking if you were okay without ever stopping giving you what you wanted.

You looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes as he kissed your skin there, and you thought that was impossible. You knew Taehyung was attentive, but that bordered on perfection, and you didn't know how to deal with that.

“Harder,” you whispered, glistening eyes boring into his.

“Are you sure?”

You grinned, “Said you’d leave me a slobbering mess.”

“You sure look like it,” he teased, and you laughed. You knew you were drooling onto the couch, but you also knew he was holding back.

“Give everything to me,” you sighed, and your lightness earned you a nod.

The second he pulled away, you wondered if you knew what you asked for, and the second he showed you, you knew you did. He grabbed your hair in a fist to keep your back arched, and your mind melted. The way he rutted into you, holding your waist so you’d stay in position to take every thrust, only made you keen and moan louder. He felt so good it was unbearable; how did he reach deeper and harder when you thought you were at your limit? His groans, his scent, his nails piercing your skin to hold you in place; you could barely function in the frenzy.

You knew you were tightening because his focus was faltering, but when he stopped, you were worried. “Tae?” You asked, trying to swallow the dizziness and figure out why that stairway to heaven had suddenly halted.

“I can’t—” His voice was a whisper as he tried regaining his breath. “I’ll come.”

Your eyebrows jumped, and you almost smiled, but you bit your lip to keep it in, “How’s that?”

He was still squishing your flesh in his hands, but he took one hand to brush his sweaty hair out of his eyes, “You’re so tight and warm and—” You clenched involuntarily, and he grabbed your ass again, “You fucking tease.”

You stifled a laugh and could swear he’d spank you, but instead he covered you and bit your shoulder. You finally laughed, “Let me ride you.”

He hummed, and instead of answering, he let you take the brunt of his weight as he held your hips. You groaned with the effort, still shuddering at his lips tracing your cheeks to your neck, but then you moaned lavishly. He was pressing himself slowly to you, reaching inside you and twitching, and you thought you’d be too desensitized, but it was the opposite. Your core hugged him, sucking him in with the subtle rolls of your hips, and he groaned into your ear, making you flutter even harder. It was as though he couldn’t help himself, ensuing that small push and pull enough to get you both crazy.

But you insisted, “Tae.”

And he was off of you in a second. He sat down and helped you turn around and straddle him. You were flushed, covered in sweat, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were so wet you were sliding, but he guided your hips as you grabbed his cock. Just looking at him beneath you, you knew it would feel amazing, but something about staring into his eyes as you sank onto him rewired your priorities. Instead of looking to give a show or tease him, you let your chin drop the same as his and reached to hold his head in place. Your nails grazed his skin as you gripped his hair by the back of the nape and rolled your lips to feel him inside you as deeply as possible. His eyebrows knitted as he looked down, and you burned under his gaze, wanting for nothing more than for him to feel as good as you did. And by the way his fingers were digging into your hips and his droopy eyes came back to yours, you knew he did. You knew that every jerk of your hips stole his breath too, squeezed his tip to your smooth walls, and ground on him in a way that made you hover even though you were sinking.

Your fingers curled around his hair, “I can’t hold— I’ll come—”

If he was surprised at how easily you fell apart, he didn’t let on. You searched for his kiss right before your orgasm swept you away, and he held you, kissing you and receiving your deep moans onto his skin as though it was praise.

You were dizzy when you came down and held onto his shoulders, and it was almost funny when he grabbed you to lay over you on the couch. A euphoric giggle almost burst out as he pecked and nuzzled every inch of your face — you could swear you were with Taehyung, but that wasn’t—

“Can I finish?” He whispered against your mouth and you opened your eyes.

Taehyung was really holding you in his arms, balls deep inside you, smiling with a hint of amusement.

You nodded, and he hummed, “Sure you had your fill?”

You shuddered, aware of the state of things. No.

As it was, you’d never have a proper fill because you didn’t want it to end. But as reality would have it, Taehyung was just fucking you. Just like you asked.

So you nodded and kissed him, refusing to let those feelings surface right now. You started, you’d finish. The final destination was just ahead; you had to know what he felt like when he came.

He kissed you back and restarted the sweet movement of his hips, and you sighed. He held your legs high so you could wrap them around him, and grabbed onto your hair to keep your chin up. You could barely breathe without a moan, and looking into his eyes while he fucked you made it all the harder. His lips were parted for soft sighs, and you squirmed under him, adjusting your hips. It was enough for him to falter and let you hide in his chest. You breathed him in, biting down on the soft flesh out of sheer frustration. He felt so good you could lose yourself again, but that wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t yours.

Still, his love felt like heaven. So when he pulled your head up again to face him, you did. You moaned your pleasure so he’d know how amazing he felt, scratched him closer, and looked into his eyes just like he wanted. In an instant, he groaned, and his hips faltered. He crashed into you, kissing you between stifled moans, before he nuzzled your neck and stilled.

You hugged him to you with your eyes closed, taking deep breaths. He was breathing down your neck, recovering, and you matched him, feeling deeply every time your nose picked up a mix of his cologne with the sex scent still in the air. For as long as that lasted, you were free of thoughts and worries.

But then he got up, pulling out of you to get rid of the condom. And although he laid back down next to you, pulling you into his arms with a sweet smile, the spell had been broken. 

You started trembling, and he noticed. He took your fingertips to his lips to kiss them, ready to ask you cheekily if he had given you more than you bargained for when you sniffled.

His heart fell through; he looked at you, and you tried to hide in his chest.

He brushed your hair behind your ear, “Hey.”

You couldn’t face him; your eyes stayed shut so you wouldn’t cry.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was low and laced in worry, and your heart hurt even more. You didn’t want him to worry, he was just doing what he said he would. He just had no idea how you felt.

You shouldn’t have done this. You were terrified to lose him. Nothing was worth that.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship,” you managed to say before a sob shook you. “You’re my best friend.”

Taehyung almost smiled; if he had only heard those words, he would have promised you that nothing was lost. That you two together never spelled just friends in his mind, and that he wanted so much more than that. 

But he could feel you, and see you: the lines on your face that spelled the unshed tears, the way you were trembling in his arms, and your refusal to face him.

His heart sank. A storm of questions raged inside his mind — was it him, was it the sex, did he hurt you, was it not what you expected, did you never want this to happen, did you regret it — but he asked none of it. The more you tried to stay put and not cry, the more sad and certain he became that you were distressed. That you wanted him just as a friend, and that nothing he had done had convinced you otherwise.

You opened your tearful eyes. “I don’t want things to change.”

He opened his mouth then closed it, a lopsided smile showing instead. He couldn’t help eying your lips and regret with his whole heart not having stolen one last kiss to remember you by, to settle his heart, but there was nothing to do about it. Instead, he looked up at your teary gaze and brushed your cheek, “Don’t worry about it.”

[kiestrokes]

Day 14: Yang Jeongin | NSFW

▸ Idol: Yang Jeogin of SKZ ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: a hard hour that got away from me, drabble, smut, little brothers best friend AU. ▸ Vibe: reader has a corruption kink and their little brothers best friend is really testing their control this holiday season. ▸ Warnings: language, slight age gap like five-ish years, drinking, club scene.

Sexually Explicit Content: CORRUPTION KINK DNI if this is not something you vibe with, kissing, groping/fondling, slight sub/dom dynamics, masturbation (male), mischievous turn of events.

🗝️ Note: Has not beta-ed by me or anyone else. Happy wipmas 🤗 @minttangerines is once again at fault for their bby bread agenda, thank you to Luce, @chans-room and @minisugakoobies for your input on the direction of the story.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

Jeongin.

Your brain hissed the name of your little brothers best friend, as he appeared in your line of sight. Through the undulating bodies, strobing multicolored lights and pulse of the speakers.

In the last week of being home for a visit with your family, he had been everywhere. Inescapable. No longer the thin, shy boy with sometimes snarky remarks. He had grown into his body.

A body that apparently he had no issues in constantly showing off. You were downstairs meticulously pouring creamer into your coffee, watching it for the right shade of caramel, when he appeared. Shirtless. Gray sweats hanging loose around his cut hips. Creamer spilled across your hand and on to the counter.

Jeongin had laughed your name then, rushing over to help you clean the mess. When all you wanted to do was scream for his half naked body to get away.

The pattern continued on like this over the last week. Jeongin choosing to nestle himself between you and your baby brother on movie night. The heat of his warm thigh seeping into your toes through the protective blanket shield, as you had your knees tucked under you for comfort. How he had sweetly asked to share the blanket with you, his hands underneath, resting on your bare ankle.

Your control and grip on reality slowly slinking away as your urge for depravity started to rear its ugly, seductive head. After watching polite and coy Jeongin interact with your other family members and childhood friends. Your teeth tingled at the thought of showing him an taboo side of things he probably never knew to exist.

"Noona!"

Suddenly that timid pup, turned sly fox had made the decision to approach you first. You assumed it was out of courtesy, being you had been gawking at him for the last five minutes.

"Jeongin, my friends and I have a private room upstairs would you like to join us?"

A familiar dimpled grin greets you in answer, you take his hand and guide him towards the stairs for the bottle service suites.

The two of you spend the night with your friends, catching up on his new role at work, introducing him to new liquors and tinctures of familiar ones. His thigh purposefully pressed into yours at all times. You read this as his bashfulness still bleeding through, and your stomach tightens as the urge to exploit flames across you.

"Noona," Jeongin calls, hand tugging your arm so that you will turn back to him from your conversation with a previous male classmate.

"Can I have a sip?"

He is pulling the wrist holding you glass towards him, your knee slots ever so slightly between his thighs to accommodate the angle he is asking and your willpower dissipates when he opens his knees to you.

"You're being quite needy," you tease, leaning in to squish his flushed cheeks and place the cup to his lips.

Jeongin drinks the entire glass under your unspoken instruction. His foxlike eyes boring into yours, asking, begging for more. You arrange a ride on your phone before pouring yourself another, much stronger drink.

The car ride is thick with the promise of more, Jeongin's hand interlaced with yours on his thigh. A quiet move, stating you were the one in control and that he was your submissive.

The two of you stumble into your bedroom, the house empty tonight as the rest of your family was attending your Aunt's annual holiday party. Jeongin sprawls to a sitting position on your bed, legs opened wide, head lifted and eyes on you, calling you in.

"Jeongin-" you step between his open thighs, raking a hand through his shaggy hair.

He tilts his face upwards, sitting up taller, "noona."

His hands ghost on the outside of your body, not touching, but asking wordlessly for permission to touch. You groan, climbing into his lap and grasping one of his hands to press it into your ass. That is half bared to him, where your dress rucked itself up.

Jeongin moans your name, fingers biting into the bare cheek of your ass as he tumbles back onto the bed just as your lips ghost over his.

"The room is spinning."

You cannot stop the tipsy giggle that leaves your lips at his confession. A paradox for how his hands are greedily trying to roll your hips into his trapped erection.

Sitting up, you press your full weight into his pelvis, hands moving to undo what few buttons are left to be opened on his shirt. Jeongin groans underneath you, bucking into your weight.

"Shhh, don't get so worked up just yet," you kiss his cheekbone before sitting back, "sit up for me."

Jeongin obeys, and you help him out of his shirt, leaving his lap to carefully drape it across your desk chair. Stripping out of your clothes as he watches, until you're naked in front of him and he moves to reach for you but you brush him off.

Bipassing his reaching arms to rifle through your suitcase, plucking out a pair of soft boy shorts and your favorite oversized t-shirt.

"Noona-" Jeongin calls, his voice tainted with the faintest whine.

You come into his space then, planting a soft kiss to his lips and down his cheek, along his jaw and neck. As your hands work to unbutton his jeans, he lifts his hips with your guidance and you gift him another soft kiss before pulling away to neatly fold his pants and place them on the chair with your other discarded clothing.

Jeongin rolls his socks off himself, standing up and placing them to join the others. The air between the two of you fizzes with anticipation. Slowly, tauntingly you reach up to cup him through his briefs, watching as his head kicks back with a pitchy groan.

"Oh," you cannot help the disappointment that bleeds into the word.

"Just give me a minute, its all of the alcohol."

"Come on."

You lead him to the bed, "I expected something like this, lets just sleep it off for a bit."

Jeongin nods in disappointment as he climbs in next to you under the covers. You groan, wrapping yourself around him as planting another kiss to his lips but pulling away before he can deepen it. Jeognin nuzzles into your chest, the booze effectively pushing him into a deep slumber

Your awoken to the sound of a car door slamming the next morning, jerking back into Jeongin. He grumbles nestling his erection into you ass as his arms tighten around your stomach.

"Jeognin-"

He lets out a sleepy click of his tongue, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace circles with his thumb on your stomach and the other roughly cupping your breast through the threadbare t-shirt.

You gasp, ass kicking back into his hips as he pinches your nipple. His other hand teasing he band of your panties. You clutch his hand to stop it and he groans, rubbing against you with this newfound embrace.

"I think everyone is home."

"I don't care-" Jeongin's teeth tug at the shell of your ear and you pant quietly in response.

Your hips rocking right along with his, teetering on the edge of your corruption kink and being the respectful eldest daughter. The first winning out when he whines your name into the side of your throat.

His fingers drift over your thighs and you tug them away from their destination and he moves off in a different direction. Palming your bare breast, stroking your lips, fisting your ass.

You groan, rolling over in his arms to caress every inch of his toned front. Finally letting him pull your mouth to his is a desperate kiss. Mouths open to each other, tongues swirling and teeth biting. Your fingers travel across his toned back, down to squeeze his firm ass.

Jeongin moaning into your mouth, melting at every touch and stoke of your tongue. His impatient hand grabs your wrists, pressing it into his still clothed erection. You give it a firm squeeze before pulling away.

"We can't- not now."

Jeongin lets out a long whine, snatching both wrists and pinning you on your back to the bed.

"In-ah," you gasp.

His head diving to leave open mouth kisses down your neck, his hips rolling into your pelvis, cock pressing into your damp panties, pushing up your shirt to squeeze your breast.

"Noona, just let me-" he finally succeeds in cupping your pussy, lifting his head to watch as you bow into him with a silent gasp.

"We can't."

Jeongin drags his knuckles roughly over your clothed clit, causing you to convulse. Your nails biting into his forearm, as her hips rut on their own accord into his fist.

"You sure?"

Jeongin grips your jaw, diving in to kiss you again when someone walks past your locked door. You freeze, cheek snapping towards the noise. You know its your brother by the sound of his dragging feet and you have his best friend on top of you.

You press both hands to his chest, "we can't, not now."

Jeongin stiffly moves off of you and you slip out of the bed, not even glancing back or speaking to him. You strip out of your clothes, leaving them scattered on the floor and slip into your on suite bathroom for a shower.

Jeongin groans, raking a hand down his face, down his abdomen and into his boxers. He can't believe after all his planning he still didn't get to experience you.

Jeongin had caught glimpses over the years, behind doors that hadn't full closed, in the school theatre when you and whatever lucky partner happened to be with you thought no one was home. How you teases and taunted the shy (fit) boys into submission. Had them coming so hard from orgasm denial, all over themselves.

You had a type and Jeongin knew he was halfway there, he just needed to focus on building his body. But he had accomplished that by twenty-one, yet you still wouldn't give him the attention he so desperately sought. So he decided he would have to use your own kink against you, slinking into a little corrupting himself.

Things were going so well until the alcohol hit his dick last night. He grunts, fisting himself hard, giving himself a frustrating tug when another idea hits.

Jeongin sits up, quickly kicking out of his boxers, he tucks them under your pillow, damp with your own arousal and his precum. Stiffly he walks over to retrieve your discarded panties from the floor. Lifting them to his nose, the salty almost cloudy scent of your essence floods his tongue and goes straight to his balls.

Jeongin reclaims his seat on the edge of your bed, your boy shorts clutched in one hand as he steals a pump of your lotion from the bedside table. Moaning as your scent fills the room, jasmine and ylang ylang. He strokes the lotion over his leaking cock. Head kicking back as the thoughts take over.

You're pinning him to the bed, soft pussy slicking up his cock until he's delirious, begging you to let him inside. You want him to come first, but he wants to come inside you to mix his release with yours, to claim you. He's fighting himself not to give in to your touch.

Jeongin's hips buck into his hand as he barrels towards his release, teeth biting into his lip to trap his whines inside until one last thrust he releases into your panties with a winded cry.

Chest heaving, he folds them neatly, setting your soiled panties aside so he can dress, sans boxers before stashing your underwear into the back pocket of his slacks and exiting your bedroom.

You cannot stand when things aren't in your control, when things are messy and especially when your favorite pair of sleep panties go missing.

Jeongin's heatbeat is in his throat as he sneaks out of your families home, a place he is much more accustomed to sneaking into. Both of your parents groaning about hangovers around the coffee pot in the kitchen. Your brother was probably sleeping face down in his unmade bed upstairs, winter coat still on.

Now it was just a waiting game.

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[gaiaseyes451]

2024 Fic Roundup / AO3 Ask Game

Oi, so many tags! Thank you @nosferatini, @kotias and @cheeseplants!

What fandoms do you write in?

Good Omens

How many words have you published in 2024?

Not including collaborative works: 129,329. Good grief, that feels like a lot.

What is your greatest achievement this year?

Honestly, I'm proud of myself for writing to deadlines this year. A lot of my writing was for events and I'm always terrified I won't make it but I did! I also art'd for the first time for @the-literal-kj

What are your favourite top three fics you've written this year?

Ostinato - Pianist Crowley summons Aziraphale back from Heaven. This let me lean into my pianist background, I loved writing this for the High Pollen Count event.

Breathless - The breath play kink fic that was never planned but @sixbynine-da demanded. I've never had a scene flow out of me like this and it isn't angst!

A Little Life - My first long fic. Folks say it's sad and it is, but to me it also... isn't... Forever indebted to @fuzzygoblin for the music prompt for the Good Omens Song and Poetry exchange and for gamely agreeing despite all the trigger warnings (before they knew it was me writing it). <3

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

Truthfully, I'm in my lowest point of the year right now. Haven't written a word since finishing Breathless. But I've got amazing friends in this community who have my back. I'll be okay.

What have you learned?

Tell the story you want to tell. Better to write for yourself and the handful of people the story will resonate with than to force a story you think will appeal to the masses. If it's pulling at you, it's pulling for a reason.

Reach out to your idols, I've yet to find one of the people I perceive as BNF's to be anything but kind and encouraging.

I'm pretty sure I can HTML just about anything with a general guide now.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I still have a roughly 20k draft of 1941 that I wanted to finish. It needs to be rewritten, but I will finish it.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

I beta for a lot of folks! I'm going to miss people, I'm so sorry. @adverbian's Is This Desire?

@kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon's Sins of Knowledge

@sixbynine-da's A Tricky Situation

@spectrallydistracted's If I Loved You Less ... We Could Have Coffee

Most everything by @the-literal-kj and @hakunahistata but particularly KJ's Show the Way and Haku's 21 Grams

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

Someone is Calling Him Shorewards by @harlotofupdog - The first fic that made me break my "I don't read WIPs" rule. Gorgeous and atmospheric and sexy and heartwrenching and mysterious. I don't know how I got the title of angst queen in our little group when Harlot wrote Shorewards.

Quite Contrary by @gingiekittycat - Poor Gingie has listened to me write honest to someone literary analysis of this fic as well as beg for multiple historical prequels. This one lives rent free in my head and will for a long time.

Play for Me the Music of Your Heart by @leviosally - There is one chapter left to go that I (and everyone else) am waiting for with baited breath, but now is a perfect time to start a read if you haven't yet. This is, in my opinion, the quintessential musician AU written by someone with a deep love and understanding of music. Spellbinding.

What ideas are percolating for next year?

@the-literal-kj and I are already working on our Heaven before the Fall story that we've been calling Bitter Things! The other big fic I'd like to get out is a Human AU where Peter Pan collides with Peaky Blinders. And, in January, expect.... wait for it... fluff

Who do you want to thank?

@hakunahistata, @the-literal-kj and @adverbian - You three cheer and challenge and cackle and cry and you make things better, both my writing and my day to day life. I'm grateful for you as beta's and I'm humbled to call you my friends.

@kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon, @dbacklot99 and @sixbynine-da - Y'all are the first real collaborators I've worked with on an as of yet unspoken project. I have so enjoyed working with you three and also becoming friends! Thank you for the randomness and the wonderful angst spirals and that utterly AMAZING Lucicrow birthday gift - Changing Keys

@goodomensafterdark community and all the wonderful folks who are following me here or have taken the time to kudos and/or comment on my work. Seeing what y'all create and hearing from you brightens my day immensely! I'm so grateful for this amazing, welcoming, exuberant fandom!

No pressure tags: I have no idea who hasn't been tagged yet, if you're mentioned above please take it as a tag. If you see this and want to play, please do and tag me!

[wildlife4life]

foaming at the mouth over the nfl au ❤️

I am honestly gobsmacked at how popular NFL Buck is considering American Football isn't the most popular around these parts. So I will never deny sharing a snippet of a much beloved fic. Here is a bit from the Ocean's 911 arc.

Eddie tries his damndest not to squirm under Hen and Chimney's annoyed glares. He shouldn't have said a word. He should have lied and said something along the lines of 'Yea my house was searched too. Was up all night cleaning.' But nope. He was honest to a fault and possibly now considered a traitor. "Why pray tell were you excluded from the search warrant?" Hen asks with a slight scowl. He clears his throat and looks anywhere but towards his fellow firefighters, "I have a good lawyer." Correction, Buck has a good lawyer and the moment he heard about the police wanting to question Eddie, Kameron's car was booked. "Uh huh. The blonde in the Armani pants suit and killer stilettos?" Hen questioned. "Mmhm. Her names Kameron Kane. Do you um, want her card? She could probably help the rest ya'll out." That earned another scowl from Hen and a snort of discontent from Chimney, "Pretty sure we can't afford the same lawyer that represents several professional athletes and other millionaires." Chim remarks. Eddie winces and grips his coffee cup tighter. Kameron was well known now a days, but when Eddie first met her, she had literally barged her way into Buck's room, drunk and bawling her eyes out about Connor, Buck's roommate at the time. She was only a first year law student and didn't even blink at seeing the future NFL star naked in bed with another man. Just stuck her clammy hand out, when she did notice Eddie and said, "I'm Kameron, Connor's-whatever. How the hell did Buck score you?" And became one of their closets friends. Evan hired Kameron the moment she passed the bar and immediately fired the lawyer on Maddie's self-defense case, replacing his misogynistic ass with Kameron. She won, made Maddie a national icon, and insured every dollar of Doug's estate went to the brave woman. Kameron's been building her empire ever since and she was a glaring link between him and Evan Buckley. So he really hoped his co-workers don't follow it to back to the quarterback. "Sorry. Honestly she told them that I really don't have much of a motive." Translation: The detectives found out during their investigation that Eddie was Evan Buckley's partner and robbing a bank for the amount of money that was missing was barely a drop compared to Buck's income. As for the diamonds, more than affordable for the millionaire quarterback (just look at Maddie's jewelry collection). The detectives probably also kept their search warrants away from Eddie after Kameron threatened to sue the entire department if even minute whisper about Evan's private relationship got out. Police showing up to the quarterback's home to search it would have been much louder.

WIP Tag Game

[fanfictilltheend]

❤️‍🔥Violent Heart my VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Convict Joel x Reader story snippet (preview) ❤️‍🔥

Hey!! You guys voted on which WIP you wanted a snippet from and you voted for this one: Violent Heart my VERY DARK no apocalypse slowburn Stepdad!Mechanic!Convict!Joel x Reader fic!! (Who likes the header I made???? thoughts??? thots???)

Part 1 of the story snippet // Part 2 of the story snippet // header/mood board with original image credits (please read all warnings for each part!)

Context for this snippet: Joel is Y/N's new stepfather and they're sitting on the couch talking. Y/N is a child (about 8).

WARNINGS: afab!you, mention of sarah dying, cancer mention, joel tears, hurt/comfort, use of Y/N, please use your best judgement and take care of yourself!!

“Joel?” she asks a little cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, kiddo,” he says as gently as he knows how.

“Who’s Sarah?”

His heart stops. His blood runs cold. 

“What? How did you–”

“You were talking. In your sleep yesterday,” she says, shrinking away a little and Joel feels sorry for scaring her again. “When we were watching Dexter. Well, you fell asleep right before. You were snoring and all, but you were also talking and mumbling that name. You sounded sad and scared.”

Joel should definitely not have allowed her to watch that! But that is hardly the point right now. 

His heart squeezes so tight it burns. What was there to say about Sarah – the entire reason his life had had any purpose? His perfect babygirl? The light of his life? 

He could lie. So easily too and Y/N would never know. He could say nothing at all. Hasn’t even told Erica about her yet. Hardly ever speaks to anyone about her these days.

And yet…

“She was my daughter,” he hears himself say softly. “She…got sick. Died of leukemia a while back. She was twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet he was just thinking about. Inside is a tiny school photo of Sarah – the last one she ever took. It’s faded a little, but she’s still smiling so big she could block out the sun. He shows it to Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she says and she really does look sorry. 

Not the way his co-workers and customers say it – almost as a reflex – to fill the void in the conversation. Her eyes are shimmering.  

“Nothin’ to do about it now,” he shrugs, running his thumb over the photo paper, softened with age. “But she was so damn special. My whole world.”

He has learned to repress the tears, not to show weakness, that is not hard. Not anymore. But the anger that broils up inside him – the injustice of it all – how he was unable to help her. Unable to save her. He feels almost like a child again, powerless in an unforgiving, unrelenting world. He wants to fight back!

He is so angry he begins to shake and his hands clench into fists. 

He wants to flip over the fucking coffee table – fling it across the room! He wants to punch in the glass of the flickering TV screen until his fist is broken! He wants to–He wants–

He just wants his babygirl back...

A sob, small and foreign rises in his throat, but he pushes it down. 

He thinks Y/N knows though. Can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

She reaches out a small hand and touches his fist, pushes it down gently into the soft fabric of the couch so he’ll stop shaking. It doesn’t entirely work, but he thinks he appreciates the effort.

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say,” she begins a bit skittishly, still not entirely trusting the hulking, raging man above her. “But I think I would have liked to have been her friend.”

And for the first time since Sarah died, Joel sobs. 

Y/N pops up from the couch and Joel’s heart cries out louder in his chest for her to come back, don’t leave me too as he tries to suck the tears back in. It doesn’t work though and liquid gushes down his cheeks. He doesn’t think he can take the rejection, the loss of her. But thankfully, she returns just as quickly as she went with a handful of tissues stuffed into her small fist. 

“Here, Joel,” she offers. “Here. Don’t cry.”

Joel does cry though. He’s ashamed he’s broken down in front of this literal child, and he doesn’t let out much noise, but he doesn’t take the tissues either. He can’t. 

She’s so sweet though, or maybe it’s because she is truly afraid of him now, of his wrath, he’ll never really know, but she frowns and reaches out a little hand, the one with the scar on the middle finger, and tries to wipe up the tears.

The paper of the tissue tickles his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t havta…” he tries.

“Didn’t mean to make you…” she answers.

A pause.

“You didn’t, honey. That was all me,” he assures her finally.

She lets out a sigh of relief and soaks up the last of the salt water from his face, brushes the tissue gently against his nose. It tickles, causes him to snort. He smirks a little.

She smiles back shyly, she can’t help it, he can tell. 

“You know,” he says thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, sighing deeply. “I reckon she would’ve wanted to be your friend too…”

[ohmygraves]

let me share a bit of my self insert details for cod, since i figured out i can write smth while i think about how to continue the other wips i have

with callsign "rookie", a first generation immigrant. they're the youngest between all the 141, and was recommended by laswell. still, their rank is definitely under both soap and gaz. a non-binary person, though don't mind any pronouns.

here's a few sketches of them (i made it to my likeness because, y'know, "self" insert)

the change in haircut is intentional as it should reflect my continuously changing hairstyle since my hair is a dumbass who can't make up its mind in how it should present itself.

i made a "relationship chart" to explain the dynamics of rookie with the other members of 141

gaz ⇄ rookie

gaz and rookie i'd imagine to be some kind of the ride or die best friend, which unfortunately often happened because rookie has the worst kind of luck, but just good enough that they get out of danger somehow in the last second. the kind of best friend that you could understand being so close because you'd known eachother really well. it's probably the case of them being quite similar in age (rookie is still younger though), so he took pity of them at first and happily accompany them everywhere. he knows how anxious it can be to be around something so unfamiliar and scary, and he understands how it feels to be frustrated knowing that you can't save everyone (he hopes that rookie can be more mature but for now he'd gladly sigh at their naivety).

soap ⇄ rookie

maybe because i view soap to be slightly older than gaz i feel like soap and rookie are more like siblings? i feel like if soap became best friends with rookie, he'd be too much for the poor lad. soap as best friend is a good trope but he's a wild card that he could show up at your doorstep either with a bong or a shovel, and i'm not sure if rookie can handle all that. he's a good friend, sure, but one that gaz hope that won't influence rookie too much because what is he going to do with not one but two soap at the barracks?

that being said, i think that soap treats rookie like somewhat of a younger sibling that he gets to pick on from time to time, but in a nice way. like he'd wear their stuff that he found on the laundry, strutting a booty shorts (and killing it) while he makes some coffee for himself as rookie hunts his head for sports since all their clothes get stretched because of him. or the one that tells them that price likes spicy in his sandwich causing rookie to witness price choke on a sub slathered with hot sauce, getting them in trouble. he takes advantage of their naivety in a funny way and he teaches them weird things. definitely gets him in trouble with ghost though because of that.

price ⇄ rookie

now don't come at me for being so overrated, but i see price as a father figure. if activision don't want me to commit fatherless behavior, then they probably shouldn't make him so dad material in the first place. that being said, i like to think that when price sees rookie's files and do a small "interview" with the lad, he feels like he was responsible for a new teammate. like mama hen finding a kitten and taking care of it like a chick.

he understands that rookie is very, very new to everything, and that's saying it lightly. being the youngest of the group, an immigrant, not to mention very naive made him pity the newbie, which of course made him go "dad mode" and teach them things from time to time. he has definitely been called "dad" by accident a few times by rookie, but he didn't seem to mind. didn't seem to enjoy the fact that soap's influencing them to act up too at times.

ghost ⇄ rookie

now ghost is my favorite (obviously), so this might be long. in general, ghost didn't like how inexperienced rookie is. they're in 141, working as an sas soldier, and they're going to fumble on their guns like an idiot?

preposterous, why did laswell let them in the team?

it's not like he has any say in it, and unfortunately he had to mentor them and make sure they're doing a good job (read: babysitting, as he would say), and it didn't make him feel better about it. sometimes i want to see him just grab the poor newbie and just scream at their face like "what do you want!? i can't believe someone is this bloody fucking incompetent, you might as well be a sea cucumber!" like this man would not hesitate to insult the newbie to the point that they're crying.

and he should be. he's not going to put his life in the hands of some dumbass who can't shoot right half the time.

of course, it'll take a long, long time for him to acknowledge their skill, even getting a small "passable" from him is worth celebrating. literal years to be close to him, share the fact that they're both fatherless people who used to live in an abusive household and maybe he'll start to acknowledge them (anything that's beside work ofc). little affirmation that they've gotten this far somehow even after such horrible things happening to them.

i only ever pair rookie with ghost and soap (or both of them together as a throuple) romantically, gaz is more platonic and price is more fatherly.

i know this is a different post from what i normally would post but if you're all interested in getting to know rookie more, feel free to interact. my askbox are open for requests or something a bit more casual, don't be shy. i don't bite.

[mysticstarlightduck]

✦ OC DEEP DIVE ✦

Thanks for the tag, @ominous-feychild (here)!

I'm gonna do this tag for Pyerce Ophyria and Tarah Ryllar from Supernova Initiative and Josh Aleta and Gwyn Whitewood from Scrapyard Boys!

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Pyerce: Fear of being manipulated or being stuck in a situation that is out of his control; fear of making a terrible mistake/failing his kids; fear of clowns.

Tarah: Fear of being kidnapped or drugged (because she saw the same happen to her best friend, Eos); fear of the uncanny valley or things that seem normal but feel off; fear of being a disappointment to herself

Josh: Fear of being trapped (claustrophobia, but also fear of being contained by others); fear of being unredeemably evil (he wasn't exactly The Perfect Cousin - in fact he was quite the... complicated and annoying angsty teen, sometimes toxic but not more than any regular teen - prior to his abduction by the PHANTOM Industries, plus he has what they call an "evil power" because he controls fears/nightmares, so the constant pressure by his captors that "he is inherently evil and needs to be fixed" kind of broke him in a way)

Gwyn: Being unable to protect the ones she loves and herself; fear of being found and recaptured by the PHANTOM Industries; fear of Zander Corelli (the mob boss - and pimp - Adrien works for, who basically haunts his and the twins' lives for most of the duration of the WIP); fear of being trapped in the heat.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Pyerce: Corrupt governments to lie to their affiliates and discard their assets once they're no longer useful to them once that person isn't "useful" to them anymore. Not being fully aware of a situation. He also can't stand people who legitmatelly make excuses to be lazy and who leech off of others instead of trying to be proactive.

Tarah: She doesn't really like loud and repetive noises. Tarah also hates bureaucracy - with a passion - especially when it gets in the way something she has a time crunch on succeeding or when it prevents active change in an environment.

Josh: People who are nosy and try to pry on other's private matters - on another hand, he can't stand people who care too much about what others will think and have that constant "but what will the neighbours think?!" mindset. It gets on his nerves.

Gwyn: Being pressured - especially when there's something time sensitive involved - which usually makes her panic and spiral rather than to figure out what to do faster. On a sadder note, she doesn't like people who get too handsy with others in an uncomfortable way - she's seen Adrien's patrons do that all too often and now she has a "touch (me/my siblings/my friends) and you won't fucking have hands" mentality.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Pyerce: Coffee candies, hidden weapons of all kinds (remember he's a retired assassin, and the most dangerous assassin there ever was at that), and probably some messy crayon drawings that Gabi and Morgan made when they were kids (because he's their dad and cherishes the memories)

Tarah: Her best friend's unfinished woven bracelet, protein bars, hooded cloaks and generally oversized hoodies that can help her hide her features when on the run.

Josh: Weights (to stay fit), a radio playing vintage rock music, a nightlight (he's afraid of the dark but doesn't want anyone to know)

Gwyn: Cheesy potato chips, tickets for a comedy show or for the movies, a giraffe plushie she won at a fair

What do they notice first in a person?

Pyerce:... Everything. He's the ultimate secret agent/assassin - so I think he'd pretty much have a clear picture of that person with just a quick once over or a glance. Black Widow/John Wick-style, like a very meticulously detailed analisys of that person.

Tarah: If they look like they're trying to deceive her, catch her or if they're generally a threat to her or her friends. She is also pretty good at reading people's feelings from their facial expressions.

Josh: If he can take them in a fight or if he needs to run. How imposing they are or if that person is trying to intimidate him. Because of his powers, if he tries to, Josh can immediately see/find out what that person's worst nightmare/fear is (his power is Nightmare Manipulation) and choose to do with that information whatever is more relevant.

Gwyn: If they seem nice or friendly. She's bad at navigating social cues because she has spent the past three years locked up in a lab and the years before that in an isolated household, and generally just wants to make friends.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Pyerce:

Emotional: 8, but pretends its a 10

Physical: +11

Tarah:

Emotional: -1 (squishy, kind hearted, anxious baby girl)

Physical: 6

Josh:

Emotional: Before his capture = 5, but didn't let it show too much; After his capture = -4 but pretends its a +10 in really extreme ways

Physical: 9 (before and after), unless some kind of psychological trickery is also tied to it - in that case its a 0

Gwyn:

Emotional: 7, sometimes too oblivious to stuff though tends to overthink

Physical: 8

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (I'm also including freeze and fawn)

Pyerce: Goes "Scorched Earth" kind of Fight Reflex - especially when it involves protecting his daughters. And because he is the most lethal assassin of his generation, whoever is threatening/pressuring him better run - though that will only stall the inevitable.

Tarah: Usually Flight 100% - she's the embodiment of deer in headlights and will bolt at any sign of danger even if that just a misunderstanding. However, if the danger is too overwhelming or too similar to her past traumas, she tends to freeze.

Josh: Before his capture - his first instinct was Fight. He is and was a very angry and stubborn person, who tends to have fits of rage when scared or frustrated and who often lashed out in ways he later regretted but was too headstrong to apologize for, often in a bully-like way but not fully - much like Billy Hargrove from Stranger Things. After his capture - if the pressure is psychological or triggers him, he tends to go into an "unique" Freeze mode in which he acts as if in a trance - his conscience feels distant and detached, but his powers are lashing out in Fight mode to protect him from whoever is triggering him. If his former captors are specifically involved, he tends to go into a complete Fawn reflex to appease them.

Gwyn: Fight, especially if she has to protect herself and her loved ones, or when she wants revenge. If there's absolutely no other choice she may choose Flight to Fight another day.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Pyerce:

Original Family unknown

After he quit being an assassin, he dedicated his life to raising his two adoptive daughters Gabi (the one he adopted first) and Morgan (the second one he adopted), so I would definetly say he is a family kind of guy, despite his murderous past.

Tarah:

Her father was killed when she was a little girl and though she was saved by her godmother, Tarah ended up having to flee the Junction galaxies all alone with Eos (her godmother's son) after her godmother too was truck down by the Junction.

Tarah is fiercely devoted to those she calls family, especially Eos, who is her best friend and who is like a brother to her.

Josh:

He was orphaned at a young age, and his original parents are a mystery. Currently, before his capture, he used to live with adoptive/foster parents (Erin's uncle and aunt) but they weren't very close at all, and he was kidnapped by the PHANTOM Industries shortly after.

Not really. He used to be very troublesome, rude, brutish and often harsh towards anyone that tried to show kindness to him, because he saw it as a scheme and feared he didn't deserve it. That lead him to have a bully kind of behavior to pretty much everyone for years and to be a certified rule breaker who often made things worse than they needed to be. However, deep down, he was developing some semblance of a friendship with his adoptive cousin Erin, but they still argued a lot and he was kidnapped before he could truly have a sibling bond with her. After escaping, he was so conditioned by the Industries to believe he is evil that he thinks he is unworthy of love and respect and that he is a dnager to anyone who tries to get close to him, so he takes a skittish approach to others now.

Gwyn:

Her mother was a troubled, but kind, young lady who had many boyfriends in her youth and didn't really know how to handle parenthood yet and wanted to find out more about herself first. So Gwyn, her twin - Rhys - and their half-brother Adrien (from their mom's first boyfriend) ended up living most of their childhood with their toxic grandparents. A few years after Adrien was kicked out of home at 15, Rhys and Gwyn developed superpowers after coming into contact with a chemical factory leak, and were sent by their grandparents to the Spectre Academy. After they tried to escape at first, they were sent by the Academy to be lab rats of the PHANTOM Industries.

She is - especially when it comes to her twin brother Rhys and their half-brother Adrien. They're the only family each other has ever had, so they kind of have a "us against the world" kind of mindset, though they still have a lot of getting reacquaintted to do with Adrien since they were apart for so long.

What animal represents them best?

Pyerce: A black wolf

Tarah: Hummingbird

Josh: Either a raccoon or feral cat

Gwyn: Arctic fox

What is a smell that they dislike?

Pyerce: The smell of rotten things - especially rotten blood or flesh (a.k.a he is an assassin who hates the smell of corpses)

Tarah: Scent of alcohol and the smell of a lot/too much of perfume.

Josh: Laboratory smells and also the smell of mold.

Gwyn: She generally hates the smell of sweat and unwashed things.

Have they broken any bones?

Pyerce: Yes, many times in his former career, but not once since he quit it.

Tarah: Not really, just a sprained ankle once when she was a kid

Josh: A couple times, most when he was being experimented on.

Gwyn: Not really, probably.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Pyerce: A quiet and introvertedly serious man who wants to just live his life and do his own thing, who most people don't know much about but who is a genuine benefactor to many and is also a doting father.

Tarah: That skittish kid with the woven bracelets and the multicolored nail polish who never stays in one place and always feels like she's too scared or too anxious to talk to anyone she doesn't fully know.

Josh: A troublemaking, brutish and angry teenager who is always looking for new ways to cause chaos, who doesn't obey any rules and doesn't give a fuck about anyone, and is also rude to most people he doesn't know and harsh to those he does know. The weird kid that is always causing grownups a headache.

Gwyn: It depends on the stranger. If the stranger is with Zander's mob, they'll probably address her as 'Ametrine's' sister (Adrien's stage name is Ametrine) or if they're keen on being especially rude, they'll probably call her "the stripper's brat" or "that girl who is always walking around with Zander's plaything". Yeah. They're not... kind to them. But most other strangers would describe her as a lively, bright headed, kind young lady with a big heart who wants to have fun and has a sparkling laughter.

Are they a night owl or an early bird?

Pyerce: Probably both?

Tarah: Night owl in an unsettling (looming) way

Josh: Night owl - poor boi has insomnia and night terrors

Gwyn: Morning bird, also in an unsettling (but giddy) way

What is a flavour they hate and a flavour they love?

Pyerce:

Loves: Well cooked, refined meals with rare spices

Hates: Painfully sweet desserts, like the nauseatingly sweet ones

Tarah:

Loves: Spicy fried food

Hates: Alcohol

Josh:

Loves: Comfort food (pizza)

Hates: Bland food or sticky food

Gwyn:

Loves: Ice Cream; Cheesy Potato Chips

Hates: Spicy food

Do they have any hobbies?

Pyerce: Sharpshooting, listening to music, growing poisonous flowers, reading cheap romance books

Tarah: Dancing, rollerskating, helping stray animals, learning new languages, talking about her favorite movies

Josh: Reading comic books, weightlifting, driving around aimlessly on stolen cars, listening to rock, watching rom-coms (hates horror movies)

Gwyn: Going to ice cream shops, watching stand up comedy shows, walking around the city at night, making ice sculptures on the window with her powers,

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Pyerce: Calm happiness and a bit of surprise. After so many years out of the field as an assassin, he's learned to enjoy the joys of regular life, and honestly is always glad to do so.

Tarah: Initial panic but it would then turn into awkward joy as she realizes the situation is harmless. She would probably not know how to properly navigate it and be confused at how to proceed.

Josh: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS - (almost has a heart attack out of fear, needs three cups of water and a cookie to calm down then is like). Oh, fuck yeah I like this, let's party! Just... don't scare me next time.

Gwyn: "Omg, yay, this is literally so cool guys!!!! I wanna try all the candy, and dance to the music and have fun, oh gosh there are so many gifts this is so cool -!" (rambles on)

Do they like to wear jewelry?

Pyerce: Not really. Likes some nice silver rings though.

Tarah: The woven bracelets she and her best friend made for each other.

Josh: Yeah kinda. Loves rings and necklaces with funny designs of cartoonishly styled ghosts or skulls, and wears some necklaces.

Gwyn: Doesn't really understand the concept of how to style jewelry into a daily outfit but digs it nonetheless

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Pyerce: Neat

Tarah: In between, tends towards messy.

Josh: Messy & adds too much pressure to it

Gwyn: In between and scribbles doodles and cute heart shaped designs around it

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Pyerce: Calmness and The Need To Protect

Tarah: Anxiety and awkward joy

Josh: Anger and Fear/Dread/Panic

Gwyn: Love for her family/friends & giddy happiness of experiencing the real world

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Pyerce: Anything that is stylishly black and also comfortable, practical and probably bulletproof

Tarah: Flannel, cotton, yarn

Josh: Leather, jeans, soft cotton

Gwyn: Light polyester, cotton and fluffy jackets

What kind of accent do they have?

Pyerce: A soft, more neutral version of a "Junction" accent

Tarah: Central Junction accent that has faded away into a mismatched Khosmonian Accent

Josh: Probably some mix of accent Detroit and New York? (The city of this WIP is based on IRL ones but is also very much fictional)

Gwyn: Not sure but probably similar to Josh's (same city) but with a very slight Northern lilt to it? (The city of this WIP is based on IRL ones but is also very much fictional)

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers, @finickyfelix

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid,

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[philaet0s]

I never post any extracts from my WIPs here simply because I don't think about it, but I just thought about doing it, so I might as well... Here's a little something from the three stories I'm working on at the moment (I really should focus on just one)

Simon Snow Series - Natasha/Malcolm

Natasha

“Why do you think the man at the shop is my boyfriend?” I ask, calmly, though I can feel my heart beating faster than normal.

Am I so pathetically smitten that it shows? Can he see it? (If a five-year-old can, he probably can too…)

“Vera said her boyfriend was a boy that made her want to smile all the time. You smiled a lot when we were at the coffee shop.”

“Fiona, I always smile a lot when I’m with you.”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You’re my little sister, it makes me happy to be with you.”

She shakes her head again. Stubborn little thing. Why does she think she can disagree with me on my own feelings? “No. It’s not that. You weren’t smiling at the park. Only when we were at the coffee shop.”

Simon Snow Series - Fem!Snowbaz

Baz

I’m thinking that maybe I should try to go to her house. If I feel best when I’m around her, and her dad doesn’t make me feel any worse than I already do, which can’t be said about my dad, maybe our hanging out spot could change for a bit.

I ask her about it when we leave school at the end of the day. We exit through the students’ entrance, only to go back in through the teacher’s parking lot to wait for her dad. David drives us home every night, whether Simone is coming to my place or not. Snow asked him to. I know it’s because she doesn’t want me walking the way home on my bad leg, but I pretend it’s just because she wants to spend a few more minutes with me.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Dad doesn’t like having guests. We’d better just go to your place,” she answers.

“But I’ve never been to your house! Isn’t it crazy that we’ve been friends for years and I’ve never seen inside your house? Come on, just once. I’m sure your dad won’t mind.”

Snow looks away. She seems uncomfortable. What could be so bad about her house? It can’t be worse than my dad moping around.

“Well, if you want to come so much, you can ask him yourself.”

Captive Prince - Damen/Laurent

“You’re a king, Laurent, you don’t belong in anyone’s shadow, not even mine.” Damen took Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips. It made Laurent flush. How absolutely ridiculous it was for Damen to kiss him like this, as if he were a maiden or a pet. “We intend on ruling together, don’t we? What better way to show my kyroi this than to have you standing by my side? Right where I want you.”

“You are not here to court me, Damianos. This is serious.”

“I am serious. Come here, Your Majesty.” Gently, he tugged on Laurent’s hand.

“Not yet. It’ll be another few months before they give me my crown.”

“No matter. You’re my king.” He kissed Laurent’s hand again. Laurent glanced to the side. He didn’t think the men guarding the doors of the meeting room could see them from here. Thankfully.

“See, this is exactly what you should not say when your men believe I still have power over you.”

“They cannot hear us. And I mean it, you are my king. As I believe I am yours.”

“Yes,” Laurent murmured, relieved. The resentment Damen showed him the day before seemed to have vanished. “You are. Now we must go. Let us not make the kyroi wait.”

[snowyknight-17]

I’m gonna leave this WIP here for a bit…

NSFW under the cut

Featuring Hancock and other FO4 mentions

“Let me ask you something,” John sat lazily on his sofa drawing another puff from his cigarette; eyes hooded under a tilted tri-corner hat,

“Why me?” Hancock paused for affect watching Annie twiddle her thumbs and pull at her jacket,

“You come all this way for a tussle all the while passing up 3 to 4 other dicks on much prettier men.”

Annie only now realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out loudly; but before she could make her plea John put out his cig and lit another.

It was hard to not notice how smooth Hancock moved, like water, and Annie was here to swim.

“For instance, that ‘holier then thou’ Paladin of yours. Yeah I see him get an eyeful every time you turn around, big lumbering soldier gets all pink in the cheeks when you take lead. Or that boss of his,”

Hancock snapped his fingers trying to remember Elder Maxson’s name,

“Elder Scarface. I fuckin hate that bigot but don’t mean he wouldn’t turn to putty the second you touched his shoulder. Guy’s so frickin tightly wound, I bet he’d cum by the fifth bounce. Sure he acts like a war tactician, bloodline bred for excellence, deathclaw slayer but I’d bet my last cap he’d turn into a little red faced bitch/sub underneath you.”

The conjured image was not unpleasant. Maxson begging for release, reduced to a tear stained, blubbering mess. Hands bound of front of him trying to feel any inch of her sweat slicked skin…

Her ears began to beat to the rush of blood to her face, had the room always been this hot?

John was standing over his coffee table, fingering through his stash of chems; amongst the stash were random bullets, poker chips, buttons and a magazine of some porno called “Three’s a crowd”. The cover showed 3 men in a cramped space with the same amount of lust in their eyes that Annie had for Hancock. He pocketed a jet then shot a round of hydra into his shoulder.

Annie remembered the last time they traveled together a couple of months ago. Helping out the folks at The Slog, when suddenly 3 super mutants appeared. They were low on the totem pole though; carrying only one pipe rifle the other two had 2x4’s, so they went down pretty quick, but not before John took a wack to his right side from one of the boards. He recovered fast due to his ghoul flesh, but his shoulder joint would always get stiff in rainy weather. If he would only ask, she would rub it.

Hancock made no sign he’d just been jabbed by a needle. Just rotated his arm adjusting the tight muscle, retuning his cigarette to his lips. Giving her body a quick once over before continuing,

“How about that Boy Scout lieutenant of yours? He’d practically marry you if you asked nicely…”

“Preston is an angel and wouldn’t know how to fuck me into a mattress of his life depended on it.”

John snorted, “Don’t be too sure about that chica. Every time I meander my way to your castle, I can practically feel the buzz coming off him when you’re around. He may be a saint but he’s still a man.”

Preston was Annie’s friend. Her first friend. She knew he wanted more, but she didn’t feel the same. It felt wrong to think of him that way when she had no intention of cultivating a relationship with him.

By now Hancock was close. Close enough to feel his warmth, smell his tobacco, see little stains on his red coat from when he refills the oil lamps. He huffed a final draft of smoke just to the side of her, before dropping and stepping on the butt. He adjusted his hat and looked her in the eye. Black voids meeting pale blues.

“Or perhaps this is a social call for a whole other reason.” His rough hands were barely touching her hips. Gentle caresses over her dirty jeans, his fingers sliding into her back pockets, heat radiating off him now. The front corner of his hat brushing against her hair,

Annie looked up and saw a restraint set in his jaw. As she leaned in to kiss the ghoul, he leaned back away from her mouth, and with a softness asked,

“Any chance you’re here to forget about that doe eyed, southern man you’ve been chasing?”

The mention of Jake sucked the heat out of the room. Annie felt a humid cold spread over her, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and weakness began to build.

Jake.

Gods she loved him. Wanted him. Needed him; and what’s worse is Jake wanted her too. They kissed once after GNN was won. But Jake had to talk her down from taking more. While he wanted something between them to bloom, he just couldn’t give himself fully until his daughter was found. She understood. Hell she knew better than most what it means to have a child missing; her own son still in the clutches of ‘lord knows where’.

It made her sick to think about. Her baby boy, out there, somewhere. Was he safe? Well fed? Happy? Annie didn’t know. Was she terrible for wanting a distraction now and then in the arms of a lover while her dream guy worked endlessly looking for his baby?

Thick, wet tears trickled down her flush cheeks. They culminated in salty pools in the crease of her mouth only to be swiped away by Hancock’s thumb.

“What makes you think a boozy night with a mug like mine would make the ache go away?” His hands were no longer on her ass but on the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles.

[cardiac-agreste]

WIP Game

Yesterday I RBd a thing where you list your WIPs, then people send you asks about specific ones, and you share a little. @bohemianrhapsody711 asked about these:

Into the Bugverse

I am SUPER excited about this idea, but it's in very early stages (no actual snippets to share, just some disjointed points I'll fill in right now). It is, as you might guess, a riff on Into the Spiderverse. A bit of crack taken seriously where the multiverse is all the fics on Ao3.

We begin with a universe in which Marinette is navigating not to disappointing her parents, who want her to learn the family trade.

Chat Noir, who fought alone most of his life before Marinette was recruited (think of this as kind of a plot divergent Hey, Ribbons by childoflightningg aka @peggiecarter aka @annaethchase), has died (he was Felix Agreste). She's all alone as LB now. The whole of Paris mourns him.

She also meets the new kid, Adrien, and a new Chat Noir shows up. Suddenly, pulled through the "bugverse" into her own world is an older Marinette from another fanwork, possibly Semantitheft's L'Oublie Marinette. They bond while fighting the big bad (imagine a vibe kind of like @leviaana's wonderful comic about Minibug, the jaded older LB who still loves her younger self).

At a low moment for them, other Marinettes get pulled into her world, all from other fanfics. Maybe

a paranoid @buggachat BEAU Marinette or mistrustful one from @wackus-bonkus-maximus One Does Not Love Breathing

Maybe a Marinette from a Coffee Shop AU like Allez savoir pourqois by Yilena who has no powers but is still smart

Or possibly a blog AU like Chat Noir's Miraculous Award for Truly Magical Food by @mommadon. Non-magic Marinette will receive a miraculous as a temp hero!

Marinette from a fic where she's pregnant as fuck but still fighting (the one I'm thinking of it's kind of a twist she gets pregnant later on, so I won't mention it).

Definitely Marinette from Ghost in the Machine by @jheqiawrites alongside her AI companion Adrien.

Possibly an akumatized Marinette

lip service to the MariBat fandom with a very well-capitalized MARINETTE (see what I did there?) from Miraculous LadyBat by BoxTops

a princess or knight Marinette like from A Royal Pain by jheqia and @sing-in-me-oh-muse

At some point in the fighting, we find out that Adrien died young in this universe and Papillon and Peahen are the enemies, and they're trying to get the miraculous to wish him back to life.

The Adrien in this universe is actually from a universe where Marinette/Ladybug is dead, and OMG, Marinette, he's Chat Noir!!!! Possibly from Hamburger Ladybug by @raspberrycatapult or from Last Wishes by @kasienda

Blah blah save the world, everyone returns to their universes. Hint at sequel that brings in other fanfics' Ladybug versions! Do we get a transdimentional love story?? Who knows? I DO!! (I don't.)

I think there's something of an ethical issue for me about using other people's Marinettes for my story, but I think if it's crack it's more OK (it's somewhat like parody) than if I were creating spinoffs with the same tone. BC to be honest, I suspect none of the BNFs would ever see a message from me asking permission. Better to beg forgiveness, right?

Miraculous: Bachelorette Edition

Alya, sick of watching Marinette flounder into her 20s, unable to confess to Adrien, submits her friend in secret as a potential Bachelorette for a reality TV show where many men vie for her hand. Through the magic of crack, a bunch of guys from the show end up contestants: Adrien (his father made him), Luka (he's pan so why not?), Nathaniel (STILL IN DENIAL about his feelings for Marc), Theo the sculptor with the bad soul patch, etc. Oh, and much to Ladybug's annoyance, Chat Noir is also a contestant?!

All of Paris is begging for Pajamagirl x Adrien Agreste

This is going through revisions in my head, but the initial kernel that is actually written down in my WIPs is

Ladybug falls in a crowded area and unconscious, de-transforms. Someone takes their camera out. "Don't you fucking take that picture. Hawkmoth can't know who she is!" Some teen girl "Is that Pajama Girl? Annette, I think that's Pajama Girl!" "OMG Charlotte, you're right! "Wait, didn't Adrien say in an interview that his celebrity crush is Ladybug?" "Dude didn't I see that Chat Noir took her on a date to Andre's?" Marinette wakes up surrounded by people, freaks out. "Don't worry girl, we're not gonna tell anyone, and no one took any pictures. Your secret's safe. Later that day, Annette and Charlotte get #adrienshoulddatepajamagirl trending on social media. Gabriel, who turns out to have been full of SHIT when he told Marinette that he determines what the public wants, pressures Adrien to date his Very Good Friend for the brand.

[bluberimufim]

Writerly questionaire

I was tagged by @xenascribbles (read its post here btw!!) and I've been wanting to do it for a while (it's been so long ago, I'm sorry!!!) because it sounds interesting. Unfortunately, it's long and I am NOT concise.

I'll just leave the tags here: @squarebracket-trickster, @full-on-sam, @olliexwrites, @macabremoons, and @cheeto-flavoured-pasta + anyone else who wants to join!!

About me:

When did you first start writing?

I think I've mentioned this before, but I started writing in 5th/6th grade to kind of codify the lore and story of my friend group's playground activities (because a series of drawings was just not cutting it). Then, we collectively found out I enjoyed it and my friends started asking for fanfics of books we all liked.

Are the general themes you read different from the ones you write?

I don't really go out looking for the themes of a story, I usually focus on interesting plots or characters when I'm shopping for books (I know themes inform story and characters but you know what I mean). Also most themes in my stories are 100% a posteriori (DoS was my first time having themes in mind as I was writing). I usually write the 1st draft and go "oh shit, a theme".

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (room, coffee shop, desk, etc)

I mostly write in my room, usually sitting on my bed because I hate chairs. But I would be remiss if I didn't mention my college's big auditorium, specifically during boring architectural theory lessons. Any project of mine has been at least 30% written during class time, I can assure you.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

I go for a Really Long Walk while listening to music. And fun fact: I've had to make my walks bigger because of this, because when I'm having Thoughts I start speedwalking like a crazy person and it was genuinely shortening my Idea Time because I got home too quickly.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

I wouldn't say it's a 1 to 1 thing, but I think the environments in our lives always afects us. In terms of the places I write about, I think my fascination with circuses and magic shows (from which came B&W) stems from the fact that there are no good ones around here. The ones from my childhood were genuinely so lame. But I think mostly it's the way I was raised? My parents are artists and they've made a point of showing me all kinds of art since, like... ever, and I feel like it really influenced me as a person and, therefore, my writing.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

A few years back, I noticed a tendency in my main characters to feel a great sense of nostalgia towards the past, in a way? There was a very prevalent sense of "things were ok at a previous point in my life but not now and I wanna go back". I don't really understand where this came from tho.

My characters:

Would you please tell me about your favorite character? (Current wip, past wip, never used)

I am, on every level, deeply insane about every single named character in DoS. But mainly Seth and General Fallin. I just think they're really interesting. I particularly like the general, mostly because I have almost no chances to write about him, while Seth is the POV character. There's just something about the different perceptions of his actions that are integral his character as a general in a war setting, as well as his inherent hypocrisy in constantly stating how much he cares for his people and being more than willing to commit atrocities for them. Idk, he's got that Nuance.

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Probably Reyna, from B&W. When I first wrote her, I was her age and tried to create someone who I'd like to hang out with.

Which of your characters would you dislike most in real life?

I already despise Nester from the dystopia WIP and he's not even real. And also, I think Diedrich would be insufferable irl.

Tell me about the process of coming up with one, all, or any of your characters.

Most of them kinda start out as concepts. For example, Seth came to be because "healer that takes the life of everything around them for power" sounded like a cool idea. Sometimes they're informed by characters I like or historical figures: Viktor is loosely based on Robespierre, Lucille is vaguely inspired by Cio-Cio San, General Fallin has some faint hints of Griffith, etc.

Do you notice any themes/traits about your characters?

I've noticed that every single one of my 4 WIPs has the extremely specific trope of an older character using the protagonist as a replacement for their dead loved one (usually their child, but sometimes disciple or younger sibling) and projecting onto them. I have no clue where tf this came from but it feels like something a psychoanalyst would greatly enjoy.

How do you picture them?” (as real people you imagined/as models/actors that exist in real life/as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc)

I actually picture all my characters in my artstyle!! Actually, I "see" most of the worlds in my stories through my own artstyle!

My writing:

What’s your reason for writing?

You see, I have all of these ideas. They are just lying around. And, as I said before, just drawing them isn't gonna cut it.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

On what is actually my least-read fic on ao3, a person left me a multiple paragraphs-long comment about how they would be thinking about that fic for years, that I wrote the characters as "canon but better", that they would read any other fics I posted in the future, and that they made an account to leave said comment. I'm not saying that this is the only type of comment I enjoy, but it has really stuck with me for the past year and when I read it I kinda wanna cry. So. I guess that.

How do you want to be thought of by those that read your work? (for example, as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition as a talented worldbuilder, or a role model, etc)

I've always wanted to be one of those writers that just really Gets the human mind, you know? Like, I've read stories where my regular person brain was going through all sorts of Things while my writer brain kept shouting "THIS MAKES SENSE!! THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!!!", and that's who I want to be. (I feel like I'm not expalining myself correctly???) This is kind of a tangent, but I've read/watched stories so good that I was left just literally Sitting There, my thoughts completely silent, literally incapable of being a functioning human being for about an hour because my brain just wouldn't come down from the story. And that's my goal in life <3

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Probably my character building.

What have you frequently been told your greatest writing strength is by others?

My story ideas/concepts. Like settings and worldbuilding and such.

How do you feel about your writing? (answer in whatever way you interpret that question)

Overall, I like it! I spent a long time working to a point where I can actually enjoy my own work. And I'm obviously not saying it's perfect. No one sees more flaws in it than me (bc I virtually never show it to anyone), but I won't say it's bad to sound better. I'm having fun, dammit!

If you were the last person on earth, and knew that your writing would never be read, would you still write?

I would still have stories to write even if there was no one to show them to. I would still draw and sing without an audience too. Because my art is, at its core, for me. It's a need.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? if it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I used to consider what others might like, and I still kinda do sometimes because my main beta reader is my MOM, but I've mostly let it go tbh. After draft 2 of B&W I shouted "I'M NEVER WRITING ROMANCE AGAIN!!!" and here we are. At the end of the day, I'm writing mostly to have fun, so I should be able to do whatever I want.

That was fun!! I love questionaires/this interview format thingy. Makes me feel fancy.

If you're made it all the way down here, hiiii <3<3<3<3<3<3 sorry for never shutting up and not being concise. It will happen again.

[nontoxic-writes]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

thank you for the tag @welcometololaland!! i am once again a day late but in my defense i went to a concert last night and didn’t get a chance to even look at my wips until now

this is from a different wip than the one ive been sharing, in this one, bradley goes missing while on a mission and jake starts fixing up bradley’s house in an effort to keep busy while they wait for news. it’s currently 27k and completely unedited so it’ll be a while until it sees the light of day, but i hope to finish it soon!

Jake looks out at the garden from the back porch, and notices the way the late afternoon sun catches on the droplets of water still clinging to the tomatoes, the way the bees buzz around the lavender and how the leaves shift with the wind. The garden feels so alive, so real, that for a moment, Jake is convinced he can hear Bradley’s rough, sleep-addled voice from the doorway behind him, quietly asking if Jake made enough coffee for two, even though he knew Jake always made enough coffee for two, because Jake loves the way Bradley’s eyes light up when he wraps his hands around the warm mug.

Jake bites the inside of his cheek at the memory. He and Bradley might not be anything, but Bradley is a good person. A better person than Jake deserves, in whatever capacity Bradley deigns to have him.

And Jake misses him.

He misses that stupid mustache and the hideous shirts and the way Bradley would leave them unbuttoned to show off the one-size-too-small tank top he always wore underneath. He misses Bradley’s wide grin, the way he would laugh when he was with their friends, loud and boisterous and unapologetic about how much space it takes up. He misses how Bradley cuddles after sex, how he’d always pull Jake into his arms and snore like a freight train into his ear. How he wouldn’t let Jake leave, would force him to spend the night so he could make them breakfast in the morning. He misses their subtle foreplay, the games played leaning over a pool table, or the way they always sat next to each other on movie nights, arms brushing gently, teasingly, until Jake felt like he was going to explode from wanting him so bad.

He misses how Bradley listens to him, the few times Jake has allowed himself to be cracked open, how he’d carded his hands through Jake’s hair and let him tell the entire sad story of his relationship with his father.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jake had said, after, with one of Bradley’s hands gently tangled in his hair and the other wrapped tight around his waist. “I can’t believe I’m bitching so much about this. At least he’s alive.”

Bradley snorted. “Not sure that’s a positive in this situation, sweetheart.” He pressed a firm kiss to Jake’s neck, right below his ear. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Jake presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Hell of a time to realize he’s in love with the guy.

Considering Bradley is probably dead.

its now late on thursday so i wont make anyone do this haha but @welcometololaland im lobbing this one right back at you for next week lol

[smellyrottentrees]

Writerly Questionnaire

No one asked but my love language is infodumping so here we are.

About You

When did you start writing?

I do not recall. When I was very young, probably not long after I learned to write at all.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Somewhat. I don’t actually read much high fantasy, I’ve never even opened a Tolkien. I dwell more in horror and sometimes mystery (think Stieg Larsson and Dan Brown) and gothic literature. I do like fantasy on occasion, and absolutely eat up books about ancient myths.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I read Madeline Miller and fell in love with her writing style. I like Stephen King’s quite a bit for the way he can present a horrifying thing and it actually make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I try to emulate the gothic style, very calm and rational and descriptive while monsters casually run amok. I don’t think I’ve been compared to many authors out there.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

I either write on my bed (comfy, but no neck support) or on my parents’ living room rocking chair (can be distracting)

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Go out and live. Some of my best ideas are born of very mundane days for myself when I have time to think.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Probably more than I would admit. My childhood home was very rural, an isolated neighborhood surrounded by farmland. There were open expanses of grass to run around in for what felt like forever, with mountains visible from the bedroom window. Where I live now is very wooded, less rural but somehow almost more isolated. I’ve always found a sense of comfort in spaces where no humans dwelled. I hope my stories show that.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

I think the idea that morality is somewhat nuanced and situational comes up a lot. Like, when is killing someone okay? Is it ever okay? Is the punishment suitable for the crime? Are people always either all good or all bad? Is true evil and true good real? That kind of thing. It does sometimes creep up on me a little, I sometimes subconsciously write morals into a story and then read it back later and go, “what the hell??”

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Arroti. There is no question. He’s just so weird and never what people expect Him to be.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Khet. I like kind people with good humor, and he’s very kind.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Yetova. There is, again, no question.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Usually the world comes before the characters. Most characters start solely as art, then their personality and lore comes next.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

I don’t know. Anxiety and depression seem to afflict a good number of them, but that’s just the name of the game when it comes to the things they’ve experienced.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

I know I draw them a certain way, but that’s because my aspirations are greater than my current skill. I see them in my head as real people, though not people who already exist like actors. They simply are.

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I am a creator at heart. Writing is just another outlet for my creations. And isn’t it fun to have a world to share with your own?

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I haven’t gotten too many comments to know. One time someone on here called my writing style romantic and I rode that high for a week, though. Writers do love feedback!

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

Just a guy, I guess. A guy with a lot of stuff in my head.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

My worldbuilding. It really fleshes out a story, in my opinion.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

I don’t share my writing much so I don’t get much feedback, but some people have told me they like my descriptions.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

Like anything, there is room for improvement.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yes. Before I had any social media, that’s basically what I was doing—art and writing for myself alone.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

The story itself is just what I enjoy. When it comes to formatting (e.g., when I decided to split my book into two arcs for easier marketability) I do sometimes make decisions based on what I feel others will enjoy. But the content itself is determined solely by my own whims and interests.