#the things i'd do for this man

[shinedoitsulikeabright]

Ares, my beloved!!!

.............

piggyback ride w thunder daddy

Here's zeus back when he had short hair/clouds(?) With todler Ares

[gyuzgrl]

too sweet //lsm//

summary- when Jeonghan brings up BDSM at dinner, your boyfriend is keen on trying it out for himself. you laugh it off, telling him he doesn't have the stomach for it, and he decides to show you just how capable he is in bed.

Crystal-chandeliered ceilings, a live cello performance, a bottle of Domaine de la Romanee- 1945; you're in the lap of luxury. After a particularly long week, your boyfriend decided to organize a 'little' get-together to get your mind off work. Something small, he said. Just a little dinner with Jeonghan and Hoshi- nothing much.

That's how you find yourself here- seated in one of the best restaurants in Seoul, surrounded by friends, donned in a dress so stunning it would've killed a small Victorian child.

Earlier on in the relationship, you used to get awkward in places like this, wondering how much it cost, trying to order the cheapest thing on the menu, but now? Now you've grown accustomed to Dokyeom's treats. It's how he shows his love for you- among many other ways- so who are you to say no?

"and yeah- we fucked." Hoshi states, mouth full of food as Dokyeom's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

Jeonghan giggles, turning around to see if anyone heard, and shakes his head.

"and?"

"and-" Hoshi continues, prodding a bit of beef with his fork, "and it was like painfully vanilla,"

You watch as Jeonghan's face contorts into a disapproving frown, and sip at your wine, praying to whoever's listening that your sweet, baby boy doesn't open his mouth to ask any questions.

But of course, you've never had much luck with the universe, have you?

"like ice cream?"

Aghast, the older man turns to Dokyeom.

"dude..."

When the inquisitive, wide-eyed stare doesn't leave his face, you cut in, clearing your throat.

"c'mon don't be like that- you know how he is Han"

Your boyfriend shifts his gaze to you, now wondering how you of all people know what his hyungs are talking about.

A sheepish, watery smile paints your face as you reach for your glass, taking another sip.

The air stills for a minute, awkward pauses flooding the space while Hoshi and Jeonghan share knowing glances.

They turn to you, flashing you those up-to-no-good grins, before fixing their attention to your poor boyfriend.

"alright buddy," Jeonghan starts, reaching out to grasp Dokyeom's shoulder, "lemme teach you about sex."

Immediately, you see the tips of his ears burn red. Poor thing.

"why are we uh, why're we talking about sex?"

"cause you still think we're talkin' about ice cream" Hoshi sneers. You shoot him a glare, and his shrinks back.

Ever the explorer, Dokyeom chimes in again, turning to you this time.

"we're not talking about ice cream? what are we-"

"sex." Jeonghan whispers, voice taking on a mock-sultry tone. He turns to you,

"what's he like in bed?"

"hey!-"

"he seems vanilla now, so I'm guessing it's basic shit" he continues, eyes narrowing in on you.

Suddenly you feel conscious of your surroundings. A nice evening out has somehow turned into a free-for-all analysis of your sex life, and your most intimate moments with Dokyeom have come under the looking glass.

"y-yeah, we're vanilla"

"oh you poor thing," Hoshi fakes a sob, bringing his hand to his chest as if your house caught on fire.

"don't be like that- some people prefer vanilla y'know?"

Some people, sure.

Not you, though.

As much as you love how Dokyeom makes you feel, you have to admit, he's a little, well... basic. It's the same old scene, classic p-in-v sex, sometimes he goes down on you, sometimes you do him, nothing apart from that.

Not that it doesn't feel good- it feels amazing- but you've always wanted something more. Something you're sure he won't be able to pull off.

"uhuh, I'm sure they do," Jeonghan muses, seeing right through you.

"what are we even talking abou-"

"sex!" all three of you whisper-shout in unison, starling Dokyeom.

"but- vanilla?"

"it's classic, like your basic animal-planet kinda sex" Jeonghan's voice turns serious, brows set in a firm line. "there's more than that, though"

Hoshi watches intently, moving a bit of bread to his mouth in slow motion, as the scene unravels before him. You find yourself equally invested, eyes fixed on Dokyeom's wonderstruck expression.

"there's more?" he gasps.

"oh you bet- d'you know what BDSM is?"

Your mouth goes bone dry.

"I think so? it's the stuff with the knives and leather and like latex-"

Jeonghan shoots you a quick glance, mouthing 'you're welcome', before moving back to the man next to him.

"that's not- it's not all intense and gory... there's layers to it, kay?"

Dokyeom nods, eyes shimmering.

"BDSM as a concept is deeper than just leather and blood. B and D stands for bondage and discipline, D and S stands for dominance and submission, and S and M stands for sadism and masochism-"

"so that's what Rhianna was talking about-" he cuts in, jaw falling slack as he listens further.

"each of these can come out in different ways- bondage could include cuffs, rope, shibari, or y'know whatever material you have on hand. discipline is meant in its literal sense- you do things to teach your partner the quote-unquote rules of sex, which could include spanking, using gags for punishment or doing things they like for reward. Sadism and masochism basically play on pain. Sadists like to cause it, masochists like to feel it- again, many ways to do this."

Hoshi stares in awe as Jeonghan concludes, putting his fork down to clap.

"wait- what about dominance?"

A sly smile quirks up Jeonghan's lips.

"oh that."

You swallow at the lump settling at the back of your throat, unable to tear your gaze away from your boyfriend's face- so eager, so fascinated by what he's heard.

"it's the premise of what all this is; discipline, sadism, bondage, it's all built on power play. One of you is in control and the other follows, letting themselves be controlled, it-"

"what about consent?"

Oh sweet, sweet boy.

"that's where safe words come into play. I use the traffic light system, so if my partner says green it means they're feeling good, if they say yellow, they're still okay but I need to slow down, and if they say red, they want me to stop"

"huh."

Dokyeom sits still for a minute, eyes glued to the plate sitting in front of him, and you can practically hear his brain churning to process all that he's learnt.

As the night goes on, he seems quieter than usual, staring at you, absorbing information, listening to what's being spoken about around him. Every time you turn to the side you meet his gaze- intense, preoccupied.

Dinner comes to a close with him shoving his shiny black credit card into the waiter's hands before anyone else beat him to it, and soon, you find yourselves saying your goodbyes, heading to the car.

Dokyeom opens your door, making sure you're seated, and moves over to the driver's seat.

"you don't- do you like how things are now?" Out of nowhere, his voice sounds in your ears, catching you off guard.

You look at him, surprise etched in the rise of your brow, and shake your head furiously.

"of course I do! baby, I love how things are with us, I love you"

He sighs, turning on the ignition, and begins to drive.

"not like that, honey, I meant physically,"

The blank look on your face has his cheeks burning as he works up the courage to say it.

"sex, y/n" he says, a little louder than before, "do you like the way we do things now?"

Oh.

You hadn't expected the conversation from earlier to stick with him, but evidently, it has. A shiver runs through you when he says it- sex. He's never brought it up so unambiguously before. It feels dirty, somehow, even though you've laid with him multiple times.

"I-"

"be honest, honey, okay?"

The earnest, gentle tone of his voice has your heart softening. He really is too pure for this world.

"I mean, I love the way we are now," you mutter, eyes focused on your lap as you pick at your nails, "you make me feel good"

Technically you aren't lying to him- you're just choosing to keep some things hidden. Dokyeom doesn't need to know that you've spent your nights thinking about his fingers buried deep inside you, forcing you to cum again and again until you're sobbing and shaking. He doesn't need to know you've been fantasizing about his arms, wondering how they'd feel pushing you down, leaving you helpless, completely at his mercy.

He's a nice guy, after all. They don't usually like stuff like that. And even if they think they like stuff like that, they don't have the stomach for it.

One stray teardrop and Dokyeom will be on his knees, apologizing profusely, crying along with you as he chastises himself.

"I'm not convinced," he sighs, shoulders slouching against his leather seats. "if this is about protecting my feelings-"

"no! no- not at all baby,"

"so tell me- I know you, I know when you've got something hidden away in that pretty head of yours"

Caught between a rock and a hard place, you find yourself in a bit of a dilemma. Should you be honest with him and take your chances? Or should you pacify him and convince him that plain old vanilla lovin' is all you need?

"I-"

"baby," he soothes, voice gentle, "I just wanna make sure I'm doing the best I can for you,"

A car passes you by, blaring loud pop music, and he breaks into a sheepish smile.

"there's a lot I didn't know before today- stuff that you knew about... so I just- I'm checking. If there's something you'd like me to do, someone you'd like me to be, I wanna try"

"oh,"

You stay silent for a bit, thinking over what to say. Sure, telling him that you're actually a submissive and you hate taking charge is simple, but the execution part leaves you tongue-tied. Someone as sweet and innocent as Dokyeom wouldn't be able to handle taking control.

Nothing against him, it's just that he's so cute and naive- there's no way he'd be able to restrain you and make you cry.

"there's one thing..." you mutter, voice so meek you're barely audible.

His ears perk up.

"y'know the dom-sub thing Hannie spoke about?"

"uhuh, one of us is in control and the other one listens,"

"yeah, I kinda, uh- I tend to lean towards being controlled rather than being in control"

"oh, we can do that if you like, baby" he chirps, twisting the steering wheel as he pulls into your apartment, "we can try whatever you want,"

There's a smile on his face- that same shining, star-studded gaze, eyes crinkling, teeth on full display- and you feel your heart sink.

You'll just have to make do with vanilla for the rest of your days.

The lift ride up is tense. You chew on your lower lip, tapping your heel impatiently against the ground as you move higher and higher, finally reaching your house.

Dokyeom keys in the passcode, unlocking the door, and you stumble inside, rushing to the bathroom for a bit of space.

Locking the door behind you, you stare at yourself in the mirror, worry etched in the crease of your forehead. Your face is beet red, pupils blown wide, and your throat feels dry.

All that talk about the bedroom has you feeling a little jumpier than usual and you can't help the way your brain automatically shifts to its usual Dokyeom fantasy- tied up helplessly in bed as he eats you out over and over, saying the filthiest things known to man.

God, the things you'd let him do to you...

His nose is built just right, bumping into your clit perfectly as he eats you out, tongue lapping up your arousal from your past orgasms. Those long, slim fingers would be splayed across your thighs, forcing your legs open, even when your body spasms, begging for an intermission.

'snap out of it- Christ' you tell yourself, shooing away any wandering thoughts as you unlock the door and head into your bedroom.

"everything okay, honey?"

You curse the universe when your eyes are greeted by his broad frame, standing by your dresser as he clicks his watch open, shaking it off his wrist in a few crisp motions.

"y-yeah I'm-" you cut yourself off when he begins to fold his shirtsleeves up, dragging the white fabric up around his elbow, putting his forearms on display. The way his veins frame the shape of his arms so perfectly, peeking out just enough, has you growing restless with desire, and you feel your face grow hot.

"baby?"

When you stay silent, he eyes you through the mirror, making sure you're still listening, and continues-

"I was thinking about what you said in the car, and I think we should give it a try"

Before you can stop it from happening, your lips part, letting a taunting laugh slip past them. Dokyeom halts his actions.

"why's that funny?"

"it's not! I just uh-" you nibble at your lower lip, trying desperately to conceal the smile perking up the corners of your lips, "I appreciate you saying that, but we really don't have to do things you won't be comfortable with,"

"how d'you know I won't be comfortable?"

You sigh, walking over to him.

"Kyeommie, you're a really great guy- you're sweet, you're kind, you're funny- and I love those things about you,"

"uhuh"

"it's just that you're too sweet, y'know? You won't be able to handle the stuff I'm into, baby"

His brows furrow, and he opens his mouth to speak, but you cut in, sugarcoating your words as much as you can.

"being nice isn't a bad thing at all, okay- don't get me wrong. I love you exactly as you are, so there's no need to make yourself uncomforta-"

"you think I can't do it, don't you?"

His voice is low, dripping with a kind of venom you've never heard from him before. You reach out, moving your hand to soothe over his shoulder, but he catches your wrist, pulling you into him.

"Dok-"

"I may be slow, I may not understand the things you do as easily" he sneers, his grip tightening, "but I know my way around your body-"

"I know I can make you feel good."

He inches closer, nose bumping against yours, and you let out a shaky sigh. Your heart thuds rapidly against your chest, banging against the confines of your ribs so noisily you're sure Dokyeom can hear it.

You've never heard him speak like this before, never seen his eyes flood with such darkness. The once glittering light in his pupils has now dimmed to a darker, lust-filled ocean, void of mercy.

The expanse of his broad shoulders shield you from the front, and a hand slides down your arm, resting at the curve of your back, trapping you in his hold.

"what is it that you want from me, hm?" he mumbles, angling your chin up towards his face, "want me to take control- be a little aggressive?"

Your breath catches, and you stare up at him, eyes wide. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd hear him talk this way, with his voice all low and mean. The way he holds you too, it's different from before. There's no gentle embrace, no tentative grip- no, he's sure right now. There's a certainty with which he holds you, a forcefulness he would've once been afraid of.

"tell me," he whispers as he walks you backward, heading for the bed, "tell me what you want and I'll make you feel good,"

With each step forward he takes in your direction, you take one back, staring up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. Is this really the same guy from two hours ago?

His gaze pierces through you, challenging you as if to say- 'try me, I dare you.' It's simultaneously intimidating, yet somehow exciting, and you feel a familiar heat spread in your lower belly.

Like some sort of predator, dead set on catching its prey, Dokyeom stalks toward you, moving further and further, until your calves make contact with the bed.

He smirks.

You've been caught.

"what's wrong, honey?" a faux pout graces his lips, "you were saying so much a minute ago-"

You gasp as he closes in, leaving no room for anything but your body and his. The hand on your face leaves your chin, and he traces a finger down your throat, stopping just below the divot of your collarbones, lingering over the hem of your dress.

There's an evil glint in his eye and you watch, waiting patiently to see what he does next.

"strip."

Certain you heard him wrong, you stay still, staring up at him dumbly.

"oh, we don't feel like listening today?" he quirks a brow at you, loosening his grip on your waist as he lets his hand travel up your back, "either you do it- or I'll do my fucking self."

On beat, he thumbs the zipper of your dress and tugs it down in one sharp motion, leaving you stunned. The fabric falls slack against your body, loosening at your neckline just enough to give Dokyeom a peek of what lies underneath.

He trails his finger down your clavicle, pushing your dress down to reveal the lacey surface of your bra- the fabric flimsy and transparent, letting your nipples poke through.

"someone's excited," he bites his lips, smirking down at your hardened nipples. "you wanna take this off for me, baby?"

His voice is raspy, taunting almost, and your body obeys, arms hastily undoing your bra as you shimmy out of your dress. You should feel embarrassed, getting naked so desperately like some sex-hungry nympho, but you don't.

The arousal pooling in between your legs is far too distracting to leave any room for humility or shame.

Dressed pooled at your ankles, bra tossed aside, you stand bare before him.

Teasingly, Dokyeom lets the pad of his extended finger trace down your chest as he leans in, lips ghosting over yours. Your eyes flutter closed and your lips part- ever so slightly- bracing for impact. You feel his breath fanning across your face as his presence nears, skin almost touching yours, before he sends a sharp tweak to your nipple, pulling away with a devilish grin.

Jolting at the sudden stimulation, you gasp, eyes opening wide. There's a current running down your body, stemming from the spot he abused seconds ago, and you feel it land in your clit.

You want to argue, to call him an idiot and tell him to kiss you proper- to quit teasing- but you know you like this. The way he's got you all figured out, the way he so effortlessly gets you to bend to his will, god this is what you've been waiting for.

"get on the bed."

The firmness of his voice tells you to bite your tongue and acquiesce, but there's something deep inside of you that wants to see how far you can push him.

"don't wanna"

He pauses for a second, looking into your eyes-

"do you actually want to stop or are you just being difficult?"

"the latter," you singsong, staring up at him with a challenge dancing behind your eyes.

There's a moment of silence as he prods his cheek with the tip of his tongue, taking in what you've just said. His blood boils at the mockery in your voice, eyes hardening to a cold brown.

"brat." he spits, clenching his jaw.

In one forceful motion, Dokyeom yanks you towards himself, lifting you up by the thighs before tossing you onto the mattress behind.

"baby-!" You can't help but squeal as he manhandles you effortlessly, showing you just how strong he really is. Your body lands with a dull thump on the bed, sinking deep into your duvet as he stares daggers into your sprawled out frame.

"sit still."

Dokyeom steps back, standing before you at the foot of the bed, and keeps his eyes on yours. A sly hand creeps up his neck, fingers weaving into the intricate knot of his tie, and he pulls it loose, tossing the silk fabric near your feet.

Undoing the top buttons of his shirt, his hand travels down to his belt, clicking the buckle open with ease. The metal comes apart in his hand, loosening with a single flick of his wrist, and you feel your mouth begin to water.

He looked sinful. With his sleeves rolled up- biceps straining through the fabric, the way his chest peeked out tauntingly through his shirt, how his eyes bore into yours, not breaking contact for an instant- it made you want to scream.

The sound of metal clanking pulls you from your thoughts, and you realise that he's shucked off his trousers, leaving himself in his CK black boxers and a partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Kyeommie," you pout, reaching an arm out towards him, "c'mere"

It takes every bit of his strength to keep himself from crumbling instantly, but he manages it with a firm shake of his head.

"thought I told you to stay still, hm?"

You frown, your pout still evident, and turn away with a huff.

"I'm taking this off, y'know," he teases, plucking open the buttons of his shirt, and you feel your attitude fade to dust as you turn back to him in an instant.

Who wouldn't? After all, he does have the body of a God.

As he undoes his last button, you're greeted by his sculpted torso, tanned to perfection.

Dokyeom smirks, ego inflating at your star-struck reaction as if you haven't seen him like before.

"every single time," he mutters, shaking his head in amusement.

Before long, the shirt is discarded to some remote corner of the room, and he stands before you, nearly bare.

"where were we..."

Grabbing your ankles, he tugs you down till your hips reach the foot of the bed. A startled gasp escapes you at his actions and he can't help but smirk.

"if tossing you around was all it took, you should've just asked, sweetheart"

Your cheeks burn red. Never once has he spoken to you like this- so direct, without scaffolding.

"makes me wonder what else you might like,"

Dokyeom brushes his fingertips up your legs, kneeling down to face your clothed cunt.

"I learned a lot today," he bites his lip, eyes fixed on the damp spot growing under your panties. "will you tell me which of all those you like or should I find out for myself?"

His gaze shifts to you, eyeing the flush on your cheeks, the scandalized widening of your eyes.

"I- I want-" you trail off, voice so small it makes him melt.

"I'm listening, honey, tell me what you want,"

That soft, silverish quality of his voice resurfaces, and you feel your body relax. He rubs slow circles into your thighs, trying his best to coax the words out of you, but you remain hesitant.

Embarrassed, rather.

You've never told anyone what you want from them so plainly, with nowhere to hide. You feel exposed in front of him for the first time in a while and the feeling excites you.

"don't stop." you murmur, unable to meet his gaze. "don't stop after just one... y'know-"

His eyes darken.

"oh I'm going to like this"

Deft fingers slide up your inner thighs, hooking under the last of your lingerie and pulling it apart, tearing the lace off of your body to reveal what Dokyeom wants most.

The most intimate part of you lies spread out all for him, glistening with arousal, and he has to suck in a breath to calm himself.

"don't- don't do that,"

"do what?" he asks, backing away slightly just in case you've changed your mind.

"try to control yourself like that- just don't hold back"

You breathe shakily before continuing- "I want to see how far you go-"

Something snaps within him, that final band of restraint finally tears apart, and he yanks you down onto his tongue, licking fervently at your cunt like this is the last time he gets to taste you.

Your lips part, letting breathy, helpless cries slip past, and Dokyeom knows he's doing well.

Despite the gusto with which he devours you, his movements are precise, practiced. It's exactly as he said earlier- he knows how to make you feel good. He knows your body.

He works his tongue against you, lapping at your clit without any care of hypersensitivity or overstimulation, pressing harder and harder into you as your legs spasm around him.

"wai- oh my god-" you moan, back arching up, hips lifting off the bed for a second, before Dokyeom pushes you back down firmly with his hand splayed across your lower belly.

Squirming helplessly under the force of his arm, your body tries to move away, to get just a little respite, but all in vain. He doesn't let you. The weight of one hand holds you secure, while the other cups the underside of your thighs- pushing your leg up as far as it can go.

With your legs spread out further, his assault on your clit feels even more direct, with each firm motion of his tongue sending shockwaves across your body, and you feel your muscles tighten, building up for release.

Dokyeom seems to have noticed too, and his lips curl up at the corners into a deeply satisfied smirk. You feel it against your skin.

"already?" he abashes, eyeing your tensed frame, "after all you said?"

"m'sorry- please, please can I-"

"can you?" he echoes.

"can I cum ple-please"

You've done this before- asked for permission before- but not with him. Never with him. Dokyeom's smirk only widens when he realises the power he now holds over you. To be able to deny one their right to pleasure is... exciting, to say the least. He certainly seems to enjoy it, considering the bulge growing in his boxers.

"mm, I didn't quite hear that honey, come again?" His voice is patronizing, mocking.

"please Kyeommie please let me cum"

Dokyeom's never thought of himself as a man who likes to abuse his power, but right now with the way you're begging? He wants to see just how much you can take before the seams begin to rip.

"no."

Your eyes fly open, jaw agape as your clit throbs under his tongue.

"w-what"

"you asked, I said no."

Now he knows he isn't being fair, he knows. But the tears welling up in your eyes have him entranced. There's this urge he has deep inside to see them all spill out and stain those pretty cheeks of yours.

"but-"

"are you gonna act up? 'cause that's not how you're getting what you want sweetheart"

Dokyeom's voice sends a chill down your spine. With the way his tongue abuses your clit, you're certain you won't be able to hold yourself back, not when your high is almost near.

You want to be good for him, you really do- but is this even fair? As he laps into you, nudging your sensitive nerves just right, your head tips back into the pillows and you moan out a string of profanities, getting completely lost in the pleasure he gives you.

He isn't happy.

"if you wanna cum that bad- I should give you more, hm? who am I to deny?"

You know very well from the tone of his voice what he's got planned.

Grabbing the tie- now dangling precariously off the bed- Dokyeom crawls over your spent frame, balancing his weight on his knees.

"gimme your hands."

Tentatively, you hold out your arms, pushing your wrists together.

"what are you do-"

"you know what I'm doing, sweetheart"

You do.

He pulls the fabric of his tie taut, looping it at your wrists before tying a firm knot to keep you from moving. The black silk, although soft to the touch, presses into your skin, and you hiss when he gives the fabric a sharp tug.

Dokyeom's eyes draw back to yours, and he grabs your wrists, pushing them up above your head.

"keep these here," he murmurs, gulping slightly when he notices how close your faces are.

Your eyes burn holes into each other's, and he sees something in your gaze that he hasn't before-

Hunger.

"Dokyeom," you breathe, chest rising shakily,

"kiss me"

Waiting no longer, he pushes his lips to yours, capturing the plush crimson in a slow, hard kiss. The way your lips mold so perfectly together, fitting into each other like pieces of a puzzle, makes this moment that much more meaningful.

When he touches you, when he kisses you, you know deep inside that this man is your forever. No one has or ever will make you feel so alive.

Dokyeom swallows your whimpers, your cries, as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It's sloppy and messy and desperate- but you love the way it feels, the way he feels.

Leaving your wrist, his hand comes down to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss you harder, deeper.

"wa-wait-" you pant, feeling your lungs burn.

As you try to pull away, a deep growl emanates from within his throat, and he tugs you closer, unwilling to let go.

A surprised 'mm!' escapes your occupied lips, muffled by his own, and your body lights up- embers of red-hot desire scattering across your skin.

Dokyeom's own lungs beg him to move away, to breathe, but he holds still, stubborn as ever. You feel far too good. If this is how he dies, he'll go gladly.

The airy whimpers and gasps from you, however, finally get him to let go.

Your chest heaves as you gulp in precious breaths to soothe your lungs, as does his own. Staring up at him in shock, you manage to stutter out-

"where has that been all this time-"

He lets out an airy laugh, pressing a tender kiss to your jaw, trailing down your torso until he reaches your gushing sex.

"the hands stay up there- got that?"

You nod eagerly, holding your wrists up to show him, but you're quickly cut off by his tongue, pressing back into your clit.

"oh-"

Tracing slow figure eights into you, Dokyeom works his tongue deftly while his fingers prod at your entrance. With ease, he slips two long digits inside, pushing deep till your arousal trickles down his knuckles.

"Dok- oh fuck oh my god"

Each knuckle of his fingers adds further stimulation as he begins to pump in and out of you. Every time he draws back, you stretch to accommodate the balls of his joints and it feels divine.

You've always loved his hands. Those slender, long fingers were perfect for you, and the fact that his knuckles jut out at each joint only makes it all better.

The kinks in his fingers have your legs quivering, and his tongue- god his tongue- nudges your clit with the perfect amount of pressure.

Feeling your orgasm build at record speed, you moan, completely defenseless as Dokyeom slurps noisily at your sex while his fingers push up against that one particularly soft spot inside you.

"Kyeo-Kyeommie m'gonna-"

"that's it, sweetheart- just let go for Kyeommie"

With a sob, you feel your orgasm burn through you, twice as intense as the previous one, and your thighs quiver.

You're spent. You're spent and he's only made you cum twice.

Watching the way your muscles twitch from the weight of your orgasm, Dokyeom grins, feeling particularly proud.

Now usually, this is where it ends. His arms would slip out from under your thighs, and he'd kiss you sweetly, telling you how amazing you are. He'd check to see if you wanted him to make love to you, and if you agreed, he'd do exactly that.

Tonight, however, he stays firm in place, his mouth still connected to your cunt. Limbs still quivering, your eyes widen when he begins to move against you, barely giving you a second to catch your breath and recover.

Your body goes limp when he pokes his tongue against your over-sensitive clit, licking gentle yet firm stripes with precision. Each oscillation elicits the most delightful sound, just as a clock chimes with the motions of its gong.

All you can do is clutch the fabric of his tie, nails digging into your palms as your skin burns under his touch. Your nerves throb, pulsing in time with your heart, in time with his tongue.

"so good for me, honey," he mumbles into you, sliding his fingers back inside you in one fluid motion. Your back arches comically off the bed, mouth hanging open in a mix of shock and pleasure.

Once more, you find your belly rudely forced back down. Dokyeom narrows his eyes at you, irritation flashing behind his deep brown pupils, and keeps his hand there- splayed over your lower belly, pushing down with just enough pressure for his fingers to prod out from under your skin.

You gasp, feeling fuller somehow with the added force, feeling his fingers drag deeper against your walls. Within moments, your cunt clenches down around his digits, and he laughs in disbelief.

"again? baby c'mon you have a point to prove, don't you?"

Under any other circumstance, you would've bitten back, calling him some name, yelling some profanity- but now? Now you need him. You're so close, right on the edge of the water, ready to fall in, and only he can give you that last push. You know better than to open that smart mouth of yours right now.

"is this all it takes? y'know if you're gonna start off by being a brat- you gotta keep up with the act at least-"

"m'so-m'sorry-" you gasp, tugging against your restraints as you feel your high mere seconds away, "m'sorry please can I cum please I've been so good for you-"

Dokyeom nods, scissoring his fingers in and out of you more rapidly than before, and you cum with a scream, straining against the cloth binding your wrists as your orgasm rips through you like a whirlwind.

"that's my girl-" he sighs, placing a kiss to your inner thigh, while his fingers continue their movement inside you.

"Kyeom- oh- t-too much,"

Your cries fall on deaf ears, and he shoots you a sly grin.

It has been over an hour now, you're certain. Dokyeom's held you still and pulled orgasm after orgasm from you with his tongue, his fingers, both.

"p-please-" you whimper, tears streaming down your face as those long fingers slide into you once more.

"just one more, honey,"

Dokyeom presses tender kisses to your inner thighs- now wet with your slick- and pushes further into you.

"just one more for me, hm? you can do that for me, can't you baby?"

You nod, small sobs wracking your body. Of course you'll do this for him. You'll do anything for him. Plus, you can't say you aren't enjoying this-

"that's my girl."

[xx-lemon-drop-xx]

The things I'd do for this man.

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push the heel of my palm into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[sky-is-the-limit]

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚐, 𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚘, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚞𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚞𝚜𝚑, 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚡 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐 𝚞𝚙, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚍, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑, 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚎.

(gif cred: @itspapillonnoir)

[weakformingyu]

JAIL FOR THIS MAN!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW CAN SOMEONE BE THIS DAMN FINE???? IT'S ILLEGAL, I'M SURE IT IS!!!!!!!

© 일이칠 | do not edit and/or crop logo

[skunklace]

March of the Pigs (1994) Nine Inch Nails

[secretsimpleness]

Sometimes I want to bring Morrigan but then I remember I play as a face-tanking rogue and I bring Wynne. Warden Cousland, Morrigan, Wynne / Dragon Age Origins (c) Bioware

[psychotic-nonsense]

In October of 1967, Steve Harrington is born in Hawkins, Indiana.

He's raised there, forced to live under the strict expectations of his parents, Richard and Samantha. Barely escapes their clutches, freedom fueled by the kids and adults that take the role of guardian and family when the time is right. Keeps himself in check with the always impending apocalypses that arise beneath his feet.

In June of 1985 - when Steve Harrington is 18, while Richard and Samantha Harrington are visiting New York for an extended work trip - Veronica Harrington is born.

She was carried and raised in secret from their hometown. They take care of her between their business hours, dropping her in the hands of nannies and babysitters galore. They don't even think of Indiana during Veronica's early childhood, too focused on work and making sure their daughter starts up right.

In October of 1986 - when Steve Harrington is 19, aged further by ending the Vecna War, yet tamed by his newfound love in Eddie Munson - Richard and Samantha Harrington return to Hawkins.

They don't ask about what happened to their son. They don't ask about the town. They don't ask questions, just give responses to them. Sneering at Steve's friends, complaining about the state of the house, commenting at the disfunctional chaos their home has become.

In November of 1986, Richard and Samantha Harrington disown Steve.

They just let him go. They at least give him a folder of his legal documents, but otherwise just tell him to get out of their house and never use their name again. Claiming Steve doesn't need anything from the room because the Harrington's own everything in it. They don't call him son, they don't say goodbye, they don't acknowledge who's actually taken care of the house, they don't admit most of Steve's former room has changed with money Steve earned himself, they don't dare to give him any money or care where he goes. They just say they're sick of dealing with an unworthy mistake of a child, and force him out of their house.

In November of 1986, the Party's adults adopt Steve.

He runs to them first after everything happens. Held himself together at the start, but broke down the second the words were out. While everyone was trying to comfort Steve, Wayne Munson and Jim Hopper were the first to succeed. They know firsthand that this family would never be the same as blood, no matter how much that blood has boiled and burned before, but the love will be stronger and it will be here. When everyone seconds it, Steve finally accepts it. He becomes a child of the Party - he's everyone's son and everyone's brother, taking whatever surname he sees fit.

In November of 1986, Steve Henderson and Eddie Munson leave Hawkins.

Despite all this good, Steve can't bear to stay in this damned town a second longer, where everyone knows who he is and will soon know everything he isn't. And it's not like Eddie was looking forward to sticking around Hawkins either, especially without his Steve. The kids are the first to agree, surprisingly, and the adults promise to find a way for the boys to get out. Later that week, when Richard and Samantha leave the house to prepare for Veronica, Steve and Eddie break in to take everything that's rightfully theirs. While they're there, not sure what prompts him, Steve makes a bag of his clothes with shoes and his wallet tucked within it, shoving it into his closet. Dustin's mom uses an old favor to get the boys an apartment in Chicago, the Party has one last farewell, and the two boys are gone.

From 1986 onward, Veronica Harrington is raised in Hawkins, Indiana.

Richard and Samantha are adamant in their daughter coming out exactly how she should. They steadily convince the town to forget the Harringtons ever had a son and lock the room on the second floor next to the stairs without ever touching the inside. They raise her with formality and pride at the top of their expectations, wanting at least one child to come out right.

But Veronica is the spitting image of Steve's honesty and care. She puts on a facade when needed, but even at a young age, she wants nothing more than to be someone's light in the darkness. She plays with every lonely kid at school, and tries to make people laugh at the business parties she's dragged to. It's not received well by her parents, but Veronica is much too strong willed and stubborn to let it phase her.

In April of 1991 - when she's 6 and they're so much stronger around their hearts - Veronica Harrington meets Steve and Eddie Munson for the first time.

It's the year Erica is set to graduate high school. Steve and Eddie have been making the drive for every holiday this year, ordered determined to give her the best senior year she could have. It's Easter Sunday, and Wayne somehow managed to drag his boys away to church - a Munson custom, as even Eddie insisted they go.

While at the snack table post sermon, a little girl comes up to Steve, mistaking him for her father. He and Eddie gently comfort the girl, introducing themselves and offering to help the girl find her parents. That's when Veronica introduces herself, striking Steve deep in his heart. Still, he keeps quiet, even gifting her a little origami crane made from napkins at the table. He calls her "chickpea" for the color of her dress, tells her to keep the crane secret and safe, "If ever you need to find your way back home, you hold that close, and it'll tell you."

Meanwhile, Wayne has come across Richard and Samantha in the crowd opposite the kids. Exchanging formalities, Wayne mentions his son and nephew are in town, news the Harrington's are surprised at, as Wayne didn't seem like the father type. However, trying to keep face, they remain civil and insist on introducing their daughter.

Cue Veronica running to her parents with Steve and Eddie in tow. Cue Steve calling Wayne dad right to Richard's face. Cue the Harrington's immediate leave from the church, Veronica waving behind her with a crane placed carefully in her pocket.

From then on, Veronica Harrington's life changes indefinitely.

Her parents' expectations grow tenfold. She finds out she's horribly allergic to chickpeas. All of her friends must be approved by her parents, and any that don't fit their image are ordered to leave her.

Veronica takes these changes in stride - is her class's top student, captain of the softball and volleyball teams in junior high, keeps the friends she wants in secret from her parents - but she can't help but keep the crane in a little box in her room. Gets a necklace with a little origami crane pendant, holds it whenever she needs to make a hard choice. Can't help but expand herself in secret, learn things her parents would never approve of - lock picking, other languages, sleight of hand, a clothing style that's nothing like the dark blues of her family, all warmth and light. She explores every room in her house, yet is unable to find her way into that room upstairs next to the steps.

In May of 1998, Veronica Harrington discovers the truth about her brother.

She's about to be a freshman. Her class was touring the high school in preparation, and while passing the athletics hall, her eyes hit the swimming trophies. Each row stuffed with trophies, and each one with a name that stabbed her right in the stomach: Steve Harrington.

After that, she couldn't bear all the secrecy anymore. Late that same night, she finally uses her lock picking skills to break into that room. And though it's devoid of life, it is a bedroom, so evidently lived in. It's frozen in time, twisted sheets covered in dust, old papers crinkled from being stepped on but not picked up, old clean clothes still sitting in the hamper. It's a boy's room, clearly, and Veronica is careful walking around this place of memories.

She does still explore, quietly clicking on lights around the room, too cautious to touch the overhead lights. She looks under the bed, finding a bat and a trash can lid, both embedded with rusty nails. A shirt that still smells like fresh laundry yet has a back stained permanently with long red lines down the shoulders. Dozens of stapled documents labeled NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT, detailing horrific events that each have that same name signed at the bottom.

With shaking hands she checks the closet, and finds it mostly empty. All except for a deep green graduation robe and cap, a cream Hawkins High letterman, and a duffel bag hidden in the back corner. The cap has a 1985 tassel, and the letterman has Harrington branded on the back with basketball and swimming patches galore. And the bag, when she checks it, looks like a survivalist pack someone would make in an apocalypse. At the top sits a wallet, and inside is an ID for a Steve Harrington, who has the same face as the one in her origami memories.

And Veronica is done. She wakes up the next morning and throws Steve's jacket on the kitchen table, startling both her parents mid sip of coffee. She finds herself in a screaming match with her father, demanding them to quit lying to her, begging to know who her brother is.

In a fit of rage, Richard tells her. Tells her everything Richard and Samantha never saw in Steve, about Veronica's secret birth, the disownment, Steve's disappearance from the Harrington house and Hawkins. She's reminded of that one Easter Sunday, and is told how Richard and Samantha faked Veronica's allergy to keep her mind from being tainted by whatever curse befell their bloodline before. Orders her to never say that name again.

In a fit of rage, Veronica bites back. Calls her parents cruel and overly expectant. Comes clean about her secret freedom. Says she'd rather be nothing than ever carry the burden of the Harrington name ever again.

She hides away in her room after the fight. Cries in her closet with her origami box cradled tightly to her chest, begging it to take her home because this place isn't anymore, maybe never was. Cries for the brother she never even got to meet, who went through so many horrible things yet still got put through this same punishment. Cries for the future she won't get to have, losing her hope for a new beginning that will now never be.

At the start of June, 1998, Veronica runs away.

She makes it through the rest of May in near silence. She writes notes for all of her friends at the end of the school year, and one for her parents to inevitably find. Finds 75 dollars in Steve's old wallet, stuffs the duffel bag the rest of the way with her belongings, and says goodbye to Hawkins.

She takes the first bus she can find out of town. Doesn't care that it's going to Chicago, doesn't really care where she's going now. She befriends an old homeless man riding the bus as well, becomes another interesting name in his "Book of Wanders (Pronounced as Wonders)." As Veronica's telling the story about unknowingly meeting her brother, she remembers the crane in her bag. She reaches in to retrieve the little box, then the crane, nearly crying seeing how disheveled and unfolded it is. Broken and doomed, just like her. But looking at it now after so long, she thinks she sees something written inside it. Despite it shattering her heart pieces, she carefully unfolds the little crane.

At its center, in old, bleeding blue text, reads, "Find the Swooping Bat if you've lost your way."

The old man laughs then, taking Veronica's hand and placing it onto her chest, over her heart. "It's fate," he whispers in the dark bus. "There's a place called that in Chicago."

Veronica uses her money to rent them both a hotel for the night, giving the old man a warm bath for the first time in weeks. She gifts him the clothes as well, saying it's, "an honorary thanks from my brother, for helping me get here." They bid each other farewell in the morning, the old man telling her to keep hold of fate.

She finds her way to the Swooping Bat easily, hand on her necklace guiding her way. It's a quaint little diner, popular enough to be comfortably warm when she walks in. A young lady in a wheelchair - Max, says her nametag, with pins saying things like, "Summer work blows" and "USC grad or bust!" resting on her collar - guides her to a booth next to the sunrise.

"Anything I can get you today?" Max asks when Veronica's seated.

Veronica's fully ready to order everything on the menu, what with how delicious this place smells, but then she remembers her funds. 5 bucks, if she's lucky. "Just a chocolate milk, for now. Biggest one you have, please." She somehow plays off Max's skeptical look, her eyes sweeping over Veronica's no doubt disheveled and no-food-in-36-hours appearance.

It somehow works out, and Max is wheeling away. Veronica allows herself a moment to collapse, stomach growling in pain and eyes burning with the realization she has no idea what she's going to do now. She just has this last bit of hope to hold onto, and without it, she'll be nothing but a husk.

She's not sure how long she sits there, staring at the sunrise and letting sound and AC whisk her mind away, but there's suddenly a little knock on her table. Her head snaps up, and there's Max again, setting down a giant glass of chocolate milk... alongside a loaded breakfast plate.

"It's on the house," Max rushes to explain, all fondness when Veronica scrambles to get her wallet. "Courtesy of the owner. And between you and me," she whispers with a wink, "just take the damn food, kid."

Veronica stumbles over herself for a moment, rendered near speechless, before she finally comes back. She begs Max to thank the owner profusely, before rushing to dig into the pancakes before her. She's halfway done dousing the stack in syrup by the time Max wheels away, when there's suddenly someone laughing.

"Of course," says a choked-up voice behind her. "Can't have any chickpeas starving in my booths."

Veronica nearly drops her fork. She turns so sharply she gets dizzy. Seven years can't change a person that much, surely, because though he's bigger in the torso and he has glasses on the bridge of his nose and his hair is cut so close, he still has the same softness in his voice and the same slouch in his stance and the same moles around his eyes and his smile is so bright despite the tears in his eyes, and though Veronica can barely see through tears herself, it's not like she needs them anyway to know it's-

"Steve!" she cries, scrambling out of the booth to meet her brother halfway. The relief of it all working out has the rest of her restraint collapsing, forcing harsh sobs out of her and into Steve's shoulder. The siblings hold each other in the middle of a restaurant, a voice in the background asking everyone to leave them be. Steve doesn't stop whispering, even as his chest heaves with broken gasps between tears, "You're save, Veronica, I got you, I got you, it's gonna be okay, you're safe here, it's okay, sis, it's okay..."

"That you, lil' chickpea?" whispers a different voice once they've calmed down. Veronica reluctantly pulls away and finds a man kneeling beside them, a hand on Steve's shoulder and similar tears in his eyes. His hair and tattoos remind her of the tamed wild from seven years ago, covered in black in the middle of church yet glowing brighter than the stained glass, the one that Steve looks at in past and present with a glowing love Veronica never saw between her parents.

"Yeah," she whispers, wiping her tears away before placing a hand atop her necklace. It catches Eddie and Steve's eyes and make them beam with pride and relief. "Yeah, it's... it's me...."

[k4pp4-8]

Adding the spot to my babygirl collection

[royalarchivist]

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

And no one could give sensation, horror, and shock like Vincent Price!

I'll never Not post this.

Vincent Price - House of Wax (1953)

[shesaidhellooo]

my hyperfixation of the day

[davidsfanclub]

they are so juicy how could I not want a bite??

Me when David

[elsecrytt]

so i had a thought.

what if 236 is actually jujutsu tech propaganda?

mei mei is broadcasting this entire thing, right? what better way to protect gojo from bounty hunters etc., than convince the entire world that he's already dead?

the final battle happened offscreen, with significantly less fanfare. gojo rescued megumi, defeated sukuna. the day was saved.

at a cost.

gojo gave up everything - at least, everything he valued. the six eyes, his abilities as a sorcerer. he assumed that would make him a normal man, and he was right -

what he didn't realize was that it would also make him blind.

so now... you live in a nice apartment complex. a guy moves in next to you.

you can't help but notice he happens to be blind - at least, he's wearing a blindfold, uses a cane, but he's often swearing and stumbling through his porch, over his entryway. he is very, very blind.

you, wondering what the fuck up is with your obviously blind neighbor who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

he walks into objects all the time, especially hitting his head on things, since he's so tall. forgets his cane when going out. the dude just left his door open the other day, like, WIDE OPEN, who DOES that?

helping gojo learn, not only how to be human, but how to be disabled. how to not be disgusted with being disabled.

gojo learning that being blind isn't the end of his life, nor the end of his happiness - life is still worth living, even without one of his senses.

helping gojo mourn his lost sense while still finding things to enjoy. gojo who learns to cook by taste, by feeling heat or texture, with your help. gojo learning to organize things so he always knows where they are from memory.

bringing gojo audiobook versions of your favorite stories even if he teases you for your taste. he listens to them when he has nothing to do, which is most of the time, now.

he goes out on walks all the time because he doesn't have a job, you learn. while it's nice to not have to work, you can tell he comes from money, his life comes with a gaping hole inside it, one that isn't entirely explained by the blindness.

gojo who's overstimulated all the time because he no longer has infinity as a barrier, but somehow also as touch-starved as ever, alone in a foreign country away from all his students and colleagues.

gojo, who has only ever done Big Things with his life, who has only ever been an Important Person doing world changing things, now, just an ordinary guy.

he barely cares what happens to himself now. it's not that he wants to die, or anything. it's just that he doesn't have a reason to live.

and that wouldn't change overnight. not with cooking lessons or audiobooks or friendly greetings whenever you see him by the door. not with smiles or waves (he can't see them) or a braille rubik's cube you find online (how did he solve it in under a minute??) or karaoke (he has an AMAZING singing voice, and he knows so many songs better than you do?).

it wouldn't change overnight, because nothing worthwhile forms in a day, or two, or even a week or a month.

but gojo's life doesn't have to be amazing a day after he's gone blind. or a week. or a month. it's okay if it's difficult, he learns, it's okay if he hates it, hates himself, hates every choice that brought him here, even if he would never take it back.

it's okay. it gets better. with you there? it's getting better.