#piss right off sag

[aroaceofdiamonds]

https://www.sagaftra.org/sag-aftra-and-replica-studios-introduce-groundbreaking-ai-voice-agreement-ces

#piss right off sag #you cant be all defensive against ai for live action #but then throw video games under the bus like that #and a lot of voice actors claim they heard nothing about this #so it seems like they went behind their backs to make this deal #as an avid gamer i would like to give you a big middle finger sag #video games #sag aftra #ai #voice acting #destiel news #rhi's rambles

[luveline]

ooo i love that you’re giving me free reign over ideas for pregnant bombshell and spencer.. maybe something really angsty where reader’s hormones are getting the best of her and she’s just really pissed at spencer for absolutely no reason? hope that makes sense

thank you for requesting <3 pregnant!reader

“I’m serious, Spencer Reid, you better leave me alone,” you warn. 

Spencer gawps. Morgan glances between you both in concern, having seen hundreds of your conversations over the years and never one this sour. “But I–”

“I’m not kidding.” You glare at him, press your hand to your mouth, and spin away from him to march up the steps to Hotch’s office. 

Spencer attempts to follow you. Morgan holds him back with one hand to the chest. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

Spencer watches you until you’re gone. He frowns, upset in his eyes and his model pout. “I don’t even know what I did.” 

“Is this a common occurrence?” 

“No, never! But these last couple days she’s always angry with me.” 

“It’s the baby hormones,” Morgan assures his friend, patting him and pushing him toward his desk. “Or you did something and don’t remember.” 

“If I did, I really don’t.” 

You stew in Hotch’s office. Morgan can imagine the conversation, your annoyance and Hotch’s light bemusement, your wondering if you’re being too harsh, and Hotch giving an amiable, neutral answer. Morgan can also imagine what Spencer thinks you’re doing, watching as his shoulders sink further and further down. 

Spencer scratches a stressed hand through his hair. “I’ll go say sorry,” he says. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea, but not yet. She needs time to cool down.” 

Spencer frowns at his hands. “I don’t like when she’s mad at me like this. We’re always on the same page, I never have to guess what she’s thinking anymore.” He pulls at the neck of his shirt and his tight tie. “I feel like I’m twenty four again.” 

“This is all new for her,” Morgan says. What Spencer doesn’t know is that he’s making this up as he goes. Spencer messed irretrievably for all he knows. “You just need to remember why she’s doing it in the first place, right? She’s loved you for years, one pregnancy induced moment of rage won’t change that. Probably.”

Spencer isn’t appeased. Worse when you emerge from Hotch’s office and walk straight to your desk without glancing Spencer’s way, and worse again when he attempts to talk to you and you shake your head. “Please, Spencer. Just leave me alone.” 

Spencer spends the day in agony. The worry of what he’s done eats at him, and he attempts to make it up to you, ultimately making it worse. You frown at every cup of tea or water he brings you, glaring at the plate he serves you for lunch. The bullpen of the office sags under your fury. Spencer doesn’t eat a single bite all day.  

It’s by chance that Morgan witnesses the full fallout on his way to the bathroom. You’re in the hallway just on the way to Penelope’s office with Spencer, who’s clearly followed you to give apologies and concern aplenty. He’s caught your hand.

“I don’t even know why you’re mad,” Spencer says hopelessly. He sounds heartbroken.

You look at your hands for a long while, seconds stretching and aching, before you hold your stomach and look to the side. “I’m sorry–” you say, cutting yourself off as your voice wobbles unsurely.

“What?” Spencer asks, startled. 

“I don’t know,” —your breath shudders— “why I’m being so mean to you–”

“Angel–”

“I feel like I’m suffocating in my own skin and you’re just making me so angry hovering because I can look after myself, but I’m starting to think I can’t, and I look really stupid in my maternity clothes–”

“What’s wrong with your clothes?”

You huff sharply.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re just really pregnant right now and the hormones are messing with you,” —you scoff, but Spencer soldiers on— “I love how you look, and I love you even when you’re angry with me, and I’m sorry you feel claustrophobic. What can I do?” 

Your glare softens slowly. “You’re not mad at me?” 

“You’re mad at me, lovely.” 

Morgan thinks that last bit is a nice touch. You wipe your blurry eyes and squeeze his hands, still breathing too fast and too hard but the anger having completely drained from your features, returning you to your usual beautiful state. You measure his gaze for a while, before resting your forehead on his chest, your bump in the way of a proper hug. “Do you still love me?” you ask quietly.

“No.” He laughs and kisses your temple, using his index finger to turn your face by your hairline carefully, giving him better view of your face. “Yeah, I still love you. I always do. I’m sorry I upset you that much, I’m not trying to smother you.” 

“You didn’t, Spence, I upset myself, and I took it out on you… I’m sorry I was mean to you, earlier, you didn’t deserve it. It’s just hard.” You shake your head. “You never make me feel bad for being a diva and I wish you would.” 

“Would that make you feel better?” 

You sigh. “No, please keep being my sweetheart. Please.” 

Spencer says something too quiet for Morgan to hear, but can be read from the lips as a promise as he sweeps his hand up and down your back. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[iznsfw]

Trouvaille

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 1 - Kwon Eunbi

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

21,183 words

Categories | best friend!Eunbi, facefucking, cum swallowing, against the wall, anal

The most unrealistic thing about this, besides getting to fuck Eunbi, is that she has sex with glasses on.

“Two things. I need you to tell me two things before I kill you in front of everyone. And trust me, I’m very good with a gun.”

“Oh no,” you say grumpily, and a little more sarcastically, while you're gathering your things into the gray backpack you’ve used through its tatters. “How will I ever see the light of day again?”

Eunbi barely looks intimidating anyway in the toga that sags around her small body. The fabric’s a blackish-blue waterfall that drags on the ground. You’re surprised mud hasn’t done its wicked way with it. It began raining earlier, see, and now, except for the mud as evidence, it's as if it never happened. The heat has become too much.

Everything is too much.

“You won’t,” Eunbi says, tongue between her teeth, “but save yourself for once. Tell me what’s going on.”

Right above the garment, her long tresses fall over her shoulders. Earlier last year, she had it cut and everyone fell for her instantly. But you’ve always taken the speedy growth of her hair a victory for your side.

No victories right now though. It’s supposed to be a grand day—the scam that is college has finally run its course, and today you ought to celebrate and throw your cap in the air like everyone else. 

But you’re still completely, royally pissed off.

Turn your back. Clear answer, with other possible variations that basically say the same thing: I’m not telling you shit. Nope. Stop bugging me. Brat.

She follows, and she’s a shadow behind you who’s too pretty to be one. But you lengthen your steps. Hope she doesn’t pursue you, but she’s always done that. Since you were kids on the playground, she’s never let you deal with things on your own. It’s forever been Eunbi will help you, Eunbi will stay with you, Eunbi will talk for you. 

Why must that knowledge swirl a puzzling mix of emotions in you? She has not once left you alone, and yet here you are, forcing her to do so.

A pair of leather shoes and high platforms (which give way to the illusion that she’s barely shorter than you) pave through the cobblestone ground of the campus you’ll never dream of returning to. You say that yet you and Eunbi are the only other few graduates remaining on the premises. Why? It’s not like you have anything or anyone to be melancholic about.

She walks in the corner of your line of vision. Alright, maybe someone. 

You’ve tried to avoid eye contact but you turn to her anyway. She’s always been this easy on the eyes, even when you were high schoolers with wild hormones and sensitive young hearts. Sharp nose, intelligent brown eyes, and pretty smile—she could’ve been a real heartbreaker back then if she weren’t hanging out with you. She could’ve been everything, because this town is too simple, too small for a girl of her caliber. 

Turn your eyes away before she could notice. Broken out of your train of thought, you start to notice how your bag knocks your spine repeatedly. Painfully. With the way your notebooks from years and years ago are bumping around in there, you’d think you were carrying a luggage good enough to give you a week’s worth of supplies.

“Ugh.” Eunbi pinches her nose irritably, allows the sounds to continue for a good three seconds, then pulls the source off you. "Dumbass. Alright, now tell—”

“No. Become a nun. Live a good life. Go eat ice cream with Chaewon or something.”

“She likes mint chocolate, so no. I’m never eating that shit.”

“You’ll live.”

“Oh, I will”—she taps your bag, smiling evilly—”and I’ll take the bag with me.”

You sigh loudly. “Eunbi.” 

Oh no, don’t get it wrong: she’s always like this. It's not just today that she pushes your buttons, catty with her negotiations and even more so when you turn them down. She discreetly takes control with a sleight of hand, and you never see it coming. You wish luck to whoever smug kindergartner she’ll be an educator to in the future. She’ll quickly show him his place, just like she’s shown you yours.

“What?” she says with a derisive smirk. She pulls on the arms of the backpack to boost its weight up. “No tell, no bag.”

At this point—

“I don’t give a fuck, Eunbi,” you spit. "You have bigger things to worry about.” 

Pause. You briefly consider telling her how your grand day was shattered by your own self and thinking, but you don’t want to bother her. She's your best friend. You shouldn't be making her listen to your woes.

Close your mouth; you didn’t even realize it was hanging open for a while. 

You exhale through your nostrils. “Do yourself a favor and take care of something else.”

You walk away. That was supposed to be the end of the story. It's the hashtag at the end of an article, the death of the conversation. But wide strides can’t keep her from coercing an answer out of you. 

You know that because she’s suddenly pulled you by the wrist then so close to herself that even your cloaks can’t bar yourselves from each other. Her body presses below your chest. Her stern eyes hush you. You can quite literally feel her breathing.

“I think I can handle it,” she says, gaze steady and chin lifting, “much more if it’s you.”

Okay, so maybe you underestimated how intimidating she can get. 

She’s a small girl, lying her way into five foot three, but she’s surprisingly strong. You’re more than aware of that to avoid testing if her palm on your heart is sturdy. Her fierce glare, needling into your integrity, is something new. Frightening, too. Her jaw—(oh, and you can never give that perfectly cut line it’s incredibly lucky to possess a normal glance)—is tight with determination. 

For a moment, you think you know how to speak but just forgot to completely.

You get the hang of it after a few seconds when you crack a smile. “Can’t tell you anything if you got your hands on me, little raindrop.”

Eunbi squints her eyes, then folds her arms neatly. “A silver rain drop. And I’m not little, I’m one sixty flat.”

“Take that cap off and we’ll see.”

You’re not exactly a top student, but you’re smart enough to run away before she whacks you with her rolled diploma.

-

(It somehow lightens your mood, because if there’s anything you love more than your phone and street food, it’s Eunbi’s tiny, challenging self trying to one you up. Her light punches are like package peanuts trying to make a dent in you. And it’s just so adorable seeing her face turn dark as she aims for you, and fails.

Oh, and it’s all in good banter. It wouldn’t be a friendship if those jabs were spiteful. There are a lot of relationships out there, both platonic and not so, where insults are masked behind “jokes” and jokes behind insults—you’re glad that doesn’t count for you and her.

But even if we’re to say that Eunbi’s cornering you to the wall, suddenly having grown taller than you, and snarls, with a knife to your throat, “Say good night forever,” you’d kiss her and tell her: “I won’t let the bedbugs bite.”)

-

"Two, please. Thank you."

Slip the paper bills in the vendor's brown, rough hand and slap yours back on Eunbi's shoulder. You’re still surprised at the bareness you feel, then you remember she's since stuffed her toga in your backpack because of the heat. Now she’s wearing a sundress that flows around her like water. 

Look at her discreetly. You’re wondering how she managed to hide all… that. The fabric fits and compliments her figure too much to go unnoticed. You have to pretend to be curious about the boiling process of the eomuk again to avoid staring at her slim arms.

"I still don't get why you call me that," she says. She pulls the drooping strap of her dress back up her shoulder, and you swear you’re gonna lose it. 

Take deep breaths. You can do this. "Call you what?" 

"You know." She daintily taps away a bead of sweat from her forehead and looks up at you. "'Little raindrop.'"

You return her stare eye for an eye. You have to admit it was a feeble attempt. Whenever you look at her, you're overcome with the realization that she's just so beautiful. Her brows are naturally curved and shaded, and there’s just the tiniest dimple at the side of her mouth when she smiles hard. Who in the world just has a face like that? 

But you can't dwell on it. It's a dangerous premise, and you're a rightful coward.

"Ah." Your fingers tap comfortable rhythms on her skin. "Because… hm. Bi means rain, right? And you’re small, a.k.a little. So there you have it."

A crowd sifts through the streets and roads opposite your university, and occasionally daring motorists. Graduates fill the sidewalks to purchase street food. It's been this cramped since forever. You can't believe this is the last time you'd ever see this commotion: nameless faces that have matured through the years occupying every space, scentful smoke that wafts in the air, and, of course, the familiar sight of these stalls on wheels catering to young'uns like you short on cash.

Now that you think it over once more, perhaps you'll miss this place more than you thought you would.

"Well, would you say it, uh…” Eunbi taps her chin. “Hm, derogatively?"

"Oh, come on," you say, shaking your head emphatically, "I would never."

"Good, because I just lost your bag."

Your eyelids suddenly stop drooping. Realize only this second that you haven't felt torn fabric on the shoulder you’ve been caressing.

"Eunbi, what the—"

"Kidding, it's right here." Eunbi lifts it up in the air cheekily. "Gotcha."

"Oh, fuck off," you groan. Push her away, but not so much that she's out of arm's length. There are people whose intentions aren't so nice in this crowd. 

Eunbi's adorable, you have to admit. Every day that rises is April Fools Day for her. She loves pulling pranks on you and commits to the bit perfectly. It’s been like this since… forever. It’s like you were born knowing her. 

With all that fake innocence on her face when she tells you a white lie for her prank’s sake, she could be an actress. For a moment, you wonder what you'll do if she does become one, if she finds out that she's more than this place is worth. Would she leave you with no warning? Make a name for herself and never bother to reach out?

You gulp a little. That could happen even without the entertainer job. You've been friends with her for ages. One day, she'll grow tired of you and seek brighter horizons. Finer places. Better men.

"You alright there?" Eunbi asks. 

You envy her for a lot of things—her charm, her easy way of making new friends, those legs that she’s worked hard to tone. But right now, you’re jealous because she isn’t privy to all those things that run in your mind about wanting to do things to her. Stupid things like hold her hand, tell her something you shouldn’t, the works.

Jealousy won’t amount to anything, so you just nod. It's not like there's much to say that you won't be embarrassed of saying later.

"Well—"

Just in time, the kind vendor raises two eomuks from the bubbling broth. The delicious scent makes your mouth water.  "There you go," he says in his usual jolly way that always makes you laugh. "Congrats on the graduation!"

"Thanks!" Eunbi says, always the first to be grateful. She takes hers and the aforementioned dimple on her cheek shows itself again. Your chest squeezes.

"Don't forget me when you're rich." His jovial face almost looks sentimental. "One for the gentleman and one for his girlfriend."

Your smile fades into a nervous line. "She's not my girlfriend," you say carefully.

It's more embarrassing each time you have to say it. Are you too close with her? Probably; your arm is always around her and she's one of the few consistent friends you have. She's been by your side longer than anyone. People are gonna think something’s going on along the way.

The vendor nods mockingly, as if to say “yeah, sure,” and winks at Eunbi. She winks back, but fails to halfway—her left eye scrunches up.

"Don't listen to him," you tell her. You walk away from the crowd; it's suddenly begun to feel warmer than usual. "He likes to play around a lot. Even in first year he was like that.”

“Eh. It's not like he said anything bad.” She sinks her teeth into the skewered food and shrugs. 

"It's invasive."

"Invasive," she repeats thoughtfully, (chewing thoughtfully, too.) “Okay. But how?”

"Because… ‘cause…" Suddenly, you find there's no appropriate reason you could dream up to justify your uneasiness. "It's, you know, strange when people do that."

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

You find that you swallow on nothing rather than the delicious treat you’re holding.

The place becomes too much, with the heated smoke eventually making Eunbi hack a cough and the sweaty people surrounding you more than they should. So you squeeze between them with her and go on for a resolute walk down the road. Just a few blocks up ahead, you can see the sun setting. It reflects back and pours a hefty amount of light on your figures. Your shadows synchronize with your steps.

“You don’t?” you ask, just to make sure you heard her right. The possibility of her being so comfortable with you that she isn’t bothered to be called yours… it’s a lot to handle. She shouldn’t just place that on your shoulders and expect you not to buckle.

Try to keep your knees from folding at the idea as you walk down the familiar streets. The roads reside in a subdivision that's humbler than the others, hence the houses being small and more trees standing above you. But you don't mind—you need a break from the urban place anyway.

Your university stays a little near the border between them. That's why more street food stalls come up to view and a few thrift stores. Is this the last time you'll come here?

The last time you'll see her?

“No. Why would I? Alright, now that we’ve got things all nice and settled…” Eunbi takes your wrist. Tightly. She's not going anywhere, and neither are you. “Back to telling.”

“Telling you what?”

“You really wanna play dumb with me?” She presses the point of her skewer to your stomach, seizing you by the waist. “Get those words out. Now.”

"Hit me."

"Two things, right? So answer me." Eunbi's fingers wrap tighter around your flesh. "Why were you crying in the bathroom? What happened?"

Oh.

That.

You're quiet. You look only forward, not daring to meet Eunbi's eyes. If anything, the stick could dig into your guts and it would be infinitely better than having to admit you’re weak. You’ll have to tell her one day. You’ll have to admit that you’re not a better guy just because you’re the only one who has the balls to approach her—you’re just like the rest of them. Nothing special. Grades barely there. Average, probably not even so. Everything but nothing.

“I wasn’t crying,” you say. You can’t remember what happened anyway, but saying what you do leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

The eomuk stick drops to the ground with barely a click. “Are you lying?”

It’s rare that her voice gets solemn. It’s less rare that you rush behind words to cover yourself.

You fix the mortarboard on her head so that it doesn’t slip past her brows. The staff didn’t quite take her measurements properly, so you had to tip the cap backwards. Good enough. “Think you can figure that one out yourself, Eunbi.” 

You give her a look that tells her all that she needs to know. It’s not like you can explain properly with this state of mind. What else can you say? 

What else can she say?

Perhaps:

“Please.” 

Everything stops.

Eunbi takes your hand, which looks large in comparison to her pale one, and traces a finger along your knuckles. Look down at them—those are the days that’ll go by, the months that’ll lose themselves into the void of timeless time. It could never be the same if fate wills itself to change one of these days, and you wouldn’t even know it. Not even a warning. 

“It’s just me.” Her voice thins, and you figure out that she’s sort of like you, too: it’s not rare for her to hide behind words and wit. “I’m your friend. You can tell me anything. Please tell me what happened, okay? I hate seeing you get upset.”

You wish you could tell her that it’s the same on your end. Eunbi’s the girl you let climb in your lap after a thunderstorm provoked her, the girl you comforted after she had her heart broken by the man she was convinced was the one. Through it all, you tried to be strong for her, but there’s little foundation to build from. 

The side of your mouth twitches upward. “Do you now?” 

Eunbi’s shoulders descend as they release a tired little sigh. She nods, refusing to say anything until you take the lead.

“Well, if you want to hear the whole story,” you say as you ring an arm around her, “I was already having a pretty shit day to begin with.”

“Why?” She chews on her lip. Pink gets on her teeth.

“Didn’t feel like I deserved to graduate.”

See, there are a lot of justifications as to why you didn’t deserve to go on stage and receive your diploma. You aren’t worthy of this toga and hat when you’ve barely accomplished anything compared to the others. They’ve already scored internships and some even sealed some higher positions in well-off companies. You, on the other hand, haven’t got anything going on for you.

That rings true for as far back as first year. You cheated (rarely) but still barely passed. Studied but never got the answers right for the test. Kept a strong face but you’re still in pieces on the inside. Now that you’re graduating, you’re the same guy after all that time.

“I had a… very weird time in there trying to get myself together,” you say. “I did nothing to make mom proud. I just bullshit my way through college.” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” Eunbi hums quietly. Is that her side pressed to your hip? You suck in a breath.

“I mean, sure, but look at how far they got. I’m still in square one.”

“Different speeds for different people,” she says wisely, looking down at her shoes that begin their steps at the heel. “You don’t have to beat yourself up for going at your own pace.”

You chuckle deprecatingly. “When I’m a dumbass, I should.”

“You’re not.”

“You literally admitted you had a hunch I was stupid when I thought your name was Geumbi.”

“No, no, that was a long time ago. I was like, fourteen. It wasn’t my fault. And neither was it yours.”

She steals a bite from your food. A withdrawal from her as she finishes her robbery and yet you bring her back. Do it by stopping, then wiping away the broth on her lower lip with your thumb. Where did that come from? 

Eunbi’s frozen. For a moment, she says nothing. She pauses, then looks up at you. Just a simple look from her makes you weak. There are galaxies in her eyes.

“Actually,” says Eunbi, hand floating to your wrist—her voice is soft, “you’ve got to stop thinking everything’s your fault.”

Where should your touch go when all it yearns for is hers?

It's easier said than done, too. Therapy fills your brokenness yet it drains out anyway. All those methods and you can't stick to one. Everything bad that happens is your fault. It's like you're connected to them all.

“I’ll try." Your words barely pass audibility. Should you be ashamed? "I don’t like this either.” 

Eunbi presses her lips to the back of your hand then goes on strolling like she didn’t just save you from another spiral. Haughtiness rides her tone. Yep, she knows she’s your anchor. “You can start by carrying your own bag instead of me doing—” She pauses. All the sass is gone; just pure fear. “Shit.”

Your forehead creases and you look around. Nothing out of the normal, just the birds of seldomness and trees that sway with the wind. “What?”

“Don’t be mad at me.” Eunbi bites her lip anxiously. “Promise me. Please.”

“What is it?”

She tells you.

-

“Eunbi lost your backpack?” 

For the hundredth time: “Yes.”

"Like actually?"

"Yep."

“With the notes and sketches you had? What the hell?”

“God, you don’t have to rub it in like that.” You navigate through the streets and try to catch onto anyone perhaps holding a familiar satchel. Nobody fits the description. “We didn’t notice until we were alone.”

You and Eunbi do the very thing characters in horror movies shouldn’t do: you split up. She returns to the food vendors to ask around. They’d cater better to a face like that. You’re left to do the hard work and follow random people to see if they’ve brought away a bag. You really should have reversed roles, but Eunbi’s gone now. You can’t call it off.

The crowds are starting to dissipate, but that doesn’t make your hunt for your bag easier. Whoever stole it must have thought it was his lucky day. That shit was thrifted off a store, but it could sell for thousands if refined just right. 

All those documents, lecture takeaways, pencils… 

It’s not like they matter anymore. You wouldn’t dream of going back to school, so they won’t have much use in the long run. But those things played a major part in your life, especially in college. Losing it feels like missing a piece of a puzzle you spent nights completing.

“That’s so damn irresponsible of her. Not like her, too. She's a fucking—”

“—adult. Like me. Yes. We’ve gone over this.”

You must look like a local pervert right now, peering at people’s lower sides in search of your treasure. You hope they don’t get you wrong. Women are already giving you dirty looks though. Shit, you’re going nowhere with this.

“You don’t have to defend her every time she does something,” mutters your friend Sakura from the other line. Her accent has lost its origins a long time ago. Now, it carries teasing scorn.

Where the fuck could your bag be? Turn your head to the right, then to the left. There you go, you’re a fucking bobblehead doll. Feel even more ridiculous. It’s all a little humiliating, exposing a vulnerability to people you don’t know. Hey, look at me! I can’t find something important! And I can’t ask you for help because that would mean I’m a shameless piece of shit with no dignity and I’m too childish to graduate and—

“I’m not defending her, Miyawaki,” you blurt out, a little louder than you’d like. More dirty and judgmental looks. Always the centerpiece, you, and for all the wrong reasons. “Go back to gaming, can you?”

“Ha. You’re the one who called me and said, ‘Oh no, I’m with Eunbi again and I’m so in love with her!’” Sakura lets out a smug little laugh. “Just ask her out, dumbass. That way you won’t have to play attorney all the time.”

“I’m not asking her out, dumbass. She's just a friend.”

“Ask her out or Hyewon will. Hyem’ll say shit like, ‘She can lose my bag anytime—“

“Hey.” Eunbi comes up empty-handed. Her words are heavier with each passing fragment. She doesn’t have to say them for you to know her search was fruitless, just like yours was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see it. I asked around, too.”

Your hopes are dashed. “Call you back,” you whisper into the phone.

“Tell me how the date goes!” 

With a small beep, Sakura is gone, (thankfully.) (And so is her song about you and your best friend sitting in a tree doing something so lewd you could only spell it out.) It’s just you and Eunbi, in the gentle end-of-September sunset. 

“Now, would you look at that.” Eunbi laughs sarcastically. Sweat usually drips from the side of the face, right? Not the front? She throws her hands up and places them back down her sides anyway. “I guess I did lose the bag after all.”

Something’s wrong. What is it?

You stare at her, not knowing what to say. It is kind of ironic in a biting-you-back-in-the-ass way that Eunbi’s kidding threat about losing your stuff actually came true. 

“You sure you didn’t see it anywhere?” you ask. You’re starting to lose determination. And for what? You did say you didn’t give a damn about it earlier. How easily your words come to you when you only think of yourself.

“W-well—” 

Yep, there's definitely something wrong. Kwon Eunbi doesn’t stutter. Unless she’s mocking Minju, who’s almost always nervous, or does aegyo as a punishment, she doesn’t trip over her words. “What?”

“Fuck it, I’m sorry, okay?” 

Tears come too easily even to the gutsy Eunbi. It’s always been her Achilles’ heel. She’s a great and friendly leader, but one nice word that hits her right where it needs it or a bad day has her reduced to sobs. She smiles through them, wiping the teardrops with the end of her wrist. 

“And don’t tell me it’s fine just because I’m crying,” she says. The frustration gets to her and soon her sobs attract attention. “It was, a-a shitty thing to do on my end. I know it’s not okay, but I’m sorry.”

She’s a tearful painter of emotions under a night littered with starry skies.

She doesn’t have to hold the brush for the two of you all the time.

Take the brush from her just like how you take her into your arms. Eunbi says not to absolve her of her sin, but you’re a god whose mercy merges with bias. You like her too much. There’s something that pulls at your chest whenever she breaks down. 

The tension partially leaves her stiff shoulders. She sniffles, and it’s an attack straight to your heart. It’s so rare that she becomes so weak. 

“Eunbi—”

She shakes her head before you could go on. “Don’t say it. Please. Let me make it up to you.”

“I’ll say it anyway. It’s fine. I can’t use the stuff in there anyway.” 

“I said no. Hmph.” Her tears blot the front of your shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would cry like this. Don't feel guilty, okay? Okay? I just don’t like giving you a hard time.”

“You never could.” You’d trade more than a backpack for Eunbi’s wellbeing.

Somehow, Eunbi cries more. Her hug circles your waist in almost a chokehold, and you realize that the Kwon Eunbi from years back—the one who made everyone call her Madison, the one who’s always glued to your side—is still here. She’s just older, a little braver, and prettier than you could ever imagine.

Emphasis on the last. Her lashes carry her tears in a biblically beautiful manner, like you ought to kneel and venerate her. The southward curl of her lips is so cute yet painful that you’d give anything to see them lift again.

“You don’t have to say I didn’t do anything wrong…” she tells you quietly. You could hear the guilt infecting her words, evident in the cracks of her voice.

“Well.” You touch your mouth on her hairline. “You have a way of making me say it.”

There’s no mourning for your bag. You suspect that there was none at all, perhaps just shock? Must be why you’re cradling her, like a child would to a doll at night, and letting her feel your touch. Maybe the way she’s closing herself into your embrace is platonic, because at the end of day, you’re still friends. But you don’t feel her breath on your skin for a while after you indirectly forgive her.

Eunbi lifts her face from the comfort of your front. Pouting, she then laughs a little. “What are you doing? You don’t have to be so sweet.”

“I could be sweeter,” you offer. She sighs loudly, tired of your mischief; you grin and pat the small of her back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

The night has downed the temperature, and now the breeze whips her small form back and forth. It’s too cold for her to be walking with no sleeves or at least trousers. So you lift your toga up and slip it around her. It’s bigger than the one she had and lost with your bag. Her hands barely fight their way out of being hidden under the long blue sleeves.

Her eyes reduce to suspicious slits while a smile pastes itself on her lips. “You’re a flirt, you know that?”

You shrug casually. “Born and raised.”

“That’s not how you use it,” Eunbi says, wiping the last of her tears. 

"Might as well go on. I opened the can of worms, now I'll lie in it."

"Jesus."

"What? I made my bed more than I could, now I'll eat it."

“Wow, it’s like you never listened to professor June.”

Wasn’t it just afternoon a few minutes ago? The sky has become a blueish black landscape. The only sources that provide illumination to the streets and alleys are the streetlights and moon, plus the twelve especially bright stars etched into the map of constellations.

“Okay, miss Oh My Gadnis,” you fire back. She gives you a dirty look. You immediately take it back.

She throws her head back and lets darkness take over her vision for a while. Gulp. The light welcomes itself back and she lets out a prolonged, wistful breath. Tiny sobs glaze it. “It’s Minju’s fault. She was always shouting that in the dorm. Makes me kind of miss her.”

In the last years of university, Eunbi made friends with eleven girls. She was the leader of their friend group, the one who made plans and provided solutions. But as graduation crept closer and eventually caught up with them, she won’t be seeing them much again. 

“I can always drive you to your meet-ups. Didn’t get a driver’s license for nothing.” 

“You don’t have to. I already fucked up your day.”

“You didn’t. It’s just a bag, little raindrop.”

The chilly atmosphere tracks your nighttime conversation with your best friend. What do the songbirds, sleeping yet eavesdropping, think of you and her? Does the moon brighten to increase your shadows? It’s like they’re listening in. 

She looks down at the edges of her shoes as they mark their path to home. “What brand was it? I’ll buy you a new one. I-I’ll send the notes to you.”

“No can do. Just do this one thing.”

And now, the night quiets.

When time has chipped away at the lack of lines on your faces and brought forth hell, you’ll be there. Together. You won’t go back here anymore, but there will be prettier places for you and her. It’s what you pray for though you’re not all that spiritual, but you know it’s what you want.

“Let’s… be friends until we’re old and miserable,” you ask of her. Even admitting that you want to be with her makes you shy, and you’re anything than that when you’re around her. So why is this happening? Why are you doing this? “Spend more time together. Doesn’t have to be something grand.”

Eunbi blinks at you. There are undertones to your words, some kind of hidden message a veteran film critic could pick apart if your life were a movie. You’re asking her to be with you, yet there’s depths to it, almost like you’re telling her another thing. 

“Sure,” she whispers, nodding. She can do that.

Again, a lot of subtext. But that’s for another night. 

“Oh,” you add, “and be my backpack since you lost it anyway. Get up.”

Eunbi flinches, but she’s smiling the second you lower yourself for her. 

“Come on. You’re tired, little raindrop. I’ll take you home.”

She sighs. She climbs on your back anyway. You support her legs with your forearms and boost her up. You pay your gratitude to the dark for hiding your flushed cheeks at the feeling of your friend’s body pressed so tight to yours.

“Please don’t do silly shit,” she begs, placing her face next to your neck and fearing the worst.

She’s right to be frightened. Lowering yourself nearly to the ground in preparation, you yell: “Here comes the rollercoaster!”

“No, no, no—ahhhh!”

You zoom Eunbi in the night, feet picking up speed and racing through the road. Her arms are rounded around your neck. She shrieks in delight, and while along the way your legs start to ache, you’re just glad to hear that laugh again. 

-

Gently push the door to your house open with the help of Eunbi's keys, which come with a keychain of a knitted rabbit. Darkness greets you, spreading itself around the house like water.

“Why is it so dark?” whispers Eunbi, looking around and twisting her arms around your neck tighter. 

“You’re such a baby," you chuckle. "It's nighttime, of course it's gonna be dark."

Eunbi whines and squeezes her legs around you. The feel of her fluffy thighs in the curve of your palms—it's… something. You can't think like that about her when she's your best friend, but she's so close, so perfect on top of you that your mind runs with ideas.

"Alright, fine. Turn on the light."

"Where?"

"You’ve slept over so many times and you don't know where it is?"

"Doesn't count when I can't see, genius."

"Right here." Twist your head to the wall, where a light switch stays. "Just near the door."

Eunbi reaches out her hand, and you're cohorts with the dark when you secretly inch the fluff of your sleeve against her fingers. She screeches, suddenly struggling, calling your name and whoever Fuck is. 

This is the way of your prank backfiring on you: her limbs are surprisingly strong that her feather-light weight becomes too much. Your legs start to shiver. Your hands weren’t made to suffer this much wildness.

"Something touched me!" Eunbi screams, kicking you in the spine. You try to hold on to her but her legs don't behave. "A mouse, a mouse, a—"

You start to laugh. She's like a proactive rabbit trying to beat you up. "Calm down, it was just—"

"My hand, it touched my hand! Disgusting piece of shit, get it off—"

"Eunbi!" 

She both clings onto you and pushes you away, scared of what lurks in the dark. You can't take it anymore and drop miserably to the floor. The tiles knock your back out. Eunbi won’t let go of you; her screams never stop.

"Help! My hand—"

"What's going on here?"

The light flickers on, letting you see what's happening. You're in the living room that connects portallessly to the dining room. The ceiling generates dizzy circles above you. And then there's Sakura, an unexpected presence, standing near you.

"Whoa there," she remarks, smug like she’s a journalist who caught a forbidden celebrity couple. "There's a time and place for this, right?"

For a moment, you wonder what she's talking about. You sit up and realize Eunbi's squeezed herself on your lap, with your arms tangled into hers during the mess. 

Flush red. Sakura will never let you hear the end of this: you cradling Eunbi on the floor, with her looking so comfortable snuggled up to your touch. “Something couple something something perfect for each other,” that's what Sakura would say.

"It was just a prank," you mumble to the girl on your lap. Pat her head. Show her the fluffy fabric cuff of your sleeve. "See? There's no mouse."

"What the hell? You're such an asshole!" Eunbi's blade-sharp gaze, it cuts through you. You want to keep bleeding, It's unfair how pretty she is even when she's angry.

"Hey, I can do pranks, too." Turn to Sakura, because the next thing you're wondering is how she's here. "How did you get in, Miyawaki?"

"I drove," she says, like it explains everything. "Should we eat? Your dad left some food in the microwave." 

Eunbi turns shy at Sakura's knowing look as she rises. She pulls you up. The veins in her forearm flex. 

Sakura leaves anyway to fetch the food. You can smell spring rolls and freshly-cooked rice. Your stomach churns—running with Eunbi on your back has burned all that eomuk and left you hungry. 

You look at Eunbi questioningly. "Do you know why she's in my house?"

"No.” She returns your curious expression. “I was hoping you would tell me."

“Christ, what's she doing here?" 

"I'm here," butts in the Japanese girl, bringing forth a plate of crispy rolls and utensils, "because I personally want to help Eunbi unnie in making it up to you.”

She takes the liberty of scooping chunks of rice onto your plates. You dig your fork through one of the spring rolls, place it on Eunbi’s small plate, then get one for yourself. The wooden image of Jesus on watches you closely. You’re suddenly aware of every little sin you’ve made.

“Listen,” says Sakura, and you do just that.

So here’s Sakura’s brilliant idea, funded by her and her friends (somehow, Eunbi doesn’t get to contribute a cut): a trip for Christmas. 

It’s out in Seoul, where it’s snowing at that time of the year, where you’ll get to roam the city and buy whatever you want—all on the house. There’s ice skating to do and restaurants to try, each new and exciting. You’ve never been to Seoul before, but the way Sakura narrates the whole plan makes you look forward to it.

She talks about how her new job is paying her great, and how the fact that the other girlfriends Eunbi has are chipping in makes it an all-in-all win. It’s a friend’s duty, she says, to stick up for when one of them is down, and since Eunbi made a mistake, she’ll gladly take the blame. You’re surprised at how dedicated the girls are. You’ve never seen a bond so deep that they’d pay thousands just for compensation. And for just a thrifted old bag, too.

It’s inevitable that you agree. You have nothing to lose. This is a chance of a lifetime, and you’d love to have a vacation anyway. 

Sakura only has one stipulation:

You have to go with Eunbi.

-

Now it’s not that Eunbi is hard to be around, but she kinda is. It’s not in the usual way—she’s your best friend, not any other girl, and she’s not overly dependent that you have to act as her father or something. She can take care of herself, which can’t be said about a lot of people. 

But this is what sets you off: you’ll be the only one with her in Seoul. A guy and a girl sharing a hotel room. Would it be awkward? Of course. How do you tell her that you won’t look when she dresses up? What do you tell her if you find her bra in your sheets?

Still, she’s your best friend. It shouldn’t be awkward around friends, especially when you’re on the journey of spending more time together. That’s the whole point of the relationship: to be free and careless around someone. It’s supposed to be like that until you see how pretty she actually is, with the flow of her long hair and the crinkle of her eyes.

That’s where it gets difficult. Really, really difficult.

“Hey,” she says, and that’s what breaks your reverie. Looking up at her, however, has you drowned in another.

Black-framed glasses sit on her nose, curling at the ends behind her ears. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, some fringes flying free from the band. It’s such a deadly attack. Then there’s the graphic shirt that hugs her too tight and the denim shorts that cut too close to the starts of her thighs. 

You gulp. When you thought Eunbi couldn’t get prettier, she proves you wrong.

“You like it?” she asks. She twirls around. “I got glasses.”

“I see that,” you reply. Why is your chest immoveable? 

Eunbi grins. “I couldn’t say that until I went to EO.”

You force out a laugh. You look at your phone, scrolling through your feed in search of a little reprieve from how pretty she is. At this point, it’s a constant run around your mine: Kwon Eunbi is so pretty. And she’s not just pretty, too. That’s what makes her so beautiful: the duo of feistiness and painful attractiveness. Can you say that? No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think it.

The first thing Eunbi does when she takes the seat opposite you is swipe a finger through your ice cream. Glare at her. She beams at you. Your reprimand dissolves. 

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Lucky guess,” she says. She decorates the sides of her face with her palms as she looks at you curiously. “What you thinking about?”

You. “I’m still not sure about the whole trip thing.” 

"Come on," she says, and that pout knows how to break away at your attempts to ever hold her accountable for anything. "It's only weird if you make it weird."

Weird is fitting for October anyway. Should have ordered that Halloween special instead of this. 

You were a solo customer in the ice cream parlor until Eunbi came out of nowhere. She always knows where to find you. Telepathy? Power of friendship? Power of something more than that? 

You don't want to think about it.

"It's Sakura," you say, testily, as you shove another spoonful of double dutch in your mouth. The sweetness can't melt your anxiety. "It's always weird when it's Sakura."

Eunbi considers this. "What about when it’s me?"

“What?”

“I said: is it weird when it’s me?”

She’s clever at finding ways to make you stutter. “No,” you tell her quickly, “it’s not you, I promise. Just… it’s only us.”

You and Eunbi, alone in a hotel room. A straight man and woman in the same place, with nobody else around. You have fantasies about how it ends, but you know it'll never happen. But the thing is: you're stupid. You're going to do something you shouldn't, like watch her as she pulls long stockings over her legs. Think about more details than the shadow of her body on the glass shower panels let on. Want your best friend when it's everything you should never do.

“Is that so bad?” Eunbi sighs and looks around, thinking. As she takes in the jolly retro style of the parlor and the waitresses, she continues, “I mean, if you want to, I can find another way to, like, make things good. I can tell Sakura to call it off—”

“No!” 

She looks at you surprisedly. Always, you speak before you think. To be fair, there’s a single thought behind your too-fast outburst: you can’t let this opportunity pass by. But rather than the grand city lights and expensive restaurants, you think about her. 

You cover your mouth. Shit. You have no worries about fucking up in front of her. The worst thing she’d do is make a reference to it in future conversations or joke about it. But right now you’ve just revealed your true intentions. 

You’re lucky Eunbi never takes things to heart.

“Okay, fine, geez.” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head at you. “You really need a vacation, huh?”

The only thing you need is silver rain, but you somehow always wield an umbrella.

-

“Do you like it?”

It’s what Eunbi says, on her knees before she sucks your tip. Groan you must because that tongue is too talented. It’s a skill you could only make faint guesses where it originated. For that, you don’t care anyway—not when she’s slipping and wrapping those perfect lips around your cock, the intent suction making you reel into her face. Almost knocks her specs away, and you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you? Her appeal just goes to an all-time high with them.

“Fuck, yes, Eunbi,” you say. “I love—”

“No. Now that I think about it, you don’t actually get to speak.” She teases your testicles and nurses on one, her hand attending to your stiff erection. “Not until I have my way with you.”

And she does. She switches back to your cock then, like an expert, she bobs her little head up and down, taking you in her throat like it was nothing. The chest of her tight shirt is stained with precum, and some of the foretelling liquid is in her hair. But when has she cared about that? Never, not in the time continuum of this room. She only likes to keep the propriety of servicing you, no matter how red her knees are or how sore her jaw gets.

Eunbi teases her tongue on the lower side of your cock then brings her lips up. You hiss. Her throat welcomes you again, and, with a hand on your thigh, she makes it work. She’s choking, and yet the clever little thing is so diligent with her work. Through choke and sob, those teary eyes looking up at you for validation, she continues. Spit dots your cock and so does lipstick. It’s smudged at the side of her chin.

She licks your cockhead repeatedly. It’s swollen, and she takes advantage of it by licking. And sucking. Then licking it again so rapidly you start to shake.

There’s a greedy glimmer in her tears. “Gonna cum?” she asks. “Please? I want you to.”

Fingers wrapping around your base, she goes down again. Her nose touches your pubic area. You can feel her hot breath tickling your flesh when she rises for a brief and subtle breath. Then it repeats: Kwon Eunbi is forcing her head up and down, lips wet with saliva and precum. The texture of her tight throat and the welcoming pleasure of her mouth brings you too close. Too damn close—

Fill her throat with white so much that she squeals in surprise. A little adorable giggle, then some more hardworking sucking to work your cum out of you. You want to tell her that you’ve become too sensitive, that she shouldn’t continue. But then you never want it to stop.

“Fuck! Eunbi, Eunbi, Eunbi—”

That’s what you say when she continues despite her breaths getting lost. 

“Good girl. Good pretty girl.”

That’s what you say, with your hand on her ponytail, tugging it so she gets access to the oxygen she willingly deprived herself of. Her mouth’s filled with your semen. She’s gasping. Her chin’s lifted to the sky but her eyes gaze only at you. Your approval isn’t what she needs to get by solely, but god, does it make her think so.

“I love you.”

That’s what she says.

But like everything else—this blowjob that made you fail November’s challenge, the sweet talk, her on her knees, her actually liking you—

It could only ever be in your imagination.

-

December couldn’t come any sooner. Packing was an eventful occasion. You bunched up a lot of underwear in your carry-on like you had a habit of pissing yourself. It was only when you got to the airport that you realized that in all the rage to get clean underwear, you didn’t bring socks.

The twenty-third was a day you both dreaded and yearned for. But then you’re in the airplane, traveling through clouds you used to stare up at, and Eunbi’s beside you. Isn’t she always? She falls asleep a couple of times in the airport, head on your shoulder, and you pat her knee to slumber her. Her Sanrio neck pillow is of no use when you’re a better one. 

Why can't you stop staring? She's been a tear in your heart for a long time, making it pulse and ache, but now she's gotten so much prettier, so much more friendly that it isn't really unexpected that you fall for her. Is that your confession to yourself? Perhaps. You could only ever say it to your own heart. 

Picture this, (and, matching that of the many other scenes you’ve dreamed of her in, it would only be real for a while): Eunbi's wearing that shirt from the day she first sported glasses. On your lap. Looking at you with an aura any man with a heterosexual drawing could read. Hands on the edges of her knees. 

She's leaning over, and she's saying—

"That little witch,” she spits, shoving her carry-on, “I can't believe we fly at seven and we had to be here at two a.m., I'm gonna kill Sakura!"

Close enough?

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" you remark. Pull her wheeled suitcase to the mouth of the plane.

Seoul is a paradise. You could see the greatness even from above. A couple of times you have Eunbi wake up to look, and she does. Her evident happiness shines brighter than the city lights.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs excitedly. Even her eyes that are heavy with sleep appreciate the view.

"So it is."

But you could think of other things that are prettier. Other people.

It's autumn, and the golden leaves are starting to fall. They crumple beneath your feet and release crackles that bring a strange sense of satisfaction. Step on another one. And another one. Somehow all your troubles are gone. 

Look at her. 

She’s reading from a book, paging through leaves containing yellowed words. She looks like a nerdy girlfriend with the new look, which you still haven’t gotten over. In any case, she’s so beautiful, and again, your heart is sore.

Eunbi’s deep into the story woven with Shakespearean words, but she catches your prolonged stare. Blinking, she lifts her head. Smiles. Cocks her head sweetly to the side and you swear she can’t look any better than this: long dark hair swaying ‘round her face and glasses making her more adorable. Says, “What ya lookin’ at, handsome?”

Yeah, all gone.

Eunbi loves playing around with nicknames, and she must think you’re vain enough for her to use that when she wants to rile you up. (She does.) You roll your eyes, and she laughs at her own ridiculousness and your attempt to be dismissive.

“Someone who’s prettier than ever,” you reply. Raise your chin. “You know her?”

“You really love me, huh?” 

“Never said it was you.”

“Oh, darling.” Eunbi licks her lip. “I know it’s me.”

Well, shit.

Eunbi’s the only girl you know who could respond to your teasing. The only person, for that matter. Even the men start to back away. She’s the sole person who can handle you, and you yourself could barely handle her. Good friends don’t suddenly lose their breath when she gets near. Good friends don’t think of ever, ever crossing that borderline between platonicness and romance.

So it’s safe to say you’ve been a bad friend all along.

“Since you’re, like, so obsessed with me…” Eunbi rises and hands you her phone. The phone case is red—of course. “Take a picture of me, please?”

She rises from the bench, and you wince inside at how good she looks. It should seriously be prohibited to look that attractive. You've tried to keep your head clear of her, but then she stands up in those teeny tiny safety shorts, fucking hugging her thighs and that supple backside. Why did she choose to go in that? Not even a skirt to go with it, or dress pants? You’re not one to nitpick at what others wear, but you feel something stirring inside you when she dresses more freely.

And red—it just looks so good on her, doesn't it? That simple tight sweater has you begging for forgiveness. You'd go to a priest, confess your sinful yearning, and you don't think that he'd forgive you after how you describe it.

"Will do," you say, chewing on your lip. "Get to posing. We don't have all day."

"Not to burst your bubble," she tells you, " but we do. But I'm a good girl, so I'll do as you say."

Swallow. Why the fuck is she like this?

"You sure as shit aren't, little rain—"

She bends over. 

The question repeats in your head. She bends over, (forward anyway), but if any shameless man were to walk behind her, they'd get an eyeful of her butt. You want to tell her she shouldn't do this, especially when her bottoms grip her thighs as a sole factor. But she's holding her bag in the edges of her fingers and angling her head to the side, and you know you’re over.

"—drop."

Eunbi smirks, haughty and proud. "Cat got your tongue back there?"

"Not even close. Give me a smize."

Proud of yourself for recovering quickly, you snap a photo of Eunbi. The look she gives the camera (you?): relaxed brows, slight pout, the black eyewear being the cherry on top—it's not easy baggage to carry for a man like you.

You put the phone down. Take a breather; you always have to when you're with her. Kwon Eunbi, national heart player. Kwon Eunbi, number one prank puller. Kwon Eunbi—

—your friend. Your best friend. 

"What's wrong?" All that confidence evaporates from her as she walks up to you, concern taking its place. 

She can be really scary sometimes. How could she be a flirt one second then a sweetheart the next? You're kept guessing, and you're guilty for liking girls like that. But as you study her, look at Kwon Eunbi—her hair and the band that sits atop it, her lips, her face—you kind of figure out that there's no other girl like her. 

And that scares you.

"Nothing," you lie. "You wanna go get coffee or something?"

"Actually," she states seriously, rising, "I do wanna go get coffee or something."

-

The twenty-fourth. The malls are crowded with people buying last minute presents, so you and Eunbi sat on the bench outside. It might be Seoul, but you’re not fighting your way through a crowd. While you stayed there and waited for time to feel wrong, a rich woman mistook you for a beggar, pitied you, and gave you a coin. As you stared at the bust on the metal, Eunbi laughed so hard you were not totally uncertain that she was going to throw up.

"We should leave," Eunbi says, "before someone tries to bring you to a damn church basement."

And the scene repeats itself again: you talk with Eunbi, like you've done a million times, as you go to your home for this night and the next. You talk about everything, because conversations come so easily when it's her. Whether it's about stupid people or school or what happened that day, the words flow naturally. 

Eunbi bites her lip, hands on her hips. "It's getting late."

"That a problem for you?" 

"No. Nope. It's just that… I can't believe it's going to be Christmas tomorrow." 

Christmas lost its spark back when you got into college. You've graduated and still you find no solace in the stockings and evergreen trees. School—oh, its deadlines, its pressure, its it-won't-matter-in-five-years-but-I'll-make-you-think-it-will papers—really ruined things for you. Forever. 

She drags her vision around everything: the sky of stars, the roads that are just a bit cleaner than the ones at your home, the claw machine arcade just across the sidewalk. She goes there, and you follow. Don’t you always?

"It’s Christmas and we're here," she continues. She manages a snortle. "Doesn't your dad feel lonely? I know mine does."

"He likes you, Eunbi. He doesn't mind."

You pull out a bill and slip it into the old exchanger. Sure enough, tokens spill from the gap. Count them in your palm. Divide it between the two of you. You and Eunbi always share, no matter how hard you try to make it seem annoying. You only ask for one drink and one straw. You split rice balls from that trip in grade eleven when your parents forgot to give you allowance for lunch, up until college when the two of you were too broke to eat anything else. What’s yours is Eunbi’s, and what’s Eunbi’s is yours.

"What first?" She studies the old arcade. It's filled with machines that are either anciently old or freshly new. No owner patrols the areas, but instead, a CCTV does so mounted perfectly on the corner of the walls. It watches your every move, reminding you to behave.

"Wanna get a Piglet?" 

“A what?”

“A Piglet. You know, the one who looks like an armadillo.”

“What the fuck is an armadillo?” Eunbi says the English name with spite, almost spitting it into the ground. 

“Forget it. I mean like the cartoon pig people say looks like you?”

"Oh. Nah. A good ol’ vibrating egg for me." She thrusts a thumb into the glass of an 18+ claw machine, where it tempts the player with boxed sex toys and hentai copies.

Heat flares at your cheeks. Now it’s not that you’re thinking of it, but it’s Eunbi’s dirty jokes that make you think of stuff you shouldn’t. Her on her bed, legs spread wide open as the toy pulses on her clit, her throwing her head back and crying…

"Spend my money wisely, please?" you croak out. Slip a token into one machine and start to crank at the lever. 

"I'll be good." 

Your hand curls tighter around the ball of the lever. You hate how you picture double meanings with everything she says. She doesn't deserve that. And you don't either.

Eunbi prances over to the Piglet machine anyway. You want to snicker at her antics, but it gets broken when you see her bend down. The jeans could only hug her backside so much. Her shirt lifts and you could see her tummy—that flat, soft midriff that you’ve wrapped your hands around when you guide her back on the occasion she runs too fast. Or when she needs to move away. She doesn’t mind; she touches you more freely anyway. But you wonder if she’d let you come up behind her and place your hands all over it, not as friends but as something more.

Because for a friend, she sure does take up a lot of your mind.

Put your focus on this keychain. Yes, this one. This keychain is cute. Would be nice to bring something home to your father. You guide the claw to the nearest one and slam the button. To your surprise, the metal actually hinges around the keychain. You could feel your soul lift up to your throat.  It just needs to make it all the way to the hole—

“Shit!” you curse as the claw lets go. That can’t be fair, right? It was doing so well, then it just spread open again. What a waste of time and money.

“Loser,” giggles Eunbi. She shows off a Piglet stuffie, pink and simpering. 

“Wow, really needed to hear that. Thanks, Eunbi.”

She lifts her shoulders. “Hey, for what it’s worth: I just got lucky.”

Tokens become nothing to you. You try again and again for a prize to make it your money’s worth, only to end up with nothing. Eunbi scores a candy from the kids’ section, and you could see her consider trying out the 18+ ones. The appeal of the Playboy magazines and the Japanese girls looking back lewdly at her with barely no underwear on is beguiling.

“Do you think I should try to get a dildo or something?” Eunbi asks, running her knuckles along the markered glass. 

“You don’t even know if it’s clean.” You’re leaning against the outside exchanger, staring into nothingness. But you always manage a little response for Eunbi, as absurd as her questions are and as wild your thoughts are about her. “You might get an STD or some shit.”

Her face squeezes up in disgust. “Ew, right. Forget it.” 

You feel her warm body press into your side later. You’re still surprised even though the girl never leaves you alone. Then her head is on your shoulder, just like in the airport, and your heart surges. How do you deal with her? Pet her arm, and somehow she finds a way to sink deeper in your touch. She looks up at you and offers you a kind smile.

“I got you the keychain,” she says. She drops the Seoul keychain on the hand she forced you to open and looks away modestly. “Saw you sweating over it.”

“Thanks.” You look down at it on your palm and feel warm inside. She really is so sweet. “Appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Eunbi replies quietly. “It’s the least I could do.”

She purses her lips tightly and exhales through her nostrils. Guilt floats in her face like a dark shadow. 

“If it’s about the bag, I already told you it’s okay. I mean, it’s just a bag.”

“So? It means a lot to you.”

Your thoughts race with your words and win, forcing them out. “You do, too.” 

Is she blushing? No. No, can’t be. But she’s stroking your palm with the keychain on it, a little tilt at the edge of her lips. That’s kind of close to that. Friends do this, right? 

Her touch feels both foreign and familiar. You want to reel back and apologize for something you didn’t do, but then you want to hold her. Make her happy. Is that alright?

“Speaking of which,” she says pensively, staring into nothingness like you are, “what do you think happened to it?”

“The bag? I dunno.” Bring back her attention—eyes on me—by actually holding her hand. Sometimes you could be so brave. Toy with it, swinging your joined hands in the air then pressing them to your chest. You laugh at the suspicion clear on her face. “Probably in some lost-and-found counter. Or someone actually stole it and was like, ‘yep, hit the jackpot.’”

“Like trouvaille,” she says.

“What?”

“Trouvaille,” Eunbi repeats. She breaks her gaze from the space on the road and looks down at her sneakers. “A lucky find.”

A lucky find.

Staring at her is your pastime at this point. Your focus glazes over her once more, and you drink her all up. Two locks of her hair are pulled and tied at the back, making her look absolutely gorgeous. You’re lost in her eyes, like they’re an ocean and you’re on a raft floating on its waves. And of course, those glasses—you’re convinced they were made to make you want to do sinful things to her.

But the urge to sweep her in your arms takes over, and it outweighs your lust. Or are they equal? She looks so beautiful, yet so handsome. So pure and sweet, yet such a bombshell.

“Forgive me, but I must reiterate.” She tilts her head with a silly little grin. “What ya looking at?”

You’ve figured it all out. You wonder why you were ever worried.

"Well," you lead a runaway lock of dark hair back behind her earlobe, "guess I’m just lucky to have found you. Even if you're a nuisance."

Her eyes crease up into half-moons. "And I'm lucky to have met you."

"Even… ?"

"Nothing after. Just that: I'm lucky to have met you."

You never meant to actually do it. But it’s become too silent, like the world is leaving the cards on your table to play. And there’s her certain hold on your fingers, like she wants you to do it. There’s the birds tweeting as they gather into the trees for the night, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The stars, too, are bright tonight.

So who could blame you for nailing her to the claw machine and finally, finally kissing her? Her lips are as soft as they look, and you’re melting in them. You’re still holding her hand, keeping it pinned up to her side. Your tongues come out to play and it’s so much better than you imagined, so much better than your stupid little fantasies. Your eyelids shut, too, because this is an experience you never want to end.

That collarbone will be the end of you. It peeks from the neckline of her shirt, and you suddenly have all the courage to seal your lips on it. If only you could have mustered the same courage back in college to socialize, but you’re glad you saved it all up for this moment. Eunbi’s moan is sharp, and it almost makes you falter, almost makes you stop. Nope, can’t do that. When she’s letting out all these other little sounds as you have your way with her, there’s no way you’d let up.

“Hmmm…” Eunbi twists her head to the side and cries out. It unintentionally grants you access to her flawless neck. You leave some flaws: purple bruises she whines at, harsh open-mouthed kisses that trail saliva all over that pale skin. “I need to tell you something.”

You brush your mouth behind her ear. You can smell her faint perfume. “And that is?”

“I lied about wanting to get a drink.” She scoffs at her desperation, then sighs. She gives in either way. “I fucking hate coffee. Hate it. Hate it like a mother hates her firstborn. Or something. Just hate it, hate it, hate it.”

You shake your head. What an unfitting time to say that. Cradle her anyway. “Then why did you get some with me?” you ask.

“I-I don’t know. Guess I just wanted to be with you.”

Wait, so what about all those times you invited her for a study session at the cafe? She had always ordered a latte. Has she been hiding that silly secret each second, just for a chance to hang out with you? To have your company?

You didn’t know coffee would flatter you this much.

You pause. Does she like you? As much as you like her? You don’t know. You’re momentarily flustered. Step back and scratch the back of your neck, similar to a boy having been caught doing something wrong. Kissing your best friend is something wrong. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. A friendship between two heterosexual people of the opposite gender could stray to lengths that are both painful as they are excruciating if someone dared to touch the other. So, if you kissed Eunbi, who could predict the consequences? Chances are you’ve ruined your friendship forever.

Then she grabs your waist and pulls you close. Kisses your chin ‘cause that’s all she can reach and she can barely reach it at all. But it sends shivers down your knees.

“Come on,” she whispers breathily. “Don’t be shy. Touch me.”

Foolish to stop and think. Your immediate yet hesitant reaction is to give her jawline one final kiss and slip your hands under her shirt. 

“Oh!” 

Alright, you’re a lot more confident now. You pull the cups of her bra down and start to squeeze. It’s no secret that she’s got a blessed bust, and now you get to feel it. Her nipples are hard in your palms and the flesh in your hold is just so soft. You could never get enough.

Eunbi laughs. Sort of; it’s kind of a moan, too. She lifts her chin to the sky as you knead and knead and knead. “H-how long… have you been waiting to do that?”

It’s an achievement making her stutter. More stammering breaths leave her lips when you thumb her nipples. Press, thumb, pinch, repeat. It’s how you find out she’s just so damn sensitive, and of course you’re abusing that fact.

“You don’t want to know,” you reply, brushing your lips over hers. 

She gasps. “Again.”

“Huh?”

Eunbi kisses you. “Kiss me. Like this. Again.”

Is anyone aware, by the way, that you are completely incapable of refusing her?

You kiss her, like she asked. She sighs happily, her tongue suddenly coming out to play. More sensations of softness are at hand, and now you’re battling for the upper hand with your tongue responding to her gestures. 

Two can play this game. You slip your tongue through her lips and she sucks it, almost like she’s aware of who’d be controlling who. You force her up to the claw machine glass (plastic? It’s pretty sturdy) so hard that your kissing isn’t gentle by any means. It’s leaving her breathless.

“You’re… you’re good,” she hums, when you finally reward her with a break. “I wanted to be the first girl you did that to.”

The revelation definitely isn’t linked to how hard you’re nibbling on her jawline. Her shuddering breaths are everything.

“Actually,” adds Eunbi, “I wanted to be the first everything for you. First kiss, first love, first time. But you just had to date Hyewon, huh?”

“Jealous?”

“Nope. Never. Just, oh, don’t stop–” Eunbi winces, ribbons her fingers through your own more. “Oh…” 

Your tongue swirls on her neck. Meanwhile, your hands are busier. You squeeze Eunbi’s fantastic breasts so that her leg pulls you close. Your obvious erection pushes against her center. Her hips start to move, bringing herself closer to your rod and getting off on the feeling. Her little whines increase.

Then you remember something.

“Have to.” You retrieve your fingers from under her shirt. Regretfully. Fix her bra back on her.

She’s near tears. “No…” 

“There’s a CCTV, little raindrop. You wanna get arrested?”

You’re out of breath. You pull the ends of her shirt down to hide evidence of the crime, though there’s the camera witness to it, and try to lead her outside. She refuses to budge. Her glare is clear.

“If that means you get to fuck me till I’m begging and drooling,” she says solidly, “then take me to court.”

-

You take her home instead.

She looks frail waiting at the glass doors as you purchase some contraceptives from the convenience store, almost whining when you take too long. How the fuck do they have lube, too? You buy that and all the contraceptives they have, because if you want to have Eunbi, you gotta do it fast and safe.

She manages to wait on the elevator, hand wrapped tightly around your palm. Then, when you get to the room, she pushes you down the bed as if she were actually taller and stronger. She truly is an actress—wasn’t she just squirming impatiently not less than five minutes ago? Directors would look at her for sure, a face to remember among plain ones, and say, “Oh, this is our trouvaille. This is what’ll make us billions.” 

But now, she’s all yours. Your little trouvaille.

There’s pride in that.

“Fuck. Can’t wait to have someone like you.” She kisses you. Again. Another one to your chest. She’s a little greedy with the way she devours you. But you’ll spoil her as much as she wants; curve your body up so her cushiony lips could have more. Your back is buried into the white sheets. “Someone who is you.”

Grasp the small of her neck—her kisses are surprisingly passionate. "Wait,” you say, “you're not a virgin?" 

It doesn’t bother you; just surprises you. Eunbi’s had a fair amount of suitors and boyfriends, and plenty looked too frail to even hold her hand. 

"Virgin? Hell no," she replies, like it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever heard. The center of her jeans grinds against the mountain in yours. She bites her lip. "Mmm. You think with all this hotness a dude would go, 'Oh, I only want to take care of her'?"

"I do want to take care of you," you murmur, caressing her waist.

"Oh?" A grin stretches on her face. Her teeth still trap her lower lip, and it makes your stomach tighten. Your jeans, too. "Tell me more."

“For one,” you sit up and play with the belt loops on her pants, “I’d like to help you out of your clothes.”

“Typical,” she mutters amusedly. “But I’m not complaining.”

Eunbi continues grinding for long seconds that already feel like a taste of heaven, then rises. Her legs are jelly. You can’t imagine how wet she must be, and to think you’d finally see exactly how. She undoes your zipper, and you in turn pull down hers. Your pants are a whirlpool on the floor. It’s only when you roll on the condom and help her out of the shirt that you realize what she’s wearing:

Calvin Klein, from bust to bottom. Her navel sits above the band of the underwear. Her midriff looks even more perfect bare. Flatness travels through its front until it swells largely at her breasts, which look heavy behind the gray bra. Her hair falls messily over her shoulders, a sea of wildness, and her smile is dorkier with those glasses.

“Fuck.” Your Adam’s apple bobs. “Eunbi...” 

“Will you?” she challenges.

You stand up and grab her ass to usher her closer, then kiss her. She smirks; she expected that to happen. Of course, the little devil, always getting her way. But you can’t help but give and give and give; you turn your positions around, push her gently so that she lands on the bed, and continue to kiss her.

Silky legs curl around you. Behind the fabric, you could already feel how wet she is. Drive your hips up because the friction is too good. The wet spot of arousal on her underwear prods your clothed erection. 

Eunbi screams loudly. Chastise her with a squeeze on her butt cheek. She yelps, and your lips land on her again. “Easy there.”

“I hate you,” she groans, slapping your arm impatiently. She whines when you poke her cheek. “Give it to me.”

“Give it to me what?”

Eunbi huffs. “You want me to call you daddy on the first day? Really? I mean, that’s fine, I can do that. But can’t we dial it back?”

“You watch so much porn that you forget basic politeness.”

“Wow, hypocrite. Fuck you—”

“Baby.” 

That shuts her up. Your thumb caressing teasing rhythms on her face plays a big role, too. Her ears are pink at the ends and she genuinely looks shocked. No, not shocked. Can’t be just that anyway. But that tiny pout pulling south at the ends and the tiniest of pants escaping it tell you what you have to know. You and Eunbi can communicate with just a look, and this one she gives writes to you a message of want. 

“You alright? It’s okay, Eunbi. Baby.” Proud to have ruined all her feistiness, you tip her chin up. “I want you to say it.”

Wait, patiently. It’ll take time and you’re not one to rush. When she starts to talk again, her voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Please.” She nods and nods, like she was doing it just in case you started to doubt. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl,” you tell her. You’ve always wanted to. You can tell it’s the same for her.

You ease her out of her underwear and find her pussy prettily shaven, glistening wet. Light stickiness lines the insides of her thighs. Her lips down here are just as beautiful up there. You glide your fingers up and down between them, a choreography you’ll never get tired of performing again. Your touch is light yet you manage to put your hand on and in all the right places.

Oh, well, barely in. But that’s the fun of it; teasing Eunbi is a newfound hobby. In little time, it’s become your most favorite. Your touch is so light that when you edge the tips of your fingers inside, it’s already a lot to take. She lets out a humbled little growl, shoulders straightening. Mouth slacking. Thighs shuddering.

“No, no, why does it feel so—” Her voice breaks. Her face squeezes up and she’s crying out in strained, tiny sounds. 

Your digits gently curl on the entrance of her pussy, touching her sore clit and making it throb with the stimulation. Eunbi’s lost count of the times she’s done the exact same thing to herself: lying in her bed screaming out silently with only her hand to turn to. And now she’s here, with you doing it for her. 

Slip one finger inside, and even with that she’s already so tight. You start to pump her, each driving her nearer and nearer to the headboard. She’s whining, like no, no, oh, please don’t stop. You add another to hear it more.

“You prick,” she squeals out, palm to her mouth. “If you stop, I’m gonna kill you. I swear, I swear, don’t play around with me.”

“You’re in no place to be making threats, Eunbi.” 

This is her punishment: a speed her little pussy can’t take. She’s so tight that you’re already struggling. Trust that she is, too. She’s thrashing around on the bed, disheveling the sheets the staff oh-so-carefully fitted back. Hold her down so she gets to feel the force of your pace. 

How did she manage to peek in your mind, collect all your fantasies about her, and act them out? She’s there, in her Calvin Klein underwear, shaking at your fingerfucking and flashing you the most needy looks from behind those glasses. That’s gotta come from somewhere. Watch the float of her tummy when you jam your fingers harder; the quiver in her arms when you part her legs more. Now you’re certain.

Because see, it’s how it’s all so frightening: Eunbi’s Eunbi, your best friend and someone you’ve fallen in love with, and it’s the fact that you shouldn’t be crossing the line. You shouldn’t be fingering her with a madness of thousands when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be touching and leading her on when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be—

But oh, you are. 

You’re doing it with the courage of someone who knows damn well what they’re doing is wrong, and with no regrets. 

“In me.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command, veiled under a breathy tone. “Now.”

You pull your fingers out of her and lick them. You don’t know if she’s tangy or sweet or bitter, but you do know she’s fucking delicious. “Whatever you say,” is your reply, because you’re always spoiling her.

Eunbi separates her thighs from one another. Your protected cockhead bumps against her clit when you approach. She flinches, but scurries herself near. She can’t stop staring at you, your cock, your stomach. Everywhere. It makes you possess a kind of narcissistic theory that perhaps she’s just as obsessed with you as you are with her.

You’ve never hoped this hard for a conspiracy to become true.

"Please." Eunbi's breath shortens, and she closes her eyes. She’s suddenly quiet, letting go of her harsh neediness. "Please rub your cock on me. On my clit. Without the condom."

Look at her throbbing nub and catch your breath. Barely. You run your fingers below the sensitive pearl. Then, on it. Under it, too, with little weight in order for the heat to circle around. "I don't know if we should, little raindrop."

"You can put it back on after, i-if you want." Her begging is borderline desperate. No wonder she isn’t sassing you. "I’m on the pill. Should have told you, I’m sorry. But I just want to know what it feels like. Please?"

“Are you sure?” 

She nods. Not that you need it to know what she wants.

You unroll the condom. Her mouth waters, even more when you do as she says. She’s right to be curious—it feels so fucking good that you’re afraid you have to put it on before you cum all over her. She whimpers quietly, the heat gathering in her clit and her legs suddenly tensing.

“Gah—” Eunbi sobs and catches the side of her fist in her mouth. “Oh god, please.”

“Seriously, you’re so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Shut up,” she gasps. “Just put it in me.”

Sure you will, but you can’t resist flicking your cock between her lips. Your tip teases her entrance and slaps her clit. Eunbi lets out a lengthy groan. It transforms into a girlish cry, and you kiss it all away. What you don’t know is the moment you push yourself inside, no amount of petting would get her to quiet down.

So you do.

“You are so—” Eunbi’s legs stretch out. They require an anchor, and you’re glad to act as one. You place your hands firmly on her thighs and start to push yourself inside the delicious tightness. Every time you try to push past the limits, her pussy only closes more around you. She’s all wet and aroused yet she remains so goddamned tight.

She’s slippery but firm in holding your cock inside that warm, wet hole. She has to stop tensing her stomach so that she won’t deprive you of her. It’s hard to push, but one powerful thrust drives you all the way in, making it worth it after everything. She spreads her thighs more which gives you the chance to feel them, and you’re right for grabbing the opportunity. Grabbing her thighs, to be specific.

Each thrust helps spread her out. You’re pushing her apart and forcing her limits to be taken down. Her pussy sleeves your shaft so well, so tight yet so perfect. You slam harder. Take in the beautiful imagery of Eunbi’s small cunt taking more than it could. Its hold is so enclosed that you’re required to guide her legs up to welcome your dick deeper.

“I’m seriously so angry at you,” she hisses out. She bears every drill with a pleasured face and a fist that chokes the sheets to material death. “How did you not dick me down… all those years ago, huh? What a fucking tease, fuck—”

Make up for it by choosing a rocky pace. She won’t relax, and it’s straining you. You’re so deep inside her yet you can tell there’s more to excavate—her tensed body just won’t let up. It’s like every time you roll your hips, her velvety walls close more around you.

“Well, I didn’t know you were so tight,” you say, kissing her collarbone. Tiny nibbles here and there before you give it a lick. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Then fuck me harder.”

You’re terrible at apologies, but you’re sure she’ll forgive you this time. Your core releases a mighty strength in shoving between her open legs. Even that sexy Calvin Klein bra can’t stop her godly tits from bouncing. Her glasses are lopsided while her vision goes loopy behind them.

Her cheeks inflate in labor as her lower body rises to greet you. She’s so adorable; it pinches your heart and leads your mouth down so you can kiss her shoulder and clavicle. See, you’re a good multitasker after all; you can destroy the heat in her center while worshiping her body. It’s good practice. Question is: would there be more times to exercise it?

“That’s it, yes,” Eunbi breathes out. Her hums of affirmation stutter even without her lips opening. “You know what I’ve always imagined? It’s this, it’s always this. When I’m supposed to be studying, I just think of how good you’d pound me. How you’d make me scream. Do what you want to me, okay? Hnnn, so big.”

Plenty of similarities between you and your best friend: your quickness to speak before taking the time to contemplate it, the clothes you accidentally mix and match, your ages. But what you didn’t know is when you sit down at your laptop plagued by thoughts of her, she’s somewhere in her own place being overwhelmed by ones of you. The heat somehow multiplies. Fills the room like a verse.

Therefore, you must hold her in place, give her a false reassurance that you’re going to take her slow. Do so, but then your thrusts become unmeasured and rapid. One hand on the side of that flawless waist, you lead the other to her bra. Harshly pull it down and let her boobs spill out of it. You start to squeeze them hard. Her chest is so bountiful that even the width of your hand can’t map it fully. So you squeeze, forcing it to fit in your fingers, and start to pinch. Her nipple is sore with arousal.

“Oh—oh—oh, shit.” She’s sobbing. But unlike the other times you’ve seen her cry, this one is out of pure bliss. “Just like that. Such a good dick, such a good boy, thank you.”

Your ears heat up. “You’re a pretty good girl, too, Eunbi.” 

“You’re terrible at this.”

She mewls helplessly when you suddenly ramp up the pace. You’re doing her like you’re determined to make her pregnant. It’s the last thing you want to happen, but the grinds make it look otherwise. Along the expedition of your cock, it rubs her needy cunt and makes her drench your cock with more wetness. Enjoy the tightness, enjoy the squeeze of her hole. She’s so warm and wet that you don’t think you could live having only done this once with her. There’s gotta be more, right?

“What about now?” you ask, unable to resist smirking at how she’s now completely broken apart. Then, mirror her words from some days back that drove and still drive you crazy, as ridiculous as they are: “Cat got your tongue back there?”

She chokes up and is rendered even more lost for breath when you start to lose control of your own moans. They harmonize in an erotic chorus with hers and soon you’re muffling them with another torrid liplock.

“You’re a bully,” she says, the words mashing with your teeth and lips. “A heartbreaking, flirty, mean bully.”

Your noses nuzzle against each other. “You like me that way.”

“I’m not commenting… on, t-that.”

“Good. Because you know what you need to do? Cum for me. You’re shaking, Eunbi. Bet you wanna cry and get there so bad.”

“Y-yes!” Eunbi curses with that adorable lisp. She starts to stammer at the thumb floating and frisking on her clit, and she gives you this watery-eyed needy look that tells you, along with her stiff nubs and desperate gasping, she’s close.

You start to swipe at her clit and fit yourself lower in her. Eunbi gasps. She sits up though her forearms barely could handle the weight of what you’re doing, and stares down at your handiwork. She feels hot all over. You’re not helping calm her down. But you are aiding her orgasm, (which, by the way, is so near she can taste it.)

“What are you doing, you’re making me lose it—gonna—”

No need for her to continue for you to understand when she’s creaming all over you. Your rapid rubs on her clit don’t cease and neither do your thrusts. Eunbi’s yelling so hard that you’re afraid that even the well-built four walls of your hotel room won’t contain her noises. However, at the same time, you want them to hear her. That girl you always have your arm around on? Yep, she’s yours. That girl who always steals your socks and shirts? Just the same.

Eunbi’s mouth pinches up before sighing loudly, followed by a series of other gaspy breaths. You could hear a venerating one the moment the tightness becomes too much for you to handle and thus milks you of cum. You fill her so much that it drips off her lips. Your gentle thrusts guide the mixture of her cum and yours back inside her.

“That good enough for you?” you ask, pulling out.

Gently close her mouth and wipe the saliva that dribbles down it. When you lead it back to her mouth, she sucks on your aiding thumb. You take the liberty of running your finger along the soft pillows of her lips.

Add: “You’re incredibly demanding when you’re being fucked.”

Anyone could have guessed that it would be that way if they saw how she’s sitting there giving you teary puppy eyes.

“Of course. You know why?” She gives you a tired yet satisfied look, a triumphant one, too. “I know you would give me more if I asked.”

Fix her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “You give yourself too much credit.”

“Okay. Fine.” 

Eunbi stands up. She steals your attention from her heaving, heavy breasts when she gets on her knees. She squirms her thighs together, letting your creampie leave visible evidence. She massages your thighs, and it makes you even more turned on. 

“Tell me,” she says, another challenge, “that you won’t give me your cum. Tell me I’m such a bad girl that I don’t deserve all of it on my face. Hell, tell me you won’t even dare give me a nice, hot load down my throat as a reward for taking you well.”

You’re speechless. How do you react to this? She’s on her knees, riling you up and about to get to sucking you off. It’s another dream come true. And you hate how she’s right to death. She always is.

“Tell me all of that,” she concludes, “and I’d know you’re a fucking liar.”

Your tongue can’t form a fragment. Not even a stutter is born in your throat. Eunbi stares up at you, her hands neatly folded on her lap. She’s waiting, and you want to tell her it’s fruitless. You can’t tell her anything because it would prove her point. Plus, she’s gorgeous, so what now?

She clicks her tongue. Hums out a contained, satisfied laugh. “Thought so.”

Here’s how it starts: she licks at your tip repeatedly, keeping in mind how sensitive it is after having just cum inside her. Sparks of heat knot there. Then she leads it between her lips, and you’re on your toes again. She just slides those full, pink lips over you so perfectly. From the base to the head she goes with barely a complaining mouth. To you, it’s everything already. But to her—oh no, don’t get it twisted: this is just the beginning of it. A teaser to what will happen.

Her tongue laps side to side while she takes you in her mouth. You let out a stilted breath.

“Damn, you really, really like that, huh?” She pauses momentarily to lick your balls, then travels her tongue to the sides of your rod. With one lick, there’s another ball of heat tightening in you. And another; you’re moaning. 

“Y-yeah.”

“I see.” (She doesn’t; she’s closed her eyes while nursing your sore cock. Okay, now she does.) “What’s something you really wanted to do to me?”

You exhale. It’s the only laugh you can manage to create. “Ah. Where do I even begin?” 

Eunbi brushes your cockhead over her pouted lips. Your toes curl. “Tell me? Please?” she says.

Talking to Eunbi is easy. You can tell her anything and she’d be there, listening patiently and adding a joke sometimes. But when you’re asked to narrate all the things you’ve wanted to do to her, it’s a difficult task.

How do you say you’ve wanted to bend her over a desk while you finish between her legs?

How do you say you’ve strained for the opportunity to ask her out, with the first date being consummated by steamy, romantic sex by the moon?

How do you say you’ve wished for everything, from romantically cheesy to filthily rough, when it comes to her?

“I—I’ve thought about cumming in your throat,” you admit. That’s the first step. You run your fingers through her hair. Take care not to mess the braids. “Making you swallow all of it.”

Eunbi looks smug. “Sure, I can do that,” she chirps. “I mean, I’m me, right?”

“You’re a brat.”

“So make me shut up. Stuff this fat cock down my throat. Make me gag with your load. You always wanted to, right?”

Eunbi’s a challenging girl. She pushes you to go the extra mile, makes you do things you never thought you could. Tonight is no different.

You don’t care to keep the aesthetics of her hairdo anymore. You bunch her hair up in one tight ponytail then shove yourself inside. No gentleness in your body, you feed her wet and waiting mouth.

What bests the other in terms of tightness: her pussy or her throat? You don’t know. Can’t choose properly either. Observe anyway: this orifice provides the perfect wetness and a tongue that services you with glides and licks. Then you have that tight hole when you push yourself deep. You can feel her breaths being blocked by your girth.

Start to thrust away. In the beginning, she still has it in her to suck. You can feel the strength of it doing away at your length. But now, she can barely breathe to even do it. You’re just pushing her face into your stomach and her nose to your navel. You’re using her, which you’ve sworn you never would do. But she’s asking for it. Can’t you break your oath just once? Or at least, whenever she asks for it?

“Can I say how pretty you look like this?” 

The blush on her cheeks adds to the aura of it all. Her eyes are glowing with tears as they blink at you, and she’s started to salivate all over you. She can’t take it all, yet she’s so determined to that you want to stop and praise her. As you fuck her face sloppily, the thought that she’s beautiful still hasn’t left your head. Even when you’re ruining her, you’re still starstruck.

You’re a little flustered yourself. She’s so gorgeous that it sometimes makes you want to go call every visual storm in a rainforest ugly. She’s the prettiest little raindrop, and you stand by that.

“You’ll be good, won’t you? You’ll take all that I’ve got for you?”

She nods so innocently you wouldn’t think that she was having her face used.

She’s promised you to swallow all of your cum, and Kwon Eunbi? She never breaks promises.

Twist the ponytail you’ve bunched together to push her head firm to your stomach. She chokes, her throat constricting. Just what you wanted. You limit the movement of your hips so that you could shove that pretty face into you and make her put that mouth to good use. She’s good at that; even with her gags that somehow sound more heavenly than concerning, she takes and takes and takes your length. 

Pounding away, you bask in the squeeze of her throat, her hold on your thighs, her eyes tearing up. Her glasses are lopsided, and this time you don’t fix them. You caress her cheek then tilt her chin up. Her mouth’s an easy place to access in this position. The imprint of your cock bobs in her thin neck.

“Oh!” she gasps for air once you retreat. 

She sucks sloppily on you when you rub yourself on the inside of her cheek to lead you to a climax. After you’re certain it’s right around the corner, you start to jerk off in front of her face. As much as you’d love to completely release her, you want to see Eunbi fill her mouth with your semen.

Eunbi’s a good girl, so you found out. She doesn’t need instructions for her to cleverly part her lips and wait for it. Her heavy breaths fan your penis.

“Almost there, little raindrop,” you say, “just be good and wait.”

She sticks her tongue out and you aim for it. Eunbi closes in and fills the top of her tongue with your thick release. It pools in her mouth so satisfyingly that you almost wish you could keep cumming forever—not for the pleasure of it but to see her keep that desperate face on.

“Swallow.”

Eunbi shows off the plentiful evidence of your orgasm puddling in her mouth, then does so. After she gulps, she pants. Laughs a little, too. She has a way of finding humor in the most absurd situations. For example: your professor’s voice cracking in the middle of a rant. Your dad calling her “a very well-mannered young lady.” Having her face fucked.

“Do you know you’re, ah, shaking?” she asks, fixing her exposed bosom back in her bra. 

(You are.)

(But, to be fair, she’s made a mess on the carpeted hotel room floor. That’s kinda worse. The saliva can’t be differentiated from her girl cum. But at least yours can.)

“Thanks for letting me know,” you say anyway.

“Anytime.”

Amazing how things could grow awkward after you just abused her throat. You’re like two strangers trying to make conversation, and you’re everything but that, aren’t you? 

“How ‘bout this: d’you know that you glow after being fucked?”

“Shouldn’t you do it again?” She climbs onto the bed you’ve collapsed on. She places your hand on her thigh. “Keep me pretty?”

There’s nothing that could make her look unflattering. The messy hair is wild but she’s still a princess. But if that’s what she wants… well, she’s the last person you’d want to say no to.

“You’re insatiable.” Nevertheless, you let her bring your hand to her used core. You love how she stiffens when you start to rub circles around her clit.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t, too.” Eunbi presses her mound close to the heel of your hand. For a moment, she’s frozen. Then, her lips are next to your ear, telling you of a tale older than her lust. “I want you to do everything you want with me, everything.”

You’ve lost count of all the things you want to do to her. From things as sweet as tucking her in after a bad day to the filthiest like defiling that ass since that day she wore cycling shorts alone, your mind just runs with ideas. You can’t choose.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” she whines out. Her sighs grow sporadic. “So give it all to me.”

“Like I said: incredibly demanding.”

“You asshole.” She chokes this out as you start to roughly prod her nub. “You fucking… gatekeeper of dick.”

“Well, it’s my cock. I think I get to decide what happens with it.”

“You’re selfish.” Her voice gets higher. Her winces grow often, and Eunbi’s starting to babble out these little words of biteless barks. “You’re so, so cruel. You don’t know what I’d do, I will—I will—”

Before it happens, you place your hand on the back of her neck. She doesn’t even get to glare at you because it all happens so fast. You don’t know how you did it. Not just this, but everything else: how you managed to befriend her, how you managed to lay her. 

How you managed to push her not too gently to the wall, her chest pressing its solidness. How you managed to perfectly time it so that her head is tilted to the side so you could still catch a glimpse of that face. How you managed to pull up her bra and free those tits.

How you managed to say: “Do you know what I would do to you?”

Because there’s a million things you could do to Kwon Eunbi—the girl you’ve got pinned beneath you who’s absolutely tense with want. Your little kisses melt the freeze of her shoulders; you can hear her soft moans again.

Her lashes flutter over the undersides of her eyes. “Please,” she squeaks out, “do tell.”

“I’d rather show.”

Eunbi hums strainedly. You pierce through her again, It’s the second time and her velvety pussy still barely budges at your contradictingly welcome visit. Press your stomach into her back till you’re buried deep inside her. As a result, she’s shoved harder into the wall. Then you retrieve yourself handlessly from her, then put yourself in again.

She pants heavily, matching those of yours. She’s shaking, the only leverage to stay upright is your body on hers. Your rhythm is not too different from earlier and Eunbi still finds herself seeing it as something so new. She still spasms and quakes around you. Anything you give to her, she takes gladly. Each thrust pushes out a feeble cry from her throat and from within.

Her arms stretch to support her stance to the painted wall. You adore them, like you do to every other part of her. But these—these beautiful, strong arms whose minimal bulges hint of well-trained muscles—they do a number on you. You run your hands all along them, not making it easier for her. Everywhere you touch delivers a quiver running through her body. 

Although you touch first from the sides, her chest already feels big. You caress her curves before placing your hands right on her breasts. They’re your guilty pleasure, the kind that makes you pray for forgiveness because you don’t even know if you’re worthy of stealing glances at them. Maybe you are, because you’re getting to hold them. It’s a divine sign, if you do say so yourself.

Clutch them. Use them to plunge to places left unnavigated in her cunt. She’s dripping all over you, and it somehow plays the role of lubricant. It lets you thrust easily and keep her wet enough for more.

Any touch you trace on her beautiful body makes her quake. You brush your fingertips lightly over her clit, and the squeeze of her hole strengthens. You massage her fantastic hips and waist and you’re rewarded with a feral cry. Kissing her does no good in helping her calm down because, if anything, she gets more worked up.

“Oh, look at that, Eunbi.” You continue thrusting in her, pushing her limits far from the bounds, and she’s got her hands on her face, tears on her palms. “You’re so desperate. You squeeze so tight around me.”

Standing is something she’ll soon be incapable of doing for her legs are beaten down by your movements. “Not exactly my fault,” she says. “You know who’s to blame? You. You and that smug face and smug everything. You—” 

How is it possible that you  can make her garble but lose her words as well? Eunbi’s excessive whining comes to a halt as you plummet said cock deeper. Silent screams escape her open mouth and she’s clinging to the surface in front of her like she’d slip if she didn’t. There’s a possibility that that’s true—when you let go of her hip, she almost falls.

“You—” If you didn’t know Eunbi, you’d think her voice had contempt in it.

“What about me? Can you tell me?” You know that’ll annoy her.

It does, for she says: “W-wow, big ego.” She whimpers quietly at the soft kisses you place on her neck. The circumstances don’t allow her insult to hit properly. It just swells your pride.

“I know another thing from me and mine that's big.”

Eunbi growls. “Then put it to good—fucking—use.”

She has a point. Why are you fucking her rough when you could be even more so? Your touch climbs from her waist, tiny, to her boobs that can be described as every adjective in the thesaurus except for that. Afterwards, you carry out a brutal pace which drives her so into the wall that you’re not sure how she hasn’t made a dent in it yet. Her only protection from its hardness is your hands on her bust. 

Nothing can protect her from your hardness, however. It’s almost cruel how pink that milky white skin is, culprit of the defilement being your core that slams and slams into it. But you know she likes it this way. So why stop? Of course, there’s no reason to.

“God, please– you’re—” Her expression changes. Pleasure becomes bliss as bliss becomes paradise. “Oh no, I think I’m close.”

No quote from philosophers and learned individuals could inspire you like that simple statement. Yes, she’s close to cumming. And it’s because of you, she just confirmed it. So you tweak her hard nipples and tilt your moves up. You must have hit a certain spot because a simple “oh” turns to a scream. Several of them actually, each increasing the smacks of your hips on her butt and your lips’ ravages on that delicate, vulnerable swan’s neck.

“Hngh, I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, harder, please!” she yells, falling back to the wall and shaking. 

Your moves become frequent and rough. Your hands join in with the roughness; they begin to harshly pinch and grab her boobs until she unravels. 

Eunbi suppresses her scream into a whiny cry and falls into you, unable to keep her balance anymore. The flood rages in her core and overflows. Your cum slides out of her pussy as she tightens and loosens. She frantically pushes her ass back into you to keep the climax on a high, coupled with sharp shrieks of affirmation.

“Keep fucking me,” she rasps, “keep ruining me.”

Her voice ranges between low and sexy to high and needy. Both sides, however, are draining you. It’s the way the sweat sticks to her gasping face and how her legs are practically limp. She’s completely under your control, and you… like it? Is that how it’s supposed to work?

“Yes, yes—don’t stop.” Her nails scratch the paint. “Don’t, wait, not inside me. Okay? You can’t.”

You manage to successfully quiet your groan of disappointment. You pull out reluctantly. Tell yourself you already ejaculated in her moments ago, so it’s only fair for it to be once. However, your cock’s still rock hard. What do you do about it? You’ve already done more than you should with her. It was all supposed to be just one kiss. How did you get here?

She turns around and places her hands on your shoulders. Her palms are sweaty in spite of the air-conditioner breezing in the room. The exhaustion on her face from sex is there, and so is this little serious look. 

“I want you to cum,” she says, “in my ass.”

Thoughts. Too many of those, none pure. Thoughts of Eunbi that didn’t stay as fantasies because look at them bleeding into reality. Silence, too—you’re not saying they speak louder than words, but of course you can tell she’s serious with those watery bunny eyes.

“What?”

And of course you gotta act like a prude. What the hell? You? A prude? That’s a fucking lie. You’ve pleasured yourself countless times to the thought of her and that body, so why are you backtracking? As Eunbi would say, right after you made fun of lazy students while never studying much yourself, “Hypocrite.”

“What?” Eunbi drags your hands down that supple ass and makes you squeeze its full cheeks. “I want you to get your money’s worth from that expensive lube and pound me. And don’t you even think of stopping.”

You glance at the plastic-wrapped bottle on the bedside table, then back at her. It just doesn’t make sense. You—you and your awkwardness and spontaneous bursts of overconfidence—getting to cross the line? Everyone has probably doubted their worth one way or another, in stories written the same as yours, but is she serious? Does she really, really plan on letting you do it?

You look down at your bare feet. She sighs loudly, obviously and slightly irritated at your hesitation. Only an idiot would pass up that opportunity. But maybe you want to be an idiot—because fucking her would mean wanting her. You’ve already done both. You’ve made her cum twice and always wanted to do so, always desired her. To you, it just makes you worse than the rest of the men who vied and strived for her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Eunbi,” you tell her quietly. Let them rage at your words as if your life were a movie and they were a judgmental audience, but it’s true. You can’t violate more unwritten rules. 

She lifts her head, her face parallel to your own. “What if I want you to?”

-

You blackmailed everyone into reading your story, you’ll say it straight up. This isn’t a love story or tragedy, or whatever. This is a tale about you being too generous. You’re always giving Eunbi what she wants. Every key point’s been triggered by her wishes—from her bailing answers out of you right up to this passionate Christmas Eve. You’re the genie who keeps giving her extra. Oh, you’re a pretty girl, you see, you’d say, blue hand stroking her hair, so of course you can ask for more. It’s all on me, beautiful. All on me.

You keep granting. And granting. And granting. 

“Spread those legs.”

Because it’s all written on paper, in the law of nature: she’ll be the one who calls you names and drags you around. But here? Nothing remotely close to that. She’s the girl who sits on the counter of the kitchen table, and opens her legs. Why? Because you told her to. You’ve already fucked all the sass out of that sharp-tongued mouth. There’s little left.

In this wealth-stealing coup of a hotel room, she’s the one who does what you want. She’d slacken her mouth to have you give her a throatpie. She’d ride you like she would a pillow if you asked her. But in a way, behind the scenes, it’s her screenwriting it all. She’s got it predicted from front to base—you’ll fuck her here. And there. You’ll do what she wants and do what you want. Make it meet in the middle.

Because, you think as you slick her asshole and your cock with the lubricant, that’s what friends do.

The edges of Eunbi’s palms are on the counter. You can see them struggle to keep her body upright. You can’t really say you blame the girl when the two of you have done too many things to fit into one night. Anal is another you’re trying to squeeze into a tight schedule.

But that’s what she wants. And, (heads up—skip if you don’t like spoilers): you just so happen to have a habit of being too easily swayed by pretty women.

“Open more.”

“There’s enough already,” she whines, words pitched and tiny. 

“I know, Eunbi. Baby.” You’re clinging on that high of seeing the color rose her cheeks. In every way, red (can’t be pink when it’s that dark) looks good on her. 

Eunbi’s breath skips a pattern. Her ass retreats at your touch yet goes back every time for you to hold. “You’re too good at this,” she says, speaking as if the words were a foreign language. Which is to say: cute. It’s like when she speaks English; it comes out sounding like fresh, pretty talk.

“Glad you’ve come to terms with that.”

“Wow.” Can’t tell if she said that at your cock pressing to her anal hole or at your quickness to speak. “Okay.”

“I mean, I’m serious. I only called you baby. How does that make me good?”

Eunbi coos when you touch the side of her face. Hold its jawline over the line your palm calls its own. Glimmering sweat and exhaustion and lust, she still has ways to make you go crazy. Your hand comforting her shudders nearly makes her forget you just want her to admit that you’re cut from the rest.

Both of you know what’s true anyway. 

“I just…” Eunbi kisses the space between your index and thumb. “I just fall in love too fast.”

“How fast are we talking?”

“I won’t tell you, it’s been crystal clear since the time I met you. But for this?” She taps your hip impatiently. “As fast as you can.”

Her voice deepens, a stretch from her cheerful pitch. Where did that come from? She smirks at the change in your face, but she can’t hide the desperation in hers. 

Her hole and your cock are shiny with the lubrication. Turns out the lube was a good buy; getting the tip inside her proves to be easy. However, it can’t help your job in hilting the entirety inside her. Thighs that glisten with wetness and lube wrap around you. Her midriff tenses, and so does her hole. So do her hands on your arms.

There’s already her cum and yours wetting her ass, as well as the lube you bought that was crazy expensive. So why is she still so tight? Her squeals thin and her face makes clear the labor. You’re spreading her apart in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

She’s straining, too. Eunbi’s using every method in the book to allow your width to enter more: breathing deeply, relaxing her body, spreading her legs. But they don’t seem to work for her when her ass is only focused on closing around the little you’ve put inside her.

“Why do you have to be so big?” she whines. She pushes her cheeks to your stomach, inching you south and into her. “Why does it have to feel so good? Don’t just stand there. Fuck me. Split me open, I need it.”

Her wish is your command. That’s three wishes she’s making there and you’ll grant all of them. In a hard moment of pure will, you pull yourself out and slam yourself harshly into her tight body. Your attempt is successful; your whole girth is snugly hugged by her round butt. The enclosed walls of her anal ring are so overwhelming that you’re close to blowing your load already.

If you’re a genie, Eunbi’s the taker of wishes. She takes and takes and takes, even with your cock prodding past the hurting limits of her little asshole, and she does it oh so well. She’s probably seeing ghosts or the stars they’ve become with the way she’s not even looking at you anymore. No, her body is slanted up to allow you to give what you can. And by what you can, you mean your all.

Eunbi sobs and hugs you close. For comfort? Assurance? Speed? You’ll give her all three. That’s six wishes there, but with her, there’s no limit. You hold her as you find a perfect pace, one that makes her thighs squish on the ledge of the table and has her mouth gaping while you’re making another orifice of hers do the same.

When did pain feel this good? Eunbi doesn’t know. But she loves and accepts it. She’s reciprocating your thrusts with her own ones. It feels too good, so good that the sounds coming out of her are difficult to comprehend. She’s moaning, yet crying, too. Crying yet gasping in delight. Gasping in delight yet panting as if it were too much.

There’s one thing you’re certain of, though: she’s enjoying it. Wetness drools from her cunt and onto your shaft. It’s only a tiny bit of help, but it already aids in fucking her ass open sloppily. Her breaths are warm gushes of wind on your skin, and soon in the air as she throws her head back. Have to place a hand behind her neck to prevent her from bumping onto the all-too-near cupboard.

“So good, so big, can feel you t-throbbing,” she mumbles. Her lips purse before releasing a sharp moan. You’ve just placed your mouth on one of her breasts. “Know you wanted to do this. Saw you, hnn, staring at my ass.”

“Who can blame me?” You lightly slap her backside. “This thing is the best.”

“You got me so...” Eunbi’s gasp becomes a little lost ghost when you start to suck on her brown nipple. “I wore them, those ridiculous shorts, just for you. Wanted you to make me feel good, make me hurt, oh, I want it so bad—”

Her words pierce and break. Their propriety becomes worse yet the willpower they induce becomes stronger. Rapidity becomes a pastime when you’re pumping her. Of course, that’s already a given when the girl’s absolutely incapable of keeping quiet. Anything you do to her she reacts to. She’s still the same girl in the sheets as she is when she’s out and about, and it makes this sinful act—anally ruining her—seem like something so endearing.

Your thumb starts to rub her clit again. You’ve done this plenty of times in this hotel room right after the heat started, yet it still gauges the same reaction from her. She can’t stay still. She wants to stay in one place to receive you better but there’s the pleasurable pain in her ass, your mouth on her bosom, your hand feeling her up. She can’t take it, and you can’t either. She’s a combination of wetness and tightness and loudness and shrillness—you’re both too much for the other.

A lit match to a flamed lighter.

“Oh, god, no.” Eunbi’s teeth dig into your shoulder before retracting. Signs of her sobs linger and roll down her perfect face that wields an expression you admit to have fantasized often on her. “You’re gonna make me cum again. You're gonna make me cum again, I can’t handle it. Please—fffu—”

You stuff your fingers inside her. Match the pace with how you’re fucking her into the kitchen wall. She clenches around you and doesn’t let go. The wet squelching sounds compels you to be harsher with her. Fuck her like it doesn’t mean anything, just like she wants you to.

“Mmm!” Eunbi shrieks at the harsh intrusions she thought would be over. 

“Not over yet.” You kiss her. “Still gotta cream this perfect ass.”

The promise of that makes her blush. Red and sweaty, she exercises those toned arms by using them in fucking herself on your cock. The pleasure is addicting, and she’s still keeping you to that oath to cum inside her a second time. 

She’s so wet that it’s almost unbelievable. Your fingers curl, spread, jam themselves in her, and each time they pull out they’re soaked to the knuckles. Her clit twitches and you get your touch on there again. A little leak of cum wrinkles your hand from it.

“You really want it, huh?” Hiss at how she bounces that jiggling rear onto you. “Just a little more, baby. You’re gonna have to do much better than that.”

Since when did Eunbi do what you say? Since when did she do it with this much enthusiasm? Despite your shaft wrecking her insides and rearranging her guts, along with the orgasm she’s had, she perseveres. She rolls her body, a snake’s dance, and takes you in further. You admire how much you’ve spread her. Hold her backside to guide her. 

You pity the housekeeper who’d have to clean up evidence of your sin. There’s her wetness on the kitchen table, the smell of carnal need in the air, sheets torn by the little power Eunbi’s fingernails have. But there’s no regrets, you think, for this one:

An explosion. The kind that doesn’t kill but brings her to life. Its origin is the base of your cock and birth inside her tight little ass. Hold her close. Slam inside her as if you were mad at her, while she lets out gasped repetitions of “oh, oh, oh.” Now you pull out your digits and resort to furiously rubbing her nub, effectively making her even tighter.

“That’s it, fuck, such a good girl,” you groan. Grip her ass so tightly that it draws a yelp out of her. After it’s all done, you pull out. 

“You,” she drawls when you pull out. She spreads her legs and stares at the semen dripping out of her holes. At the mess you’ve made on the floor, the bed, the table, everything. “You…”

She doesn’t continue what she’s saying, but you’re pretty sure you got the gist of it. It was you who fucked her. It was you who made her climax so many times in one night. It was you, her best friend, who did her in.

“Yeah,” you say, laughing. 

Somehow, the whole experience is making you guilty. You feel like the richest man in the world, the luckiest, too. So why do you feel you did something wrong? 

Eunbi narrows her eyes. She knows you too well. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

You don’t.

“Now kiss me.” Her words fan your chin, a haunting love spell. “Again.”

You do.

-

Christmas comes, and by then you've flown home. You’re at Sakura’s house to celebrate. Green and red are all over the place: red cupcakes on a baking tray, old books leaning against each other, the rug beneath you and her friends. There’s a giant statue of Santa Claus, overweight and jolly, at the corner next to the Christmas tree. What used to be under the plant were gifts Eunbi specifically said not to touch until 12 a.m midnight. No sleeping in now that you’re well aware that the man himself isn’t real.

Sakura’s undoing the ribbon on her gift, but her eyes are on you and Eunbi. “There’s something really weird going on with you two,” she says. 

The girls nod and hum choruses of agreement: yes, he and the bunny leader are acting odd lately. No, they don’t know why. Is it because of the vacation? Seasonal depression (but with Christmas lights!)? They’re gonna find out for sure.

You and Eunbi look at each other. Your faces hold an unreadable expression, until you take an interest in one evergreen branch and her in the collar of her ugly Christmas sweater.

“Nah,” you say.

“Nothing much,” she echoes, drinking her hot chocolate.

Yena groans, tired of your pretentiousness. “You fucked, didn’t you?” 

A liquid spray of sugar lands on the rug, courtesy of Eunbi. The girls begin cackling, slapping their hands on their thighs and on each other. You look away to manage your laughter. Unfortunately, it’s as loud as Eunbi’s scheming little members.

“That means yes!” Yujin shouts gleefully. Her dimples are printed on her cheeks.  “You owe me ten thou, Yena unnie!”

Christmas spirit truly is in the air. They’re jumping up and down, laughing and cheering, while you two are mortified. You’re the Grinches of the holidays, but even that can’t sour their happiness. 

“It worked!”

“I can’t believe it worked!”

“They’re so obvious about it, too!”

“No wonder Eunbi unnie was limping when they came home!”

The whole thing was a setup. It’s all dawning in on you. Why else would eleven girls pool ridiculous amounts of money for a two-person trip? You’ve given them the best Christmas present of their lives unknowingly. 

But with how much Eunbi loves them, she’s okay with that. 

You are, too.

-

“Hey.”

You lift yourself up from the comfort of the pillows and sheets. Eunbi’s standing at your bedpost. She still has on the sweater, courtesy of your mother, and her ears are still pink. That’s one of the cutest things about her: when she gets shy or humiliated, it’s pretty obvious.

How do you go about this? It’s been awkward and silent ever since you had sex. It’s so unlike your dynamics, and it’s scaring you. You don’t want to lose her. Is that the same on her end?

At the end of the day, though, she remains your best friend. You’ll always reserve a place for her with you.

“Hi.” You pat your bedclothes, and she sits.

She looks away as she pushes a paper shopping bag in your arms. “Merry Christmas.”

You wonder how you didn’t see it peeking from her tiny back. The bag isn’t too heavy, but it obviously is something large with how much you can feel whatever is inside it. Quickly stapled and taped, it’s a last-minute present for sure. Did she forget you? Of course, your heart squeezes with the idea of it.

“Way to time your—”

“Don’t be stubborn and just open it. Please?”

Do so. 

It’s a bag. Not just any bag—it’s a brand new original of the backpack she lost you all those months ago. She’s got it down to the same color (gray), design (two pockets, with black zippers and one for a bottle) and size (medium). The only thing that sets it apart from your first one is the unavailability of shreds and tatters on the bottom side.

Stare at it, dumbfounded. How did she track it down? It’s sure to be expensive, seeing as it isn’t thrifted and is wrapped in the branded plastic of an overseas branch. “Eunbi,” you say.

“It was shipped later than expected.” She shrugs, trying to play it off. Still, you can hear her laughing shyly. “Hope you like it.”

“I told you to save yourself the trouble.”

You lift the bag up and stare at it. The transparent plastic allows you to marvel at its beauty. The faint scent of newness fills your nostrils. 

But the real beauty is the one who sits on your bed late on Christmas night, with her hands folded neatly on her lap like a Catholic schoolgirl. A few locks of her hair are braided with red ribbons to go with the season of giving. Her brows are as dark as her glasses, her cheeks as red as her ugly sweater.

“I like it when you trouble me.”

As always, her statements hold more meaning than they should. And, like you could through her eyewear, you can see right through them. Knowing what she tried to say causes you to inch closer to her. The sides of your thighs press against each other.

“Makes me want to trouble you more,” you reply. 

She lifts her head. Already the light cockiness she so often brings with her pours back into her face, and you couldn’t be more relieved to see it again. “So do it.”

Things have a way of coming back to you. Your bag, the thrill of meeting her again, Eunbi. Not everything will return, but then it’s probably just a sign that things aren’t gonna be bad forever. There will be days you’ll get to have a vacation with her again, the promise of December’s Christmasses, being with her and her friends you’ve grown to love. There will be days for new beginnings, like this one. This is a fresh start with her. There will also always be days you’ll do whatever she wants, which somehow align with what you want too.

Refer to this:

You kiss her, your little trouvaille.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfiction #fanfiction #kpop fanfic #fanfic #girl group smut #female idol smut #soloist smut #idol smut #izone smut #kwon eunbi smut #eunbi smut #izone eunbi smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #idol x male reader #idol x reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #pov smut #iz days of christmas #iz days of christmas 2023 #iz days of christmas 2023 day 1 #kofimission #commission

[livanas]

Astrology observations

Aqua mars are the true embodiment of "it's above me now". I've noticed most of them rarely if ever get angry or pissed off and even when they do, there's like no passion. My mother has this placement and almost nothing bothers her. They could also have some very weird kinks.

Sag mercuries speak too much and think they know everything. Very condescending, know it all energy. Doesn't matter whether they're right or not.

taurean women's romantic relationships tend to be noticeably unequal in some sort of way, usually physically, financially, or status/fame wise; also are the hallmark of loyalty, mired with struggle.

virgo sun, asc, and 10th house will produce a polished person. classic with a hint of sexy. they will not publicly twerk in a bikini or flash you their thong. virgos in general (sun, moon, asc) have no issue with plastic surgery. they won't talk about it because it breaks the illusion of their perfection.

I feel sorry for people who have Venus/Mercury/Mars in Scorpio and Moon in Capricorn. How does it feel to always walk around like you're constipated emotionally, verbally,physically and spiritually?

venus and mars in aries is pure xes, lust, and passion, it's tango. to chase and be chased is the answer to them.

Libras with Taurus rising are the definition of HOT. Double Venus is the best combo in terms of beauty.

Someone doesn't need to fall into your 5, 7 and 8h for you to be interested. They could also just aspect the rulers or contain that influence in their natal.

I find most Aries moons to have a very fighting spirit. Can be quite annoying sometimes.

Lilith in 10H seem to be lusted by many.

Mars conjunct Neptune : Psycho killer

Mars square Saturn : dictator, racist

Venus square/opposite Neptune/Uranus : homosexuality

Mercury conjunct/square/opposite Pluto : Scamer

Mercury conjunct Uranus : Mercury/Uranus aspects gives one who is intelligent/book smart yet the native may have issues with sleep. The mind is moving nonstop! Similar to mercury/mars aspects.

Sun square asc. What you see is not what you get.

Capricorn Mars women. Have an iron fist in a velvet glove demeanor about them. People don’t take them seriously at first but eventually they outlast all the rest.

Taurus Venus men. Physical touch is their love language.

Venus sq Saturn women. They really love to stick with their man. Through thick and thin. For better or worse. No matter how degrading and embarrassing it is. They need to work on their self worth.

Pluto in the 12th - cult like following. Donald Trump, Taylor Swift, Ted Bundy, Tom Brady.

Saturn in hard aspect to MC - disliked by the public for no real reason, subjected to ‘cancel culture’

Cardinals are pimps.. they start things with no intentions in finishing them. In hopes to use people to finish it, That's why they constantly "networking"... it's to fund a lifestyle

Mars opposite Saturn is such a nasty placement to have because of the whole "timing" thing. It literally feels as if there's some outside forces working against you and stopping your motives and actions. I still have no idea how to work with this placement. It literally feels like bad luck.

_ Thanks for reading xoxo_

#astrology observations #astro observations #astrology notes #astro notes #astrology signs #astrology compatibility #astrology #horoscope #zodiac #zodiac signs #birth chart #natal chart #kpop #kpop moodboard #kpop icons #kpop aesthetic #bts #bts army #bts icons #blackpink #news #art #photography #gaming #sports #taylor swift #hybe labels #new jeans #illit #lgbtq

[ramp-it-up]

That Face

Summary: You get drunk and tell Bucky exactly what you want to do to that face.

Pairing: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1.9 K

A/N: You can read this as a companion piece to Red Wings.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. More angst on the part of the reader. Sweet Bucky fluff. Jealousy, excessive drinking, intoxication, drunken confessions, face riding, fingering, extreme oral sex (f receiving) anal play, praise kink, allusion to anal sex. Not Beta’d. All errors my own. 

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Bucky was holding you close to him, and it should have been romantic, but it wasn’t.

You were shit faced, and practically falling down with every step.

“Careful Doll, I’m gonna have to carry you home.”

After just six months of dating, you’d moved in with him, your relationship barreling along with breakneck speed, but who wouldn’t fall in love with Bucky?

Who wasn’t still in love with Bucky?

You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, half a block from your brownstone.

“That sounds hot, Bucky, but I’m pissed…”

“Yeah, I know…”

“No, I’m mad.”

You stomped your foot and wobbled, until Bucky’s hands steadied you again. Bucky bent down and looked you in the eyes.

“You good, Doll?”

His sky blue eyes looked sincere, but jealousy and alcohol wouldn’t let you accept that.

“No! This was supposed to be our night to fuck and have a romantic dinner. You’ve been gone for three weeks. Three weeks, James!”

Bucky looked contrite, but then again there were four of him weaving in front of you right now, so you couldn’t be sure.

“Sorry, Baby. Didn’t know the guys would be in town. It’s my crew.”

“I can take your army buddies, but her. She’s a bitch!”

“Wow. Whoa whoa whoa. You know I don’t like anyone calling women bitches. Even you.”

Bucky straightened up and the stern look he gave you sent a thrill through you, but you weren’t done.

“She still wants you, Bucky. Sharon is a slut. And you always say you love when I’m a slut for your cock.”

Bucky looked around as you started crying and people walking by avoided the scene.

“I don’t want Sharon, Doll. I want you.”

Bucky looked down at you, eyes sparkling with amusement at your jealousy. Even his voice was smiling. It made you madder and you stumbled as you advanced on him, bucking up to the man who was a foot taller than you.

“Look at that fucking face.”

You reached up and took his chin between your fingers.

“No one gets to ride this dimple but me!”

This time Bucky didn’t care about who heard, you’d peaked his interest. His eyebrow shot up.

Even though drunk, you read his expression.

“Yep!”

You nodded and it threw you off balance, but luckily Bucky was there.

“Betcha didn’t know that I touch myself to the memories of the feeling of that chin between my legs. Did it the entire time you were gone. That cock is something else Bucky, but that face. I just want to ride it into the sunset….”

This was new information to Bucky. You seemed to love when he ate you out, but you were always hesitant to ride his face. He licked his lips as he thought of you pleasuring yourself to the thought of his face.

Then he grinned.

You read him again.

“Oh no! No no no. You think you got me. But you said you were mine…”

Bucky leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“I am yours, Doll.”

“So she can’t ride your face?”

Bucky slowly shook his head.

“No, only you.”

You sighed and sagged into his arm.

“Good, because I-“

And that was the last thing you remembered from that night.

You woke up the next morning, head pounding. You looked around, grateful to be in your bed. And grateful for your boyfriend, who’d left a bottle of water and some aspirin on the bedside table.

You could hear Bucky puttering around in the kitchen but you weren’t quite ready to eat.

You eagerly took the pills and drank the bottle down. Then, you turned on the shower as you brushed your teeth.

You reflected on the gathering at The Howling Commando, the neighborhood bar so familiar to you as you met Bucky’s friends. Which included Sharon Carter.

Bucky’s ex.

“Bucky’s just being nice, y’know?”

Steve tried to reassure you as she and Bucky caught up in the corner. You nodded back at Steve, but when Bucky smiled at Sharon was when you ordered your first shot of Jameson’s.

You showered as you tried to remember the rest of the night. But all you could remember was Bucky’s sweet face. You wrapped up in a towel and sat on the bed as you thought of how sweet Bucky was. He was so cute. That face.

That face.

“Shit!”

Your head fell into your hands as you remembered what happened the night before.

“What’s wrong, Doll?”

You looked up and your heart dropped.

Bucky was clad in only sleep pants and you could tell that there was nothing underneath.

You licked your lips, not bothering to hide your stare. Bucky came and sat down on the bed.

“See something you like, Doll?”

“Morning.”

“G’morning Sunshine..”

Bucky leaned down and kissed you on the cheek, chaste, despite the look in his eye. Your eyes fell to his lips. And lower.

Bucky licked his lips and rubbed his chin.

“You didn’t answer my question, Doll.”

Bucky’s mouth was an inch from yours. He reached for your towel and hooked his finger at the makeshift knot, causing his fingernail to brush your nipple.

“Don’t tease me Bucky…”

“I should say the same to you, Doll. You told me all the things you wanted to do to my face and then passed out.”

“James! I was drunk!”

“They say we are the most honest when we’re drunk.”

Bucky kissed you and then looked into your eyes.

“D’you believe that I don’t care about Sharon?”

You liked into his true blue eyes and you knew he wasn’t lying.

“I believe you. I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you too, Doll.”

You reached up and caressed his lips and chin.

“Gotta admit. This face is pretty irresistible.”

Bucky grinned and you leaned in for a kiss and climbed on his lap, grinding as he took your towel off.

“Been so long, Bucky.”

Bucky’s hands caressed you as he leaned back and let you have your way.

You made your way down his body, reacquainting yourself with his form with your lips, tongue, and fingers. He lifted his hips as you pulled down his pajama pants, lightly scratching his thighs on the way down.

“God I missed you so much, Doll. Spent all last night just waiting until we could get home. Wanted to lose myself in you.”

You had Bucky in your hand, sitting on his legs as you stroked his half-hard cock to full life.

“M’sorry Babe. How can I make it up to you?”

You looked up at him, ready to suck his soul out.

“Come up here and ride this irresistible face.”

You gasped as Bucky pulled you up his body until you were kneeling over him.

“There she is.”

Bucky’s fingers helped to separate your lips as he breathed hot breath into your cunt.

“So fucking wet for me.”

And then he went to work on licking into your tangy goodness.

“So good. Such a good girl for me. Such a good pussy.”

Bucky sat you down and suckled your clit, pulling on it like it was gum, stretching it and your soul out for the world (inside your bedroom) to see. He was kneading your breasts and pulling your nipples, serving to make you wetter and him messier.

But it was only just beginning as you started gyrating on his chin.

Bucky smacked your ass and pushed you over on your hands and knees again.

“That’s a girl. Bounce on my tongue.”

You did as you were told, feeling Bucky’s chin in your vagina each time you bounced on his tongue.

“Smear that shit all over my fuckin face Doll. You know you want to.”

Bucky took your ass in his hands and then started moving you back and forth on his face. You were overwhelmed with numerous sensations as his lips, tongue and chin, covered with short facial hair, destroyed your soul.

“Now sit up and fuck this face, Doll. Please. ”

You peered down at his bright blue eyes as his fingertips grazed your stomach. You obeyed him as you pulled his hair and took your throne, his thick, wide tongue spearing into you as you fucked his face.

His chin was now grazing your puckered hole, and you moaned as the scruffy dimpled part of him made you tremble.

“J-James…”

Bucky spread your cheeks and moved his tongue so that it could invade your inmost parts. He licked you from ass to clit and your legs started trembling.

You leaned back over and bounced in his tongue again, holding your breasts with one hand as you braced against the wall with the other.

Bucky’s hand snaked around to flick your clit as you gasped and fully sat on his face as his tongue speared into you, twisting and curling, not as all consuming as his cock, but reaching that special spot inside you nonetheless.

You gasped and sat back, hand on his sternum as you rolled your hips into his face.

“Oh. Ohhhh, oh Jamesssss.”

You whimpered, and your crying-like noises as you moved told him how it felt.

“So… fuck it feels so good…

You were grabbing his hair as he craned his neck upward to look at you.

Bucky growled into your cunt then lifted you upright again, his thumb slipping into your ass. This caused a gush of your fluids into his mouth and he started moaning.

“Mmmmmm. Mmhmmmm!”

“Oahhhh oh ahhh.”

Bucky was still breaching your ass as his tongue sped up impossibly and his lips suckled your clit intermittently.

“More… please!”

You were seeing stars as you reached back and pushed Bucky’s thumb in to the hilt.

Bucky moaned as you started bouncing again. His hand was fucking your ass as you rode his face.

“Please please please…”

“Hmmph… yesssss.”

Bucky spoke into your cunt as you started to reach your crescendo. He could taste your orgasm coming before it happened. Everything sped up.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

“Ummmmmm!”

Bucky was in heaven as you continued to gush into his mouth.

You came with a scream as Bucky lapped you all up.

“Unnnnh!”

Bucky pulsed precum on his stomach as you came on his face.

“Unh ahhhh.

“So pretty, Doll. Stay right here.”

Bucky kissed your lips as you quivered in front of him.

“Want this ass. Gonna give it to me?”

“Bucky…”

“She’s ready for me now.”

Bucky’s finger found that hole again.

“Gonna make you feel real good.”

You whimpered as Bucky spit on his fingers and manipulated two of them inside you.

He gave your clit a peck with his lips and you jumped.

“Nice and loose for me.”

You looked down on him adoringly and carded your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. He moaned.

“Please Doll. But only if you want that too. I need you. You’re my best girl. My good girl.”

You looked back, his cock jumping on his abs, sticky with his pre cum. You shuddered at his praise and at the thought of him inside that hole. But as Bucky probed and kissed you further, you knew you wanted it.

You didn’t need to look back down to know that Bucky was buried in your cunt again, bringing you to another peak. Instead, your head lolled back on your shoulders as you rode Bucky’s mouth again.

“Anything! Anything you want, Bucky…I want it too! Ah…”

You just couldn’t resist that face.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sharon carter #steve rogers #Bucky Barnes au

[confused-wanderer]

I know we all talk about Jason finding out Dick killed the Joker from Tim or one of the other batfam members, but what if:

One day he’s searching for blackmail material on a member just for fun and knows Damian keeps a list of all of them so he backs into the files and realised the folder with the heaviest inscription to unlock is one labelled “Contingencies”.

He opens it to find every single person in their family is on there and starts surfing through them. When he sees Tim’s he freezes, mentally filing away some horrific details for checking up on him later, Jason’s list is impressive but not much he didn’t expect…still concerned how he got the evidence though.

His fingers hesitate over Batman’s, and after thinking screw it what the hell clicks on it just to realise most of them are psychological, and had to do with Jason. One video showed Bruce as Jason remembered him from his robin days. He was pacing furiously in the Manor, tugging on his pocket square which for him was a high level of distress, before he went upstairs - to Jason’s room when he stayed there - and looked in. The change was sudden, Bruce’s shoulders sagged and his face grew into one of fondness, one he’d rarely seen before.

“I cant help it Alfred.. Scarecrow’s toxin.. I KNOW it isn’t real but.. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if -“ and Jason can’t really believe his ears, that was a fucking quiver in his voice- “What if one day it comes true?” “What was your worst fear Master Bruce?”.

“Jason..” and Jason flinches. “I.. I saw him die, and I was powerless. I cant lose him Alfred. I just cant.”

The recording ends, and it takes a while for Jason to realise he can’t breathe. He sends the file to himself and laughs bitterly, remembering what the fear toxin had shown him. Lucifer. It had shown him falling from Bruce’s grace, being his greatest disappointment. “Guess we both failed each other didnt we old man?”

After what feels like forever, when he can feel his fingers stop shaking his eyes drift over to Dicks.

Damian sure does adore him, wonder what the brats got in store for him.

Most of them were things he was sure Dick could handle, until a glitched file appeared which read “for EXTREME situations only.”

When he heard Joker laugh, Jason could’ve sworn he was in the cave. “Hello there old friend! Aww why the long face?”

Dick wasn’t facing the camera, but the sheer aura of destruction radiating off of him was enough for Jason to know Joker was in danger. Judging by his outfit and well- hair- this must’ve been years ago.

“Didn’t you like my..ah.. gift? It was quite the blast I hear!”

Dicks fists clenched. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a hatred so vile it could’ve rivalled batman’s glare. It was so odd.. seeing him so pissed.

“Well that’s what happens.. when birds get hit. They never see what’s right in front of them and then BAM!”

As his laughter rang out Jason heard Dick whisper something. It was so soft, quieter than he’d ever heard him and he found himself leaning forward.

“What’s that? How long he lasted? Well I counted everytime he screamed when I broke his bones so-“

“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”

Jason stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor himself. Dicks voice was thundering, echoing across the cave.

What the hell had happened? Why was Dick so mad? Why wasn’t he smiling?

“You..killed him.”

And that’s when it hit Jason. Oh. This was after he’d died.

The joker was trying to say something, but Jason couldn’t hear him. All he could focus on was how Dick was behaving, how he was walking upto Joker. Jason had seen that before.

The intent to kill.

SLAM

The fight was brutal, and blood flew everywhere, mixed with the laughter and cries of the Joker while Dick yelled, YELLED so loudly he could’ve sworn the cave was shaking before the sound of a wet snap ricocheted and Dick went limp.

No.. no no no no.

He watched in horror as Dick stood up, drenched in blood and heaving. Dick had gone- no BEATEN- the joker for Jason.

But the longer he looked, the more he felt the Lazarus pit burning inside him.

The joker wasn’t moving.

Dick walked away, and in the shadows, with bloody fists and face of hatred could not see him as the Dick he knew.

“Dead.”

He looked up to hear Dick whisper to the thundering sky outside.

“I killed him Jason. The joker is dead. Rest in peace little wing.”

Jason’s feet gave out under him, and he crashed to the ground gasping for breath.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he had been avenged.

Never did he even think that Dick had only killed once… and only for him.

Part two of related series where Jason finds out Bruce nearly killed the Joker:

#headcanons #batfam #dick grayson angst #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #jason todd angst #tim drake #red robin #batfamily headcanons #batman #batman angst #alfred penyworth #damian wayne #batman and robin

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 56

part 1 | part 55 | ao3

March

"Steve, honey," Claudia calls from the living room, where he can hear her shuffling around to get her things ready for work — the rustle of a jacket, the clink of keys against her thermos. "Do you need anything before you go?"

"I'm fine, Ma!" Steve answers.

And he is. He is fine. It’s been three weeks, and Steve is fine! He has a date tonight with a girl he doesn’t care about, and he's gonna cheer on Lucas at the championship game, and the other day at work he got a fifty cent per hour raise. And sure, his nightmares are worse than ever and his head aches all the time, and he’s had some weirdly persistent sinus infection or some shit going on, but he only teared up once this week while jerking off to thoughts of Eddie, so.

All in all, not bad.

He shoves a plain bagel in his mouth and rushes to leave the house; passes Claudia on the way out, who's now rapping her knuckles impatiently against Dustin’s door and asking, “Dusty, what’s going on in there? You’re gonna be late!" to which Dustin replies with a panicked shriek: “DON’T COME IN, I’M NAKED!”

Jesus Christ. "Deafen my other ear, why don't you?" Steve mutters under his breath.

He throws Ma a parting wave and heads out to pick up Robin so he can take her to school before his shift starts. She looks nicer than usual, and she won’t stop reapplying her mascara, and by the time Object of My Desire starts playing on the radio Steve is practically begging her to just suck it up and end this will-they-won’t-they thing with Vickie because it’s been months of obvious flirting and Robin still won’t make a move.

“I listen to you, and now look at me!” he argues, as if the handful of pointless dates he’s used to distract himself from Eddie are anything to look at. “Boom. Back in business.“

“Mm,” she objects, a little ‘you’re so full of shit’ frown on her face. “Not the same thing.”

Don’t say it, you bitch, don’t even—

“You ask out a girl and she says no…”

Oh, thank fuck. Steve sags in relief and licks the corner of his mouth as he listens to her rant, grateful that she’s just working the small town homophobia angle and very graciously not pointing out how half-hearted and sad his attempts to move on with his life have been. It’s a small mercy he repays by rambling about girls and boobies and girls who definitely like boobies until she scowls so hard at him that she smudges her mascara and has to apply another coat.

—

Dustin calls the store some time around lunch. Asks if Steve wants to sub in for Lucas at tonight’s Hellfire campaign, which, first of all, fuck you — he’s been helping Lucas practice for months now, he’s not about to miss this game — and secondly:

“What, to hang out with you and Eddie the Freak Munson?” he asks, idly playing with a slinky. “Uh, yeah. I’ll pass.”

"Dude."

"What?"

"You can’t just call him names because you’re pissed at him! That’s not cool!”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the slinky so hard it flops off the counter’s edge.

“Look,” Dustin says, his voice dipping into that low and slow and trustworthy thing that makes Steve want to snap the kid’s non-existent collarbones. “I know you won’t tell me what happened, but whatever it was, he’s sorry, okay? He’s really, really sorry. And he asks me about you, like, every day; if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he was in love with you or something.” Steve chokes on his own spit, and Dustin just keeps going; steps right over Steve’s corpse to continue his impassioned plea. “Besides, friends forgive each other! Right, Steve?”

Goddammit. Steve really regrets saying those exact words in that exact order the last time Lucas and Dustin had a fight. “Man, you can’t just use my own brotherly advice against me.”

“I can, and I will.” Wow. What a little shit. “Seriously, dude, come on! How many times do I have to pass on his apology messages before you just talk to him?”

How many times? How many times?

Steve doesn’t know.

He just knows he’s not ready; knows that as soon as he talks to Eddie, it’ll make it all real. It’ll be over for good. Whatever words they exchange next will get etched into the headstone of the thing they briefly had. He opens his mouth to say something, to try and make sense of the vortex in his head, but all he gets for the effort is a fresh migraine coming on.

He’s saved from answering by the doorbell’s chime. “I got some customers,” he says over Dustin's squawk of protest. “Gotta call you back, bye.”

—

part 57

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

[f0point5]

Give us some max/emilia post Australia end cuteness. Emilia misses one race and it’s Australia. Max dnfs. Ect ect

Or have a text chain of Emilia being a pure menace texting max all the innuendos and funny commentary during a press conference.

This is too adorable. I went with the first one because I’m a glutton for punishment lol. I hope you enjoy it 🫶🫶🫶

I’m only up when you’re not down

You don’t actually speak to Max after his DNF. Huddled into the small living room of your suite in Niseko with the rest of your friends to watch the Grand Prix, you’d felt sick the second Carlos had passed Max.

“Fuck, fuck,” you’d slammed your hand on the table so hard that your coffee spilled. You didn’t even take your eyes off the screen. “Shit,”

You watched him crawl towards the pits, smoke billowing from the car. Get out, Max, get out. You all sat in silence until he was out of the car.

When the cameras showed an irate Max talking to an engineer in the garage, all Stan said was, “he’s going to be so pissed,”

He was. You’d tried to call him but it had gone straight to voicemail, a telltale sign that he just needed to stew in the rage for a while. You’d sent him a message telling him to call when he could but he hadn’t. You’d watched the rest of the race just to catch glimpses of him in the garage, hiding his disappointment so well.

Later, he’d texted he’d managed to get an earlier runway slot since he wasn’t attending a debrief and that he’d be in Japan by late afternoon, so you skipped out on dinner to meet him at the small airport in Hokkaido.

Max and Rupert disembark from the jet still talking, and you can see even from twenty metres away the day he’s had. There’s a tension in his jaw, he jogs down the steps of the plane, pushing a hand through his hair, which is getting a little bit too long. He’s moving a bit too quick and a bit too stiff for your comfort.

After nearly two weeks away from him, this is the last state you want to see him in, but you can’t ignore the sheer contentment that washes over you at seeing him at all. You’re pathetic and you know it, too clingy and too giddy, and part of you hopes that in ten years you’ll lose this feeling. Most of you knows you never will, because it’s always been there. You haven’t always called it what it was, but you always felt it. And he did, too.

You can tell by the way his shoulders sag when he comes into the building and spots you immediately, a small smile on his lips as you hurry towards him.

“Hey,” it’s whispered, an exhale, the wind knocked out of you as your body collides with his and you wind your arms around his neck. He’s warm and he smells like the t-shirt you’ve been sleeping in since the last time you saw him. You feel your feet leave the ground for a second and you don’t even know if that’s real.

His gentle, “hi,” is said into the skin of your neck, and it feels like a jolt of adrenaline fed straight to your jugular.

“You were on fire today,” you say, fingers tickling at newly cut hair at the back of his neck.

Max’s body shakes with a laugh as you pull away from him, but in an unusual twist, he knots his fingers with yours before you can move.

“I was hoping this was the day you decided to skip watching. Sorry you wasted your day,”

You squeeze his hand to get his hand to stop his eyes darting everywhere. “I didn’t waste my day, Max. Watching you isn’t a waste, ever,”

You know he’s thinking it’s a platitude, that he didn’t win so he might as well have been at home and you might as well have been skiing. You want to argue, make him hear you. He won’t believe you, and by rights he shouldn’t. So you let it go, because you have no choice.

“Yeah, that was an incredible lap I did there,” Max husks out a chuckle and looks away from you. He’s joking, but he isn’t. He’s let it go, because he has no choice.

“Well, I for one am more excited about the annual Suzuka revenge arc. It’s incredibly sexy, and now,” you say as you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw, your free hand slipping under his jacket so there’s one less layer between you, “I can do something about that,”

Max only hums in response, his fingers tightening around yours.

“Not to kill the mood, guys, but I am, you know, here,” Rupert says.

You’re embarrassed to admit you’re not actually sure when he collected his rucksack from the baggage trolley and came to stand beside Max.

Max laughs, a telltale blush spreading to his ears, while you let go of him and open your arms to Rupert.

“I could never forget you, Rupert,” you say as you hug him, “I just like an audience,”

“Oh my God,” Max groans, laughing harder. He throws his head back, and his face scrunches up. He’s looking more like himself by the second, and you figure you must be, too.

You start to meander towards the exit, following your bags out to the stupidly large SUV with the driver waiting to load your luggage. Rupert wastes no time climbing into the car, while you and Max linger by the boot of the car. This is the last moment you’ll have alone before you get in the car with Rupert, and then Max is swarmed by friends he hasn’t seen in months the second you get back.

“Oh,” you slide a hand into your pocket while Max watches you in confusion. “Here,”

You pull out his Cartier cuff and hold it out to him. He holds out his wrist and you put it back on for him, preparing for him to make some comment about how it didn’t bring him luck this time, and how superstition is stupid.

“No more skipping races,” is what he actually says, and you look up at him to find him pouting. The pout is cute but unserious. His eyes, however, make it seem like he’s asking. “Crazy shit happens when you’re not there,”

He’s right. This is the first race you’ve missed since Singapore last year

You give him a coy smirk. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

“No.” He says simply.

You’re surprised when he kisses you. He rarely does when you’re not alone, unless it’s a quick peck at parc fermé. This is a kiss that has him pulling you almost as close to him as you want to be, a kiss that feels a bit like getting back whatever part of you he took with him when he left.

When he lets go of you, he takes a second to look at you before leaning down to press one more kiss to your swollen lips.

“I missed you.” He says, no pout, all promise.

It will never not be embarrassing that three words from this nerd with one hobby and abysmal taste in t-shirts has you weak at in the knees.

“I missed you too, Maxy,” you say, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead.

You both take one more deep breath before heading around the side of the car, where Max opens the door for you with the hand that isn’t holding yours.

“Real shame that race got cancelled, huh?” You say as you climb in, meeting Max’s gaze with a wink.

“Oh yeah,” Max agrees as he slides in behind you. “Really sad.”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine

[yutaleks]

Don’t look @ me for this I’m sorry. Blame Twitter user kenkaru86 for putting yuuta & piss kink on my brain for the last week. Tagging @zorosdimples my fellow piss enjoyer

CW: piss, oral m!receving, forward!gn!reader. Length 1.3K. Banner @/cafekitsune

“Here?”

Yuuta’s voice is shaky as he watches you sink to your knees amongst guts and grime. You’re both covered in ooze, the gorey aftermath of a rather tricky semi-special grade curse lurking in this abandoned building, once a factory of some sort. Though Yuuta was more than capable of exterminating this curse on his own, he was never opposed to your company. And watching you fight was… well, he’d be the first to admit you’re an incredible force of nature, at the very least.

Despite the difficulty, the two of you made it out of the fight mostly unscathed, except for a few cuts and scrapes that Yuuta will heal for you on the way back. But where Yuuta comes out of it feeling tired, you’re always the opposite; invigorated by the fight, incensed by bloodlust, adrenaline. Muscles itching for something more, something to help mute the buzzing of cursed energy that leaves your body feeling haywire.

Maybe that’s why he insists on being your partner for missions, actually. Because right when the fight is over, you’re begging for an outlet… and he’s always willing to be that for you.

It’s seconds after the curse explodes into a violet, sticky puddle of gore that you drag him into the nearest bathroom, its surfaces grimy and tinted with dirt and mold, that you tug at his waistline and look up at him with pupils so wide he can’t even make out the color of your irises.

“Yes, here,” you reply, a giggle on your lips as you tug in the strings of his white cotton belt. You can feel him through his dark jeans, how despite his floundering he’s already half hard for you. “Cmon Yuuta.”

“B-but,” he looks around the tiled room, rather concerned with the state of the grime on the floor. “What if,”

“We cased the whole building. You know no one’s here.”

He backs up against the wall as the sound of you pulling down his zipper echoes in the small bathroom. You rub the palm of your hand against the bulge in his briefs and he shudders, sighing loudly.

“But Ijichi-san’s outside, the veil’s probably down by now, and—”

“Yuuta.”

You muster up the most watery eyes you can as you blink up at him. It’s almost laughable how quickly his tense shoulders sag, how the breath held so tightly in his chest dissipates.

“Please Yuuta? I want you so bad—don’t you want me too?”

He brushes the ichor away from your pretty face. He’d kiss you if you weren’t so far from his lips.

“I can never say no to you,”

“I know,” you smile. That devilish grin still paints your lips when you finish pushing down his pants and his briefs, fiendish and hungry stare on what you desire most.

Your hand wraps around his length, guiding it to your lips. As you suck on the tip, Yuuta’s head falls back against the tiled wall. It’s hard to look at you when you’re the one on your knees; he knows if he looks down at you he’ll cum before you’re even satisfied. You like the challenge: him trying not to cum, while you’re trying to make him cum.

You always win but, that’s beside the point.

Your tongue teases the bottom of his tip as you suck on it, and Yuuta doesn’t know what to do with his hands—for a while, as you begin to bob your head, he struggles with opening and closing his fists. You hear him moan, the sound amplified by the echoing off the walls.

“God—wait—” he huffs when you pull off, planting sloppy, wet kisses to his cock. “Wait—”

“What is it?” You flatten your tongue, rubbing it against the base, tracing the vein underneath with a look in your eyes that could give a succubus a run for her money.

“I, um,” he starts blushing, red to the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry, if you keep going I’ll—”

“Cum? Baby that’s the point,” you press his tip to your lips and blow on it. Truly horrible for his resolve.

“No—fuck, no,” he shudders again when you dip your tongue into hip tip, tasting the salty taste of his precum. “I—I have to pee.”

“So pee.”

There’s something very gratifying about the look of horror on his face when you suggest such a thing. What’s so bad about piss anyway? Bear Grylls did it, and he’s surely never battled a curse. You can drink a little piss.

“I can’t possibly—”

“Just let go, don’t think about it.”

“I can’t do that to you,”

“I want it,” you hum, every word vibrating against his cock. “You’d give me anything I wanted wouldn’t you, Yuuta? Cause you love me soooo much? Please?”

He covers his reddening face with his hands, flustered. But he doesn’t stop you when you take his cock past your lips, sucking on it, this time no longer teasing but with full intent to make him cum. Though he hides his eyes behind a forearm, you feel a hand on your head, guiding you. You take him deeper, cheered on by the lovely sounds of his broken moans.

You feel his thighs start to tense up and he exhales desperately, “I can’t hold it I’m sorry—”

He doesn’t think he’s felt more embarrassed in his life than he does right now, knowing that he can’t control the feeling. Despite his hand on your head trying to push at you, you hold onto his thighs, cementing your body in place. With shame swimming in his gut, he can’t hold back—he still feels the warmth of your mouth around him when he starts to feel himself pee.

And he can’t bear to look down. He doesn’t want to find out if you swallow or spit it out, so he keeps his eyes shut until it’s over, until the pressure in his bladder is gone and the tightness in his shoulders fades away.

You’re relentless though—when he finally opens his eyes he looks down and sees you, taking him deeper in your throat. You hollow your cheeks and relax your jaw. Yuuta’s already so close that when he looks down at you, it only takes a few thrusts into your hot, wet throat to finish him off. He groans as he spills into your throat, and you swallow gleefully when he pulls out, spit webbing between your mouth and his tip in a lewd display of affection.

Despite your shaky breaths your smiling, victorious.

“Did you… did you swallow that?” He asks between breaths, incredulous.

“Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”

Yuuta would never turn down an invitation to kiss you—so he joins you in kneeling on the ground, and shoves his tongue so far down your throat it can barely be called kissing.

“What do you think?” You ask him when he pulls away, amusement in your voice.

“You—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re broken out of the moment with the loud sound of his cellphone ringing. He hesitates to answer, looking you over with a thousand words in his gaze. before sighing and reaching into his pocket.

“Ijichi-san,” he answers, looking at you. You’re laughing, barely containing it behind a hand over your lips. “Sorry we got lost. We’ll be out right away.”

Yuuta quickly hangs up the call. And you expect him to lead you out, find Ijichi, and spend the next hour apologizing for making him wait. He’s polite to a fault, after all.

But after you stand, Yuuta instead lifts you up onto the nearby sink, pressing your back to the broken mirror above it.

“Yuuta?”

“It’s only fair,” he pouts, placing your ankles on his shoulders. “I’ll be quick.”

“No you won’t,”

He kisses you again, folding you in half atop the sink, your kiss still bitter and salty.

“I’ll try.”

#cw.piss #writing tag #yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader

[jadeddangel]

Creepypast & Marble Hornets headcannons:

Jeff the Killer:

100% sneaks into your house/ room just to wake you up randomly to spook you

If he ever took you on a date it would 100% be to the cheapest cinema in town cause my man's is broke

Your the breadwinner, you can make $2 a month and still be the breadwinner

He buys axe body spray and sags his jeans like a middle school boy and you can't convince me otherwise

Opened a nesquick Powdered milk tub with a table saw cause he couldn't get him open

Doesn't know how to undo child proof locks on meds no matter how many times you explain it to him

"No Jeff your not listening. Press down and then turn it," your voice scolded

"I'm trying! Damn you woman!!" Jeff yelled back

Yea, he never opened the jar right

Masky:

It started with you and Tim dating and then when you met masky you trying getting to know him

He ignores you at first, more focused on doing his job then dealing with his other half's lover

He's smart, he'll pick locks open jars and complete puzzles in no time flat

He doesn't make money but Tim does so indirectly he's the breadwinner

He'll start hanging out with you after getting tired of sleeping on the downstairs couch

He's not nice, like at all, he's very blunt and when it comes to any type of criticism, constructive or not, he's pointing out every miniscule flaw

Don't bother lying to him, he can see right through it and it pisses him off

It doesn't matter your gender or your sex. He's turning around when you change any form of your clothes. He's big on privacy

"Masky? C'mon masky, it's just a sweater you don't have to turn. I'm wearing a shirt underneath, " you sighed, pulling your sweater off

Masky shook his head. "I don't care sometimes you don't wear a shirt under them, and i don't wanna see your nipples," masky spoke bluntly

Yeaaaa, if you can't tell your sex life is totally (not) amazing with man

Tim:

As I said before Tim has a job, he Linda needs it to pay for his smoking habits

Speaking of smoking, he hates when you do any kind of drugs, he doesn't want you to end up like he did

He's surprising clingy behind closed doors and really likes being your little spoon

He constantly takes showers and cleans your shared home, even if no one except for you, him and masky will see it.

He has this bad habit of just buying whatever he craves, so when he goes to the store, expect the bill to be rather high

As I said before he's clingy behind closed doors but when it comes to pda the most he'll do is lock your pinkies together

"Tim, pleaseeeee I just wanna hold your hand! Just five minutes, and if you don't like it, you don't have to keep holding my hand. " You tried to bargain

Tim sighed "fine fine but you're giving me your box of cigarettes. Don't think I didn't smell them on you"

He has a sharp nose, so there's no point in trying to hide things from him

Hoodie:

Hoodie was beyond confused when he first met you, he had a whole "who what when where why?" Moment

You and brain both pay for everything so there's not really a breadwinner

Hoodie is rather quiet, it's not because he's awkward or shy, he just has nothing to say

Hoodie Hates coffee, he's more of a tea or energy drink guy

I hate to say this(no I dont), but he's a stoner, he hates all vape or smoking products except for weed

He usually sticks to weed vapes since it's less work and he can be a bit lazy when it comes to that

I mean his hygiene is ok he doesn't really shave or trim any thing but his beard but yknow he do him

Speaking of , he leaves his beard shavings all over the sink and leaves the toilet seat up

"HOODIE! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE NOW" You shouted to get the man's attention

Hoodie walked in. "What?" He said monotonely

You pointed at the sink and then the toilet "pick up your fucking mess!!"

Hoodie shook his head "Nah I'm good. Thanks for the offer, though. "

You would probably try and beat him up if he couldn't just wollop our ass

Brian:

He's such a sweet boy,it like he's made out of cotton candy

He's mostly did cleaning and cooking on top of his job but after switching back from hoodie, he's out of commission for like a week

He picks up after himself, and does his own laundry and there's never beard trimmings in the sink

He occasionally forgets to put the toilet seat down but it's rather rare

He's not too clingy but he does cuddle up sometimes

HES A FUCKING FURNACE WHEN HE SLEEPS

"Brian pleaseee get off!! It's the middle of summer! It's too hot to be cuddling" you huffed sleepily

"Shhh just let me hold you.." Brian muttered

Ticci Toby:

Your the breadwinner. Period

You think this man has a job? Hah funny

He hates when he tics especially when you are trying to have intimate moments together

You guys have to be silly during sex especially when he has a verbal tic and just yells bird

"Fuck toby right there~" you moaned out holding onto his shoulders tightly

"I'm so c-*whistles* shit sorry~" toby moaned out a bit embarrassed

"Toby it's ok it's normal~.." you muttered a bit trying to keep your voice even

Toby nodded "fuck I lov-Birds!" Toby shouted

You both looked at eachother before bursting out laughing just holding eachother close

Overall aside from Toby's horrible moodswings at times and his "work" you guys have a pretty helpful relationship

Slenderman:

No, Just no

This man is toxic asf when you guys first meet, definitely a manipulator

He tones it down after a bit but still gaslights you into getting what he wants

When he gets angry, please down run from him- he will track you down and may or may not resort to physical violence to get you to learn your lesson

If you ask about the missing children he WILL gaslight you into thinking that's he's told you before and it hurts that you forgot and won't tell you again

Sex? What sex? You think he would let you even get close enought to see that shit happen hah very funny

"Slenderman? Cmon I'm sorry you know I didn't mean to hurt you.." you muttered softly

"No. I already told you, and you forgot.. it is insensitive of you and unwise of me to tell you again, " he responded through your mind. And though he doesn't have eyes, you could only assume he was glaring

He's not healthy for you, but you've got yourself into this for life and there's only 1 way to get out

Eyeless jack:

Just like Jeff he'll sneak into your room

You literally can't get rid of him

He won't talk or anything, just stand and stares

He doesn't cuddle and he barely touches you

He definitely tried to offer you a kidney as a way of telling you he appreciates you

No hygiene whatsoever, he doesn't shave and it takes a month before you even get him to shower

He mostly just grumbles and groans to let you know he understands what your saying

He's really smart, puzzles, locks ,and riddles are no match for him

He's blunt, when he does talk it's rare, bit it's honest and unfiltered

You guys barely have sex and honestly you've probably never seen his face

"Jack, please!! I just wanna see your face, " you whined, laying yourself over his lap

"I said no, and if you keep asking, I'll eat you. Literally, " Jack retorted

Yeaaaa he meant it literally and you could tell

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #x reader #eyeless jack #slenderman #tim masky #marble hornets #mh #marble hornets x reader #mh x reader #fluff #headcanon #jaded works🪶

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: While you and your church are protesting Corroded Coffin's concert, their lead singer shows you just how good being sinful feels.

Based on "Immaculate Misconception" by Motionless in White, requested by the amazing @offensiunculae 😘

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering, oral (f!receiving), public sex acts, religious themes with an emphasis on sinning/Hell

--

The hot sun beats down, especially excruciating on this July day. You feel your arm start to sag, an ache in your shoulder from hoisting up a sign for so long, and you lower it slightly to massage it. 

A group of concertgoers jeer at you and your fellow protesters, flipping you off and hurling swear words your way. 

“You see that?” Pastor Tom hisses, eyes shooting daggers at them. “Do you see what you become when you give in to this satanic worship? You can practically smell the evil oozing from their pores!”

You watch as the friends make their way through the venue, flashing their tickets to the attendant at the door. The pastor continues shouting about Corroded Coffin’s blasphemy and condemns everyone inside the stadium to Hell while the rest of the protesters echo his sentiments, but you can hardly focus. In your attempt to keep yourself from dehydrating in the summer heat, you’ve consumed an absurd amount of water, and you’re feeling the repercussions right now. 

Quietly, you slip away from your congregation and walk over to the doors. “I need to use the restroom,” you murmur to the attendant, but he puts an arm out to bar you from entering.

“No ticket, no entry,” he snarls, a malevolent grin curling his lips. “Feel free to piss in the alley, Virgin Mary.”

You cringe at his crudeness, but when he crosses his muscular arms over his chest proudly, you turn back in defeat. There is no way you’re going to pee in the alleyway, absolutely not happening–

Your bladder has other plans, and you begrudgingly scamper off into the deserted alleyway, still choosing to take cover behind the Dumpster to shield yourself from passersby. You hitch up your skirt around your waist, shimmying your cotton underwear down your legs and grasping it in one hand. 

There’s a pinch of embarrassment followed by the sweet feeling of relief washing over you as you spread your feet a bit wider. The end of the stream can’t come soon enough, and just as you’re tugging back on your panties–if you can even call them that, considering they came in a pack of six from the local Wal-Mart–someone clears their throat.

“Don’t–Don’t look!” you cry out helplessly, fixing your knee-length skirt so it’s no longer bunched up.

“You know there’s bathrooms inside, right?” The person–a man–says, a lilt in his voice telling you that he’s teasing. “Unless you prefer the great outdoors. No judgment.”

You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, so you keep your eyes trained on the ground. “I, um, don’t have a ticket,” you mumble, standing upright and starting to leave. You have no desire to converse with a random stranger, one who listens to the sinful music of the band inside.

“Hey, wait,” the guy tries, and his footsteps are heavy against the cracked pavement. “You’re not with those Jesus freaks out there, are you?”

At this, you turn around, anger burning in your lungs that you try to quell with a deep breath and a reminder to be sweet, just like the pastor instructs. “Don’t call them that,” you say tersely, biting your lower lip.

The man before you laughs, shaking his long mane of curls as he steps towards you. “I’ll be damned–”

“You will be,” you interrupt before you can stop yourself.

“Little churchmouse pissing in the alley outside of my show,” he continues, as though you hadn’t said a word. “Call that the ‘Eddie Munson Effect,” he adds with a smart grin.

It takes a moment before you process what he’s just said. My show…Eddie Munson…

“You’re the guy from the video!” The realization hits you like a truck. You’d heard Pastor Tom say his name a few times, praying that the singer-slash-guitarist would repent and change his evil ways. “The one where you wore a crown of thorns and were crucified.”

Eddie takes a bow, stumbling slightly over his crossed feet. “The one and only.”

“That’s blasphemy,” you snarl, unable to hide your disdain. “And idolatry. And God will punish you for your sins.”

“Let me ask you a question,” he starts, once again ignoring your disruption, “did you even see the video? Listen to the lyrics?” When you only offer him a blank stare, he grins, digging into his pockets and pulling out a pack of Camels and a lighter. “That’s what I thought.” The scent of tobacco smoke wafts past your nostrils as he lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. 

“I didn’t need to,” you say, finally finding your voice. “My pastor told me–”

“Ah, your pastor,” Eddie mocks. “Tell me, Churchmouse–do you listen to everything your pastor says? Do everything he tells you to?”

“He speaks the Word of God.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Eddie slams his palm on the top of the Dumpster, startling you. His rings clang on the metal, reverberating through the small space. “Do you really think that God cares about a fucking music video? You think He’s up in the clouds, watching all the war and poverty and destruction, and He’s thinking about my music?”

Your mouth dries and you find yourself at a loss for words. “I, um, I…”

“But that’s not the worst part,” he continues through gritted teeth, shaking his head incredulously. “The worst fucking part is that you’re all too busy damning everyone to Hell to realize that you’re making their lives hell right now.” He looks at you, staring directly into your soul. 

“The fans out there? They’re freaks. They’re outcasts. They like our music because we sing about real shit. Abandonment, nonconformity, rejection. And when they listen to it, they feel seen. Heard. Not alone. 

“And you guys? Out there, fuckin’…tearing them down because they had the audacity to enjoy music that you don’t approve of?” He juts his forefinger in your direction, eyes blazing with rage. “Fuck. You.” He stubs out his cigarette though there’s still plenty left to smoke and pivots towards the door. 

You’re able to formulate a coherent thought just as he’s about to walk back into the venue. “You don’t know me,” you shoot back. “You don’t know what I do or why I do it. You just live in your own little bubble, surrounded by people who idolize you, never hearing the word ‘no.’”

“So tell me no,” he challenges you, closing the door and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Ask me for something.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “All right, churchmouse. You wanna fuck me?”

“Absolutely not,” you snort.

Eddie lifts his arms in surrender. “And are we fucking right now? No, we’re not.” He smirks in a silent I told you so. “Any other points you’d like to make?”

A scowl mars your face. “You’re infuriating,” you sneer.

“Then leave,” he says simply, extending an arm in the direction of your church group. “No one’s keeping you here. So you’re either sticking around because you like a good argument, or because you like what you see.” When you fail to respond, he takes a few steps closer. “Tell me ‘no,’ churchmouse. Any time, just say the word.” He glides the back of his forefinger along your cheek, and your skin heats up at his touch. “Is that okay?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Y-Yes.”

A large hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer. “And now?”

“Yes.”

“How about this?” His lips are hovering above yours, breath hot on your mouth. You can taste the cigarette he just smoked; to your surprise, it draws you to him. You don’t realize you haven’t given him an answer until he murmurs, “Need to hear it, churchmouse. You’re killin’ me here.”

It shouldn’t be okay. You shouldn’t want this. These are the sins of the flesh that Pastor Tom warns you about, the feelings that are to be reserved for your spouse. And Eddie Munson is certainly not your spouse.

But the way his t-shirt ripples around his biceps, the hungry look in his deep brown eyes, the twitch behind the fly of his jeans that you can feel on your pelvis…

“Yes.” One word, one split-second decision, and his mouth is on yours. You’d shared chaste kisses before, but nothing close to what’s happening now. His tongue is warm and wet, and you accept it eagerly. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong, but it feels so right.

Eddie pulls back after a moment of you too lost in your thoughts to reciprocate the kiss. “Not good enough for ya?”

You shake your head. “It’s too good…I just don’t understand…” Instinctively, you bring your thumbnail to your mouth and chew on it, despite your mother’s constant disgust towards such unladylike behavior. “I’m not supposed to think it’s good.”

His hardened exterior briefly softens at your confession. “Who told you that? Your pastor? Your parents? Jesus Christ himself?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s natural, churchmouse. Nothing to feel guilty about. And ‘m not just saying that so you’ll fuck me.”

“I-I know.”

“You don’t have to fuck me,” he reiterates. “But if you do wanna fuck someone, and they wanna fuck you, too…well, I just don’t think you should let some invisible man in the sky stop you.”

The phrase, virginity is a precious gift from God, sits on the tip of your tongue. You’ve heard it over and over since the moment you learned about sex. A woman’s purity is a symbol of her devotion to her Savior and her spouse. 

“I…I don’t wanna do that with you,” you mumble the half-truth. The fluttering in your most private area says otherwise, but you genuinely do not want to have sex for the first time with a stranger in an alley. “But I do wanna feel good. Can we…is there a way to do that?”

He smirks again, more knowing than devious, though it’s hard to differentiate between the two with him. “Churchmouse, if you’re serious, I can help you out. Can make you feel really good.” He swipes his tongue along his lower lip. “You ever…y’know…make yourself feel good?”

Your cheeks heat up, thinking of the nights that you caved to temptation and rubbed up against the unassuming stuffed animals on your bed. The utter shame that washes over you along with the wave of pleasure. It’s not as bad as actually having premarital sex though, is it? Pastor Tom claims that a sin is a sin is a sin, but surely that can’t be true. Lying to your parents, for example, isn’t the same as committing first-degree murder.

And if Pastor Tom is wrong about that, what else is he wrong about?

“Yeah, I have,” you finally say to Eddie, voice tinged with guilt. “N-Not, like, inside; just, um, touching…”

Eddie nods, grabbing your hand and leading you to a more secluded spot against the corroded brick wall. “Your skirt…” he starts, motioning for you to hike it up. You do as he asks, pulling it so the hem reaches mid-thigh. He lets his middle finger graze your panties, smile widening when he feels the damp spot that’s formed. “You’re wet already,” he muses, nudging the cotton fabric aside.

“Is that a good thing?”

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief that you even have to ask. “It’s a very good thing.” His finger wanders, and you clamp your legs shut when you feel him start to push it inside you. 

“N-Not inside.” Part of you is worried that someone—your future husband, your pastor—will be able to tell if you’ve ever been penetrated. “Maybe just…there?” You take his finger and bring it to the part of you that you’ve only touched shamefully, whimpering at the sensation. “Yeah, that feels s’good.”

Your slurred words only spur him on, and he increases his pace, rubbing frantically. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he remains focused on your sensitive bud. “Keep talkin’, churchmouse,” he says, both an encouragement and an order. “Make lotsa noise f’me.” 

You do as he says, whining and moaning with pleasure. Desperate for friction, you buck your hips slightly against him.

“There ya go,” he murmurs, amusement evident in his tone. “If you want a little more, I’ll use my mouth. Nothin’ inside, I promise.” He takes his free hand to cross an “x” over his heart. “I can just hide under this little skirt of yours.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows fly to his hairline in surprise when your answer is a resounding, “yes, please.” He gets on his knees, grimacing as the gravel digs into his exposed skin where his jeans have holes. Sure enough, he drapes your skirt over him, expertly parting your folds with his tongue. He licks up and down before wrapping his lips around the most delicate part of you. He hums against your core, sending delicious vibrations shooting through you. Your legs tremble, and Eddie grips onto the plush of your thighs to steady them.

The part of your brain that isn’t flying high on endorphins processes the sound of your name being called. It isn’t Eddie–he doesn’t know your name; regardless, his mouth is occupied–and you have the sinking realization that Pastor Tom is searching for you.

“‘M coming!” you call out breathily, the inadvertent double entendre making Eddie chuckle against you. His tongue flicks rhythmically, and you nearly cry at the overstimulation of sheer bliss and the adrenaline rush of possibly being caught. The noises that Eddie’s mouth makes against your sex might as well be playing on the venue’s sound system with the way they echo down the alleyway. You let out one final moan as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. 

Eddie slows his pace to bring you back down, only pulling away once you stop shaking. He emerges from under your long skirt, wiping your slick from around his mouth and chin. “I think you gotta go, churchmouse,” he laughs, pressing his palms to his thighs and standing up. “And I have a show to put on. Y’know, a very different type of show than the one I just performed.”

You can only nod, placing his hands against the brick wall and trying to grab on. You can’t go back out there, not after being defiled twenty feet from where they’re protesting. Eddie notices your hesitation and chuckles. “You wanna stay backstage and watch? Actually see the shit you apparently hate?”

“Yes.” 

He holds the door open for you with a little bow. “I fuckin’ love when you use that word.”

#requests #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

[littlemourningstarr]

Purge the Desire

Astarion was convinced no one else could have stomached Thisobald's brew- but even his undead stomach can't handle whatever vile concoction the grotesque had him guzzle down. And, having not fed in days, he finds himself in quite the sorry state, in need of help he doesn't believe he truly deserves.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Gale x Halsin

Tags: Sickfic, Vomiting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Edging

Astarion reached out, placed his hand on the old wooden wall, squeezing his eyes shut to try and close out the endless spinning. He’d kept himself together while downing that vile brew Thisobald pushed his way, until the grotesque and finally burst. Hells, he’d kept himself together while the party had explored the Waning Moon, picked up a few odds and ends that could be useful.

But he was fraying at the seams, and he knew it. He had hoped because it was just a liquid he’d be able to keep whatever hells was in that tankard down, that his body could adjust. Hells, he could drink wine typically.

But whatever the brew was laced with was wrecking him. His stomach was in tight knots, cramping so tightly it was as if it  was folding in on itself, and yet something was alive in there and clawing its way out.

“Astarion?”

Gale’s voice broke the strange ringing that had begun in Astarion’s ears. He opened his eyes, turned- and the wizard was a step back, looking at him skeptically. Astarion straightened up, squared his shoulders. “Hmm?”

He pointedly did not turn to face Gale. But he could hear his footsteps as he walked closer, and dammit all, around to face him properly. His brows shot up when he took in Astarion’s face- which must have had a paler strong for even the vampire, the skin around his eyes dark.

“Are you quite alright?” Astarion waved him off, but couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth, to form words. His saliva was thick, yet his tongue felt swollen and dry somehow. He was sure any words would only be half formed. He just needed to get out of there, back to Last Light, take a second to compose himself, vomit up all of this noxious concoction sloshing in his stomach.

He’d be fine.

But as he tried to wave Gale off the world spun around him, and suddenly Astarion was pitching forward. Gale’s hands grasped at his biceps, held him up as Astarion sagged against him, his forehead pressing into the wizard’s shoulder. He could register shock in Gale’s voice as the man said his name again, then a frantic pitch as he called out to Halsin and Shadowheart, who were still roaming the brewery. Astarion wanted to tell him to shut up, not to call the others, not to worry anyone. He was as fine as ever, right as rain-

He felt his knees buckle then, and Gale’s grip tightened on him, just as he could hear Shadowheart and Halsiun’s footsteps- and then the latter running to reach for him, pulling his weight from a struggling Gale.

Astarion felt Halsin’s large hands on his waist, leaning him against him, and gods above despite the delirium he was feeling, it was so lovely to lean into the Druid’s broad chest, feel a hellfire of heat radiating from him. He heard his name, and it took a moment for him to register that it was Shadowheart, a note of near panic barely hidden in her voice.

“Fine,” he managed, his voice cracking.

“Like hell,” she cursed, and Astarion managed to turn his head, take her in. Frantic eyes and a stern, utterly pissed off mouth. “You shouldn’t have drank whatever hell was in a cup down there.”

Astarion tried to lick his lips, got as far as getting his tongue to  poke at his fangs. He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t trust any of them to handle it otherwise. The only other companion he thought could have handled it would have been Karlach, but she had stayed back at Last Light today. The others wouldn’t have the stomach for it.

He assumed it would have been like anything else his stomach couldn’t digest- he’d just purge later and feel a bit uncomfortable. He’d even tried to mime drinking, but Thisobald’s comment on such a small drink had worried him that his charade had been seen through. He’d drained a whole tankard by the end.

“Jus-need’to” his words were slurring, and he closed his eyes again, his lids so heavy. Was that sleep, crepeing in at the edges of his consciousness? The goddess he so seldom knew- never since his undeath, no. Cazador had never dined to give him the gift of sleep.

“Get back to Last Light.” Halsin, his voice somehow calm, a deep rumble that made his chest vibrate, pleasantly pulsed through Astarion. “We’ll follow shortly.”

“The curse,” Gale started, but Halsin shifted Astarion slightly, held up a hand to silence him.

“Shadowheart need not fear the dark.”

Not while Shar still looked at her so fondly.

Shadowheart nodded. “I’ll tell them you’re bringing him back in bad shape.” She reached out, dared to touch Astarion’s shoulder. He wished he could feel her fingertips through his armor, but all he got was a subtle pressure.

She was gone quickly, running, and then he was suddenly being lifted, carried over the threshold of the Waning Moon. The old wooden board creaked, and then it was Halsin’s boots in the fetid soil outside. Astarion opened his eyes, trying so hard to keep himself present, could see Gale keeping stride with Halsin, just looking at Astarion.

He was worried. Or at least, he looked it. And of course he was, Astarion was an asset, they needed him-

Astarion told himself not to be delusional and think it was anything more.

Halsin knelt down, and began easing Astarion onto the ground. Gale threw himself down onto his knees, grimaced at the ache that shot through them as he helped adjust Astarion to be kneeling.

“We need to get it out of him,” Halsin said, “all of it.” Astarion braced his hands on the Druid’s shoulders, pushed himself away gently. He knew that.

“Gim-me a… moment.” He tried, before he swayed, and suddenly his shoulder was crashing into the ground before any of his companions could catch him. His arms felt like dead weight then, and he realized his body was beginning to shut down, to ignore his mental pleas to move.

“He can’t do it himself,” Halsin said, gathering him back up, holding his limp weight with such ease. Astarion tried to blink, but the dark around him was swimming, and even his eyelids felt foreign. “And I’m afraid he might choke on my fingers.”

There wasn’t a single second of debate after that.  Halsin kept an arm braced around Astarion’s chest, keeping him from collapsing again, and Gale grasped his chin in one hand, forcing his mouth open. “I’m sorry,” he said, rather softly, before two fingers pushed over Astarion’s tongue, back against his throat. Astarion felt his mouth water, drool thick under his tongue, and then his throat clench up over the intrusion.

Gale pulled his fingers out, and Halsin gave Astarion enough slack to lean over, mouth hanging open as his stomach turned. For a single moment he thought he might not wretch, but then he could feel his mouth salivating more, his stomach aching so badly he whimpered, and then that fiery convulsion of muscle.

He gagged, coughed up a thin stream of oily bile, before his stomach released on its second attempt. The liquid was bitter laced, much more sour than when he’d first drank it down. It felt oil like on his tongue, over his lips as he vomited into the acrid dirt. His throat burned.

“Good,” Halsin said, softly, and in any other moment Astarion would have silently bristled over the praise, reveled in it silently. Now he could barely focus on who was even with him.

He felt a hand, Gale’s, pushing his hair back as he coughed, vomited a second time. Acidic now, as his stomach had little to give now that the ghost of Thisobald’s brew was sinking into the hungry, dying dirt of the Shadowlands. Astarion could feel sweat prickling on his spine, his scalp, and he wanted to push Gale’s hand away- but gods it felt nice, and he still couldn’t bring his arms to even move.

He coughed again, a pathetic, broken sound leaving him as he gagged, heaved, but his stomach had no more to give. Halsin hushed him, and Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. Could feel tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

Before he could even think the word pathetic, the world melted away, and there was simply nothing.

*

When reality filtered back in, Astarion felt different. Lighter. He forced his eyes open- and the ached- was met by the dim lantern light of a small room. He was lying on his back, and he realized quickly in a bed. His armor was gone.

He sat up, grimaced as the movement set his head to pounding. He reached up, cradled his forehead, his hair coming free in wild, unkempt curls. He closed his eyes against the pain, tried to piece together what in the ever living hells had happened.

The Waning Moon. Thisobald. That vile brew.

Haslin’s arms around him.

Gale’s fingers in his mouth.

He groaned, the pit of his belly sinking further. He couldn’t even hold himself together long enough to get back to Last Light on his own, pathetic. He should have known he wouldn’t have had the fucking stones to handle whatever the was, but gods above and below he couldn’t put the other through it, and- and…

And maybe he wanted to seem strong in their eyes.

The creak of the old wooden door snapped him from his thoughts. He let his hand fall from his forehead, turned- and Karlach was peeking just her head in. “Hey soldier,” she offered, boisterous voice rather soft. She didn’t move to push the door open more until Astarion gave her a nod, and then she was inside, pushing the door shut. She had a small glass in one hand. “Heard the bed creak, figured you were back with us. You didn’t move an inch otherwise, worse than the dead.”

Astarion snorted a very undignified laugh, and Karlach grinned at him. “Funny,” he said, relaxing just a little. It was hard not to, around her.

She walked over and sat on the bed, reached out her free hand and pressed it to his forehead. He was chilled as usual, skin damp with a layer of sweat that he was becoming all too conscious of. He wanted a bath. He wanted a potion to actually sleep for the first time in near two-hundred years.

He wanted to fucking feed so his body could recover.

Despite it all, he leaned into her touch a little. Now that Dammon had her as tuned up as possible, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from constantly touching someone. Astarion had never said he liked it, because her touches were so innocent, sweet and without purpose other than to soothe.

That, and she burned as hot as the hells, and he wanted nothing more than to be completely enveloped in that heat.

“How are you feeling?”

Astarion huffed. “Like shit.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, felt like his mouth was coated in a thin, oily layer, like the sweat on his body. He hated it. The sour, near bitter taste in his mouth made his stomach threaten to roll.

Karlach held out the glass- it looked like water, but Astarion could smell it. Something refreshing, minty. “Wyll mixed you up something to rinse your mouth out. Figured you’d probably be tastin’ death right about now.”

“My savior,” Astarion purred, mocking but not in all truth. He took the glass happily and swished the water in his mouth, the sour taste melting away to something quite refreshing. He spat back into the cup, and Karlach took it like a doting mother.

“I heard you put on quite a show for a Thorm,” Karlach said, as Astarion shifted in the bed, plucking at his shirt and trying to pull it from his damp skin. “Gale said you drank like the lads back in Waterdeep after a good round of debate on… fuck, I forgot the rest.”

Astarion almost laughed. Almost. “Someone had to.”

“But why you?”

She would ask that. Astarion hated that Karlach could read them all. Hated, and loved, loved so fiercely it hurt-

He swallowed that down. That word had no right to be in his life, for any of these people. They didn’t deserve that kind of curse.

“Who else?” he asked, lifting his chin and trying to brush his curls back, as if putting himself back in order. “If you’d been there maybe I’d have let you, but the others? It would have ruined them.”

“Almost sounds like you were worried about us.” Astarion jerked his head to the side, realized the door to the small bedroom had opened. Gale was standing there, for once with an expression Astarion couldn’t read.

And of course he had been. But dammit, they didn’t need to know that. Before he could say anything though, Karlach was standing up, walking over to the door. “I’m gonna go… somewhere,” she said, and Astarion wanted to scream at her that she had better not dare leave right now-

She was gone. And Gale was in the room now, leaning against the closed door, arms folded. Studying him. Astarion frowned. “What?”

“It was awful nice, you taking one for the team, so to speak.”

“Well, you’re all no use to me dead.” Astarion tried to sound detached, but his throat caught. “And of course I would have been the most ideal choice. My stomach is dead anyway.”

“I’d really argue differently.” Gale took a few steps from the door, then stopped, standing awkwardly in the very small room. The lantern was casting oranges and yellows on his skin, as if he was made of gold. Astarion’s dead heart leapt.

He cursed himself inwardly for it.

“You didn’t exactly handle it well.” Gale’s voice was almost teasing.

“I held myself together as long as I needed to!” Astarion yelled, but it only made Gale smile. And gods damn it all, that stupid little smile made Astarion’s own lips quirk. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?” Gale asked, inclining his head, quite obviously acting oblivious.

“Smiling!”

“Why?” He reached up, tapped his chin. “Could it be that I’m simply too charming and my smile is infectious?” Astarion bared his fangs, reached behind him for the lumpy pillow on the bed, and chucked it at Gale. It smacked him in the face, and Gale chuckled. He seemed about to throw it back, when the door opened again, and Halsin filled the impossibly small room.

“Ah, he’s awake.” Astarion grasped at the sheets on the bed, the mere sight of the large elf reminding him how easily his arms had wrapped around him. How solid his chest had been, against Astarion’s back.

“Awake and caddy as ever,” Gale said, still holding the pillow as Halsin shut the door. “He seems to think our palettes were all simply too weak to handle whatever Thisobald was dishing out.”

Halsin frowned, and Astarion knew the argument that was coming before the Druid opened his mouth. He was the largest so he should have done it, it would have affected him the least-

“I couldn’t do that to any of you.” Astarion said it without meaning to. The moment he did, he pinched his lips shut, cursing himself for even speaking. He was getting too comfortable around all of them. “I’m dead, what does it matter?”

“I would argue death is but a technicality here,” Gale said, sounding more serious now. “You’re very much alive right now. Sure, you do have a fascinating healing metabolism when properly fed…” Gale trailed off then, and for a moment, the air in the room was heavy with silence.

It seemed both Halsin and Gale had the same realization in that moment, as they stared at Astarion, took in his pallor that was stronger than usual, the dark circles around his eyes. Eyes that were a bit listless, faded.

“Astarion,” Halsin said, his voice timber, sturdy, and yet soft. “When did you last feed?”

Astarion sighed. He reached up, waved his hand dismissively. “The days all bleed together-”

“Astarion.”

“Three days.” He could remember the exact moment, the dying cultist who had bled out so much there wasn’t much left, but gods it had been something. There was nothing living in the Shadowlands, nothing for him to hunt. And the undead had no life to give him. “But it’s no matter. I’m fine as ever.” He tossed the blanket aside, stood up quickly- and before he even realized he was falling, Halsin had taken the few steps to him, caught him and leaned his weight into his broad chest.

“Right,” Gale said, sarcasm thick. “Fine.”

“Fuck off,” Astarion mumbled, before he made a little shocked noise as Halsin lifted him. Halsin settled on the ground, Astarion in his lap, as he leaned his back against the bed.

“Easily fixed,” he said, “I’m here. Drink from me.”

Astarion choked, couldn’t even hide his reaction. The number of times he’d wondered what the Druid would taste like were countless. Nights spent unable to fall into a trance, pushing his face into the thin blankets in his own tent, sinking his fangs into fabric and desperately grinding against his hand, desire to be satiated in so many ways by the other elf driving him to madness.

“I,” Astarion managed, as he heard Gale kneeling down just behind him. His charm was gone, dead on his tongue. He swore he couldn’t even process a thought.

“I won’t see you starve,” Halsin said, as he helped prop Astarion up, until the vampire was straddling his lap. Astarion stared down at him, but Halsin’s eyes were all gentle, honest. It made Astarion sick with wanting, sick with needing.

In his heart, his soul, his gut, he would never believe he deserved to be looked at in such a way.

“I’d offer,” Gale added, “but you’d just end up vomiting again.” Astarion glanced back at him, a dizziness overcoming him. Gods damn them both.

He had no quip prepared. All he could do was lean over, nose at Halsin’s neck. The Druid tilted his head, offered the side of his throat without hesitation, and Astarion trembled. He could hear Halsin’s pulse, swimming in his head, and oh, he was so starved, the hunger inside him gnawing, clawing his gut open with serrated teeth.

He pulled his lips back, sank his fangs into Halsin’s neck.

The moment he did his mind erupted, colors flashing behind his eyes, in his skull. He moaned, couldn’t stop himself, leaning into Halsin more, the first few drops of blood sliding past his fangs, into his mouth. He felt Halsin’s hands on his waist, bracing him, keeping him steady. He didn’t so much as seem to wince.

Astarion pulled his fangs from Halsin’s neck, let his pulse pump a fresh wave of blood into his mouth. He swallowed greedily, feeling alive from just the first taste. He rocked against the Druid, hands grasping at Halsin’s shoulders. One of the hands on his waist moved, and suddenly Halsin’s thick fingers were treading in Astarion’s hair, twirling curls around his fingers and pressing his face closer.

“I have you,” he said, so softly Astarion wanted to sob. A choked noise did escape him, something undignified- and the moment it did, Gale’s hand was rubbing along his spine, seeming to not care about the dampness of Astarion’s shirt, from his sweat.

Somewhere in his mind, Astarion felt a frantic scream- his scars. Surely Gale would feel the rigid bits of flesh he had yet to show anyone. Surely he would wonder.

But the voice died, drowned in the calming wave of finally feeding, of Halsin’s warmth, Gale’s reassuring touch. Astarion pushed his tongue against the wound, shivered over the heavy taste of Halsin’s blood. It was what he had once joked he thought Gale would have tasted like. Aged brandy, woody, smokey. Intoxicating.

“Should I stop him?” he heard Gale ask- but his mind was drifting blissfully. It wasn’t until he heard Halsin’s responses that he came back to himself.

“No. I trust him to take only what he needs.”

Something burst in Astarion, something hot melting from his chest, dripping along his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back how they stung. Halsin had no reason to trust him.

And yet, and yet.

He pulled back, gasped a breath against Halsin’s neck. He felt Halsin’s fingers flex in his hair, against his scalp, and then Halsin pushing him back to his neck. “I’m alright,” he said, as if knowing what Astarion needed to hear.

Gods damn him.

Astarion pressed his mouth to the wound, laved his tongue over it again. This time he felt something, a rumble in Halsin, an almost-shiver. The hand on his waist tightened, held him so firmly, in a way Astarion was guilty of imagining far too many times. Except there was far more skin involved in those fantasies, and every nerve inside Astarion alight as Halsin buried so deeply in him he could plant himself like a sapling.

Astarion rocked his hips again, achingly hard, unable to fight it. He ground against Halsin, just as Gale’s hand on his back moved, and then Gale’s hands were both on his waist, holding him.

He might have thought Astarion was going unsteady. But oh, the thought of Gale’s soft fingers clutching his skin with bruising force was also not an unknown fantasy.-

The vampling pulled back, further this time, another gasped, unneeded breath leaving his lips. Halsin’s hand cradled the base of his skull, the Druid turning those gorgeous eyes on him, smiling so softly.

Astarion wanted to kiss him, crash his mouth against Halsin’s. Wanted Halsin to taste the blood on his tongue, the life he had given Astarion. Astarion wanted to sob into him, wanted to disappear.

He almost did. For a single second his eyes stared too longingly at Halsin’s lips, and he swore he gave himself away. But then there was a warm pressure against his spine, and Gale’s chin resting on his shoulder, his hands still tight on his waist.

“So? Come now, describe how he tastes.”

Astarion swallowed thickly, glanced away. He was growing far too aware of just how aroused he was- and that he could feel Gale’s heart, pounding against his back. Elevated.

He wouldn’t dare dream that what he was feeling might be mirrored in these two.

“Better than his neighboring woodland beasties,” Astarion managed, lifting his chin, trying to come back to himself. Already his mind felt clear, the fatigue that had laced his body leaving him. Whatever last dregs of Thisobald’s brew had managed to invade his system were quickly dying.

Halsin chuckled, his hand leaving Astarion’s hair. “I assume that is a compliment.”

Astarion gave a single, curt nod, still glancing away, unable to meet Halsin’s stare. “I would kill for a bath,” he mumbled, becoming even more aware of the layer of now cooled sweat on his skin.

“You could use one,” Gale teased, and Astarion twisted, dislodging Gale from his shoulder. He shoved the wizard with no force, and Gale grinned at him, stupidly charming and making Astarion want to laugh. “You are getting close to the corpse-smell now.”

“Go to hell.”

“Pick a layer and get me a tour guide. I’ll take notes.” Gale stood up slowly, grimacing as his knees ached over the motion- and Astarion pouted without meaning to. Halsin chuckled, and then before Astarion could do much else, Halsin was pushing him against his shoulder and chest, standing up as if Astarion weighed nothing and hadn’t just drank quite the fill of him.

“You’re both like children,” he said, with no malice or even annoyance in his voice. Astarion didn’t fight the hold- but pointedly did not look at Gale but across the room, away from them both. He was still aroused, and there was no way Halsin hadn’t noticed.

Yet the Druid said nothing at all. He simply set Astarion down gently so he was sitting on the bed, took his chin in his hands and tilted his face carefully, inspecting his eyes, the bit of color that had rushed to his cheeks. “You look much better now.”

In a voice that was soft, Astarion managed, “thank you.” Halsin only kept his smile, wiped a smudge of crimson from the corner of Astarion’s lips. Without much thought Astarion turned, caught the Druid’s thumb in his mouth, rolled his tongue over the digit to clean the blood away.

He heard Halsin’s breath catch. Astarion glanced up, eyes heavy lidded, white lashes hiding most of his irises- and it was a look he had used countless times, but not one he had meant to use on his companions.

Something seemed stoked in Halsin’s eyes, a golden fire brimming in a quiet forest. Yet Halsin pulled back, turned his eyes to Gale. “Let’s give him some time to collect himself.”

Gale furrowed his brow, but after a moment too long of taking in Halsin as well- and gods below, was everyone attracted to the Druid?

Astarion assumed so. Rightfully so.

“Fair enough.” He nodded at Astarion, seemed almost unsure what to do with himself for a moment, before he turned for the door, telling Halsin he’d help him clean his neck up. Astarion watched the door shut, listened to their footsteps leaving him-

Alone. In the near dark, the lantern beginning to die.

His breathing quickened as Astarion ran his tongue along his fangs, still tasted Halsin. He gripped at the bed for a moment, thinking perhaps calm was an option, that he could bring himself down from the delirium he was soaring towards-

Then he threw himself down on the bed, buried his face in the pillow Gale had at some point returned, and desperately clawed at his pants. He barely got his hand in before he was rutting against it and the bed, hips moving as if he was possessed. His cock slid with ease against his palm, slicking precum against his slightly warmed skin. Astarion whined, bit the pillow and pressed his tongue to it, trying to quiet himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, drowned in the memory of Halsin’s taste. The Druid’s hand in his hair. The sheer warmth that radiated from him. But it almost wasn’t enough, not without Gale’s hands on his waist, and then pressed up against his back.

He groaned, stomach knotting. He’d let Gale take him, in Halsin’s lap. Gods, what a sheer joy it would be to have the wizard pressed along his back, heating up his scars, panting desperately in his ear as he drove his cock so far into Astarion that he saw stars. And Halsin there to tell Astarion he was good, so bloody good, taking everything so well-

Astarion gasped, threw himself onto his back and shoved his pants down his hips, taking himself properly in hand. His cock throbbed as he ran his thumb up along the underside, teased the sweet bundle of nerves below his glans. He arched a little, tipped his head back, sighed. Would Halsin let him feed, while Gale took him? Would he take him after? Before?

It didn’t matter, Astarion just wanted to be so lost in them he forgot everything. He became nothing, everything, all and none. He wanted them. Not because he was told to, not because it was some sort of transaction, his charming affection for safety, loyalty.

He wanted them simply because of who they were.

“Hells,” he gasped, thrusting up into his hand, And oh, what would it be like to have Gale’s legs around his waist, to have the man arching beneath him, sobbing in sheer ecstasy. Or Halsin, with his face pressed down into a pillow, Astarion able to see all that muscle along his back and shoulders as the Druid growled and grunted, his heat devouring Astarion whole.

Astarion pulled his hand away as he felt his stomach contracting, his balls tight to the point of aching. He didn’t want to come yet, though, gods no. He wanted to stay lost in this. He dragged just his fingertips down his shaft, back up- teased his slit as precum beaded. He bit his lip, couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually gotten himself off, and gods below, this was good.

He dragged his other hand up his chest, his neck, pooling his shirt awkwardly at his collar bone. His hand continued, dug into his own hair and pulled. The pain on his scalp was sharp but pleasing, and he hissed, his slick fingertips rubbing down his cock again. His hips shifted desperately, his body wanted more, more, more.

His eyes slid shut, and finally unable to take it, he took himself back in hand, firmly stroking quickly. His curls tangled around his own fingers, fingers he wished for Halsin’s, as he bit his lip- a lip he wished as Gale’s.

He came with a strangled cry on his lips, muffled just enough, his body arching, heels digging into the bed. Cum splattered along his pale belly, even dotted his ribs, as he stroked until it hurt. Only then did he go lax, hand falling to his side, as he panted, eyes slitting open to stare up into the dark.

The lantern had gone out.

Astarion felt a pleasant buzzing running through him, his body satiated in multiple ways now. He sighed, let his eyes fall shut, wished he wasn’t alone in the soft-edge bliss that was enveloping him.

And, because fate was never kind to him, there was a knock just as the static reached his fingertips, his toes. He sat up quickly, cursed and wasn’t even sure where to begin to hide the mess he was- but thankfully, the door remained closed.

“Astarion.” Gale’s voice, softer than it had been before. “Listen, if you… Halsin…” the man paused, and content that the door was going to remain shut, Astarion forced himself to smirk, to bring up the cocky bastard he liked to hide behind so well.

“What is it Gale? A tressym got your tongue? Or just the Druid?” Oh, he wished he could see Gale’s cheeks burning.

Gale cleared his throat. “Halsin had Karlach warm up some water. If you… need a hand, he and I are here.”

Color rose to Astarion’s cheeks. There was… something to the offer, some implication that he didn’t dare believe. He said something, not even sure what- but it was enough for Gale to leave.

Astarion took a deep breath, and told himself not to hope. To clean himself up, brush them off, and get back to being the darling charmer he tried so desperately to be. After all, if he allowed himself to think that maybe his desires were returned-

Well, he might start to wish for the warmth of Halsin’s arms, the safety of Gale’s hands. And those were things he was sure were strictly forbidden from the likes of him.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale #halsin #bloodweave #blood bear #halstarion #ursa minor #i have no idea what the throuple tag is I'm so sorry #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin #halsin silverbough #oakbloodweave

[bizarrelittlemew]

Hello, I’ve been unable to watch the NYCC panel but I see everywhere that is was awful and weird?!?! What actually happened ? Could you make a little recap for people like me who didn’t get to see it? Thank you!

I'll try my best ✌️ this is just the impression I got though (and sorry this got long lmao)

it was awkward because they weren't allowed to talk about ofmd, which made the whole thing seem more and more ridiculous as it went on. in addition, they had to do a sort of game where they were asked questions like "who is the most likely to do [x]" and then write a name on a board and reveal it at the same time. this could've been fine for maybe 10 minutes but they had them do it for the whole hour.

the issues with this game were that 1) the questions were very "generic corporate ice breaker questions", 2) they spent a lot of time in silence writing down, and 3) when a question finally did lead to stories or conversation, it was quickly shut down in order to move on to the next boring question and writing in silence.

they could've asked them about non-struck work (Rhys even brought up the books he's written several times and it wasn't followed up on), they could've collected and vetted fan questions beforehand, they could've just let them talk idk, they could've found a more fun game or ditched the boards (one of my fav moments was Rhys saying something like "I have a mic, why do I have to write it down?" honestly this would've made it 25% less boring lmao).

adding to that, there were sound issues meaning that Con and Rhys couldn't hear what was going on a lot of the time. Rhys said it again and again and nothing was done about it.

you could just tell how frustrated they all were and what this panel could have been if not for the shitty studios refusing a fair deal for the actors. I think the cast did what they could, and there were some sweet and funny moments. but it was clear that Rhys was pissed about not being able to talk about what they all wanted to talk about (I felt bad for everyone but especially for him).

they did a whole "ha ha we were all in New Zealand at the same time what a coincidence" thing and Rhys said that (paraphrased) if only they could be paid fairly, they could create something great with all the talent in the room, going off on the studios for a bit. it was honestly a bit of a relief for someone to voice it (to me, it felt like someone had to say something lmao and he did).

in the end they got a question about fantasy worlds. Rhys said he already lived in a fantasy world in his head and it was nice, though this was one of the odder moments. Matt and Nathan basically agreed and said it was all very weird (in different words). Rhys then said fantasy worlds are important because the real world is shit right now and there's no denying it; that in fantasy worlds we can all love each other and use kindness; and it's important to keep creating and believing in them until the real world becomes like that too.

and then he said "goodnight" (= "fuck this shit I'm out"), got up, put on his sunglasses, and started beat-boxing and rapping saying "why can't we talk about the show". their time had run out anyway, he said it had certainly been an experience, that he couldn't hear much of what was going on, and they all thanked the audience and it ended ✌️

anyway this is just my take and I hope SAG-AFTRA get a fair deal soon so the cast can celebrate the show with us like they so clearly want to. I also hope Matthew Maher does more panels after this (it was his first I think!) despite it being such a weird experience because he was great to watch!! anyway they're all happily doing photo ops and autographs now I guess 🤸

(if you want to watch there is a way)

#asks #Anonymous #nycc #nycc23 #ofmd

[gracefulserpent1207]

I feel like people are forgetting that the SAG AFTRA strikes were not JUST about getting better pay for actors and writers. Another very big benefit of the strikes, that is more overlooked than people care to admit, is protection against AI.

The reason why people overlook the damage that AI does to actors (including voice actors) and writers (as well as many others) is because people just aren't educated enough on it and this is because it is being advertised to be this amazing, technological advancement that will save the economy when it's actually the complete opposite. AI is damaging the economy because it is putting so many people out of jobs. Not to mention the fact that strikes are usually concentrated around getting better pay for people, so when uneducated people hear about the SAG AFTRA strikes, they tend to assume that it's because the actors/writers that are striking are just asking for more money (which they ARE doing and which they have the right to do because the pay they get stinks) and so avoid the other, equally important factors.

There are so many cases where I've seen AI being advertised/used in a "positive" way recently. This included a boy from my college mentioning how he couldn't be bothered to do the homework that had been set, so he just used AI to write his homework for him. Are we really seriously going to allow this to happen? Are we seriously going to allow young people to neglect their education and use AI to fake work for them, getting them target/expected grades that are much higher than what they're actually going to get, giving them false hope?

Another example from what I've seen includes an ad on TV for a new phone that used AI with the camera, and boy did this ad piss me off. Part of the ad sees a group of teens taking a picture, in which they are all frowning, with this phone. They then use the AI included with the camera to edit the picture so that they are all smiling. Why? Was it not easy enough to ACTUALLY smile? If not, was it because they genuinely aren't happy? And if that's the case, should we really be sending a message to TEENAGERS to just hide the fact that they aren't happy and fake a smile instead? Use AI to cover up the fact that you're struggling? No. No we should not.

I know a lot of people reading this probably think I'm reaching or overreacting, but AI does genuinely have a long term effect in these cases.

But I think the most common, most damaging example of people using AI that I've seen is from social media, specifically TikTok but other platforms as well. And this is the use of AI voice filters.

The SAG AFTRA strikes have worked hard to benift actors of all kinds, including voice actors, and the reason I'm drawing so much attention to this fact is because people just aren't getting it into their heads how DAMAGING AI voice filters are for voice actors. Several voice actors have already lost their jobs from being replaced by AI that can replicate THEIR voices, the voices that form part (the most important part) of their identity. Not to mention how damaging it can be for voice actors' dignity to hear their own voice coming from something else, especially considering how this "something else" can replicate within MINUTES what they had to perfect for YEARS. Voice actors put so much effort into getting their voices to be perfect for the role that they're playing, yet AI undermines that effort by imitating those "perfect voices" within minutes. Voice actors actually care about their roles/characters and the fans that love these characters. AI does not. All it does is copy. Yet companies would rather have heartless machines working for them than real life people who actually care about bringing characters to life for fans.

And you wanna know what the worst part is?

Apparently, those "fans" would rather hear AI voicing their favourite characters too.

Because it is YOU (the fans) who create, use and/or like AI voice filters on TikTok/Twitter/Tumblr. It is YOU who cannot accept the fact that your favourite character's VA didn't say the crappy line you came up with at 2am that you commented to them on Twitter, so instead used AI to make the character say it yourself because OBVIOUSLY you're gonna drop dead if you DON'T hear them say that line. Obviously, you can't go on with your life without causing a completely innocent and good person to lose their job AND their dignity for your own entertainment.

Another VERY big issue with AI voice filters is that the majority of voice actors whose voices I have heard being used with AI have specifically said that they do NOT support AI and do NOT wish for people to use AI to replicate their voice. Obviously, some people may not know this, but others do and they choose to ignore it. This does not just go for the people who create the filters. It goes for the people who use and/or show support for it too (such as liking videos that use a filter, etc. ) because you are spreading the use of AI and making companies more aware of it and how easy it is to use, and are therefore causing actors to be replaced. How would you feel if you heard your own voice being used by strangers without your consent for their own entertainment?

So for that reason, I am going to say what most people are just too scared to say:

Fans are just as responsible for the SAG AFTRA strikes for using AI as the companies that have been treating actors/writers like shit for years.

If you have EVER created/used/liked/reblogged/reposted/shared/etc. a video that uses an AI voice filter, please please please PLEASE go back and delete/unlike the video, and NEVER do it again. Do NOT interact with videos using AI voice filters AT ALL. If you get a video on your TikTok fyp, it's not that hard to just scroll past and ignore. If you're still not sure what kind of videos I'm referring to, a good example of a popular AI voice filter that I've seen recently that people need to STOP using is a filter of Luz Noceda (voiced by Sarah-Nicole Robles, who has specifically NOT given consent for AI replications of her voice to be used) and Hunter Whittebane (voiced by Zeno Robinson, who has also specifically NOT given consent for AI replications of his voice to be used) from The Owl House singing She Wolf by Shakira. If you have EVER interacted with this filter, please go back and undo however you interacted with it and spread this message to others.

I'd like to end this "rant post" by saying that I am NOT in anyway an actor/voice actor, but I am an aspiring writer. I remember one day earlier this year seeing something on the news about how companies were considering replacing human writers with AI and how in a certain amount of years, human writers may not even be needed anymore, and this scared the shit out of me because writing has ALWAYS been my dream and I thought my future was over before it had even began.

So in conclusion, PLEASE spread awareness of how damaging AI can be (for actors, voice actors, writers, etc.) and PLEASE make sure to NOT interact with it when you see it being used, unless you are asking another person to stop creating/using/interacting with it. And if you see a VA asking for people to NOT use AI to replicate their voice, just do the bare fucking minimum and respect their wishes. Your life isn't over just because you didn't get to hear Luz and Hunter singing She Wolf. Put the livelivoods of other people before your own entertainment. Thank you.

P.s. I'm gonna tag this post with fandoms that I've seen use AI for replicating voices (to spread awareness), especially if a VA from that fandom has specifically asked for it not to be used. Feel free to reblog and add tags of your own for any fandoms that you think I've missed.

#sag aftra #sag strike #sag aftra solidarity #sag aftra strong #sag aftra strike #ai #ai generated #ai voice #actors #voice acting #voice actors #writers #five nights at freddy's #miraculous ladybug #the owl house #ninjago #sonic the hedgehog #my little pony #sonic prime #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #there are so many other fandoms I'm just so tired and can't think of any rn

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 10

“Wait!” Abby cried desperately. “I didn’t cheat! It’s not true! I… I…” She let out a squeal of shock and fear. Her clothes were changing, just like Katherine’s had done the evening before. “No, no, no, no…” she muttered frantically as her skinny jeans vanished, leaving her in nothing but her lacy black underwear from the waist down. Her crop top was turning pastel pink and lengthening, stretching down to reach her waist, but stopping so short that it failed to completely cover her knickers. Sleeves grew; pale, puffy sleeves that ended just past her shoulders. A pacifier popped into existence on the end of a clip and pressed itself firmly between her lips by an invisible hand. Her socks gained a rim of frills, and her stylish shoes turned into black Mary Janes. Last, and worst, her underwear began to thicken, and Abby started to cry. She knew what was coming. Her skimpy panties turned white and crinkly, ballooning outwards and taking on the shape of a huge disposable diaper. “No!” she wailed behind her soother. Her bulky nappy was pushing her legs apart, giving a gait as wide and toddler-like as the others. But the Magician’s alterations weren’t done there. She could feel a tingling in her head as the mental changes started to take effect.

“No, no, no!” she sobbed. Then her dummy started bobbing in her mouth as her oral fixation took over, an overwhelming desire to have something in her mouth at all times. If it wasn’t her pacifier then it would be her thumb, or even her toes. The idea disgusted her, but at the same time it felt so right to suck on something. She hadn’t realised how empty her mouth had been before. She had to have something inside it! Abby whimpered as she realised the Magician was turning her into an orally-fixated freak, like Madelyn but worse, someone who’d cram random objects into her mouth and cry like a baby if anyone took her paci out.

With a loud hiss, her bladder let go and Abby started drenching her diaper with pee. She shrieked behind her dummy and tried to clench down to stop the flow, but nothing happened. Her muscles wouldn’t respond at all! She was no different from Becky now, she knew. No different from a baby! She pissed herself helplessly, feeling the yucky warmth spreading around her crotch, soaking into the thirsty padding of her nappy until it was sagging well below the short hem of her little girl’s dress. She squealed piteously and reached down, intending to rip the horrible thing off and throw it in the Magician’s face, no matter what the consequences would be – but something was wrong with her hands. Her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated all of a sudden. They patted uselessly against the tapes of her diaper, and with another sob, Abby understood that the Magician must have taken away her fine motor control. She stumbled backwards, almost losing her balance. Her legs felt as awkward as her hands, and Abby guessed that her wide, babyish gait was the result of more than just an extra-thick diaper. She thought of Katherine, waddling around like she’d only just learned to walk, and realised that she would now be exactly the same.

She looked up at the other girls. Becky and Madelyn were watching with slightly queasy expressions on their faces – but Abby thought she could detect a trace of satisfaction in them too, as if they thought she deserved what she was getting. Abby shrieked again, an incoherent shriek of fear, humiliation, and anger. This couldn’t be happening to her! It couldn’t! Things like this didn’t happen to girls who were as pretty as she was!

The Magician was watching her, an evil smile twisting his handsome features. She had to convince him to change her back! She still had her body! She toddled forwards and pressed herself against the man who’d turned her into an overgrown baby, trying, through tear-stained eyes, to look seductive.

“Awww,” the Magician cooed. “Are you trying to be sexy, sweetie? That’s so cute! Coochie-coochie-coo!” He reached out and tickled her under the chin.

Abby let out an involuntary, gurgling giggle. Then she blushed furiously and pushed him away. Of course he didn’t want her body… It had been a stupid idea from the start. He just wanted to turn her into a ridiculous baby-woman like the others! Her head tingled again, and her emotions suddenly became much, much harder to control. Abby burst into tears. If the others had thought she was crying hard before, it was nothing compared to what she was doing now. She screamed at the top of her lungs, sobbing and wailing like a toddler in her terrible twos. There was a restlessness in her arms and legs, and she felt compelled to stomp her feet and flap her arms stupidly, her face screwed up with the effort of crying and shrieking as hard as she could.

Becky and Madelyn winced at the noise, both watching Abby with a mixture of disdain and pity. She looked exactly like a naughty little two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.

Abby couldn’t control herself. Her face was crimson with shame. She was struggling as hard as she could to stop herself acting like a bratty little toddler, but she was angry and upset and embarrassed, and some part of her brain was insisting that meant she had to act like this. She didn’t stop stomping her feet and screeching until the Magician grabbed her by the arm.

“What a naughty little girl!” he scolded, mock-stern. His eyes were glinting again, and his expression was predatory. “I think somebody needs a time-out!” Abby whined, but the Magician smacked her sharply on her bottom, aiming for what little of her bum wasn’t covered by her nappy. Still whimpering and hiccupping pathetically, Abby allowed herself to be led back inside, vaguely aware of the other two women following along behind them. The Magician took her back into the lavish hall where they’d all first appeared and stood her in a corner, facing the wall. “You can stay there until you calm down, little miss crybaby!”

Abby sniffled, shifting her weight from foot to foot and cringing at the way her sodden diaper felt against her skin. Then, quite suddenly, she felt a pressure in her bowels. Her face went white. She had to do a whoopsie! No – that wasn’t it. That sounded so stupid! She needed to… make boom-booms? No! Have an uh-oh in her pants? Go poopies? Make a stinky? Abby shook her heard fiercely, but it was no use. The Magician had taken away her grown-up words! “I…” she squeaked, knowing the Magician was still right behind her, with Becky and Madelyn too. “I gotta… I gotta go potty poo-poos!” But she’d only just gotten the words out when the pressure in her bottom became too much for her newly incontinent body. With a horrified expression on her face, Abby felt herself sink into a squat and immediately start loading her nappy with a big, smelly mess.

She could hear the Magician laughing behind her, and knew that the other girls must be watching her as well. She felt stunned. Even when she’d pooped her pants in the first challenge, she’d told herself that this would never happen to her. She could never do that, not in a diaper. But now she had. She was a Pamper-packer now. A diaper-dumper. A ridiculous, nappy-filling, overgrown baby. Her lower lip trembled, and Abby started wailing again.

“Poor baby,” the Magician taunted. “Don’t worry, sweetie, Daddy will take care of that icky, stinky diaper. Becky needs a change too,” he said, glancing at the blushing girl. “Why don’t we do both at once? You can lie down side by side for your nappy changes! Won’t that be sweet? And little Maddy can help.” He looked at Madelyn and raised his eyebrow. “Unless she’d prefer to join you?”

Madelyn rushed forwards, wrinkling her nose, and helped the Magician guide both Abby and Becky onto the floor. As she did so, the Magician slipped a hand up her frock and gave one of her oversized tits a squeeze. Madelyn orgasmed immediately. She fell to her knees beside Becky and moaned like a pornstar around the thumb that was still planted firmly between her lips. She sucked on it obscenely for a few seconds, then shook her head, trying to clear it of the desperate lust that was constantly threatening to take over since the Magician had bimbofied her body. Once she’d recovered, she wanted to slap him across the face, but she was too terrified by what she’d just seen him do to Abby. She supposed she should count herself lucky that she was the one changing diapers, not lying on the floor with her legs in the air like the other two…

Becky hid her face while Madelyn changed her nappy one-handed. Madelyn couldn’t keep the look of disgust off her face as she wiped the young woman’s messy bottom clean with wet wipes. She knew it must hurt Becky’s feelings to see such open revulsion, but she couldn’t help herself. It was just so gross!

Abby continued to cry as the Magician un-taped her diaper and lifted her legs up by the ankles. “What a messy baby!” he cooed. “What a stinky little girl!”

The feeling of the cool wipes gradually clearing away her mess wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but Abby still wanted to disappear. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She tried not to look at Becky lying next to her – getting their nappies changed together, like they were equals, like she was on the same level as that pants-filling little brat! She sobbed as she felt the Magician slide out her loaded diaper out from underneath her and slip a fresh one in its place. After a healthy sprinkling of sweet-smelling baby powder, she was ready to be taped into a clean diaper. Unless she won the game, she realised, this would probably happen two or three times a day for the rest of her life. She let out another wail.

Once she was taped securely into her thick new nappy, Abby was taken back to the corner by the Magician to “continue the rest of her time-out”, and that was where she stayed for the rest of the afternoon. The other girls went off to their rooms while she stood, nose in the corner, trying not to think about what her life would be like if she didn’t get back to normal.

Her legs were aching by the time the Magician patted her on the bottom and told her she could go to the dining room. It was almost a relief to sit down at the table for dinner, even if she was crammed into the oversized highchair that had replaced her usual chair. What was less of a relief, however, was the lady who pulled up a seat next to her. With a plummeting sensation in her stomach, Abby recognised the busty woman who had breastfed her a couple of nights before, the woman who had called herself ‘Nanny’. She was holding a jar of baby food in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other, and there was a condescending smile on her face.

“You’re too little to feed yourself, Abby,” the Magician said. “Those clumsy little hands of yours would just make a mess of everything! Nanny will be feeding you from now on, understood?”

The woman raised the jar of baby food and the plastic spoon and said, in a cooing voice that made Abby cringe with embarrassment, “Who’s weady for her nummy-nums? Does baby Abby-wabby want something yummy in her cute wittle tum-tum?”

Abby averted her eyes and tried to refuse the first spoonful, but all that accomplished was getting baby food smeared all around her lips and chin.

“Oopsie-daisy!” the woman trilled. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Time to make your num-nums go all-gones for Nanny, baby! Here comes the airplane!”

Reluctantly, Abby opened her mouth to accept the second spoonful of mush. Despite the texture, the taste wasn’t horrible, and she resigned herself to being fed the rest of the jar while her two fellow contestants got to eat solid food across the table.

She scowled jealously at Becky. She looked so grown-up in her big-girl clothes. Her diaper bulge was obvious, leaving anybody who saw her in no doubt that she couldn’t be trusted to use a toilet, but otherwise Becky looked like an adult. And Madelyn might look absurd with her bimbo body and her baby clothes, but at least her nappy was just for show. Abby looked down at the bulky, crinkly thing between her own legs, cushioning her bottom like a pillow. She felt a tiny bit of wee-wee trickle into it, and she whimpered quietly. Another spoonful of baby food was pushed between her lips, and she wondered how long it would be before she was pushing this meal into her pants.

When they were all done with their food, the Magician got to his feet. He nodded at Abby’s Nanny, who curtsied and left the room, then he looked at each of them in turn, smiling maliciously at the Becky’s diaper-stuffed jeans, at Madelyn’s bombshell body in its baby clothes, and at Abby’s utterly infantilized appearance. “Well, little girls,” he said, and despite everything that had happened to them, the three women still felt a prickle of anger at being addressed as such. “You know what’s next. I’ll give you a few moments to talk amongst yourselves, and then it will be time to vote.”

The moment he vanished, Abby put her plan into action. She’d been thinking about it all through corner time. She just needed a few moments to talk to Becky without Madelyn interfering, and the stupid bimbo was sitting directly across from her – before she could even get to her feet, Abby had reached out her foot under the table and pressed it against the front of Madelyn’s nappy.

Madelyn let out a high-pitched, girlish moan as her diaper, still slightly damp from her tiny accident, squished against her pussy. She doubled over, gripping the table to steady herself as waves of pleasure crashed over her, coursing through her body from her tits to her toes.

Abby squeezed herself out of her highchair as fast as she could and toddled over to Becky. “I fink we should vote for Madewyn,” she said, without preamble. Her words were muffled by her pacifier, but she didn’t care. “I know I twied to cheat,” Abby said desperately, as Becky looked sceptical and opened her mouth to say something, “but I stole the egg from Madewyn, not you! I didn’t know it might make you the loser as well! I’ve always stuck up for you, haven’t I?” She looked at Becky pleadingly, even allowing tears to fill her eyes (although she wasn’t sure she’d have even been able to stop them anyway). “Like when we teamed up against Kaffewine? And it’s not like I’m much of a fweat now, am I? If you leave me until last, it will be easier. Madewyn might be in baby cwothes, but she doesn’t need diapers like… like we do.” Abby hated herself for saying that last part. She wouldn’t, she would never, think of herself as someone who needed diapers. This was only temporary. Just a setback. One more day of this hell and she’d win the challenge, get her wishes, and then she’d never have to think about nappies ever again. Becky would be spending the rest of her life peeing and pooping her pants, but that was just too bad for her!

Before Becky had a chance to reply, Madelyn had grabbed Abby by the shoulder and spun her around. “What do you think you’re doing, you stupid freak?!” she screamed, yanking her thumb out of her mouth to speak. A line of drool connected it to her lips. “First you try to sabotage me in the challenge, and now you’re-”

But Abby cut her off. “I’m the fweak?! I’m not the one who’s been moaning like a swut and pwaying wif her boobieth all day!”

“How dare you!”

“Girls, girls!” the Magician interrupted, reappearing suddenly. “If you’re going to scream at each other, then I’ll have no choice but to spank your naughty little bottoms! Is that what you want?”

Abby and Madelyn glared at each other, but kept their mouths shut. Becky looked anxious and confused.

“It’s clear that you’ve had enough time to talk,” the Magician went on, grinning horribly. He walked over to them and handed each girl a piece of paper and a crayon. “Time to decide which of you will get a chance to win, and who will be heading off to enjoy her new life.”

The girls scurried away from each other and hurriedly wrote down names on their pieces of paper. Abby and Madelyn looked over at Becky fearfully. They had no idea who she was going to pick. Becky was writing something on her piece of paper, looking anxious and a little bit guilty. Once they were all done, the Magician collected up their pieces of paper, and smirked down at the names they had written. Then he looked up at the girls, his eyes flitting between Abby and Madelyn.

Abby realised she was shaking. She glanced at Becky, but the girl was staring down at her own feet, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with either her or Madelyn.

“Well, I’m glad this never became too complicated,” said the Magician. “We managed to avoid a tie in every single vote!” He looked up, grinning. “I know just what you deserve… Maddy.”

Madelyn took a step backwards. “No…” she whispered. “Not me…”

“Time for your mind to match your body, sweetheart,” the Magician said. His eyes were glinting darkly again. “I promise you’ll be much happier without all that nasty intelligence of yours.”

“No!” Madelyn squealed, supressing a moan as her tits bounced in her top. “Please! Oh God, no! It’s everything that I am!”

“Well now you’ll be something else, sweetie,” said the Magician happily. “The old you might have been an intelligent, strong-willed feminist, but now you’ll just be a ditzy, immature little slut who’s still in nappies.”

“Please!” Madelyn screamed, her eyes wide and terrified, but the Magician snapped his fingers, and at once, with a powerful rush of pleasure, Madelyn felt her mind emptying. She tried desperately to cling onto who she was as her IQ plummeted and a tingling pink fog rolled over her mind. She clutched her head in panic. “No, no, no, no, no…”

Abby and Becky watched with slightly sick expressions on their faces.

Then, after a few moments of silence, Madelyn giggled. She looked up at them in confusion, biting her lip. “I’m, like, so horny!” she said. Then she shook her head fiercely and groaned. “No! That’s not… That isn’t me! I’m not, like, a dumb whore!” One of her hands reached down to stroke the front of her nappy. She giggled again. “A dumb whore! I’m not, like, a dumb whore who  needs diapies… I’m… I’m…” She trailed off, then she blinked a few times and looked up at them all, smiling dimly.

“How do you feel, Maddy?” asked the Magician, grinning broadly. “Do you remember being a strong, independent women’s rights activist?”

Maddy nodded, frowning. She remembered who she was, but she didn’t understand why she’d been acting like such a frigid, uptight bitch for so long. How would she ever, like, get a man to rip off her nappy and fuck her twat if she always acted like such a boring old prude? She giggled. She was such a fucking ditz! “I’m just, like, an immature, big-titted whore!” she said.

Becky was staring at Madelyn in horror, and even Abby looked uncomfortable.

“Well, sweetie,” said the Magician, “it looks like your days as a ruthless, man-hating academic are over. But don’t worry,” he added nastily, “I’ll make sure you still get to teach classes on women. You’ll get to teach your students all about how women are nothing but maids and sex toys and stupid little girls who need men to tell them what to do. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Oh-em-gee!” Maddy squealed, jumping up and down and making her tits jiggle about in her baby-doll dress. “Totally! I hope there are some hot boys in my class who want to, like, fuck me in all my holes and treat me like the baby-slut I am!”

The Magician chuckled. “I’m sure there will be, sugar-tits.”

Maddy grinned vapidly.

“Now, it’s time for you to head off to your new life, sweetie.” And with a wave of his hand, the feminist-turned-bimbo baby had disappeared.

#mellowsadistic

[blueicequeen19]

Sucker for Punishment

Warnings: mild sub JJ, enemies to lovers?, oral, panty thief, orgasm denial, violence

I don’t know why I’m obsessed with my life long bully. All through school I’d avoid her like the plague because she would make fun of me for my clothes or the bruises on my face. Then her mom married rich and she was off to the Kook academy. That only heightened her distaste for me and other Pogues even though she was born one.

As I got older I found myself craving her attention. I no longer hid from her when we crossed paths. Instead I would do whatever I could to bait her for attention. My skin burned hot when her eyes would trace over me even when her lip curled in disgust and her friends laughed.

I’d serve her drinks at the Country Club and purposely stand too close so my hard cock would graze her arm. She always glared at me and mouthed off but I wanted to know what she looked like when she came. I wanted to know the tightness of her cunt. I wanted her to make me bleed with those manicured nails.

I’d jerked off multiple times a day for as long as I could remember to the image of her degrading me. Owning me. Laughing at me while she bounced on my cock. When I cleaned her pool one summer, I stole all her panties except one pair that I left covered in cum on her pillow. She never said anything about it but she became more aggressive. To the point where she’d shoulder check me or shove me in the chest. I nearly came in my shorts the first time she touched me.

Now I was getting too close on purpose. Anything I could do to put my hands on her. She’d swing at me and everyone would laugh. She was too much of a bitch to keep a boyfriend so no one came to her aid. It was always a game to see who could piss the other off first. A majority of the time I won but tonight was different.

I watched across the fire as some douchebag Kook fingered her on his lap. Part of me liked the public display while another struggled with the roaring jealousy I felt. I was also hard as fuck and leaking precum in my boxers, nearly losing it while watching her cum on his fingers.

Now they were both going to suffer.

I waited until they were both making their way over to his car, probably for a hook up, before sneaking up behind him and slamming his head off the top of the car. He dropped like a sack of potatoes and she only gasped, staring at me with stunned eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, Pogue?”

I ignored her as I stepped over him and leaned down to pick up his right hand. I snapped the two fingers that were inside her, breaking them while she watched.

“You’re insane!”

“He’s lucky you didn’t let him get his dick in you.”

She turns to run but I catch her around the waist, hauling her into the cover of some thick trees along the side of the road. I wrap my hand around her throat and I swear I hear a throaty moan as I force my hand under her tiny excuse of a dress.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” She rasps, although the fight has left her body and she’s sagged against me. I cup her pussy over her thong, feeling how wet she is.

“I know this is for me.” I growl in her ear, slipping past the scrap of fabric and massaging her slit.

“It’s not.”

“He hardly had anything on his fingers when he was done whereas right now..” I take a deep breath, “.. you’re fucking dripping.”

“Fuck you.” She snarls, her face dropping as I withdraw my fingers and suck them clean in my mouth. I groan, the last of my restraint slipping.

I yank the fuckers door open and shove her onto the backseat, not bothering to shut the door as I crawl in between her legs.

“Stop. Someone will see.” She gasps, not stopping me as I shove her legs wide and yank her close enough to smell her arousal. I lock my hands on her hips as I bury my nose into her panties and Inhale her intoxicating scent.

“Wait.” She whimpers, fisting my hair as she starts to grind on my face.

“No.” I yank her thong to the side and waste no time sucking her plump little clit into my mouth. I tighten my grip on her hips as she cries out, her hips jerking in time with every pass of my tongue. She tastes like heaven and my future. I’ll never tire of this pussy. I feast like my life depends on it. Like this is my first and last taste of her.

My face up to my nose is dripping her arousal, making me groan from the taste and how wet she is. She wants this as badly as I do. Needs it even.

When she cums with a cry, her nails digging into my scalp, I push two fingers inside her greedy pussy, forcing her cries to turn to sobs as she cums. And cums. And cums. My fingers are white with her cream as I remove some of the attention to her clit so I can look up at her dazed face.

“Did his fingers feel as good as mine?”

“No.” She gasps, eyes half lidded and lips parted on every breath.

“Who’s inside you right now?”

“Y-you.”

“And I’m a Pogue and you hate me. Just like I hate you.”

“Yes.” She cries just as I curl my fingers and slap my hand on her clit. Her pussy locks down on my fingers like a vice, coating them in more cum as she jerks and trembles against the door with her climax. I sit back on my heels, sucking my fingers clean and enjoying the way she shudders as I undo my shorts.

“No.” She sits up, snapping her legs closed and that usual glare pointed at me.

“No?” I free my cock and stroke it softly, making her gulp as she takes me in. It takes her a few moments to meet my eyes again and hers narrow.

“No. You don’t get to cum.”

“Is that right?” I smirk, loving this little game she’s trying to play.

“Yea, it is.” She sits up so we’re almost chest to chest, getting right up in my face as she takes back the control.

“You can make me cum but you don’t get to. This is for me, not you. I get to cum and you don’t. Not until I say so.” Her expression is hard until she looks down and sees I’m still stroking my cock. God, she’s so sexy.

“You wanted to touch me so badly and now you can. But you don’t get to cum.”

“You’re saying no to this?” I taunt, loving the way her eyes keep dropping to my cock. She leans away with a snarl just as I lean in to kiss her. I growl, debating on lunging for her but she slips out the door before I can stop her, blowing me a kiss through the window then disappearing.

I’m beyond pissed and my dick is throbbing but I’m excited. I feel alive. I want her withering beneath me again and now I know she will be. I quickly stuff my dick away, my zipper barely zipping, as I slip from the dudes car just as he starts to stir on the ground.

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