#so like of anyone wants to watch good omens with me (maybe with a voice chat?? idk i kinda want to hear others talk about it)

[altruistic-meme]

literally so sad i just wanna watch good omens with someone :(

[capslocked]

SERENDIPITY

male reader x kwon eunbi

18k words

Before the attraction ferments, Eunbi says, kiss me properly and pull me apart. or, Where all your little tragedies begin.

-

If you want to start getting technical, you’re Minju's plus one to the gala, and that’s already a lot, a lot, a lot to unpack.

She’d gotten whipped into a bad mood that evening before you even had your shoes on, all on account of your apparent inability to distinguish cobalt from azure, and now should anyone have the wherewithal to examine the fabric of her dress, your tie, maybe with a forensic kit, they’d discover the two are not actually matching. If there was any part of you at all inclined toward keeping up appearances, you probably wouldn’t be content with a career in radio broadcast. But here you are, surrounded by actors, actresses, idols, and everyone who thinks the cut of their jaw is just a little better than everyone else’s - the kind of people who feel entitled to time in front of a camera.

Networking, is how Minju ends up pitching it to you, and now it makes the whole thing seem a lot like work and it’s actually kind of exhausting.

It’s not even an open bar either, as she had originally advertised.

You pay - get this - you pay twenty-three dollars for a vodka tonic and it comes with so much ice you’re not totally unconvinced you could build an igloo. So when everything starts to go to shit, nearing the end of drink number one, you’re not even slurring your words. Tipsy, perhaps; just slightly. To the point you can feel it in your fingers. But nothing like a good excuse.

It’s about then that Eunbi navigates her way around the bar - unnerving, enough to make the sweat grow cold.

On account of her being fucking gorgeous, you end up watching her closely: notice first that she’s carrying a pair of heels in her hand, completely barefoot, and you have no idea what that’s about, but you end up more fixated on the fact that she slides herself into the barstool on your left - which comes across as something of an omen, given that the rest are completely unoccupied. It’s only thirty, forty minutes into the event and people are still plenty busy with that thing where they fake smiles at each other until they feel like they fit in, showing, with bare minimal effort, that they too can mingle with entertainment’s elite.

Now, you don’t actually recognize her, not right away that is. The last you’d seen her, she had her hair cut right above her shoulders and its shade was a serious degree blonder than the current iteration - now curtaining her face as she studies the drink menu and flips it over several times in her dainty hands.

After a long minute, she looks up, interrupts the bartender from polishing a piece of glassware, and orders an old fashioned, substitute brandy, leave out the orange peel, with sugar on the rim. If it’s not the usual amendments that give her away, it’s the saccharine-sweet flavor of her voice, lilting in a manner that’s instantly unmistakable.

Eunbi, you’re guessing aloud, a little apprehensive, and immediately you retreat behind the liquor in your glass. She turns to you, slowly, knuckles masking the subtle quirk in her lips at first, before letting her chin rest on the heel of her palm to reveal a flash of her signature hundred-kilowatt smile.

“Oh,” she says, and she’s blinking with clear amusement that you remember her name - as if you could ever forget it, as if these run-ins were somehow infrequent; you’d only both been plotting orbits around the same star that was Minju for the past couple years. Her head tilts, lips parting to ask, “your date ditch you already?”

She’s half-right.

“You break a heel?” you ask her, nodding toward the pair of black t-strap heels she’d tossed onto the bar counter with a defeated sigh.

“Maybe.” Eunbi drags a dark lock of hair back behind her ear. It falls almost immediately back in front of her face and it ends up staying there until the bartender places her drink in front of her. “But my question first.”

For the record, there’s nothing here particularly novel worth dwelling on. It’s always some provocation or another with Eunbi, you remember now, as she holds you with a stare, eyes wide and brilliant; she sails through life all with the confidence of someone very aware of how pretty she is - knows precisely what she can get away with, right down to the letter of the law. The dress hugging tight to her isthmus of a waist is evidence of exactly that - tighter each time you look - so if you’re waiting for her to get it wrong, don’t hold your breath.

“Minju’s having a moment,” you tell her, “it’s not like she doesn’t know where to find me.”

“Hm.” She pauses to take a careful sip of her drink, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she places the glass onto a square napkin. Folds her hands in her lap and asks, “can you explain something to me?”

“If I say no, are you going to ask anyway?”

Eunbi nods to herself, dry laugh telling you it was as rhetorical as you thought. “Seriously, how is it you two are always fighting?”

We’re not always fighting, you want to say, before Eunbi makes a face. She has this uncanny effect on you - raising an eyebrow and tilting her chin as though she were disappointed; the sharp edge to her smile, half challenge, half something far less kind. It could rip truth from the most reluctantly tight-lipped of privacies. “We’re working on it,” you tell her.

“Oh?” she asks, leaning in. 

“God, you don’t have to say it like that.” The ice clinks in your glass as you toss it back, finding it lamentably empty. “You make me feel like I have to repeat myself a thousand times - we are,” you add, “we’re working on it.”

“There’s something that keeps you together, clearly,” Eunbi says, pressing her finger to her lips before fixing you with dark eyes and an easy, charming grin. 

She has you figured out, to some extent: knows how you’ll slip up for a girl with a pretty smile, prettier eyes, all the sorts of errors you’ll start to allow when you start cataloging the curves of her body, inventorying how they taper impossibly at her waist, flaring again at her hips, her fucking chest, the way they all look under the tight fit of that damn dress-

“The make-up sex really that good, huh?”

You almost, almost choke on the ice cube you’d been sucking to keep yourself entertained.

“Optimistic to think there is any,” you admit, regretting it right away - like think about it: there’s absolutely nothing good that could possibly come of that. “That’s just how it goes.”

Eunbi looks downright triumphant. More than usual. “Oh, sweetie.”

She waves over the bartender and asks him for another whatever it was you were drinking, because she’d hate to see you go dry, and as he’s turning around she shouts over his shoulder, go ahead and make it two, actually. You don’t realize it, but you’re beginning to study her, paying really close attention to all these little details - the sparkle of the bracelet on her slender arm, how it falls a few inches off the corner of her wrist as she gets her hand back in front of her face, raking her nails through all that thick, glossy hair, black as night - you don’t know what the feeling is that rears its head as you watch her, but it’s not completely unwelcome.

“What?” she asks as her eyes flick up to yours to catch you looking at her, closely, not that you’re gawking, but she lets you off the hook like you are - just gestures to the pitiful looking heel on the counter and shrugs. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

To be honest, it’s not that you lack basic foresight. In fact it’s shockingly easy to predict where this is going. Because here’s a quick behind the scenes tour on how these interactions usually play out: you’ve got your excuses, your trepidations, justifiably - the reality that you’re kind of already in a pretty high profile relationship key among them. And like clockwork, Eunbi readily finds you game for some flustering. Eunbi, who lays it on thick, comments seeped in innuendo and suggestion, whose glances linger perhaps a little long to be a fascinating coincidence. Eunbi, innocence and arrogance entwined, in the filthiest of minds. Eunbi, always with her fingers twirling her hair and wearing something just modest enough that makes it feel like it’s your fault for noticing that her figure is impeccable. You’ve not actually gathered much from your brief conversations other than that she likes to flirt with you, likes it even more when you’ve got your foot in your mouth, and instead of putting you out of your misery, keeps you suspended there, egging you on - this all beyond the fact that you’ve only really managed to learn the many different ways you want to undress Kwon Eunbi.

You want her pressed up against the wall of your apartment, among other places, one of those pleated skirts crumpling to a pile around her knees as she keens for you, and your hand busy sliding up between her thighs.

You want to listen to her sighs as you unfasten each of the white buttons on one of those collared shirts that stretches and aches to keep her chest concealed, how she’d hum in delight as you trail kisses down each new inch of soft pale skin that all would unveil. 

You want her in your lap when you fiddle with the latch of her bra until her tits spill out of its lacy fabric (it’s always lacy in your head), and she’s got you gasping for air, smothered, asphyxiated, dying, ascending, it’s all so, so great in theory.

It’s just that - some way or another - Eunbi looks at you like she knows all of that. You’ve been skirting around the issue for months.

“Tell me,” she starts, and suddenly, without warning, she has you under the microscope, reeling you further into the conversation, pulling at loose threads - where is Minju right now, are you still living together, does she help with chores, can you trust her, does she trust you - she grabs a handful of pretzels and watches you intently as you try and remain unruffled, diplomatic - are you generally happy with how things are going, when was the last time you had sex - you’re blindsided by that last one, or something, but that’s out there now, in the open.

“Uh.” Eunbi purses her lips. “You’re kidding.”

You just shrug.

“How long has it been now between you two? Like officially."

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

“Alright.” Eunbi clicks her tongue. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“My fourth year of university, her first,” you explain. Though never before have you felt as crooked about admitting that as you do at this moment. Others had often appreciated something about the impudence of it, but you’re doubting Eunbi’s going to be one of those people.

“Young,” Eunbi states, matter-of-factly. The look on her face says she’s thinking.

“Not that young.”

“You’re twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-five.”

“You’re-” Eunbi’s eyebrow’s knit together like she’s trying to remember something. “Wait, really?”

“Does that bother you?”

“Why would that bother me?”

You’re realizing that she’d gotten closer to you, only now pulling her stool along the floor to catch up with her, and she’d started whispering into the waning space between you as though there was anyone else in the bar you’d need to shield the contents of this conversation from. “It just seems like not a lot of time to get to know yourself. If I were you, I’d be relieved.”

You can’t fucking stop looking at her mouth, glossed pink lips, cupid’s bow and all that between her dimples; your voice comes out oddly thick. “You’re not me.”

“No,” Eunbi says, shaking her head, “I'm not. Here you are, in some miserable relationship to score good karma - I’m having way more fun.”

“Easy,” you warn her, and it comes across just antagonistic enough to let Eunbi know she’s pushing the right buttons, digging in the right place; god only knows what she’ll find.

“Really.” Her fingers start skimming the bottom of your tie, like it’s nothing at all. Like she doesn’t know what might happen if she starts touching you. “Let me guess,” she continues, “A real break-up is too  inconvenient or something right now, Minju doesn’t want the bad press, not when her career is still this fragile, because let’s face it-”

“It’s complicated.”

Eunbi smirks, not bothering to hold it back this time. The way she sees it, your usual excuses are losing their efficacy, quickly: you might not be single, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking about how good she looks in that tiny fucking excuse of a dress, how you’re hoping she might need to run off to the restroom later so you can see how her ass fills out the back of it, how it might look even better on the floor next to your bed - that you’re only a breath away, looking for pretext, perhaps just a little encouragement -

She rests her elbow on the counter, leans a cheek onto her fist, and angles herself against the bar so that the intoxicatingly low dip of her neckline is staring you right in the face, soft cleavage out on full fucking display. It’s not subtle. You never thought too hard about why Minju never invited Eunbi over. You’ll never need to.

“But - but I mean, I guess that’s the gist of it,” you feel inclined to add, stumbling a bit, figuring that if you steal away into the safety of your one true talent - talking - you might just resist the very present urge to reach forward and press your lips to hers. 

“You’re an accessory,” says Eunbi, unbothered, and her eyes take a lazy sweep from your face down to your waist. It’s a leer. “Though,” she murmurs, “can’t really say I can blame the girl.”

“First off, rude.” You’ve got a finger pointed to the ceiling when you say it. “Secondly-”

“Too nice for your own good, you know that?” Eunbi takes a sip from her glass, and after fixing a dark, stubborn strand of hair back behind her ear, she finds herself again in that anxious distance inches away from your nose. “Why don’t you have some fun with it?”

“Fun with what?”

“Just because you figure you’re going to go crawling back to her doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of your-” she stops, eyes fixing to your lips before continuing, “situation.”

“Can I mention something to you?” You swallow once, twice. Now you’re both looking at each other’s mouths, breathing the same air. “You have a pretty fucked up perspective on interpersonal relationships.”

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” she asks, completely ignoring the assessment. Her fingernails skate along the counter until she’s pinching at the cuff of your sleeve, and her hair falls back in front of her face again, though this time she looks into your eyes like she’s waiting for you to move it out of the way.

“What are we doing right now?” you ask, agitation just beginning to rear its head. “What are you asking me?”

“I’m bored, and you’re the only other person here.”

“There’s, like, a million people here.”

“I mean right here,” she says, nodding to the broken heel on the counter and gesturing between your chests. “Besides, I like you.”

You really could surge up and kiss her, you realize. Her lips are so close, right there in front of you, and there’s not any sort of question of whether she’d let you. The part that scares you is you haven’t a fucking clue what you’d say when the moment comes to finally pull your mouth off hers, and that’s not something you’re usually trying to sort out. Nor are you really in a blathering mood, and now you’re imagining it: Eunbi’s expression all smug and haughty, something that could inspire a good blather - uh, did you just kiss me?

“Forgive me, but I feel like I need to point out,” Eunbi adds, mildly entertained, “most guys wouldn’t be asking this many questions.”

“I’m not most guys.”

“Uh, I am fully aware,” Eunbi says, running a fingertip along the length of her collarbone, slowly, and her voice dips out if its usual airy register into something less musical, more serious: “Do you even have a clue what I’d do for a guy like you?”

“Eunbi,” you say, harshly, not that it matters; she’s going to tell you.

“For starters,” she says, and her hand is around your tie, tugging like you won’t tell her to stop, like she knows she’s gorgeous in all the most disarming ways. “I’d take good care of him, like I don’t think I could keep my hands off him. I’d be blowing him all the time - until my jaw hurt, then i’d just tell him to pick a hole and fuck a big, hot load of cum into it - hell, I’d probably let him do anything to me.”

“Tactful.”

“I’m not the one having a hard time reading between the lines.”

“That’s not - I’m not-”

“Into me?” Eunbi laughs, leaning forward, your last vestiges of personal space vanishing like a passing thought, and now she’s touching you - a hand on your thigh, higher, higher. “You want to fuck me so bad.”

The fucked up thing, beyond Eunbi being absolutely right, is that you’d rather die than try and lie through your teeth, than succumb in such austere fashion. This thing, this desire, this want, you understand it so intimately you could probably name it like you were christening it in a church. You grab a hold of her wrist, before her precocious fingers can discover how obviously right she is under the seam of your pants, and the suddenness of the challenge wipes the mirth from her face - pulls a small little sound out of her chest, leaves her eyes wide and uncharacteristically docile.

“Are you sure?” you ask, collected and calm, after you’ve both realized how small her wrist fits in your hand. “Is this really the game you want to play?” 

Eunbi’s head tips onto this angle, expression perfectly cavalier. “Oh,” she says, uncorking an impious grin, “why don’t you and I go figure that out.”

-

It’s hard to focus. You’ve got it all wrong, or whatever, practically right from the jump. Your first mistake was veering toward the restrooms tucked behind the bar, where Eunbi pulled at the corner of your sleeve to shoot you a skeptical look - are you fucking nuts, there’s single occupant washrooms upstairs - her explanation was sound, probably, she lost you quickly at: “would prefer no one hear me cum all over your cock.”

The second transgression is the kiss itself, a fucking honest mess. 

Eunbi’s perched on the sink, precariously, and as much as you’d rather be smoothing your hands up her curves, you’ve got one preoccupied at her hips, steadying her, the other pulling at your own clothes, slinging your jacket to the floor. It’s this sort of callow tangle of limbs, exchange of spit, imprecise groping - fuck, it actually hurts when your teeth bump together, or when Eunbi pulls a little too hard at your bottom lip - over and over, and your mouths keep missing each other, straying off to cheeks and chins. 

You expected there to be a touch more polish to her, for her to be the kind of girl above hooking up barefoot in a public restroom, maybe even preserve any of that infamous intrigue. But those open-mouthed kisses she has leaving marks on your jaw, making welts on your neck do little to help you shrug off the impropriety here, hanging like a sorry cloud. Because you’re barreling toward something desperate and clumsy and hot and needy - so utterly raunchy in all the right ways.

“C’mere,” Eunbi says, smile stretching soft and devastatingly sweet, hardly fussing when you slip your hand beneath her jaw - it takes a moment, a touch of experimentation, until you’re together working toward a common goal. She twists the end of your tie over her wrist once, twice, anchors herself against you, and her legs open wider, a heel hooking around your thigh. The embers in her half-lidded eyes tell a story, tell you you to firm up your grip, clutch her, get rough with her, toss her around - she can take it, she can take more. 

Her chin gets set on the angle opposite yours as she starts to pull you in close, the heat in her breath coming closer, and she furrows a perfectly sculpted brow the moment she realizes it’s not reciprocal - that you’re not leaning into her, not pressing your tongue past her lips and grabbing her hair by the fistful - she squints, glowering. It’s actually not a bad look on her.

“Tell me something,” you say, skating your fingertips up her leg until they’re so close to the apex of her thigh you can feel her heat, radiating. “What were you expecting?”

“I try to never expect anything,” Eunbi tells you, and starts once more for your lips, only vexed again when you stiffen up, maintain the distance between you - stop her short at the limit of tantalizingly close.

“Eunbi,” you say, wry with dry laughter and peeking over her shoulder to the reflection in the mirror - backless; you can see the ridge of her spine from her ass all the way up to her neck when you slide her hair to the side. “This is not a dress you wear out with colleagues and friends. This is a take me home and have your wicked way with me kind of dress.”

Eunbi swallows; that’s how you know you caught her. “If the insinuation here is that I’m a slut, I’m not having any of it.”

“Why? Is that supposed to be some sort of secret?”

Her expression falls onto something rather unamused, a glib reply waiting for release at the tip of her tongue, until finally she says, “do you get off on being withholding or some other bull-”

The word vanishes in a sharp inhale the moment you press your hand up between her legs. 

“Oh god.” Eunbi’s entire body shudders, nerves bundled and tight and ready to fire at the slightest excitation. Honestly, you’re not even doing anything; you’re pushing fabric into her cunt, and fuck, Eunbi’s already this trigger-happy. The demanding, quick-tempered vixen with something to prove, and she’s already melting over the slightest touch. 

Hell, just listen in on those little stuttering breaths falling off her lips when you begin to circle your fingers, slowly, when you reach down further to where she’s so hot, so wet-

You press down and she hiccups.

“Ah, I think I get it now,” you start, watching Eunbi’s lip wobble as the heel of your palm spreads flatter and flatter over her clit, pressure indiscriminate and nowhere close to absolving. “You want me to believe that somehow, you’re a total romantic.”

Eunbi’s mouth slacks slightly as she sighs. “Aren’t we all entitled to a little fantasy?”

“Has the part where I fuck you senseless in a public restroom always worked into that?” you ask, digging deeper, drenching her underwear in her own slick. “Or is that a new development?”

“You’re really testing the limits of your charm here.”

“I dunno. I think the fact that you’re dripping down your thighs means I’m doing all right,” you say, holding onto a smirk that you’re half-sure she’s contemplating slapping off your face.

“What do you want?” she asks, shimmying her hips against you, voice softening into delicate capitulation. “Want me to tell you that I’ve been dreaming about it? Want to know that I think about you when I’m alone - when I’ve got my fingers inside me and I’m sobbing into a pillow - that I’m picturing you fucking railing Minju - picturing how your hands would feel at my waist, on my tits, around my neck - imagining just how good you’d fuck me?”

You nearly snort in amusement. “Oh, want a lot more than that.” 

“Then hurry up,” she says - before the attraction ferments. And she sighs musingly when you press your fingers past elastic, find a touch where she needs you, the unmistakable shiver of real contact. “Kiss me properly and pull me apart.”

You tilt Eunbi’s chin up and place your mouth on hers. Kissing her once, twice, until she realizes it’s not even close to enough, drawing in to kiss you back that much harder, all unknowing and candid - like she never once cared for subtlety in her methods of seduction.

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers had already danced over her entrance, rubbed and touched and felt and begun to push. And god, she’s so incredibly wet - not that the push isn’t slow, so unhurried you can feel Eunbi wanting to cry out in frustration as you get deeper, feel her squeeze onto you, just a knuckle inside her, then a second. She barely manages to hush out a complaint into your lips when you drag them back, returning the perfect roughness in your fingers to her clit and applying all this agonizingly-too-gentle pressure. Do anything, she said - said she’d let you; could’ve said, fuck me, ruin me; should’ve told you, no idea what I really want other than for you fuck my brains out, so please take off your clothes and help me figure it out -

It’s actually kind of adorable, that she has to break her lips away from yours to ask for more.

But only a loud, smacking kiss and the length of a heavy exhale later, Eunbi’s tongue slides into your mouth, slipping gently against yours, and flicks up at your teeth as you press the curl of your index finger back inside her. She cries gently, this pitchy little feminine sound, just when you fuck her open with another. You could take all the time you want, you reckon, just pretend Eunbi’s not already all wound up and needy - pussy soaked and hot and begging beneath loose fabric - pretend she isn’t wrapping her slender fingers around your wrist to hold you firm, keep your fingertips present and reliable: something she can buck her hips into, something she can fuck until she’s gasping for you to stop.

“Fuck.” Her moan hums right into your mouth, thin, stretching out on a broken breath as the pad of your thumb skates over her clit, again, again, lighter, barely a touch this time, gentle and tender, and, well, conflicting - because look, everything about this is such a fucking awful idea - you’re going to walk out into a sea of judgement with kiss-swollen lips, hair disheveled and bothered like you’d trekked through a windstorm, with Eunbi hanging on your waist, knees wobbling and perfectly complicit to the crime. 

You’ve given the thought barely a moment’s attention when Eunbi’s grip on your wrist goes white-knuckle tight, like she can taste the apprehension on your lips. She tugs on your tie, hard - don’t stop, come, closer - like she’d literally die if you stop fucking her with your fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” you say in the spaces between these stinging, deep kisses into her cheek, her jaw, letting her body slump forward when you let go of her waist and start sliding your hand up her flat stomach, scrunching and furling the material of her dress up around her hips. She totters a moment, feet barely reaching the floor how you have her balanced on the lip of the sink, but you can’t help it: you need to get a hand up, higher, over her ribs, onto her chest -

Eunbi gasps the moment your fingers sink in, loudly, and you’re not even going to try and give her an explanation - fucking christ, her tits are incredible.

“How messy,” you tell her, enjoying how it makes her cheeks start to burn red, and with just that, you’re sure, with fingers becoming fast and frenzied. It’s audible, the slick on your hand, working through the thick of her heat, the tension in her clench. “So fucking messy, I bet you’re close baby, so close - close to cumming on my fingers.”

She purses her lips, chin tucked into where her collarbones meet, and closes her eyes. You think she’s readying some riposte, some quip to needle, something she’d lid her eyes and smirk first to tell you with poison laced in her voice, seethed in sarcasm, in spite. 

“I mean, Eunbi, look at you,” you drawl huskily, an effort to lure the words out of her, “and I haven’t even gotten my mouth on you yet.”

Her whole body sighs, a concerted effort; she’s panting, sinking her teeth into her lip, and it happens so suddenly, near all at once - those elegant lines in her face starting to twist, betraying that usual sculpted visage of perfection - at the end of a squalling stretch for air, she starts to beg. 

“Please,” she mewls, escaping her lips pliant and meek.

And fuck if that’s anything like the bite you’ve come to expect, the serrated edge of the girl who was amusing herself just moments ago with how you rattled and ruffled from behind a glass of liquor - Eunbi, all cunning and guile - jesus, it’s not even close:

“Oh, god, do it, do it, use my pussy however you want, fuck, want it so bad-” Her hair is falling into her face. Skin getting hot and dewy with sweat. She told you earlier that she’d kill you if you ripped her dress, said you had the look of a dress ripper about you - and now she’s looking at you like she might kill you if you don’t. “-anything, I’ll do anything, gods, please just let me cum.”

“Baby,” you murmur against her neck, a pet name you’re slipping into a little too easily. The possession, the way you say mine, you promise it’s all instinct. “Who could’ve ever guessed you’d be this needy?”

The pale column of skin beneath her jaw reveals more of itself to you the faster you drag your fingers through her cunt. She’s recovering from a curl of your digits against that spot that might just be able to get her screaming, and then it’s your thumb: each circle around her swollen clit reducing her to little more than ragged breathing and that causeway of a word, pleading, please, please, please.

You’d spent more time fantasizing about this than you care to admit, though when you tug the neckline of her dress down, free her breast from beneath the tight fabric, roll your thumb over her nipple, and pinch, it’s clear this is nothing like you imagined. It’s so much fucking more: her face winding into a look of equal parts pain, pleasure, eyes scrunching, lips hanging open - she can’t even say anything when you pull harder on the dress, pull her other tit up to your mouth and start to suck, hard - a heavy moan, whining; she doesn’t tell you to stop.

“Do it,” she demands, gulping for her next breath. “I’m so close.”

You haven’t written it off yet, but you also haven’t the slightest idea how she’ll come back from this one, flirting with the boundary at desperate and pathetic, responding to your touch, your fingers, your mouth like you’d spent a lifetime studying what makes her tick. This might be the only time between you that you’ve ever stumbled this close to anything like an upperhand, you recognize, and you’re not going to pass up an opportunity like it, milking it for all it’s worth:

“You ever have someone do this to you, Eunbi?” you ask her when your lips break all that cruel suction around her nipple - it’s red, swollen, aching, and it’s a great start. The throb between her legs isn’t growing any less urgent either, pulsing vigorously onto your fingertips and leaking all over your hand, her thighs, it’s so fucking sloppy and hot and that perfectly submissive expression on her face just looks so, so good on her. (You’re really leaning into it.) “Fuck you with one of your dresses bunched up over your hips? Take you into a bathroom and get you moaning and panting until you admit you’re a total slut? Fuck, I could do this until you can’t remember your own name, pull your underwear back up your legs all soaking and messy-”

“No,” Eunbi says, exasperated, and she chokes on her voice when your thumb digs harder into the puffy lips of her cunt, pushes this exact pressure on her tender clit. You don’t think her eyes could get any clearer, needier, until she starts shaking her head, saying, “you - you’d be the first.”

She practically blue-screens after that, words getting lost somewhere in the pangs of her own agitated pleasure. And like putty, sinking backward into the counter, you spread her legs open wider. Press a kiss into her forehead, skin all hot and sweaty. She almost loses it right then and there when you start reminding her she’s gorgeous, how good her name sounds on your lips, so pretty when she cums like this and then- 

Oh.

There she goes. 

“Fuck, you’re - god, fuck, I’m - fuck.” Eunbi hisses out your name, panting for air, and her brittle words fall straight to the floor, smash against the tile, and shatter into a million pieces. Cumming, she adds, two or three times for good measure, and you hold her firm, hold her still. Keep her from sliding off the sink so you might even kiss her hard. Feel her come undone.

Maybe it’s the praise; more likely the tempo of your thumb tapping against her swollen bud, again, again. The only thing you know is that the sound of it alone - over the squelch of your fingers fucking her through it, slow and tender like you have all the time in the world - see, that’s a masterpiece in and of itself. 

Eunbi’s chest rolls and twitches as you draw your fingers out of her pussy, soaked, clenching at nothing, and drag them up along her waist so she can feel just how much damage you’ve caused, that for all her sloppiness, it’s because of you.

“Here,” you say to her, with two sticky fingers at her jaw, “I know you want to taste yourself.”

Beyond the visual in front of you, you’re kind of stuck on how impetuous, impulsive, how utterly lewd it all is - opening her mouth and fitting your fingertips between her teeth. You scissor your fingers, let her lick her own slick off your you, and when you press her tongue down behind her teeth she starts to suck. It’s delightful, you think, she’s so gorgeous and somehow, flushed and fucked and sweaty, she looks perfect. Never been so stunning.

“Such a good girl,” you tell her, almost maliciously.

And it’s instant - Eunbi sinking further into the counter, her shoulders slumped to the cold mirror, knuckles knocking the bowl of the sink. There’s a hum coming up from her throat when you say it again, getting stuck on your fingers until she spits them out and looks at you with wide, tear-filled eyes, all glassy and brilliant, like you know the answers to all the riddles of the universe. Okay, so maybe it really is the praise, you realize, a weakness, a loose thread, you might never be able to stop yourself from pulling at it. You’d never want to.

“Been so patient, haven’t you? Your pussy is fucking creaming for me Eunbi, so fucking messy, you poor thing.” You’re lifting her panties to the side, assuring her in half sentences and leaving the rest to the sound of your zipper coming undone. “Gonna fuck you now, get my cock in this pretty little pussy of yours, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you baby, just be still and hold on for me-”

“God.” Eunbi startles at the touch of your cock running over her slick, and she starts blinking back into reality, legs bracketing around your hips. Do it - she’s gathering an angry fistful of shirt, pulling at your tie, clamoring for you, all desperation, no composure, as if your mistakes were made for her - do it, do it, and she breathes your name against your mouth, lips trembling, “please.”

Days, weeks, months maybe, the conclusion’s long foregone, inevitable: your cock sinks straight into her cunt.

Jesus. Fuck. Where to start? Eunbi’s eyebrows twist, lips part - with just a wicked, sharp breath of air, she immediately comes undone. So, that might be as good a place as any.

You know by the way she melts, the way her body is coiling tighter around you, clinging to you like you might be able to hold it all together - like you’re not fucking her open, pressing deeper inside her, hotter around you with every passing inch.  

“I cannot believe,” Eunbi starts, voice shredded, and the rest of it is so incoherent, so blathering and baleful, that you’re altogether unsure if it’s in protest of you ruining her cunt, or if you’re not ruining it enough. Even though she’s so unbelievably wet, she’s every bit as tight, and you end up prompting this unattractive groan from her throat when you motion your hips forward, just a fraction, before pulling back again. “Oh my-”

You’re trying not to laugh but it’s slipping out quietly, and Eunbi just glares at you, the vibrations from your diaphragm going straight between her legs, where she’s still throbbing and unduly sensitive. A few disheveled strands of her hair end up in your mouth as she fidgets about in your grip. A few more as you ease in further - until your balls are flush against her ass and Eunbi has both ankles hooked around your thighs. Beyond the sweltering heat of Eunbi’s cunt, you’ve got thoughts, photographically vivid, racing through your head: you lifting her small body up, getting your hands under her thighs and pounding her without remorse - turning her over and bending her over her sink, watching her tits bounce in the mirror, face wracked as she cums like that, and you’ll get there - just that right now, seating yourself in her pussy and nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck is more than plenty to hone in on.

“Fuck, your cock, it’s-” Eunbi sputters, and it takes a beat to even realize you’re completely inside her, right to the hilt.

And you aren’t making any more sense of how she trembles than of the fusillade of curses tossed in your general direction. Her legs remain locked behind you, holding you motionless - making it difficult to not laugh at her inanity on display, squirming graceless beneath you.

Incredible, is the conclusion you both come to as her cheeks flood again with color, and you start circling your hips into her, moving as much as the confines of her legs - the inelegant entrapment - might allow.

It’s almost cruel: Eunbi gasps when you end up brushing against her tender clit, and you pause, thinking- 

(Like this, half naked, dress bundled around her waist, you can take whatever you want. Every now and again you look up and see your reflection, see yourself towering over Eunbi’s lithe frame - oh, the options - they’re nearly endless.)

-she simply growls at you when you inch her hips forward from where they’re perched and do it again.

“I can’t fuck you unless you let go,” you tell her, ducking down and finding her breast with your mouth. 

“If I let go,” Eunbi starts, and her voice is jagged with strain, breath steadying, “are you actually going to fuck me, or are you just going to keep teasing?”

“Oh, Eunbi, believe me.” You’re kissing up her chest, her collarbones, pressing your lips sweetly to the hollow of her throat. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming, promise.”

Eunbi holds her gaze to yours, tips up her chin, and says, half daring, “I’m holding you to that,” and as her bind loosens, she tugs your face towards hers by the bottom of your tie. Hard - it’s hardly even a murmur as she leans in, pressing your brow to hers - harder. A rhythm emerges in your hips against hers, though it only complicates the demands: more, please, need it, don’t stop.

But the drag of it is amazing, your cock gliding through the wet heat of her cunt - squeezed tight onto you and fitting you like a glove. So tight, as if she’d been made for you, incomparably coiled around you, and it’s even more perfect as you start to truly fuck into her. Fast and deep and assuring you’d stay true to your word, that you’d get her fucking screaming with it. Each time you pull back and slam into her again, hard enough that she shifts half an inch toward the mirror, you’re listening to that wounded noise, keening out of her chest, punctuated by the way she shudders, bracing against you.

“God,” you rasp through gritted teeth, stealing a delighted moan as she spreads her legs wider for you, stealing several more. “This pussy, fuck, is incredible, Eunbi” - she’s so wet and turned on that you just fucking rail her, that she lets you, that she loves it, to the point where you’re reminding yourself to breathe - “what a good little cocksleeve you are, you’re so fucking wet.”

“Better?” Eunbi is struggling to stay upright, jaw slacked and slumping against the mirror like a puppet cut from its strings. “Better than her, right?”

“Hm,” you say, and the hesitation alone is enough for the corner of her mouth to pull up into a tiny smile. Something she knows she can hook into, something she can work with. “We’ll just have to see.”

There are tears visible at the end , and her words are quickly becoming slurred and mixed up as your fingers turn threats into reality, bruises at her waist, her thighs, her tits, her neck - you’re marking her like she’s yours, like it isn’t dangerous, like it doesn’t spell trouble for both of you. So when she musters the strength to perk up, look you straight on while you pound her cunt recklessly, and meekly say, “be honest,” it’s far too impossible to deny her anything.

“The best, Eunbi,” you start. She doesn’t know where the lip service starts, where it ends, but just hearing you mutter out her name is enough to get her swooning.

It’s not that you don’t understand the irony, that Minju is downstairs somewhere telling a hundred people she doesn’t know where you are, looking pretty and put together, and you’re saving your honesty for this girl, breaking her further to pieces with each thrust her into tight, sweaty body, each stroke into her sloppy, aching hole. You do understand it, and when Eunbi starts whining, sobbing, moaning, you just can’t be bothered to care. “So perfect on my cock, baby, now be good for me - show me how perfect this pretty little cunt is, want you to cum again for me, want to see what a mess you can be, Eunbi.”

You end up with a hand underneath her, the other in the lose waves of hair behind her head, fingers splaying out against the base of her skull, and - fuck, the new angle you settle into when you pull her tiny body up onto your cock, not to mention the depth - it’s wanton, lustful, it’s thoughtless: you’re fucking her so hard and fast that all she can do is throw is her arms around your shoulders and weave curses into her ragged breathing, thinning, threadbare, “oh fuck, oh, jesus, fuck yes, there, your fucking cock, just like that, fucking christ.”

She barely even has one foot on the ground, toes dangling onto the tile, you realize after you finish chastising her dirty mouth. Completely at your beck and call.

Not that it was ever going to make a difference. You fuck her harder, until she’s shaking with it, until she’s crying out, embarrassment long forgotten. She’s so fucked, breathy moans turning to screams, to whimpers, seams cracking into fissures - you’re not hurting her, but fuck if that isn’t the boundary you’re daring to cross. You bottom out in her pussy, over and over; you’re destroying it, ruining it, and she’s clinging to you like wet clothes, like it might soothe her, like her life depends on it.

Eunbi moans when you draw your hips back and nearly leave the perfect heat of her cunt. And when you bury yourself back into her, she writhes.

You look up from the shadowy spot where your cock is disappearing between her legs, and her eyes are flaring again, teeth sinking into her lip as you seek out her chest and start playing with her tits. There, she wants to say, eyelids hooded and voice purring, that’s more like it. But your thumb flicks at her nipple, pert and pointy, coaxing out a quieter reaction - quiet beneath the haggard recoil her body makes in order to sheathe your cock, the gentle tremor at the end of each thrust, stomach muscles contracting under your hand. It’s too much. She only closes her mouth. Lets it fall open again. Sighs.

“You’re going to cum again, aren’t you?” you ask, breath landing hot against her face, agitating the flush in her cheekbones. “You’re going to cum all over this cock.” It’s in those eyes; she’s so incredibly close, but Eunbi holds fast to what shred of dignity hasn’t since vanished out of sight, throat working hard to swallow, and she shakes her head, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

In fact, she’s murmuring nonsensically at you, and for a moment you see a hand on her neck, thumbprint searing into her throat, but the image fades as she moans again, hips jumping, palm slapping the sink. It’s the want, the need, for everything you have to give her, want for you inside her, maybe forever more - and want and want for anything that might release her pleasured agony. It’s fucking filthy.

So bend, you tell her, don’t break.

(You’ve never fucked anyone like this either, you think, not Minju, not anyone - fingers skating up the ridge of her back, face buried in the hair falling over her shoulder, taking careful note of how you’re taking Eunbi apart. 

How you might ever put her back together.)

“Shit,” she cries out sharply, spine arched and straining against you as - fucking finally - her orgasm rips through her. You’re watching carefully as you fuck into her quivering pussy, listening mostly, once the pressure starts to build behind your eyes. There’s your name torn from her lips (oh god), and how she starts to tremble (oh god), trying to draw you (oh god) deeper inside her while she (oh my fucking god) lets it flood through her.  

It’s a lot to take in. Near impossible to focus on any one thing. For fuck’s sake, even the smell of it is divine, of perfume and sex and vanilla and sin.

You’re grabbing Eunbi’s waist again, so hard she yelps, lips parting, struggling for breath every time you fuck her tight little pussy onto you, but she can’t quite say anything. Not yet. Your cock is still too hard, throbbing madly inside her, and she’s near the point of simply collapsing. 

You touch her mouth, tip it gently closed. And the docile way she looks up at you is a reminder that you had readied a quip, something about the mess between her legs, that she’s flustering and incoherent and sobbing and how it’s so unlike her. But it’s gone now. Lost to the lust and need crackling in your own brain, you figure. You’d been daydreaming a mile a minute about fucking Eunbi on a good day, and now you’re seeing her here, like this.

It takes the velvety drag through her cunt, once, twice, you’re pounding her so fast, not even trying to hold on, shortening your breath, biting your cheek, counting out the strokes - three, four, five -“Come on,” Eunbi manages in the spaces between her soft, bitten back moans, “do it, wanna feel that big cock fuck a creampie deep inside me, wanna feel your hot cum leak out of me.”

You really could. Because she feels fucking unbelievable, and now you’re imagining it: getting reckless and stupid and filling her perfect little pussy with all your cum; risk it, get her pregnant, you tell yourself, fuck it deep enough inside her to make it a certainty - the mental image alone is enough to send you over the edge. You’re sure of that. It has before.

“Eunbi,” you stammer, “this pussy feels… I’m gonna-”

“I know,” she murmurs, “I know.” Her eyes are glassy, mouth cocked back, half-smiling. “Do whatever you want.” Five foot nothing of immaculate pulchritude and irresistible peril, she looks pristine on the end of your cock, tits in your hands, brow sweating, mouth opening, telling you to cum, to do it, want you to cum, just fucking use her.

“Fuck,” you spit, slipping your cock out of her at the last moment - fucking into your fist - cumming. Messily. Explosively. Eunbi still choking for air in fits and starts, your other hand still wringing her waist.

Though it can’t be more than a few seconds, the difference between you releasing that load inside her and the way it instead winds up everywhere else: in her panties, against the swollen lips of her pussy, the crease of her thigh - how some leaks and spills down her leg, onto the floor beneath the sink. There’s a dress ruiner in you after all. “God,” you add, fighting exhaustion, and Eunbi simply crumples against you, kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before - a long, smooth slide of her lips that leaves you both gasping in its wake.

“So.” Eunbi’s hand is between her legs, assessing the damages, accounting the cum all over her and soaking through the fabric of her underwear. She just raises an eyebrow at you, charming, challenging. “You came all over me.”

“What, you really think I’d cum in you?”

Her eyes squint, and her nose scrunches. It’s winsome, in a way. 

Sure, she’s kind of a disaster - the once-carefully-styled waves of her hair are in tatters, makeup running in every direction, tits hanging out of her bra and spilling over the top of her dress, still barefoot and completely unfazed by it. Dismantled is a good look for her, even if she doesn’t appreciate it: reaching into her purse, this emergency kit of wipes, a mascara brush, lipstick. Raring to do a little triage.

“Yeah,” you insist, “you’re out of your mind.”

The droll laugh she gives you when you finally let her go is not antagonistic either, but as with a lot of those things Eunbi does, the click of her tongue, the haughty expressions, the mannerisms, they were all becoming less threatening and more fetching - possibly more now that you’ve seen the face she makes when she cums.

“I think it’s just force of habit.” Having slid from the sink and onto the floor, Eunbi pitches up on her feet to kiss you again, and you don’t try to fight it any more than if she had beaten you in some sporting game and extended her hand to shake yours. When she pulls her lips off you, she adds, “which, you know, serendipitous and all that.”

“Thanks for the ten-dollar-word.”

“Lucky,” she reiterates.

“I know what it means.”

“If I had to guess… Minju doesn’t let you, does she?” And it becomes immediately apparent to you what Eunbi’s playing at. She’s got her teeth sinking into the long game, anticipating that you'll cross your arms, tell her never again: that thing at the gala, the kissing - we can't.

“Can you stop.”

“Does she?”

“Um,” you say, considering carefully for a moment which half-truths you want to tell, which ones you already have. “No, she does.”

Eunbi shifts her body a little, toward you, but not quite close enough to touch you - she’s bending slightly at the waist to scoop her tits back into her bra, her dress. The corner of her lip quirks further, and she asks, completely unrepentant, “does she let you cum in her ass?”

Your throat clicks, swallowing - you can’t even imagine it well enough to begin to know how to lie about it; bashful, everything obvious and on display - so, yeah, you are kind of fucked.

-

“Your shirt isn’t buttoned right by the way.”

“Here,” you say, still stuffing fabric back into your pants, “stand in front of me in case someone we know happens to come around.”

Eunbi crowds you to the wall, almost too aggressively, and she watches a staff member of the venue walk by carrying a platter full of shrimp tails and used napkins. “You’ve got cum on your pants too.”

“One crisis at a time, okay.”

“What are you going to tell Minju?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean… what is your approach, like when we get over there and-” Eunbi takes a step forward, fitting so perfectly beneath your chin, looking up like she’d discovered something worth marveling at. “Oh my god.” She laughs out loud. “How did I get a hickey under there?”

With just one finger returning to her waist, far gentler than the last time it’d been there, you push her back ever so slightly. “I’m just going to be myself.”

“Hm, bad idea.”

“Oh, alright then.”

Eunbi clutches a hand over her chest like she’d been wounded. “I just mean you’re kind of a nervous wreck.”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her, now properly buttoned, and sliding out from her small-yet-surprisingly-overbearing presence. “And I told you, I bruise easy.”    

“Yeah, no kidding.”

-

History, is the word you’re looking for. Minju and Eunbi have history.

It always starts the same way:

A kiss to one cheek, the other, and the two are immediately falling back on placid smiles and the kind of laughter that seems at a glance to be genuine and real. Almost theatrical, the performance. 

Though Eunbi’s always had that chip on her shoulder - says she knows what it’s like to be young and pretty and famous - and when they’re together Minju always manages to draw from this near-infinite supply of bashful and modest. Actually, that’s more or less her whole thing. 

The mistake you figure, if anyone were to ask you, which no one has one yet - the mistake is in thinking you’re the only one that knows Minju can’t stand Eunbi. Even though she does a great job of hiding it, you might be singular in regards to who gets to hear Minju go off in the privacy of your apartment - arrogant, vain, conceited bitch - but you’re not alone here. No, no.

Because Eunbi - who is perfectly aware just how much disdain Minju has for her - catches your stare. And instead of being content with how you’ve found the ideal spot to stand off to the side to avoid this whole minefield of a situation, she waves you over. Way too enthusiastically.

That has always set her apart. She would invite mischief, if she thought that it would set the scene.

-

It’s not more than a week before your paths cross again. Perhaps you’re tangling with fate. Perhaps it’s out of your control. Perhaps, you consider carefully, that’s more convenient. You see her first: waiting for a cab at the taxi stand outside the broadcast studio, cardigan sliding down around her shoulders, verily bedraggled in the wind.

The ends of her hair are in the corners of her mouth, and those long shadows cast from the evening sun dance across her face to paint those features baroque, build an image serene and stately - statuesque.

(She’s stunning as ever.)

That Eunbi is even here of all places is a coincidence, but her dimples deepen when her eyes meet yours, like she’s finally found something she was long looking for. “How serendipitous,” she says to you again, smiling.

“Right.” You grimace back, self-effacing. “Lucky.”

“You know,” she says after a moment, “our apartments really aren’t that-”

“Far,” you say, seeing the conclusion that she’s leaping at, and the next to make things become extremely complicated is Eunbi, which is so her that it makes your fists clench in your jacket pockets without realizing it.

“It’d be cheaper, I’m just saying, if we split a cab.”

“What if I told you,” you say, after a long while, “I get reimbursed for the commute either way.”

“Do you?”

“No,” you end up saying, bluntly.

“So, purely a hypothetical,” she suggests, leaning into your personal space, and your eyes drop immediately, past her bare shoulders, past the neckline of a matching top, pointedly to her knees beneath a pair of denim shorts. Her whole outfit is simple, but with a figure like hers, clearly intended to provoke a reaction, one that you’re not going to give her. You’re above that. 

“Yeah.” You tilt your head. “Sure.”

Her finger’s tapping at her chin, and it’s sort of cute the way she does it, making the gesture seem about half as patronizing as it should be. “Then just for good company’s sake?

“You-” It comes out uneven enough to get you chuckling to yourself, kind of nervously. Her eyes light up as you swallow back on your drying mouth - a beacon, lighthouse in a storm, safe harbor, siren’s call and all. Your gut is trying to tell you, danger, and then suggests you dive in headfirst. “You might be giving yourself too much credit.”

“Just entertain the thought for me.”

“Like a hypothetical, you mean.”

She laughs, and it has her eyes crinkling at the corners. Likable, you think immediately. Beautiful, right after that, and coincidence, as it were, ends there - just as abruptly.

You’ve made many selfish decisions in your life, but climbing into the back of that cab might be the most out of all of them - Eunbi just smiles when you arrive next to her. You never stood a chance against that, probably. It’s the Orpheus thing. The monkey’s paw thing. It’s not possible to lean out of a moving vehicle enroute toward collision, stop the wheels from spinning when they’re already spun, and unmake the wish. 

The blur of passing street lights streak across Eunbi’s face and present it to you in broken images, cycling like phases of the moon, until finally, an overpass sees everything go dark, and you feel her small body slide across the backseat, the heat in her chest as she presses into you.  

Her lips are featherlight upon yours, gentle and trepid. For the first time, she seems unsure, as if she didn’t think this would happen. Then once more, with a taste of desperation and sinking into the dark corner of the leather seat, she kisses you like she knows you, pulling tight onto the collar of your shirt like she knows you’ll kiss her back - like she knows that all you’ve been doing, at the end of the day, is delaying the inevitable.

-

Eunbi’s apartment, actually, is rather modest. More different, and less however you expected.

The walls are painted alabaster, not white, which is only a color you recognize because Minju had waffled between that and eggshell for weeks before tasking you to paint three of the four walls of your living room - only later to realize she wanted something darker as you were priming the fourth. There’s a small powder room by the door, a tiny closet overflowing with jackets and coats and all sorts of outfits you’ve probably stripped off Eunbi in your head a thousand times over - and what the space lacks in size, more than makes up for in the massive set of south facing windows, benefit of an open layout, daylight warm and diffuse.

Well, at least that’s how you imagine it. The sun set while you weren’t paying attention, your thoughts, hands, lips, all preoccupied in the back of the cab, so you’re left with only the recessed lighting, dimmed down to dreamlike allure.

Not that you've ever been one with an eye for detail. No, Minju will happily corroborate the fact. Your talents start at your wit, end at your charm. But it’s just where you’re at - head tipped over the back of the sofa - you’ve got your eyes anywhere besides where Eunbi’s kneeling in front of you, head bobbing up and down between your thighs. 

In spite of your plans to fold her over any surface sturdy and horizontal, you ended up like this, jeans not even half way down around your thighs. On instinct, you’re threading your fingers through her silky hair, though you can feel the glare she shoots up as you tighten your grip and start to pull. It’s not that Eunbi takes issue with you fucking her face inherently. It’s nothing like that at all.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” you murmur softly, voice wrecked. “You take my cock so well. Your smart little mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?”

Between messy kisses in the cab, the lobby, the elevator, while fumbling for her keys, she’d detailed to you all the things she wanted you to do to her, how she wanted you to fuck her, how she was going to make you cum. See, her mouth is gorgeous, even more vulgar, and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip: you’d understand exactly what that mouth could do. 

Because there’s the angle you’re now both familiar with, that you can fuck her apart, get her flushed, faltering and fucked into perfect submission until you steal your own release - that you’ve been running the memory back all damn week - but she figures you ought to know that she can make you cum without you ever needing to lift a finger. And given how sure she is running her tongue all over you, sucking your cock, mouth hot, unashamedly sloppy, fingers curled around your shaft in strokes of genius-

Fuck, she probably will.

Not that you’re one for understatement, mouth falling open as you sigh backward into the upholstery - feels amazing, you’re explaining to her when you’re not chewing your lip, so good at that, a little more, your mouth baby, fuck, it’s incredible. Like she doesn’t already know. 

Eunbi just slides her lips down your shaft so perfectly in response. All that wet suction near fatal. But it’s not what gets you to swear audibly, a low rumble from your chest that says she’s on the right track. It’s the look on her face: pouty pink lips cushioning your cockhead, parted around your shaft, sinking further now, back at the top again, spit drooling from the corners of her mouth. Her eyebrows are upturned, and when she hollows her cheeks some - lifts her eyelids and fixes that gaze on you - her irises are gleaming in juxtaposition, this doe-eyed girl blinking up at you, innocently, like she’s not taking your cock further into her mouth, fucking you until she chokes. 

Those eyes half-lidded, unknowing, and staring straight into you- 

She’ll make you cum, they read, blinking, deep in her throat. Her lashes flutter. She coughs. You’ll cum more.

Though for your part, it’s not like you’re aren’t handing yourself over to the sensation either, indulging in everything Eunbi’s mouth has to offer, what more you’re sure still to take. It’s hot and wet and her tongue is even better licking around the tip of your cock than it was pressed flat underneath it - you’re settling into it, just starting to rock your hips up to meet the softness at the back of her throat, and she nods her head down twice more, bathing more of you in her spit each time, sputtering. You’re not the easiest to take, but she’s almost casually contented, or something more smug, the uppish look of a girl who's never backed away from a challenge - who will happily go for more - and without fuss, she takes your entire length between her lips. 

“Oh, fuck me-” you mutter, going speechless the moment she starts to suck.

And with her nose to your belly, Eunbi is straining, fighting for breath. It’s not an accident that she’s making a total fucking mess, drool and precum dripping down your shaft. She’d take more of you, wet on her chin, on her fingers, she’d pull you further into her little mouth, like she’d have it no other way. Still, her tongue licks nonchalantly past the seal of her lips, laps at your balls, and you think you’re going to lose it when she realizes it’ll get you to shiver, how you won’t ask for more, but she can just keep doing it again, again.

You bury your face in your hands as you suck in your next breath. You’re leaking cum actually, only a little, and Eunbi just keeps blowing you like you aren’t.

Fantasies will never work again, not after this, because for all the times you’ve imagined Eunbi’s lips around you, you’ve never come up with anything remotely close. It’s not even clear if this talent of hers is natural, god-given, or if behind each of her coy expressions and holier-than-thou moments of proud eminence she’s secretly an insatiable cockslut, but man, the girl is really good at sucking cock.  

Maybe the tricky part about this, if you even want to begin to get into it (you do not) - allowing yourself a small taste of intimacy has sparked this want for so much more. Even when things were good, Minju wasn’t getting her mouth on you like this. You can’t put your finger on it, the last time you’ve had anything as satisfying as the press of Eunbi’s lips around you, this mess of dark slippery hair bobbing up and down in your lap lazily and unbothered, mouth making all these wet noises like she’s yours and nothing more - like she never will be - and fuck, it’s irresistable. Her tongue curls around you again, and she makes her jaw go slack until more spit drools down the length of your cock, lathering in her fingers and twisting around your shaft - it scratches at itches you didn’t even know you had; nascent itches, silent ones, itches cloaked as something else.

Your breath stutters, stumbling into an embarrassing little moan after Eunbi pops her mouth off your cock, and a fleeting trick of a grin rushes across her face. She picks up on where you’re at instantly: “Aren’t you, like, kinda quiet?”

“There’s a lot going through my head right now,” you tell her, and that’s something she knows she can play along with, reveling in how you swallow at nothing when she hooks her hand behind her back and frees her bra from her shoulders. Her tits settling perfectly into place. “Just to be clear,” you sigh, “I’m going to cum in your mouth if you keep doing it like that.”

She tugs your jeans all the way down to your ankles. Arches an eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s called being decent, just something I'm working on.”

“Oh,” Eunbi says, returning her grip around your cock. Her hands are tiny, stacked one on top of the other, and she pumps them slowly, knowing that the abundance of spit and precum in her fingers makes it feel amazing. Every little flick of her wrists every bit as unbearable. “Now you care about decency; the guy who’s cheating on his-”

“Watch it,” you say, rough, “I could go without the reminder.”

Eunbi’s grin flickers a little wider. “Still the guilty conscious, huh?”

You think on it, a moment too long probably, because on one hand, she’s right. On the other - “I’m not going to say it’s guiltless.”

“Okay simple,” Eunbi shrugs, and pulls herself away from you, suggesting, “just touch yourself.” 

That’s one way to go about it. You wonder if this is the logic her brain operates on daily. It’d explain a lot.

“That’s like getting away with it on a technicality.”

“It’s an orgasm,” Eunbi tuts, “you’re not robbing a bank.” There’s a brief silence while she brings her palm up over her eyes, peeking through her fingers. “Here, see, I’m not even looking.” 

“I’m going to go ahead and just point out that you’re suggesting I jerk off in your living room.”

Eunbi’s hands drop to her sides, before tracking up her ribs and holding her breasts together into a cleavage that is way too inviting for anyone’s sake. You’re enchanted. Beguiled, maybe.

“Or.” Her gaze tapers in on something. God only knows what exactly your tell is; the quirk in your brow, the slightly-more-than-usual-avoidant gaze, something about your lips, the way you’re biting them - that’s where she seems to have honed in. And she’s smoking you out, completely. “I could probably just fuck you with my tits.”

That’s true. She could. And when that developed thought eventually coheres, you sigh profoundly.

She tips her head, interpreting the silence, and the small, wanting groan you make as she starts smashing her breasts closer together between her hands is definitely audible. Here, she’s telling you, with your cock, I know you want to. Even her lips are slanted into a subtle, knowing shape, steeped in all her femme-fatality, before finding the other smile she wears that pretends like it doesn’t know what she’s doing to you. “Is that what you want? You want your cock between my tits?”

“How exactly are those two things interchangeable?” you start, which isn’t anything even in the neighborhood of a no, so Eunbi simply leans forward, raising her chest between your thighs and teasing the sensitive part of your cock with just a brush of her nipple. Grazing down you, it’s hardly any contact at all, but the way you twitch suggests to her you’ll probably never recover from this. 

“Well.” Eunbi’s expression is lit aflame with revelation. “I’m just working in the space, thinking about things someone else could never do for you - things I could do for you.” 

For one thing - of which there are many - it’s a hell of a departure from the Eunbi who was sobbing against the bathroom mirror begging you to cum inside her. You can hear it. Her voice has the quality of a type of: victory. 

(Like she’s just come up with the most brilliant idea in the world. Which - maybe.)

“It’s perfectly normal you know,” she adds, almost as an aside, while trapping your cock between her breasts. “Literally everyone asks me to do this.”

You’re disarmed more than you realized, only able to nod along. Eunbi laces her fingers together, straightens herself, and right after passing her tongue under her top teeth to shoot you a smile, starts moving up and down against you. The way it feels, filthy hot and suffocatingly amazing, fuck, you’re letting out a sound that’s the bastardchild of a laugh and a whimper. You’re stunned. And the way it looks - your cockhead escaping her tits, disappearing again - is almost, almost the best part. 

“You’re, like, so hard right now,” she says, deservedly confident, and sliding her tits up around your cock again, she tilts her chin, trying to goad it out of you. “Should I let you cum all over these tits? Like, you’re already throbbing, honey.”

Let you cum, she says. If you weren’t struggling to cope with everything - every pass of soft skin smothered around your shaft sending you further to wit’s end and threatening to abandon you there - you’d recognize the writing on the wall: you’re in the palms of her hands, figuratively, literally. You’re in trouble.

“Oh, is that it?” she asks again. “Should I?”

“Fuck.” Without even thinking, you’re spreading your knees wider, inching toward the edge of the sofa, aching to get deeper between her cleavage. “Fine, yes, fuck-”

“Unh-uh,” says Eunbi flippantly. 

See, she’s enjoying this - eyes hot and radiant with authority - she’s enjoying this more than you. Her fingers relax, letting her tits fall around down onto your thighs. The pressure she was letting you enjoy, wrapping around your cock and making you speechless, starts to dwindle to something less brain-numbing. It’s unexpected: the lipstick around her mouth is smeared slightly, mascara under her smoky eyes still in disarray from how you’d had your cock in her throat, and now she’s the one taunting you.

“No, I’m serious,” she adds, “I want to hear you say it.”

Her brow furls immediately when you open your mouth, like she’s already very aware of what you’re going to say, and equally unimpressed.

“Say you want me to make you cum with my tits.”

“Eunbi.” Your voice comes out dry, damaged. “Please.”

“Hm?”

This wasn’t quite how you had pictured it when you’d seen Eunbi leaving the studio, looking like an angel, smiling like the devil; when she batted her lashes at you outside the taxi stand; when she clung to you and kissed you in the backseat of the cab; when that escalated the moment you walked through her foyer; when she dropped to her knees and started at your belt, your zipper, all without missing a beat. This is different. This is you, being desperate. 

“Please, with your tits Eunbi, fuck me with your tits.” 

Jesus. Now you know how that sounds. And the words are clear enough given the circumstances, but she’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for more. Waiting for you to concede. Waiting like you have no choice - “please, Eunbi, please make me cum, fuck, I need it so bad.”

“Oh.” Eunbi gathers herself again around your cock. Tighter. Triumphant. She laughs dryly and says, aloof, “good boy.”

-

(Here’s how it goes:

Eunbi has your cock vanished into her cleavage, again, and every soft slide of her breasts coaxes a reaction out of you - some quiet, others louder - coaxes more precum from where your cock is aching, leaking. She adjusts her fingers, moves her palms in further, makes her movements more precise, faster, tighter- 

It’s probably not a good sign of mental hygiene that you’re wilting so fast, that you’ve given her so much power so quickly, but the way she has her tits around you is fucking staggering.

“Aw, don’t worry, I’ll make you cum so fucking hard.” Eunbi moves her tits up your shaft. Lets them fall again. “Just relax for me.”

Her dark hair is falling slightly out of place over her ears as she looks down and presses her out tongue out, licking gently at where you’re appearing over and over from her soft breasts. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing, you think, even though there’s not an ounce of culpability in her face. You’re so unused to seeing Eunbi appear so guileless that you nearly don’t recognize her. 

But once you feel the smooth skin of her chest become so wet and slippery with her spit, your precum  - once she’s settled into a reliable motion to fuck you with - her eyes lift their focus from what’s just beneath her chin. Get themselves fixed right on you. 

“It feels so good doesn’t it?” The smirk that finds her mouth is lethal. “C’mon. I know you want to cum.”

You can only nod, breath panting.

“Cum on these perfect tits, baby. Cum for me.” Her brow is cocked, voice lilting straight into seduction. “Cum-”

Eunbi’s name sticks to the roof of your mouth as you shoot a rope of cum past her collarbone. You send more all over her chest, hot and sticky and shimmering in pale white, and as soon as she slowly slides her chest up again, you drain your balls into the warm wrap of her tits. A truly satisfying mess. 

You stare for a moment, wondering, if she’ll open her mouth and swallow you again - all given the way she’s looking at your cock, hungry. But she simply tilts her chin and lets your cum splash onto her neck.

She has her hands pumping you lazily against her clavicle, cooing while she gently fuck out the final, tired vestiges of your orgasm with little flicks of her wrist: “oh, there, look at all that, and it’s all for me.”

Once your knees stop shaking and your breath starts to level - once Eunbi releases you from her warm, wet cleavage - she draws a shiver out of you with her tongue, run up the length of your sensitive cock, and she’s left kneeling there, covered in your cum, with her palms upturned like she’s waiting for someone to give her a towel. It’s you, and it’s her, and there’s something about the image of your cum splattered all over her chest, shining and slippery between her perfect tits. You get your hands on her waist immediately, pulling her up into your lap, her slick, sticky chest sliding against yours, and you devour her mouth greedily, licking hungrily past her lips.

“You are something else,” you say finally, now sunk back into the couch to fully take Eunbi in. “All sorts of party tricks.”

Eunbi preens, utterly satisfied with herself, and she reaches down behind her to your cock, aching in pained pleasure, aching for more. You flirt with the heat that radiates from behind her underwear, grinding against where she’s become hot and wet and needy. She laughs, and the sound turns to a pretty little sigh after she pulls aside her panties and seats herself onto your cock. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says, and she starts to move.)

-

It’s never supposed to become a habit. It’s never supposed to be anything at all.

At first? Once a month, and it’s unprompted; then it’s biweekly, then it’s once a week, then it ends up biweekly again in the opposite direction; there are these little text messages back and forth that you’re learning to decipher - hey, they usually start, you up? or you wanna help me move some furniture? or this is crazy, but i cooked way too much ramen? or been horny all day, so like, come over and fuck me? 

Some of them, you puzzle out, are easier to decipher than others. And falling comfortably into that category are the nudes she sends you in the middle of a fucking workday: 

Eunbi’s standing with the backside of her unfathomable figure facing the bathroom mirror, denim cut offs slipping down past her thighs-

(Fuck. Shit. You drop your phone and it lands face down in a way that makes you scared to check for damages. Luckily, it is unscathed. Mostly.)

-denim cut offs slipped down past the cheeks of her ass. Her torso is twisted in profile, a white linen shirt draped up over her shoulders for ceremonial purposes, gaping open at the front in an effort to cover nothing at all. Underneath that is a plaid swimsuit top for god knows what reason - a pair of large silver hoop earrings, perfectly done eyelashes, and hair far too styled to be gearing up for a swim - then it’s her thumb, hooked under the string that looks to barely be holding the tiny thing together. The picture is taken at nearly the precise moment: she’s pulling up on the bikini top, to the point that her tits look ready to fall out and let gravity return them whence they came. 

How she managed it, you’ll never know, but it’s got fantasies come to life immediately. Eunbi whimpering and coming apart, Eunbi stretched out in that bikini top, Eunbi stretched out without it - you nearly drop the phone again.

The text that follows is shameless, complete with a winking emoji and extra letters in all the right places: maybe tell minju you’ll be home late for dinner.

All of this, and suddenly you’re feeling less oblivious about it. You and Minju are at that point. These are your death throes, a swan song, performative; you’re that kind of couple.

-

You realize there’s this thing that Minju always says. 

You’ll often catch her in passing, between your hectic schedules or in her spot between the cushions of the sofa curled up in a blanket and reading another romance novel. She’ll ask you how your day was, or what it’s going to be, and you’ll tell her what you always tell her.

“Nothing,” she responds as you press a dutiful kiss to her forehead, “I’m just thinking.”

-

But what else is there to say?

There’s Eunbi’s apartment, the usual scene of the crime. There’s the backseat of your car, sometimes the front seat of hers. There’s no lack for nooks and crannies in the production studio. You fuck Eunbi. Eunbi fucks you. All of it rabid and increasingly frequent and most of the time it gets seriously freudian.

“Inside me,” Eunbi gasps, twice. Her chest is flushed, stained again with your cum, sticky strands of it bridging between her tits as they wobble and shake beneath you. It’s all routine, and none of it anything you could ever tire of. The way you’re fucking her, every deliberate thrust something you can hang on to forever - buried inside her hot, tight velvety cunt - it should be aspirational. And you’ve got her here so frequently, so selfishly, so perfectly. With her knees folded up to her shoulders as you ride the motions of the bed springs. 

Maybe it’s curiosity at play, to see how far either of you will go. You’re crushing her in more ways than one. It’s hot and filthy and she’s loving every moment of it. You’re pounding her sopping cunt into a swollen, cummed-in mess - more and more as you fuck her further into the matress. “Do it, baby,” she cries, unashamed, “want you to fill this pretty little cunt again, need you to fuck me, use me, need you to breed me - use this pussy however you want, it’s yours, so cum in me over and over until i’m just your little cumdump and nothing more-”

God, you want to give her everything she wants, all of the time. Your hips ride into her again, deep and making her features skip past all the usual coy expressions. And god, she is so fucking tight - maybe you will.

“Just like that, don’t stop.” Eunbi is panting, nails digging into your shoulder blades, and she holds your face to the crook of her shoulder. Her voice comes out in airy gasps, shaking and quivering as you rock her entire body beneath you. You pound away at her pussy, and you fuck her, and you rail her so reckless she starts to cry out, until she’s begging, pleading for you to fill her pretty little cunt.

Even though you should at least hesitate, you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Hips grinding against hers, cunt clenched and dripping onto your cock, you do.

You need her.

-

But what else is there to say? It’s not that you don’t do your fair share of thinking either. Though none of it productive, admittedly. You’ve got all these images, photographically vivid, of Eunbi running through your head. The things you’ve done to her, the things you want to do to her, the things you will do to her. 

It starts to get in the way of your work.

“I’m sorry,” you say, caught daydreaming one day. “Could you repeat that for me?”

Sitting across the table from you is Jo Yuri, a mutual friend. She knows everyone, and she’s on your radio show, talking about relationships. “What I’m saying is this: I’m not sure what it is about men that make them think women are so unsolvable, like we’re constantly changing the rules.”

“They’re not simple,” you offer in contention.

Yuri turns her head onto her hand, adjusting her headphones, and leans into the mic. “They’re not complex either.”

But, they are complex, you think to yourself as Yuri continues on her with her point. They’re complex in the way they want you to touch them, the way they want you to hold them, to kiss them; some of them complex in the way they want you to choke them, slap them, get your mouth on them and make them cum over and over-

“If it’s less subtle than a brick to the face,” Yuri says, gauging your lack of a reaction, “it’s probably for your own good. That’s what I think.”

-

Neither of you cry when Minju breaks up with you on a Friday. You know, like officially. Neither of you shout or throw things or do anything that you could put in a tell-all book in your later years.

So that’s that, is the last thing she says to you.

Whatever the opposite of cathartic is - that’s the vibe.

Her publicist finally sends a letter to Dispatch. Apparently the time is right. Or she’s stopped caring. You don’t know. The article that ultimately arrives doesn’t drag you through the mud, but you don’t come out looking all that great either. And as it turns out, surprisingly, the most tragic part about being dumped on a Friday, aside from the fact that every fool that is doom scrolling twitter knows about it, is it’s impossible to get new furniture delivered until the following Monday.

“Jesus,” Eunbi says, sliding past you and into your near empty apartment. “This place is super depressing.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, tepid. “There’s been photographers watching the door to the lobby for hours.”

“I was just passing by. Saw the lights were on.”

“Yeah, well, I mean I’m here.”

“I see that.” Eunbi smiles simply. “Was all the furniture hers?”

“We replaced a lot of stuff as time went on. Didn’t match her decor.” You lean against the door frame. “Or so I’m told.”

Eunbi does a spin in your living room, finger to her chin. “Looks like she left you a coffee table.” 

“The movers said it didn’t fit in the truck.”

“Ah.” Eunbi crosses her arms, and the quiet smile on her face grows just an inch. “Serendipitous, ain’t it?”

-

“Hey,” Eunbi says, from the passenger seat of your car. “Would you say… are you feeling anger?”

“No.”

She taps away at her phone in a few more moments of silence. The turn signal’s click click click punctuating each one, semi-dramatically.

“Hey,” she says again, turning toward you.

“What?”

“How about this, are you feeling depression.”

You pause before you answer. “No.”

Her mouth finds a subtle twist, almost like she’s pouting. “Are you feeling, I dunno, bargaining?”

“I’m not in grief, Eunbi, if that’s what you’re working toward.”

She sinks into her seat, disappointed somehow.

“Oh, that’s the first step by the way: denial.” Eunbi unclicks her seatbelt, and leans over the console as you pull up in front of a hotel. “This article says that soon the emotions you’ve been hiding will begin to rise. You’ll be confronted with a lot of-”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” she asks, blinking deceptively in an almost comically innocent way.

“Psychoanalyzing.” You shut the car door a little too dramatically to be of any help hammering home your point. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Eunbi murmurs, just low enough for you to catch, “you’re living out of a hotel. And denial is not just a river in Egypt.”

“Why don’t we analyze how you’ve got a real talent for getting under my skin.”

“Oh.” She laughs, eyes bright, cheery. “So we are angry.”

“You might want to be more careful.” You’re wandering into familiar territory here. This thing, the needling, the goading, is it on purpose? Your intuition suggests yes, perhaps. A wealth of experience tells you absolutely.

“Is that so?” she asks, interested and daring and dangerously pretty in the shadows of the parking lot.

“Who knows, maybe I end up getting a little rough with you.”

“Oh darling,” she says, and part of you isn’t too keen on her getting so intimate with you. There’s another part of you that is. “I’m hoping you get a lot rough with me.”

-

The way Eunbi perches inelegantly at the edge of the bed says a lot. Her legs are wide open and she’s grasping backward at a set of pristine hotel sheets, cumming over and over on your fingers, maybe a little too easily. She’s even giving you those eyes, watery and irresistable. Of course you’re past all that, well familiar with the act, how deceitful it is of her to act so innocent.

So you bring your mouth onto her pussy and make her do it again. Telling yourself it’s what she deserves.

In fact, when the barrage of oh god’s and moaning and panting finally subsides, she ends up laughing, bubbly cute, in exactly the way you’ve grown fond of. It’s almost strange, you think, to be so used to the sound. But when Eunbi finally uncovers her face from her hands, her expression is pointedly not amused, all need and lust and want - she’s not playing around - simply the way your name comes off her tongue could make you melt. “How do you want me?” she asks, “you can’t just leave me like this.”

Fuck, how don’t you want her? It might have been careless, giving someone like you creative liberty - you’re imaging everything. You want her on her knees, you want her ass in your hands, you want her riding you, beneath you; there’s a million and one things you’re thinking about her tits alone. Then there’s the other liberty. That you’re not checking over your shoulder, worrying, anxious, that kernel of shame hidden away somewhere inside you no longer growing as you get your cock inside her. You’ll make her scream your name, beg you to cum. She’s yours, and you’ll remind her who she belongs to. You’ll take all the time you need. 

“Stand up,” you end up telling her, and after one of those liquid thoughts finally coalesces into something more rigid, “over by the window.”

“Yes sir,” Eunbi says, huffing a smug laugh. Though whatever faux confidence she thought she discovered vanishes without a trace considering her knees are already wobbling, barely able to support her. Some part of her must be able to sense it: you’re worked up, feeling something. She likes you that way. Likes what it makes you do to her. The fact is, to be truly content - being held down and pounded into, filled so full and fucked apart - it’ll take just a press of her thumb on the scale. 

See, Eunbi knows you’ve been holding back. Knows you’ve been flirting with the boundaries she’s dared you to cross. With a little encouragement, she knows you will. 

You saw this coming. And to be frank, you’re going to ruin her.  

“Take your shirt off,” you say, slipping seamlessly into instruction, “socks, underwear, strip.”

It is breathtaking, the way Eunbi ultimately turns her figure around against the pane, hands running up the glass and stretching above her head, ass poked out and shimmying her hips. She’s right there, waiting for you to grab hold of her, to press kisses into her shoulders, her spine, to pump your cock into her, to cum in her deeper and deeper-

And with much less to say, she finds that shimmy again, the round of her ass proffering. Her patience waning.

“You fucking better,” she says, and her elbow’s bent, finger’s pulling at her ass cheek. Look, this pussy, it’s yours, no one else’s and you made it so, so wet. You almost can’t believe that she’s even real - all curves and sharp angles in the right places, a face like that - you should be at her feet, worshiping her, and you will, in a way: you’ll grip her wrists tightly into your fist and sink your fingers into her waist until you’ve got her bruising and breaking. And that’s just a scratch at the surface.

Eunbi’s pupils are blown, mouthing into her shoulder, “I need you to fuck me.”

The tension in the room hardly stretches more than a few moments, you’ve got your cock out, you’re slipping into Eunbi’s soaked cunt, pushing deep, thrusting deeper, bottoming out - “you perfect fucking slut, Eunbi, so needy aren’t you? Begging me to breed you over and over-” You’ve spent the last god knows how many many months hiding away and stealing at something you weren’t supposed to have. Spent even longer pining for something you’ve never had at all. Your hips snap again, harsh contact against her ass, skin milky white and soft, unblemished and delicate - and when you settle into this harsh tempo, railing Eunbi up against the window, you figure you’ll address all that. 

See, you’ve got no ticking clock in front of you. Consider how time starts to slip when you’re inside her, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, you’ll take as much you can: time to bring her her home, keep your cock in her for a day, two days, three days, keep cumming in all her holes-

“Fuck,” Eunbi sputters, arching her back further, tension building in her spine, in her cunt. The reflection in the window shows her bottom lip start to tremble, and she opens her mouth, repeating it, like it’s all she can remember how to say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

You slap her ass, hard. Handprint vibrantly pink and staring back at you. You kiss her shoulders, you pound her little cunt into consummate submission. I want other people to know, Eunbi’s entirely incapable of telling you right now, drool cornering in her lips. Want everyone to know how good you fuck me, how you own me, how I’m your personal cumdump and forever will be.

You mark her up, like she is yours, hand at her neck, in her hair - you start to pull.

“Yes?” How you’re holding her, how you’re fucking her - it’s physically imposing. You’re towering over the woman, face bent upward and reaching further as the grip you’ve stolen of her silky hair only ever tightens. You can kiss her forehead, but you don’t. You tease her instead. “Aw, you’ve got a look on your face like you have something you want to tell me, Eunbi.”

All too simple, your thumb lands on the pucker of her asshole. And she cums, just like that.

It’s unholy. The overstimulation has tears welling in her eyes, gorgeous, wide, glassy and brilliant. She’s not meant to take this kind of treatment. Reverence, adoration, that’s her usual faire. And she can hardly believe when you bring your hand down her ass again - can hardly believe that you’re fucking her within and inch of her life and wrecking her like you are.

Each thrust sends her voice higher and the lines of her body rippling faster, bending further. Its beauty in resonance, profundity in motion: the soft skin of her ass shaking against your hips, tits swinging against the window. Your hand snakes across her flat stomach, feels her panting for breath, traces her ribs and up towards her chest. Those little whines make it out to be something selfish. Mewling gasps for air make it seem like you aren’t giving her exactly what she asked for. As if you’d ever give her anything less. 

Fuck. She’s a hot, moaning mess of a woman. She doesn’t even roll her hips back onto you or fuck herself on your cock; she doesn’t need to. You’re destroying that little pussy, and once you start palming the heavy shape of her breast, you’re letting your fingers sink into all that profundity. 

“Please,” finally slips out of her, though she’s unable to add anything in that thin, wilting voice. There’s plea in it, the sound steeped in protest, in penury, in poverty; you’re fucking her and you’re fucking her apart - cock buried deep in her cunt - you never expected to have to piece her together this early.

“Tell me,” you demand, callous, right at her ear, “please what? Please pound this perfect little pussy of yours until I cum? Please fill you with a hot load of cum because what, you deserve it? Is that you want, Eunbi?”

“Please, cum-” Her words vanish like a hot breath against the glass. She’s blathering, eyes falling half-lidded in this amazingly sexy way that almost feels intentional. “Want to feel you cum. Fill me up with cum, please, please, please-”

“Oh, Eunbi,” you drawl, right into the crook of her neck. It makes her shiver. She’s not a princess, curses woven into her breath, but she’s selfish like one. “I’m not going to cum in this perfect little pussy-”

It all happens so fast: you drag your cock out of her cunt, and if you weren’t pressing your fingers into her waist, holding her tighter, you think she might collapse. Maybe you were closer than you realized, moments from draining your balls in her pussy, because when you lay cushioned between the cheeks of her ass, your cock just starts to spill - hot cum weeping from the tip and making a mess of her soft, creamy skin, over the puffy lips of her pussy, across the tight little rim of her asshole.

“Good girls get bred, Eunbi,” you say, voice drying, sensitive, and so far from where you started. “You told me to be rough with you baby. I’m thinking I might cum in this perfect fucking ass. Should I?”

Eunbi’s face is flush against the glass, hands reaching back in response, spreading herself for you. Some part of her knows what you want, and she knows how bad she wants it too. “Please,” she begs, swallowing down on these hoarse uneven breaths, hiccupping between them - “need it.”

You can feel your tip tease her rim, where she’s still impossibly closed and waiting. The cum leaking from your cock is wet and slick and slippery, and with a fist curled around your shaft, realigned, angled down, you slip in.

There aren’t even words for it, how it all comes together. How she comes apart.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, recognizing Eunbi’s weight shift around you. “I’m going to fucking own this little asshole, Eunbi.”

Eunbi’s responsive mmm runs ragged. Face in profile against the window, tits smashed against the glass, you watch her eyes screw shut and her eyebrows draw together - you think for a moment, as you so often do, that you’re hurting her, blazing past safewords and pressing your cock too deep, too fast into her tight ass. “Go,” she tells you, and without even flinching, gets her fingers underneath where you’re splitting her in two, gets them wet with the slick of her cunt and in between your balls, gently. “Want you, please, this big cock.”

Your eyes water, and you start to thrust.

“Baby,” you whisper into the lobe of her ear. For once it’s all slow, sloppy and soft. It’s sin at your waist, fucking her open slowly, pumping into her ass again and again until it’s all so slick she can take you further. But you’ve got your fingers in her hair, preening loose strands back behind her hair. She’s so pretty all the time, and with her face twisted in unbearable pleasure, she’s outright gorgeous. “So good for me, Eunbi, such a good little cumslut aren’t you?”

Eunbi’s voice crackles into broken whimpers, like her lungs are waterlogged and flooded. She steals a hand away between her thighs, and starts ghosting her fingers over her clit. Anything more than that and she’d probably go up in smoke. (If it’s anything like you, cock pulsing with blood and hot as flame, you are about to lose it.)

“Fuck,” she says, grinding out the consonants in your name like she’s crushing them under a boot, “I can’t believe how good you feel, I can’t, I can’t-”

You knew, had always known, that you had - however subconsciously - enticed fate by letting yourself get to this point. Maybe it’s a perfect slowburn, this history, dotting commas and periods in your memoirs, and here you are, pounding at Eunbi’s asshole so fast that she’s stuttering.

“I can’t, fuck - thank you - fuck - feel you throbbing in my fucking ass - love being your cocksleeve,” she hisses, and her body has practically all but given up, knees buckled out, arm dangling at her side, tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s just that she never expected it either, that you’d be pleasing her by fucking her like a toy, so unrepentant she’s sobbing messy, all sloppy and pleading, more, please, harder, faster.

“You like this cock tearing your ass open, Eunbi?” you ask, pushing the hand she has hidden at her cunt out of the way, “you like being such a perfect slut for my cock, don’t you? You weren’t kidding, you’d let me do anything to you.”

“Please, don’t, you’re gonna make me - again,” she squeals, lip wobbling, mouth hung open. You push her hard against the glass, until she straightens out, and your finger is gliding through the slick of her cunt, knuckles knocking the window and honing in on her swollen clit - you’ll make her scream. “Oh god, fuck, oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Serendipity is about chance meetings, convenient covers. Life has a way of dropping the world in your lap without you having to do anything. It’s Eunbi’s picture-perfect face, wrecked and twisting as she cums all over your thighs, rolling her hips and fucking her ass onto you - it’s that when she cums with her puckered entrance stuffed full of cock, she squirts everywhere. Lucky, is the watchword you’re sitting on, and of all places, of all people, you’ve been dealt the perfect hand, deck stacked in your favor.

There’s wet splattered all over the window. Stains streaking in the carpet. Dark spots that’ll never fade.  

“Keep fucking me,” Eunbi says, head of jet black hair titled back onto your shoulders, hips twisting slow as she grinds down against your waist, moving enough to make your cock throb and pulse. “Keep fucking me, please, until you fill my ass up all the way. I’m yours.”

Yours, yours, yours, she stammers on, failed and wrecked on your cock. Malleable and pliant. Ruined. 

“This tight little ass of yours, Eunbi,” you mutter, drawing sharp breath after sharp breath, “is fucking unbelievable.”

It’s yours.

Her body twists, torso turns into you, and you get your mouth on hers, moaning and mewling on the same hot, damp air.

“Good girl,” you whisper against her lips, and with a final kiss to her temple, you fuck into her hard - hands snuck up to hold her breasts and keep her still, hips snapping fast, faster, faster-

When you finally explode up into Eunbi’s ass, she makes a noise fucked and faltering even further than you. It’s desperate and debauched and only staunched by the fingers you slip past her lips. She bites down, but you’re too far pitched into the reality of pumping cum past Eunbi’s tight entrance that you can’t be bothered to care.

“Fuck, Eunbi.” Your voice is sneaking through gritted teeth. She’s tiny against you, body slender and hot and milking your cock. A flash of muscle, a quiver, a pucker, and she’s got you reeling. You think about getting your hand around her throat - fucking her again - but the look her face is so pristine and contented. You have her like putty in your hands, like you could bend her, mold her, break her, and when you instead bring her face to yours in this lazy, clumsy kiss, lips sliding and her tongue licking into your mouth, you know you’d never need to.

See, she’s so dismantled, completely stuffed with cock, and still, with it leaking everywhere you can feel it run hot and sticky, it’s perfect. 

The hotel room isn’t big, and until this exact moment, had been so filled with sex that the the sounds of it echoing back and forth make this sudden quiet into a silence puzzlingly calm. Her features relax, into something a little more befitting her reputation. She’s sweaty and wet and you did your part, you fucked her and fucked her up, you realize, she’ll return you the favor later. 

You hold your breath, watching the beauty mark on her cheek raise and lower with every panted-out breath, mesmerized-

And with just the slightest shift, Eunbi’s mouth closes into this tiny, satisfied smile.

“You came inside my ass,” she says out loud. She tries not to laugh, and then she does anyway when you slide your cock out of her. “You just came - in my ass. Look.”

It’s almost unfathomable, that you just fucked her until she was sobbing, pushed your cock into her ass and had her uncoil like she did, the window, the carpet. Like a fucking disaster. It’s almost unfathomable that she’s got her hands spreading her cheeks open toward you and presenting the mess you’d made like it was something to be proud of, and after all that the mood of the moment shifts a little more intimate, a little more sentimental.

“You’re trouble,” you tell her, tilting her chin up under your fingers.

“Right back at you,” she says, and she pitches onto her feet until you kiss her again.

-

(It happens.

Time passes. You work on a new show. You move into a smaller apartment. It reeks of passed time. Maybe it’s the humidity of early sobriety, hanging and palpable. You can hear ticking in clockless rooms here.

It’s been years since Minju dropped the bombshell on the media. You recovered, mostly. Years too since you’ve seen Eunbi.

Sometimes the people you wanted as part of your story are only meant to be a chapter. You could probably stitch that into a frame and sell it to the kind of crowd who’d buy words in a frame.

You don’t.

Instead, you end up a little older, not in any meaningful way. You’re not wiser or any shit like that. Just older.)

-

You interrupt the producer of your current gig, a pretty middling radio show in a pretty mundane time slot. “What do you mean by new cohost? Like I’ll be working with another human being?”

He nods.

“Like every week?”

Nods again.

“Does he have a name?”

“She,” he corrects, writing judiciously at the clipboard permanently in his hands. Scowl on his face, pencil in his ear, clipboard in his hands, that’s how you know he’s in charge. It’s a whole look. He untucks a blank envelope from the disarray of papers in his hands, saying, “she dropped this off for you too.”

You turn it in your hands twice, until you see the cursive penned into the top right corner. Memories, stinging trifling things rush back to you, all at once: you see her face, her eyes are closed, she’s smiling, she’s a thought you’d tucked away for good, and now you’re wading through it like you hadn’t. 

Serendipitous.

[lovelybrooke]

Hey, I’m hoping I can request a one shot where the couple from good omens had to take the reader in for the night because the parents had a last minute thing they needed to do and they didn’t have anyone else who could help them. Maybe what they would do all night and what the couple would take about in private.

Thanks!

Proof I Don't Hate You (Platonic Yandere Good Omens)

---

Yeah sure, here you go. Also I literally can't remember if Aziraphale lived above his shop or not, so if I'm wrong let's just pretend.

I made this very Crowley focused so--sorry If that's not what you wanted.

Masterlist

---

"A-Are you sure you're okay with this? We really don't want to bother you with anything, my sister can--" 

"Mrs! Please--it's no problem to me at all, I promise." You watch as Mr. Fell attempts to soothe your mothers worries. Your father has been sick for the past few days, and after waking up in the middle of the night with a fever of 105 degrees, you all knew it was best if he got to a hospital as soon as possible. Mr. Fell had given you his number in case of emergencies, so you were quick to message him about the whole ordeal. He responded almost immediately, assuring him that it was fine for you to stay in his home above the bookshop. 

For a moment you thought it was weird how quickly he responded, but your mother wasted no time shoveling you all into the car and driving as fast as legally possible towards the bookshop. Even while concerned over her husband, your mother was worried about bothering your boss. 

"You're positive?!" Your mother breathed a side of relief. "Thank you so much--hopefully we'll be back soon, early morning at the latest, I promise you." Mr. Fell looked barely disturbed, all smiles. Your mother sighed once more, giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Be good--please. I'll be back in the morning." 

You nod, whipping your cheek a bit as you watch her speed back towards the car. Hopefully your father was okay. 

"Sorry about all this Mr. Fell." You spoke lightly as he ushered you into the flat. It was very cozy, much like the shop below him. There were books everywhere, in the hallways even, littering the floors. He had many plants, most of which you knew had to be from Mr. Crowley, for a second it was sweet, before you remembered that it was Crowley. 

"There is no apologies needed, I'm glad to have you over." He sounded so, his voice sweet and comforting, making you nearly forget about the less than ideal situation. If it was anyone else, it would be awkward staying over at your boss's home, but he is too understanding, making all your worries melt away. 

You eventually make it to the living room of his flat, choosing to sit down on the couch as you watch his scurry around. He goes to where you assume the kitchen is, hearing the sound of dishes clanking and water pouring before he's back in the main room, handing you a drink and what you assume is left-over food. You thank him before taking a bite, savoring the meal. 

"I know it's late but I have games if you'd like to play one." You nod your head as you watch Mr. Fell pick up many different board games and show them to you. Most of them looked old and unopened, making you wonder if they were from a collection. You didn't have time to ask however "I also finally found those books you were asking for if you'd like to read those. I also--" You wonder how long he’d continue talking if something didn't stop him. 

"Angel I--what are they doing here?" You look over to see Crowley, glasses and all, a small plant tucked away in his side. You smiled slightly at the sigh, it was sweet, but apparently that just annoyed Crowley more as he sneered at the sight. 

Mr. Fell eyes wide only for a small second before responding. "(Y/n)--Crowley--is staying over while their father is in hospital, so be nice." His voice was more strained on the last part, which almost made you laugh. 

Crowley groaned as placed the plant down on the ground, near a few others. He messes with a few of their leaves, checking them over for a small moment before taking a seat of the chair across the couch, slouching as he stares you two down. "I'll try." His voice was just as strained as Mr. Fell's. 

That seemed like enough to satisfy Mr. Fell, him smiling as he clasps his hands together, a very different sight to his partner across from him. Sometimes, you wonder if you did something to make Crowley hate you. It must've just been you, since from day one he's seemingly wanted nothing to do with you. You don't think about it too much, it makes you feel weird whenever you do. You don't hate Crowley, in fact you like him a lot, but sometimes you wonder if it's your fault for reciprocating his negative behavior. 

You're broken out of your thoughts by the sound of Aziraphale gasping, standing up suddenly. "I almost forgot--you two wait here, I have another game somewhere..." his voice trails off and for the first time in the night, you're nervous. You like Crowley, but knowing he's observing you from behind those glasses of his filled you with dread. 

"Mr. Crowley, why do you like plants so much?" You don't know why you asked him, but it just felt right. He looked genuinely surprised by the question, shifting in his seat a bit while he mulled over the question. 

"...they're easy to take care of--for the most part if you know what you're doing." His snarky voice made you laugh, and for a moment you thought you saw Crowley smile--but it must've been your imagination. 

"Could you teach me--how to care for plants I mean." You ask. 

Crowley leans his shoulder on the arm of the seat, placing his chin on hand. He smirks at you, but there is less distaste in it, you can tell. "You sure you can handle it, plants are a lot of work, kid." 

"I can manage." 

"Mr. Fell over here seems to work you to death, you look tired, or is that how ya always look." 

You frown lightly. "I-I mean with school and everything...you're no better, always covering your face as well!" You poke and Crowley moves his hand to cover his mouth slightly, but you could see the smile bits of a smile. 

"I don't always cover my face--just when you're around." You scoff at the statement, crossing your arms. 

"Oh, just say you hate me already." You playfully groan. Crowley however doesn't take it that way. the playfulness, something so rare in the man, was all gone, replaced with a familiar cold expression. 

"Don't say that--I don't--I don't hate you." He says, his voice low. The smile on your face disappears and you're back to being nervous again. 

"--It was a joke." You nearly whisper, obviously started by the shift. 

"I know--It wasn't funny though." He almost sounded like he was whining, it was annoying. 

"You act like it though." Maybe you were stirring the pot, poking the beast, but you couldn't help it. Not when he was acting like some sort of victim, all because of a joke. "You constantly tease me at work, and you make fun of me when I get upset or defensive--" 

"That's different though." 

You wanted Mr. Fell to come back. 

"How is that different?' 

He was taking so long. 

"--because I don't hate you." 

Hasn't he heard all this? 

"Then why do you act like it?" 

Crowley remained silent, and the air remained still, until Mr. Fell returned. "I found the game!" He said excitedly, oblivious to what transpired. 

The night progressed like a blur, you played a few games, pretending as though nothing happened. You could tell something was wrong with Crowley. he was more stilted than normal, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. 

Eventually, you succumbed to sleep and was moved to the spare bedroom by Mr. Fell. He carefully shut the door before quickly moving back into the living room, Crowley sulking on the chair, his back facing him. He moved to stand in front of the demon, annoyance clear on his face. "Would you like to explain what happened?" 

Crowley shrugged. "You heard?" He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I'm not deaf--of course it heard Crowley! What were you thinking?" Even while clearly angry, the angel attempted to keep his voice down so as to not wake you up. 

"Why would they think I hate them?" Crowley asked, almost in disbelief. "You know me angel--I hate a lot of things." Crowley stands up, almost distressed "but I don't hate them." He points towards the spare room. 

"I know that Crowley." Aziraphale pointed towards themself, emphasizing the I. "But do they?" He points out, and for a second it seemed as though Crowley understood. 

Emotions were confusing with Crowley. With Aziraphale he had a lot, lot more time to figure everything out, but that doesn't mean it wasn't confusing. He loves Aziraphale, that's clear as day, but he wasn't able to figure that out in a day, or a month, or a year, or a decade. It took centuries for him to say those words, but he doesn't get that grace for you. 

Your life is finite, a small speak in the endless sea of other humans they've met. At first he'd thought you'd be like the others, a human who lives, breathes, and then dies, someone he'd forget in a few years. But it was never that easy for Crowley, something always had to change. You managed to worm your way into Aziraphale's heart, and now, he wonders if you did the same to him. 

Crowley wonders for a while why you think he hates you, he looks back on his previous interactions with you in a mixture of embarrassment and disgust. His behavior was, less than favorable to say the least, and for once of his life, he wasn't proud of it. You are a kid, confused and complicated, and he surely wasn't helping. For the rest of that night, he was disappointed in himself. 

You went home early the next morning, you didn't say a word to Crowley. You were waiting for him to do something, you weren't going to fold. Call it stubborn, but you were tired of his behavior. 

So color you surprised when you showed up to work after school, seeing a small succulent on the table you place your stuff by often. For a moment, you thought it was for someone else, that this was just a coincidence, but a small note near the plant changed your mind. 

"(Y/n), Proof I don't hate you. --Crowley." On the back of the note were a few little notes on how to take care of the plan, all neatly written and easy to understand. 

You smile. 

You'd have to thank Crowley later.

---

A/n: I don't know if this was what you wanted, but I hope you enjoyed.

[imsickofpasswords]

GOS2 analysis: A New Hope (or… Guys, I think I cracked the ending !!!😳🤯)

SPOILER ALERT!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!SPOILER ALERT!!! (Even for those who watched both seasons several times!!!)

Hi! You are about to read a mixture between a theory and a revelation. Both could be figments of my mind making things up by dint of overthinking and overwatching (...is there such a thing as overwatching GO?) Anyway, I must warn you that if you DO see what I think I saw, the agony you endured for months (maybe you got used to it, maybe you befriended it, maybe you don’t want it to go), the excruciating pain that led you here, will come to an end NOW. For me, Good Omens is a work-of-art and NOTHING will take the passion/obsession away, trauma or no trauma. If you're like me, then read on! 

Before I dive into the thick of the matter, allow me to stress a couple of things. I know you know, but this is still very important. Please, bear with me…

Aziraphale and Crowley KNOW each other. 

They share a 6000 year-old friendship. Surely you experienced that, at least once in your life, with a long-time friend or partner: you finish each other’s sentences, you glance at each other and burst out laughing when nobody else understands why, you speak the same coded language that doesn’t even require words. That’s how close Aziraphale and Crowley are. Aziraphale can predict Crowley's every reaction. He knows how to manipulate him with just a pout or a frown. Crowley knows what makes Aziraphale tick. He knows what the angel holds dearest. He can figure out Aziraphale's state of mind just by listening to the TONE of his voice. He knows how Aziraphale SMELLS! 

They also know WHO the other one is, I mean deep down, what they want and what they’re capable of… 

Aziraphale and Crowley TRUST each other. 

‘I could always rely on you, you could always rely on me.’ 

And

'You could have walked away'

'You said trust me'

'And you did.'

So on… you know all those lines by heart and I'm sure you could come up with oodles of examples. 

Walls have ears(floors too).

Someone wrote somewhere (was that on Youtube?) that the 25 lazari miracle could have been performed by the Metratron, since the magic circle was once used to contact him and was probably never turned off properly afterwards. That's an interesting theory. 

Personally, I don't believe the Metatron was involved in the miracle. I already elaborated about this in my first theory https://www.tumblr.com/imsickofpasswords/732879204359847936/a-theory-of-the-ineffable-plan-by and sort of got confirmation when Uriel asked what the miracle was and Aziraphale answered 'love, it was love!' 

I nonetheless realized that the Metratron could indeed be using this channel to spy on Aziraphale. If so, since when? I don’t think it could be from the first time Aziraphale drew the circle, because Adam reset reality after that. Adam would have closed the portal, wouldn't he? Idk. My bet is the snooping began after the miracle, and the magnitude of the miracle is what scared the Metratron into trying to separate Aziraphale and Crowley.  

Such considerations had me wonder if what feels like altered memories isn't actually the Metratron prying into Aziraphale's mind (indigovigilance from Tumblr pointed out that ALL the flashbacks seem to emanate from Aziraphale). Or maybe the Metatron has been reading… Aziraphale’s diary. (Btw, does anyone know what happened to that diary?) The Metratron does brag about looking back over Aziraphale's "exploits" (translation: infringements). Plural. So, not just stopping Armageddon? What else? Saving Job's children? Helping out Elspeth? 

What's more, the Metatron compliments Muriel, the "dim one", on reading books. 'What a splendid thing to do!' and then he glares at the bookshop. 

Aziraphale is not always Aziraphale

I don’t know about you, but I shriveled in horror when Aziraphale promised to give away a book. Had I just slipped into another dimension?

One perfectly acceptable explanation is that love is more important to Aziraphale than books. Fine. Why then does he only offer to LEND a book after Crowley pointed out how IMPOSSIBLE it is for the angel to even THINK of selling a book? In the novel, people who insist on buying books from Aziraphale’s shop go missing FOREVER…

It feels like the usurper realized they made a mistake and tried not to make it twice. Also, what's with the French? Aziraphale spoke French when he was in prison, and he certainly wasn't struggling like that. Last but not least, he does move his hands a lot, but not in the same fashion as he usually does. This was NOT Aziraphale (I think).

We saw how supernatural beings can change their appearance without swapping bodies. Shax changed her face whilst hitchhiking when she HAD NO REASON TO (Aziraphale had never met her before). 

I believe the Metatron is the one who turned into Aziraphale. But just for a moment ( I burnt my eyes checking Michael Sheen's every facial expression and gesture and tone of voice throughout the entire season and I couldn't spot anything amiss outside that moment, let me know if I'm wrong). Just a short period of time, then. Why? To see if Crowley would fall for it. I don't know if our beloved demon did. 

The obvious objection to this theory is: surely the real Aziraphale would realize that some of his guests had already been invited by… HIMSELF? Well, Nina kept Crowley for a moment. We don't know that the Metatron didn't go around erasing people's memory of him. 

Ok, okay, admittedly,  it is far-fetched, probably complete bullshit. But I needed to mention this because it's also a part of how I interpret the ending. Nope! I'm not saying the Metatron is the one who got kissed by Crowley!!! That would be… OMG, 🤮

The bullet trick…

Aziraphale is a magician. And his magic seems to always work when he needs it most, providing he uses this formula:"banana, fish, gorilla, shoelace with a dash of nutmeg” the magic words that Mark Gatiss as a zombie reads from the angel's lips. 

And there it comes, the showstopper. Actually the "REHEARSAL of the showstopper", as I call it, and you’ll find out why very soon. Please, pause here and go fetch the scene, you’ll need to watch CAREFULLY. See how scared Crowley is when Aziraphale hands over the gun? Crowley is maybe wondering why the miracles aren't working and if he is not about to actually kill his only friend. Then, Crowley mutters something. No idea what, but something like, I can't do it. And Aziraphale, reading his lips, replies in the same fashion, lipspeaking. Whatever the angel says then, Crowley understands it, and it's enough for him to overcome his fear. 

The ACTUAL showstopper.

I think you got it by now: what I thought when I saw that, and what I wanted to do next. I didn't rush to the last episode although I was dying to. I didn't want to miss anything and I couldn't believe what I expected would actually happen. But it DID. 

The Metatron knows that people are predictable and that nobody ever chooses death over coffee. We don't see his entire conversation with Aziraphale but even if the Metatron doesn't flat out threaten to erase Crowley's name from the Book Of Life, Aziraphale is very aware that this is an option as Michael already said she was given permission to do so. Check Aziraphale's face the minute the Metatron mentions Crowley. Aziraphale hears the threat loud and clear. His face goes grim. He knows he doesn't have a choice but to play along if he's going to save Crowley. 

"Go tell your friend the good news!" 

Aziraphale smiles, but he is distraught and terrified. The ineffable husbands KNOW each other, remember? There’s no way Aziraphale thinks Crowley will follow him to heaven. Besides, Aziraphale is INTELLIGENT. He knows The Metadick (whoever invented that name, I love you) doesn’t want Crowley back. So all the pleading, come with me, to the light, we'll be doing good, yada yada… is FAKE. All Aziraphale wants when he enters the bookshop is to let Crowley know about the situation without raising suspicions from the Metatron who is watching from outside. That's why the angel keeps glancing at the window whilst using his "something is wrong voice". Now, dear reader, fellow victim who cried your eyes out for months, if you still have eyes, LOOK AGAIN. 

When Aziraphale starts to talk about the offer, Crowley frowns, not in disbelief or in anger but in intense focus on… Aziraphale's lips. Can you see them? The SILENT words at the end of the sentences? Tell me you see them too. Please. You do, right? Or do I need to seek help? 

Everything after that, every line, is a smoke screen meant for the Metatron (and poor us…) The Metatron is to believe that two lovers got into a fight and got torn apart. Even angels and demons are predictable! 

The kiss, of course, is a mean to conceal the moment when Crowley extracts himself from the timeline, taking Aziraphale with him so they can discuss away from prying eyes and ears. Hence the missing fifteen minutes on the clock. 🙂

I think Crowley's confession was genuine. But it was also there to make the fight more convincing. And no one here will say it wasn't convincing… My guess is there must have been another confession, maybe another kiss? A real, tender, passionate, romantic, heart-wrenching kiss that left Aziraphale pressing hard on his lips, aching for more. “Do it again.” But the Metatron would notice… so… "I…forgive you", you foul fiend who thought you could tempt me with such a lowly, dirty and pathetic trick (translation, I love you… and I don't want to leave you, go before I burst into tears, I don't have sunglasses…)

So. They didn't fight!!!!  They are still a team, a group of two, a couple, and more than ever!! 

Not done yet. There is one last thing that you saw. When the Metatron reveals his plans about the Second Coming, Aziraphale pauses before entering the elevator. And it may last less than a split second, but I can swear that his lips moved again as he was staring at Crowley. Someone crossed the street right after, but Aziraphale kept looking at Crowley although the camera was too far for us to see the lips. However, there was enough time to convey a lot of information. 

Now, did they swap? Aziraphale doesn't gesture much after the kiss. Crowley drives under the speed limit and for the first time while Crowley is driving, Queen isn't playing. But. Aziraphale is walking away from his friend-now-lover, not knowing if he actually saved him, or… knowing that he did NOT save him. Crowley is crushed, and probably worried sick about Aziraphale walking alone into an obvious trap. The demon can remember only too vividly how Heaven wanted to end Aziraphale. 

The Bentley is sad too, and not just because her master is. She (Yes, she!) grew feelings for Aziraphale, who allowed her to wear fancy yellow and took her to an exciting trip and managed to have her play something new… She likes him so much that she tries to follow him, like a puppy, remember? I think she's the one who played the Nightingale song, to comfort Crowley and herself. As Sendaraya predicted in one of her YouTube videos, we may find out later that this was the Ineffable Husbands' song, ever since 1941, when their relationship started to drift towards romance. 

Last but not least, the main reason why I don't think they swapped. I firmly believe the Metatron is planning to wear Aziraphale's face again. Metasick has unresolved issues with Crowley who, annoyingly, still retains some of his memories. Memories that may have become indelible because of Aziraphale's presence. But of course, to impersonate Aziraphale, Crowley's soft spot and only weakness, the Metatron needs to keep Aziraphale out of the picture…

To be continued… (Season 3!!! And for the record, great pustulent mangled bollocks to the ones who delayed it, and I'm NOT talking about the writers and actors…🤬)

Thanks for reading^^

[fearandhatred]

@knifeforkspooncup wanted angst fics so here's a rec list from the very few fanfics i have had time to read lmaoo. some of these are in my other rec list but that was a shorter and more general one so i'll put them here again

mourning doves by sleepyimpulse (22k words, 7 chapters)

“I’m sorry,” he registered himself saying between heaving sobs. “I’m so sorry, Crowley, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please, please forgive me.” He hadn’t meant to say it like that, he knew the words were all wrong (he would never find the right ones). But the pain was coming at him in every direction and something, something had to give, and so he clung to Crowley like a life preserver. Crowley bent his body over Aziraphale’s and slowly, surely, pressed a kiss to his bloodied forehead. “I can’t,” he whispered, and Aziraphale went unconscious. (Aziraphale falls, post season 2)

i've recced this before and i'll do it again! this is my very first bookmarked gomens fic and it's so delicious. perfect amount of angst and such a thoughtful exploration of forgiveness

Ouroboros by midnightdragons (7k words, 1 chapter)

“Oh.” Muriel had frowned again, their voice confused. “Then . . . if they were special, why did he leave them?” Crowley thought that his expression must have spoken louder than any words ever could have, because Muriel had rushed to change the subject, and they hadn’t mentioned Aziraphale after that. An obligatory ‘Crowley coping terribly and Aziraphale coming to his senses’ fic because I finally watched s2 and I have a lot of Feelings (ft. Crowley being a sort-of parent to Muriel, sort-of friends with Nina and Maggie, and drinking enough alcohol to kill at least an entire civilization)

it is not a good omens angst rec list without a crowley breaking down post-season 2 fic :) and this is that fic. she is that girl

Zmija by Himitsu_no (3k words, 4 chapters)

Aziraphale would laugh and his fingers find their way into the red locks with practiced ease, and he'd bend to kiss the top of his head. "Did they do that, though? The evil deeds." Crowley would smile despite himself, eyes closed and leaning into the caress. "About a dozen, maybe. The rest were just... ordinary humans doing ordinary stuff." There'd be a long pause in which the angel would take it all in, and the demon would replay many of it in his mind with unease. Then Aziraphale would speak again, voice barely a whisper, "How long were you in Mesopotamia after the flood, my love?"

if u asked me to talk about this fic i would say 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 bc oh this hurt. idk if it's just me though because characters with kids is my sore spot lmao i have read this fic once and never again. gorgeous beautiful poetic heartbreaking don't even talk to me

Diffusing Lights, Confusing Times by snek_of_eden (15k words, 3 chapters)

Aziraphale pulled the door open slowly and stood in the entranceway. He wore an old-fashioned nightgown that was creamy in colour, and his eyes were cloudy with sleep. “Crowley…” He inhaled sharply when a drop of blood dripped on his bare foot, and Crowley winced. “Are you alright? Oh Heavens, are you bleeding?” Crowley mustered up a smile. He took a step forward, and his head began to spin. “Hey, Angel.” Then he stumbled into Aziraphale’s arms and everything started to turn fuzzy. *** Hell is terrible and Crowley turns to Aziraphale when he has nowhere left to go

basically what it says in the summary! hurt crowley and aziraphale comforts him. crowley is sad but aziraphale is also sad. angst and communication!! i don't usually read a lot of physical hurt/comfort but this is so good

when i knew love’s perfect ache by sugarskulled (1.8k words, 1 chapter)

A demon can't touch that which has been made holy by God. Crowley knows this well as anyone. And Aziraphale? Aziraphale is so holy it burns.

this is quite possibly my favourite good omens fic of all time i think about it so often bro. i love when problems don't just resolve themselves but they make it work. the angst is so good in both the fic itself and in the future implications of it (why does this sound like i'm writing a research paper)

something sweet and blue by perilit (7.2k words, 4 chapters)

Crowley’s not breathing. They don’t technically need to, but the lack of it is so jarring that for a minute, Aziraphale just stands there and trembles, overwhelmed. Lord, what have I done? Aziraphale returns from Heaven after a year away, and discovers Crowley has all but given up. Before he can put things to rights, he’ll have to coax Crowley back to living.

what? you want another post-season 2 crowley breakdown? fantastic. this is that but dialed up to 11. this is the kind of self-indulgent fic i search for because we will never see it in canon and it hurts so good

Haunted By Something Still Alive by WaitingToBeBroken (4k words, 1 chapter)

Aziraphale needs Crowley's help with raising the reincarnation of Jesus. Problem is, Crowley won't even look at him.

what's that? you want ANOTHER- ok no this isn't a crowley breakdown but it's him having to deal with aziraphale being back and the journey they take together. ft. nanny crowley!!!!!!! so many gorgeous moments in this

that concludes the angst recs for now. thank u for coming

[eldritchlibertine]

Michael Langdon x Nameless FMC Words: 5,462

The apocalypse has come and gone, and 18 months have passed at Outpost 3. Life is a monotonous, bleak expanse of tedium - until the arrival of Michael Langdon shakes the very foundations of her existence and she realizes how little control of she has over her own life.

They were all gathered in the library, waiting for an ‘announcement’ from Ms. Venable. And she might have been imagining it, but the air in this horrible, underground bunker felt even more still and oppressive than usual. 

Maybe it was the silence. 

While they would usually spend their evenings in the library, spending time before and after dinner reminiscing about the times when the world wasn’t completely fucked, tonight was different.  

Tonight, there was a stranger in Venable’s office and live snakes had crawled out of their dinner bowls, despite being definitely not alive just moments before. No. Tonight was very different.

Even the radio was silent. Maureen McGovern had been singing about a morning after ceaselessly for the last 18 months. She thought back bitterly to those happier times, when they thought the song was a good omen - a sign that perhaps their stint in this terrible purgatory would soon come to an end. But no, as time had dragged on without change, the stupid song had morphed into nothing more than a mocking reminder of their stagnation. 

So this silence should have felt like a blessing - but it didn’t. It felt like a threat.

It loomed over them like a black cloud, heavy with foreboding. The only sounds that punctured the quiet were the soft rustles of clothing as the others shifted uncomfortably, each noise amplified in the unusual stillness that had taken hold.

Finally, Venable arrived, shadowed as always by Ms. Mead, her faithful specter. The rhythmic tap of her cane interrupted the horrible silence, but she didn’t speak once she’d reached her position in front of the fireplace - she just watched them - waiting. The atmosphere of the room seemed to pull taut, like a violin string about to snap. Now, no one was fidgeting. It didn’t even seem like anyone was breathing. Then, cutting through the suspense like a knife, the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed from the passage outside. 

This was obviously who Venable was waiting for; the mysterious visitor that had arrived the day before.

He entered with an unhurried gait, footsteps echoing methodically in the oppressive silence that followed him like a shroud as he took Venable’s place in front of the fire.

Her breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was because his was the first new face she’d seen in what felt like an eternity, but she found her mouth going dry at the sight of him. There was something ethereal about him - captivating, but unsettling. Perfection in the flesh.

His golden hair framed his face like the halo of a fallen angel, and his eyes seemed to flicker with shadows and flames. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch him. 

"Allow me to introduce myself," his voice cut through the thick tension in the room, breaking her from her reverie. "My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative." He spoke with a theatrical flourish, and his lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; a facade of warmth unable to melt the ice there. 

Her mouth was dry again; this time, a primal instinct warning of danger. He exuded power and menace and his voice carried the intangible authority of someone who knows too much, who has seen things no one else has, and who wields that knowledge like a weapon.

He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back, savoring the moment. “I won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says, the ghost of a smile hovering around the corner of his lips. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

Timothy voiced the question that was on all of their minds. “What happened to the people inside?”

"Massacred," Langdon drawled, drawing out the syllables. They rolled off his tongue like he enjoyed the taste of them, and she couldn't help but feel there was a sort of relish behind his words. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and for a moment she saw it—the glint in his eye that said he was enjoying telling them this. Her heart fluttered, and she told herself it was from fear.

"The same fate that will befall almost all of you. But," he continued with a casualness that belied the significance of his message, "there is a place beyond the reach of this devastation. The Sanctuary." 

A flicker of something indefinable sparked in his eyes as he leaned forward, the dim light catching his gaze and making it dance with something indefinable and sinister. 

“The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.” 

The next questions he fielded with a bland, “that’s classified,” before he said, “All that matters is that the sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive.”

"The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call Cooperating" he announced, the words dropping like weights into the silence of the room. "I will then use the information gained to find those who are—how shall I put it?—worthy and fit to join us."

The air seemed to thicken around her, charged with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She watched as his lips curled into what could have been a smile, though there was nothing warm about it. 

"If you belong," he continued, his tone almost teasing, seeming to relish the power he held over them, "you'll be safe within the Sanctuary's embrace."

He seemed to take a sick pleasure in their uncertainty, in the hope he dangled before them like a lifeline that might just as easily turn into a noose.

The air seemed to grow colder, denser, as if every word from Langdon's lips added weight to the already suffocating atmosphere and she questioned silently whether survival was worth enduring more of this.

Her thoughts must have been louder than she realized, because suddenly, Michael's gaze captured hers. His eyes - icy, sharp and discerning - held her own for a moment and a shiver ran down her spine as she wondered whether he could feel her inner turmoil. But just as quickly as their eyes met, his attention swept past her, continuing his survey of the room.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t even hear Coco’s objection, but she felt the palpable tension settle over the room, as thick as the shadows that played across Michael's face. His eyes fixed on Coco with a disquieting calm.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he said, each word dropping like a stone into the silence that followed Coco's outburst. Coco, her earlier confidence now shattered, shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

"What happens if we choose not to?" Andre asked, his voice scraping against the stillness of the room.

The question hung between them and Langdon’s lips curved with the hint of a smile; one that spoke of malice - a smile that knew too much, that held secrets and the power to unravel them at will.

"Then you stay here and die," he said, that cold smile leaking into his voice.

The declaration sliced through the tension like blade and the finality in his tone made it clear that this was not an idle threat. 

Without breaking eye contact, his hand delved into the pocket of his coat and emerged with a small glass bottle filled with white pills. The rattle of them as he held the vial was unnervingly loud in the quiet room. 

“But all is not lost,” he said. “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these." His eyes seemed to glitter as he continued. "And one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

The offer dangled before them, an alluring escape from the waking nightmare they found themselves trapped within. She could feel the pull of the promise—peaceful oblivion, an end to the fear and uncertainty that had burrowed deep into her bones. Her mind toyed with the idea, desperate for reprieve, Maybe she could skip the interview process altogether and just ask him for one of those pills. Anything had to be better than this.

Around her, the silence swelled, heavy with the unspoken thoughts of her companions, each person wrestling with their own demons, their own temptations. To her, the pills were a siren call, a way out that was both terrifying and tender in its cruelty. To the others, they seemed to be a threat - a warning.

Again, Michael’s eyes seemed to catch hers as her thoughts drifted to the darkness. For a fleeting moment, she felt exposed, vulnerable as if he had peeled back the layers of her resolve to glimpse at the turmoil swirling within. His eyes were sharp, piercing, and she couldn't shake off the sensation that he was sifting through her thoughts and was ill-pleased with what he found there.

"Once again," he said, his voice low and resonant, "I look forward to meeting each and every one of you." The words slithered through the room, wrapping around her like a shroud. His words were a threat, thinly veiled as a courtesy, and they hung in the air, ominous and foreboding.

He swept out of the room then, leaving them all reeling. At least Coco waited until Venable and Mead had also departed before she lay into Gallant for offering to take the first interview. Things snowballed from there, and she slipped out quietly while everyone continued to bicker, her presence dissolving into the shadows as if she had never been there at all.

—

She awoke groggily the next morning, dreading the idea of having to face another day in this interminable limbo. Venable’s rule echoed in her mind—no idle lounging in bedrooms during the ‘daylight’ hours. She scoffed. They hadn’t seen daylight in nearly two years.

The hallways were silent as she made her way through them towards the library - the heart of their little hell and the only place they could really spend their time when they weren’t just wandering the halls like ghosts as she sometimes did when she couldn’t bear another moment of banal chatter or Maureen McGovern. A wry smile touched her lips as she thought of Jane Austen's characters in their finery, forever seeking purposeful activity. "Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room," she whispered to herself, channeling Miss Bingley's persuasion to break the monotony of inactivity.

Stepping into the library, she was greeted by the sight of the others already gathered, their nervous energy palpable even in their quiet chatter. She shifted from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest in a subconscious effort to ward off the discomfort that seeped into her bones. She tried to focus on the lyrics floating through the air, words about hope and moving on, but they felt hollow, an echo of optimism that seemed out of reach.

She couldn’t engage with anyone, though Coco tried to pull her into a conversation. At some point, Gallant drifted in, looking pale and shaken, but she couldn’t even focus on that. The tension coiled tighter within her, a physical presence that made her heart race and her stomach churn. It was like the very air was laden with trepidation, and with each inhale, she drew more of it inside herself.

Finally, the oppressive atmosphere became too much to bear and she had to escape. With a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she murmured an excuse about needing a moment alone.

The narrow passage was dim, the only light filtering in from the sconces that hung on the dark walls. When they built this horrible bunker underground, they probably should have used some brighter colors so that living there wouldn’t feel so much like living inside a tomb. And before this, it had been a school - she pitied the students who had to live and learn here. 

She walked swiftly, with no particular destination in mind, her thoughts a tangled mess. 

Without warning, her forward motion was abruptly halted and a firm grip encircled her upper arms, steadying her as she collided with a solid chest.

"Careful," Langdon's deep voice rumbled, resonating through the close quarters of the hallway.

She looked up, her breath catching at the intensity of his icy blue eyes. The contact sent a jolt of warmth flooding her cheeks, her skin tingling where his hands made contact. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who seemed to be the living, breathing embodiment of menace, and yet it did little to ease the tight coil of anxiety in her stomach.

"I was just coming to find you," he said, his voice low and even. There was something in his gaze that made her heart race.

Nervous energy buzzed through her, and she couldn't help but take a half-step back as he released her, though the echo of his touch lingered like a phantom sensation. The air around him seemed to thrum with intensity, and she swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat.

As she regained her balance, she thought back to Gallant as he’d stumbled back into the library - his face a picture of unease, his shaky hands as he poured himself a drink. 

Now, standing before Langdon, poised for her own interview, apparently, she understood why.

And as she stood caught in his unwavering stare, she could only nod her acquiescence, motioning for him to lead the way. 

The click of their footsteps was the only sound as they made their way through the dimly lit corridor and she fought the urge to turn and run. Something inside her was screaming. 

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room that played on the walls and as Langdon closed the doors behind them, she felt like she was stepping into another world - one that was intimate and somehow more daunting because of it.

He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned before the fireplace, then settled into the other without a word. The silence stretched between them, heavy and laden with an unspoken tension. She found herself acutely aware of the subtle sounds—the soft crackle of the fire, her own breath as it hitched in her throat.

Langdon’s eyes remained fixed on her and she felt exposed—like a specimen pinned under glass. There was something about being in his presence that magnified her every flaw, turned each fidget into a scream of nervousness. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, the leather of the chair creaking softly under her shifting weight.

She caught herself running her finger along the armrest, tracing patterns in the soft leather - anything to avoid meeting his gaze. But it was futile; his stare was almost palpable, a force that commanded attention even when she sought desperately to escape it. Her hands began to tremble slightly, betraying her composure, and she clasped them tightly in her lap in an effort to still them.

The twitching of her foot, a slight bounce of her knee; they became her body’s metronome of anxiety, counting down the moments

She could practically hear the snap as her voice broke the silence - like a stone shattering glass. "I don’t even know why I’m here," she blurted. Langdon remained as impassive as the walls, his gaze fixed on her with unsettling intensity. Not a single muscle moved in his face, no twitch, no flicker of emotion. It was as if he had expected her outburst, as if he had scripted this moment in his mind and was now watching it play out exactly as he planned.

"I brought you here," he said simply, the words falling from his lips with an unnerving calmness.

She faltered. 

“I meant here, at the Outpost. Not here in your office. I don’t know why I’m here.” She felt the weight of his eyes, holding her in place more firmly than any physical restraint ever could. “I’m not like the others,” she said, her voice taking on a shrill edge. 

“I didn’t pay my way in like Coco and Evie. I didn’t luck my way in like Gallant. I’m not even here because of something special in my blood, like Timothy and Emily. I don’t belong here.” The last part was almost a shout - a confession that kept bottled up these last long months. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. 

Her breathing was ragged, and her heart raced in her chest. She felt the weight of her confession, finally acknowledging the confusion that had plagued her since her arrival. 

His stillness was a stark contrast to the storm raging within her. There was something in his look that disarmed her, leaving her defenseless and exposed. "I told you - I brought you here." 

Her breath caught, her mind struggling to parse his meaning, her thoughts ensnared by the gravity of what he was saying.

Suddenly, the fire was no longer warming the room, and she felt a chill seep into her bones as she wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt at comfort in the face of his unsettling composure and his wild claim. 

Distantly, she noticed the firelight playing over his features, making him appear both present and distant, a spectral figure in a world that was becoming more surreal by the second.

"What do you mean," she finally asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

He leaned forward then, the motion deliberate - predatory even. "What’s unclear to you?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers, a smile at the edges of his mouth. 

Her heart continued to hammer against her ribcage, a caged bird frantic for escape from the intensity of his scrutiny - the gravity of this exchange. Her eyes darted to the door for a fleeting moment before she anchored herself back in the room, back to him. 

"Wh-what do you mean you brought me here? Why?" The words tumbled out of her like a handful of coins slipping carelessly through the fingers of a clumsy child, laced with a confusion that was quickly morphing into alarm. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck, painting her skin with visible unease.

He remained still, a statue carved from darkness, his gaze locked onto hers with unnerving precision. "I watched you," he said, each word measured and deliberate, "before the world burned. I liked what I saw." His voice was low, dark and resonant, carrying with it an undeniable assertion of ownership.

She felt her breath hitch, his words settling over her like a funeral shroud. 

"I decided that I wanted you," he continued, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "and I always get what I want." There was a finality in his tone that frightened her - and sent a thrill through a deeper part of her; one that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

In that moment, it was as if she could feel the unseen threads he'd woven around her life, pulling her into an orbit she never would have chosen, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself against the dawning realization.

The color rose in her cheeks as his gaze held hers, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. Every nerve ending seemed to spark to life under the weight of his attention, leaving her tongue-tied and adrift in a sea of confusion. 

He leaned back slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. The soft sound of his chuckle sliced through the tension, mocking her inner turmoil.

 It was a sound that stirred something within her, a mixture of irritation and another inexplicable thrill.

Gathering the remnants of her composure, she squared her shoulders, attempting to project an assurance she was far from feeling. "And what if I don't want you?" The words came out steadier than she expected, even as her heart continued to beat a wardrum in her chest. 

The laughter spilled from him again, the silky sound wrapping around her like velvet chains. 

"But you do," he said, his confidence seemingly unshaken.

She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as if the pain could anchor her to her defiance. He was right - of course she was attracted to him - he was beautiful and new and she hadn’t been touched in years. She refused to acknowledge that secret, dark part of herself that thrilled at the thought of the power he must wield to have orchestrated her being here.

No. These last 18 months had been a horror - a slow march towards death, fraught with anxiety and fear. Just last night, she’d very seriously considered asking him for one of those little pills, so that she could finally escape this place. 

While she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, wanted him, she'd be damned if she let him see the full extent of his effect on her. 

Swallowing the knot of frustration in her throat, she straightened her spine and met his piercing gaze head-on. His smug assurance was a challenge she refused to lose. He didn’t have to know that behind the façade of indifference, she was like a sapling in a hurricane, bending under the force of his presence.

Her breath hitched again, a silent cue to the tempest brewing within her. With a swift surge of her will, she rose from the cushioned chair and pivoted on the balls of her feet, every muscle tensed for retreat.

But he was a shadow, a whisper of movement more felt than seen. His hand encircled her wrist with the sureness of a man accustomed to getting his way, his touch firm yet devoid of the malice she half-expected. The warmth of his fingers shocked her and her lips parted with a silent gasp.

"Let me go," she managed, her voice a whisper, fighting against the feelings his proximity stirred. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips.

His fingers uncurled from her wrist, only to trace a path upward, reaching the side of her face with a tenderness that belied his assertive words. "No, I don't think I will," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that resonated in the charged air between them.

The brush of his thumb against her cheek was maddeningly soft. It was a caress meant to soothe, to seduce, and she hated the heat that blossomed beneath her skin in response.

"Come now,” he said, “it's silly to fight this. I know you want me." The arrogance in his words sparked a fire behind her eyes, even as an unwanted shiver trailed down her spine.

She did want him - how could she not - and the honesty of that admission clawed at her pride. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a fraction of a second. To lie would be futile; the intensity of his gaze seemed to pierce through all her defenses, laying her soul bare.

A silent battle raged within her, a war between desire she felt and the fear and how suddenly that desire had come. Yet, in that moment, with his hand cupping her face and the world shrinking to the space where their breaths mingled, she knew that resistance was futile. 

She didn’t even have to say anything. He already knew. All she could do was surrender to the warmth of his palm against her skin, fingers expertly weaving through the tresses at the base of her skull. His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding—as he pulled lightly, eliciting a shiver that ran down her spine and sent her eyelids fluttering. 

"I should have saved you for last, but I didn't want to wait anymore," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet space between them. 

The admission hung in the air, charged with the electricity of anticipation and the gravity of his desire - a brief intermission in reality, as his lips claimed hers. The kiss was an unexpected storm, fierce and all-consuming. Her breath caught in her throat, heart still pounding. His hand, still entwined in her hair, anchored her to the moment, each gentle tug of the strands sending sparks of awareness cascading through her senses.

The world around them faded into a blur, leaving only the taste of him, the heat of him. With a fluid motion that spoke of a deep-seated need, he released her arm, his own sweeping around her waist possessively, pulling her snugly into him. 

Her trembling fingers curled around his arms - though whether to pull him closer or push him away; she didn’t know. 

The kiss was all-consuming - heated, and fierce and muddling her senses - but she came back to herself, just enough to yank herself backward, away from that burning kiss. 

"I shouldn’t be doing this," she whispered to herself, the words slipping from her in a breathy murmur. 

He only laughed again, his voice was low and smooth and laced with a dark humor. "Of course you should," he said. He leaned in, a mere whisper away, his hot breath fanning over her flushed cheeks. "I want you, you want me, why shouldn't we both take what we want?" 

The weight of his gaze felt tangible. 

"Chaos has won," he murmured, his voice a caress that sent shivers down her spine, her resolve splintering like sugar-glass. 

He seemed to sense the shift within her, and without a word, released her with a deliberate slowness. One step back, then another, he retreated to the leather armchair. She watched him reclaim his seat, the shadows playing over his features, enhancing the sharpness of his jawline and the depth of his stare. A predator at rest, yet every inch of him poised, ready—a coiled spring waiting for the slightest provocation to leap forth.

Chaos has won. 

The silence stretched between them for another moment and his gaze seemed to darken as he continued to watch her. “Take off your dress,” he said finally, relaxing into the chair as though he seemed to sense that all her resistance had finally fled.

But she wavered, muscles tense, heart finally ceasing its incessant hammering as it seemed to still completely. 

“What?”

His voice, still low and even, seemed to fray at the edges as he repeated: “Take. Off. Your dress.” 

Her dress, a relic of some bygone era, was a complex ensemble of layers and fastenings that required grace, patience and usually the assistance of a Gray to remove. But slowly, she began unfastening the tiny pearl buttons at the back, a task made more challenging by the limited reach of her own hands. 

Finally, with the buttons undone, the heavy fabric whispered against the floor as she let the gown slide down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her in only a simple shift. 

Her entire body was flushed, her limbs trembling and her breath coming in ragged gasps and she stood there, naked to his scrutiny despite the covering of her shift. “That too,” he murmured, his voice noticeably rougher. 

She couldn’t look at him as she lifted the shift above her head, leaving her completely exposed, but she heard his low growl as she finally stood completely naked before him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear, and she flushed again, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. 

Finally, she brought her eyes up to meet his, her whole body burning (with shame? With arousal?) and even in the dim light she could see that his pupils were blown wide, his whole body tense as though he was fighting for control. His eyes burned across her body as he took her in, his own breath seeming to come harder now.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding, holding out his hand to her. 

Slowly, nervously, she padded her way over to him, his gaze never leaving hers. She slipped her hand into his, a shocked gasp leaving her as she was pulled suddenly into his lap, her legs straddling him.

Then, his hands were all over her - a soft touch at her sides, his fingers caressing the skin of her back; reverrant - as though he was trying to touch all of her all at once. Once again, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her head, his fingers threading through the strands, and she was lost in the sensation of him - the heat of him, seeping into her skin in all the places they were touching, his fingers leaving burning trails. 

She didn’t resist when he pulled her in for a demanding kiss, giving back to him all the fervor he was pouring into her. His free hand drifted to her hip, and his fingers turned bruising as they pulled her further into him. His touch was hungry, possessive, and he moved from her lips to leaving a trail of desperate burning kisses along the column of her throat, eventually sinking his teeth into the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder - almost hard enough to draw blood. The shock of it, the slight pain 

She gasped in earnest then, grinding against him looking for friction, and he let out a guttural sound that was part growl and part moan, and his hand fisted into her hair, pulling her just far enough away for their eyes to lock. His glacial blue eyes were almost black with hunger, his pupils blown wide as his gaze bored into hers. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his fingers digging even harder into the flesh at her hip, the other hand still tangled in her hair. “Say it.” 

Barely thinking, eyes half glazed with lust, she just nodded, “I’m yours,” she murmured breathlessly.

Suddenly, the world turned on its axis and her back met the warm leather where he had been sitting less than a moment ago. Suddenly, he was kneeling before her, his hands pressed against the armrests and she was completely caged in by his presence, unable to move or escape his grasp. Her body was trembling, every nerve on edge as she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, his mouth working its way slowly down her body, punctuating each word with a kiss, or a graze of his teeth - “You’re mine, and I take care of what belongs to me.”

In stark contrast to the gentleness of his kisses, he grabbed the backs of her thighs roughly, pulling her down till she was almost flat, spreading her apart.

She held her breath, the anticipation making her heart race as he leaned forward. His lips were soft and warm against her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure through her body. 

His tongue traced a path from her knee to her hip, and she let out a gasp as his mouth finally reached her center and his tongue began to explore her.  Her back arched and her hands scrabbled for purchase on the armrests, eventually coming to rest on his shoulders. He growled against her as her hand found his hair.

His touch was like fire, igniting every nerve in her body, and as he continued to lap at her.

With each flick of his tongue, she arched her back and dug her fingers into his scalp. He knew exactly how to drive her wild, taking his time and savoring every inch of her. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, leaving her mewling.

All too quickly, that familiar pressure began to build, heat pooling low in her belly, like she would come apart at any moment. Her fingers like a vice on his shoulder, the other hand in his hair, she ground against his face, ready to drop off that peak into the oblivion of ecstasy.

But before she could, he pulled away, and a strangled moan left her throat as she blinked at him in confusion. He sat back, mouth glistening and eyes dancing with sadistic glee as he watched her, flushed and panting.

He kissed her knee again, his hands stroking her body gently, fingers dancing across her breasts and along her thighs until her body relaxed - and then his mouth was on her again. 

Again, he brought her to the edge, his skillful tongue and roving hands leaving her almost screaming and panting. Over and over again, he toyed with her, only to pull back at the last second. Her body was on fire, yearning for release.

She was frantic, bucking against him as he chuckled at her desperation, his warm breath tickling her skin.

"Go on, beg for it," he commanded in a low growl.

And she did.

[sprinklrsplashes]

oceans and engines | b.b

Summary: Bradley’s leaving for the naval academy but that means leaving behind his girlfriend

Pairing: college!Bradley x ofc (character has no name, except mentions of nickname, Dove)

Content warnings: 18+ readers please, angst, kinda smut (aka, not explicit), religious references 

A/N: I have had major brain rot since I’ve watched Top Gun: Maverick, someone pls help me. I was listening to Oceans and Engines by NIKI and I had this idea for a while. I haven’t written in god knows how long so it’s probably terrible but I think I may have an idea for a part 2 so I may or may not write more, depending on how much actual work I get done in the next few weeks. So anyways, I hope you enjoy!

"So Naval Academy, huh?" She looked over to the voice next to her and shot them a look. "I'm just saying long distance is hard and with the kind of training he's gonna get, it's gonna be harder." 

She didn’t need to be told this; it’s not as if she hadn’t been thinking about it for the past 2 months since Bradley’s acceptance letter had arrived in the mail. “We’ll be fine,” she bites back before downing the rest of the drink and pushing through the throngs of people to find her boyfriend. She spots him at the bar doing shots with his friends in the flight suit costume that they had bought him. He looks good, she’ll give him that (but then again, if he can look good in those horrendous Hawaiian shirts, he can look good in practically anything), and most notably, he looks the happiest he has been since, well, maybe since the 3 and a half years she had known him. Bradley belongs up in the air, has been since he was about 2 years old and that was the one thing that she loved about him; she had never met someone who was more sure of themself than Bradley Bradshaw. But now, looking at him from across the bar, there’s the selfish part of her that wishes that there was some doubt so it wouldn’t be so easy for him to go. But that was unfair because while Bradley belonged in the air, her heart lies with music and if anyone asked her to give that up, she wouldn’t go down without a hell of a fight. 

He spots her from the bar and motions her over to which she smiles and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to be the one to put a damper on Bradley’s night, especially with his friends. All she can think about is how she wants to spend the last few moments they have together entwined in another, not in some dive bar playing 80s music with sticky bar tops and floors. But he pouts and she caves. He could ask her to do anything and she would probably do it no questions asked and sometimes that thought alone scared her more than anything. 

“Dove!” he throws his arm around her and kisses the top of her head as he pulls her in. He smells like whiskey and cheap beer, and is clearly intoxicated. He never calls her Dove in public; that was just their little thing. It’s not a big deal but it throws her off. 

“What’s with the name?” one of his buddies asks as he looks over at Bradley’s girlfriend.

“That’s her call sign. Y’know like in the Navy. It’s because she’s so kind, loyal, graceful and innocent like a little Dove. D’ya wanna know my call sign is gonna be? Rooster, because I have a big -” 

He’s not being an asshole on purpose, Bradley could never, but he is on the verge of acting like one now. And maybe if she was a bit more drunk and having more fun, she’d be laughing along with him and his buddies but instead she sits besides him, arm curled around her shoulder, picking at the label on a beer bottle as she tunes out of the conversation as she wonders is this a bad omen; how is it possible that two people who are so close to each other can be so far away. 

When they go home the air feels thicker in the room as they both lie curled up against each other on the twin sized bed they both have seemed to outgrow. Any other day and they'd probably be laughing at how ridiculous they look but neither of them said a word. Both just clinging onto each other, fingers and limbs intertwined, silently counting down the time they have left together. She buries her head into the crook of his neck and shifts, hoping the rustle of the sheets hides her sniffles. It's stupid because both of them knew this day was coming and somehow now that it's here, it hurt more than she had imagined it. There was a part of her that had to admit that maybe, just maybe, there was a possibility that he loved her more than he loved flying and when it came to it, Bradley would stay. He'd leave it all behind for her but that was ridiculous because she also knew that flying was one tie to his father and she could never ask him to let go of that. She loved him but not enough to be that selfish and he loved her but not enough to stay. 

"Little Dove," his voice is soft as he languidly strokes her hair, "We'll be okay. We can make this work." 

There's a hitch in his voice that makes her think that he doesn't believe it but she doesn't point it out. If he believed it, he wouldn't be crying too. Maybe it would be easier to just to end it here, no hard feelings or bad memories, just two people who loved each other but were on different paths in life and the least selfish thing to do was to let go. But in a blaze of blind optimism at the beginning of the relationship when they were both bright eyed 20-something year olds, they both decided that it was worth a try. There was a possibility that they were right, and perhaps they were that 1% that would pull through but chances were slim and she wouldn't be rushing to place any bets on it. 

She doesn't say anything (she's not sure if she can and even if she did find the right words to say, she can't trust that her voice would betray her and say reveal everything that she thought) and hooks her pinky finger against his. Her eyes are glassy as she looks up at him, "Promise?" 

Such an innocent word also happens to be one of the cruelest things she could ever say to Bradley. She knows he would never break a promise, especially a pinky promise (those were sacred) but this is one that will inevitably be broken. There's a hesitantly pause and she feels him stiffen against her, and there's a part of her that wishes he'll be the first to break and stop this facade but he echoes her back, "Promise." 

Pettiness begins to effervesce deep within but she pulls the stopper before she says something she regrets and the last thing she wants to do is to end their time together in an argument over some silly little words. Instead, her eyes trace his features until she feels like she can remember every single scar, and then she leans up and kisses him. It's soft and desperate in a way that Bradley's never felt before, almost like he was her lifeline and she was trying to hold on. 

Her chest heaves as she pulls away, corners of her eyelashes wet and she tries to smile but her eyes don't crinkle into those little crescent moons that Bradley always found so endearing. He found himself counting the colours in her eyes, memorising every single piece of her before he forgets the little details, like the way she always smelt like vanilla with the hint of coconut, the way she crinkled her nose whenever she was embarrassed, or the sound of her laugh. These were the things that he wished he could engrave in his brain forever but sometimes he thinks even that isn't enough. 

Bradley presses a kiss to her forehead, then to each of her cheeks, and her nose before crashing his lips against hers. A soft whimper slips from her lips as he pulls away and he wishes he could save that sound forever in his memory. He probably would have teased her that any other day, but today, Bradley just wanted to savour this moment. Her eyes watch him carefully as he brushes her hair out of her face before diving back down to pepper kisses along her jaw to her neck. He knows exactly what she likes and when a moan falls from her lips, she swears she can feel him smirk against her neck. She thinks about the fact that no one may ever know her the way Bradley knows her, inside and out, and that thought alone makes her sick. 

But when Bradley’s hands are unbuttoning her shirt, lips slowly moving down as he does so, she can’t help but think of anything but him at this present moment. She throws her head back with a gasp when his tongue flicks across her nipple whilst his fingers flicks the other. He mumbles  something against her skin and the vibrations makes her shudder. 

“Bradley… don’t tease,” she gasps as she tangles her fingers through his hair, trying to pull him back to her lips. 

He looks up at her, pupils fully blown, lips swollen and messy hair. God, she has never seen something more attractive in her life and she loves him so much. “Tell me what you want,” his voice is raspy and that alone nearly makes her drop to her knees like he’s her altar. 

“You. All I have ever wanted is you.” 

There’s a pause, and she swears that she can see Bradley’s eyes darken before his hands are working underneath her shorts and he’s pressing soft kisses on her hips and down her thighs, ghosting past the places that she wants him the most. He lifts up his head, resting on her stomach with a dazed smile on his face and the way that the light illuminates him makes him look almost ethereal. He could belong in the Louvre but she wouldn’t want to share that image with anyone else. It was hers to keep and only hers. 

Her lips part with a gasp when his fingers finally reach her clit after what feels like an eternity. It’s nearly embarrassing how wet she is for him, especially when he’s barely touched her but she needs him too much to care. 

“Is this all for me?” Her hips buck into his hand when his finger swipes through her folds, dipping ever so slightly into her entrance. There’s a hint of smugness in his voice when he asks her because he knows what the answer is. 

“Yes,” she breathes as she moves her hips, trying to find some relief but he has her hips held down, “Always. No one can make me feel this way but you.”

Bradley seems satisfied with that answer as he grins before diving down like a starved man until she’s shaking and seeing blinding white spots of light. She repeats his name like she’s praying to him for her salvation as she reaches her climax. Knuckles white, clasping onto him for dear life. She’s going to leave marks on his back and the thought of him being marred with little crescent moons on his back and shoulders fill her with satisfaction. It was a reminder that he’s hers (until he isn’t anymore). “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whimpers into the crook of his neck as he rides out his own release.

It doesn’t take long for Bradley to fall asleep; it never does after sex. But for her, she’s never been able to sleep well. Being next to Bradley always helped, but the thought of having to sleep without him keeps her up. He won’t be there to stroke her hair until she falls asleep before he does and she goes through all the things she can try to help her sleep without him. She can do this, she tells herself as she watches him. So peaceful and innocent. She wants to remember him this way before she shatters every piece of his heart but it’s for the best. She has to leave because she knows Bradley would never leave her first. Every person Bradley has ever cared about has always left him so he’ll never be the first one to leave. 

There’s a note on the bedside table for when he wakes and she hopes he can forgive her even if he doesn’t understand. She glances at the bed as she pauses at the door, one foot in, one foot out. If he wakes now, he’ll stop her, but he’s still blissfully unaware. The more she waits, the more she can’t bring herself to go, but no, she knows it’s what she has to do. With that, she takes a deep breath, closes the door and walks away without turning back. 

[sightofsea]

20 questions for fic writers

I got tagged by @leonardcohenofficial!!

I'm gonna tag @fieryphrazes / @moonyinpisces / @hyruling / anyone else who wants to do this!

1.How many works do you have on Ao3? I have fifteen!!!

2. What's your total Ao3 word count? 377,875 words which is. A lot! Wow!

3. What fandoms do you write for? across ao3 and ffnet I've written for doctor who, good omens, mash, it's always sunny, pacific rim, our flag means death, supernatural, the big bang theory, phantom, and atla.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? take the bones, begin anew / small infinities and all that / each flower has wept and bowed towards the east / affection and other cravings / all you left me was a pearl

5. Do you respond to comments? at the beginning of a fic/if there aren't too many comments, then yes! and if someone has something particularly insightful say or they have a question. after that it sort of feels equivalent to writing thank you cards, and I feel like responding with small platitudes is sort of an empty gesture.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? that depends! a lot of people consider the end of small infinities angsty, but I see it more as bittersweet. out of my complete works, I think "a sadness runs through him" is just a complete angst fest. my old doctor who oc fic that will sadly never be complete also had kind of an angsty ending which can be delved further into here.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? most of my fics end with two people living happily near some water but I think "stories for other people" thematically has the happiest ending

8. Do you get hate on fics? not really! maybe one or two weird comments on "all you left me was a pearl" for stede's wooing technique, and then I know a lot of people don't like the whole turned human thing for small infinities, but I feel like that's more preference than hate

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yeah! not pwp but I love a good sex scene and exploring the inner workings of desire

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? very long ago on a different platform I wrote a danny phantom and atla crossover that was never completed, and also in said doctor who oc fanfiction there was a Sherlock crossover. I don't think I'd write any crossover fic in the future unless it was a universe merger or perhaps a multiple versions of canon meshing sort of thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I think?? small infinities got translated?? maybe???

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? nope! it'd be Shrimpteresting to try it out, with someone I respected and knew to be consistent.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? hard to say!!! I think anything I've written for is an all-time favorite. maybe johnlock??? since it re-wrote my brain a bit at the tender age of 14?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? my johnlock magnum opus is always rotating in my mind but the way it's unraveling I doubt I'll be able to put it to paper successfully; I really really wanna finish my it's always sunny fic also bc I have all the plot points mapped out, but I sort of wrote myself into a corner on accident. both of these could be solved if I just sat down and watched enough of either show to pickle my brain in them again, but the mood hasn't come to me yet.

16. What are your writing strengths? i think said brain-pickling is one: I think I try my best to replicate the tone of whatever media I'm writing for and character voice. I feel like I do pretty well with dialogue. I think I have a good sense of humor and teasing out themes to work with. I tend to write a bunch of unconnected scenes until a common thread emerges, and I think I'm good at piecing them together in a way that makes sense.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? like maddie said before me, I also don't write linearly, and so half the struggle with my writing is figuring out how to create actual plot out of a bunch of vibes-based scenes. i'm also not consistent; I have to be in a certain mood to write. i'm extremely fickle. I tend to stick to certain formulas/themes and should try to branch out more. I'm horrible at describing action, and so sex scenes of mine can be a real slog, I think. i use the em dash far too much.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I think it can be done well, but can sometimes hinder the reader and often can be mistranslated. If I'm writing in another language it has to be phrases I'm familiar with enough to have a go on my own. I usually end up doing a lot of research.

(Side note, just while we're on the topic: I think when people write for sign language they don't include any of the physicality of it, which is a detriment to core of the language, and also ignore how blunt it is, which tends to annoy me. People tend to treat it as English+ instead of a whole other language that differs greatly even between English speaking countries and don't put the research in that they would for other languages. I'm definitely not an expert--I'm not deaf/hoh, I only use a little bit when my jaw acts up, but it really pisses me off lol.)

19. First fandom you wrote for? I wrote a big bang theory fanfiction when I was 14 and none of you will ever find it and I stand by my actions

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? all you left me was a pearl, only because it's the most fun I've ever had writing something and also the horniest thing I've written. which isn't saying much, but I take pride in it.

[ironcladrhett]

(The War Between Brothers)

“And?! We were kids once, little brother. Nobody fuckin’ treated us with kindness, and we’re just fuckin’ humans. Not hurtin’ anyone that wasn’t ready to hurt us first.” He stepped close to Emilio now, getting in his face and jabbing his shoulder roughly with a finger. “You’re askin’ me to leave a monster alone. A beast that’ll only spread its malice out into the world, on unsuspectin’ folk what can’t even defend themselves. I don’t give a flyin’ fuck how old it is, you hear me?” He snarled through gritted teeth.

(Starry-eyed)

“What good will that do ya?” he asked, pacing in the darkness, eyes glinting malevolently with a grin the mare could not see. “Calm down… the lights ain’t gonna kill ya. Probably. Well, that’s what we’re here tah’find out, anyway.” Still he paced, heart beating at an elevated rate, the delight writhing its way up his spine. Nothin’ felt better than watchin’ them fuckers suffer. Nothin’.  “My, ain’t you pretty in the light…” he commented in a voice that sounded both saccharine and venomous at the same time.

(Good Omens)

“It wasn’t fair what he did. But he didn’t give you a choice. He wouldn’t have given you a choice either way, don’t you see that? It was always him or mom.” Ophelia stepped closer again, and Rhett flinched. “He was ruthless. Brutal. He tried to put it away for you, but he couldn’t. And he made you… just like him, didn’t he? When he died, you felt like you had to pick up his mantle?”  “Stop,” Rhett muttered, shifting his weight again and hissing in pain, slumping back against the tree as he’d been when they arrived. Ophelia moved closer, and he remained still.  “No, I won’t stop,” his daughter promised with tears in her eyes, her arm raising as a hand reached for him.  “S-stop, I don’t want—I can’t—” The girl’s hand found his shoulder and he had nowhere to go, helpless against her will as she circled her arms around his torso. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, the insect buzz and scratch of being this close to a fae almost overwhelming him, but there was no escape, so he tried to push it down. Bury it like he’d buried his brother. Bury it like he had the truth of his moralities all this time, overlaid by Desmond’s own. Just as he’d been adopted by that hunter community, so too had he adopted his brother’s code. He loved him fiercely, but Ophelia was right. 

(The Burden)

“Fuck’s sake,” Rhett snarled, shaking his head at the poor bastard of a ranger with fresh holes in his head. He turned on Emilio, jabbing an accusatory finger against his chest. “This is why ya don’t watch ‘em to see if they’re up to no good, little brother. This is why ya don’t spare ‘em. Ya fuckin’ kill ‘em when I god damn tell you to.” With an angry huff, he picked the sword back up and slipped it into its scabbard, then looked at Owen. “Forgive the idjit. He’s been havin’ a morality crisis fer a couple years now.” Maybe this would take care of that, he thought. Rather, he hoped. 

(Do It For Me)

Rhett hated being helped. He hated relying on other people. He was better than that, stronger than that. He was old as hell for a hunter, particularly with one so red a ledger as his own. He was a survivor, and he’d not gotten through it by cowering in fear, by hiding behind others. He hated it, but he was resigned to it for as long as Emilio felt was necessary. And what could he do? Abandon the only family he had left? He needed to, he knew that. He needed to get the fuck away from all of them as soon as possible, to keep his mistakes from bleeding into their lives too. But… he couldn’t. Physically, he couldn’t. He didn’t feel trapped, he was trapped. 

[oneforallartist]

Good Omens Lovers On Ice

Chapter 2

Training

!! TRIGGER WARNING: Abuse!!

Aziraphale's childhood wasn't all that bad, his family was rich and very very fancy, they only listened to fancy music and they made sure their son was a gentleman and wore proper clothes. They thought Aziraphale was a strange child though because he loved to pick flowers and skip across the garden. Once he got in trouble for wanting a Barbie Ken doll for his birthday. They suspected he was gay so they did everything in their power to make sure he wasn’t. Of course it didn’t work and Aziraphale was in fact gay.

His parents didn’t agree with Aziraphale’s choice in being an ice skater, they wanted him to join their fashion company. Aziraphale was good at creating interesting outfits but his parents didn’t like the outfits, they wanted him to help them make outfits like tuxedos. He disagreed and pursued his passion in being an ice skater. Once he left his parents house and became an ice skater his life got better until he met Gabriel. He became quite popular easily and he loved the fame, especially his coach who received some of the money. After Aziraphale got popular Gabriel used him as an item to get more money. Aziraphale always thought Gabriel was the kindest man in the world till one day while training he was practicing and messed up, he then heard Gabriel scream at him for the first time, he was surprised and kinda scared. But it got even worse, to the man even hitting him or worse after he messed up.

Aziraphale never told a soul about it since he was never allowed to speak up ever in his life. Gabriel threatened to harm Aziraphale worse if he told anyone anyways, and who would believe him?

Aziraphale loved ice skating, he really did, he just wished that someone could help him. He would train even without Gabriel so he got it just right so he didn’t get yelled at or even worse… hurt…

Crowley watched the other as he skated and tried to land the spin perfectly. Aziraphale was smiling, he seemed more happy Crowley noticed, Aziraphale they saw Crowley from the corner of his eye, he almost tripped on his skate, he stopped himself and looked over at Crowley as he blushed brightly. He looked at him, Crowley did a little wave as he looked at him, he gulped a bit. Aziraphale looks around real quick before skating over to him “What are you doing here?” He asked Crowley in a quiet voice, he didn’t even know why he was whispering. Crowley grinned a bit at him “I should be asking you the same thing, but it’s obvious, i'm here to try to Ice skate” he said as he looked at Aziraphale through his dark glasses.

Aziraphale nods as he smiles, glad that he wasn’t training alone “Right, well first off, maybe you should wear something different” he said as he looked at Crowley’s outfit “Huh?” Crowley looks down at his outfit, his baggy gray jeans, his red cut out shirt, and leather black jacket. “Well, what should I wear then? This is what I usually wore when I roller skated” he said, Aziraphale chuckled “Ice skating and roller skating are different so they have some different rules and dress codes” he then pushed himself so he backed up a bit “something like my outfit you should wear.” Aziraphale was wearing tight blue pants and a white sleeved shirt..

Crowley looks at him as he admires him and his outfit “Okay, well, how do I get an outfit?” he asked him. Aziraphale gets out of the rink and puts the skate guard on them so he could walk, “Come with me” he said and they walk into the hallway, Aziraphale then opens a door and it was walkin closet full of clothes “Hurry and pick something” Aziraphale said, Crowley was amazed as he walked into the closet, he then picked out an outfit, Aziraphale closed the door and waited for Crowley at the skating rink. Crowley walked out back into the skating rink. He was wearing black tight pants with a black tank top. “How do I look?” he asked as he walked over to the bleachers where Aziraphale was sitting as he took the skate guards off so he could go back on the ice.. “Oh wow…” Aziraphale stuttered a bit and nodded a bit “You.. You look amazing” he said and got up once his skates were on. Crowley snickered “Oh thank you” he said and he sat down and put his black skates on, he then got up and tried not to fall, Aziraphale then held his hand “Don’t worry, I got you, ” he said with a smile. Crowley’s face flushed pink, he nodded and followed him onto the ice rink, he wobbled as he tried to get used to standing on the ice. Aziraphale was still holding his hand “Your alright, just balance” he said, Crowley did and Aziraphale lets go of his hand, Aziraphale then skates over to where his phone was, his phone was connected to the speaker and he plays some music, the music was calm, he skates back “Okay, now Crowley, try to skate, just like roller skating, just move yourself over to me.” Crowley tries, he then loses balance and falls, he groans a bit as he gets up “Don’t worry, it’s gonna take time.” Crolwey then tried several times. He was ready to give up, he looks at Aziraphale and he moves his legs, he carefully glides himself “Balance….” he said to himself and he then glides over… push, push, glide… he then glides over into Aziraphale’s arms, he was shocked, he blushed softly and smiles “Ha…. Yes! I did it” he said happily.

Aziraphale gasped and was happy for the other “Great job! Now let's continue” he lets go of Crowley and for the next hour they practice skating. Crowley quickly got used to it. Aziraphale chuckled “You are a fast learner” he said as he skated with Crowley, Crowley grinned “Yeah but remember I was a famous roller skater” he said, he then stops “What is this music?” he asked Aziraphale and looked over at him. The white haired man looks over at the other “Oh, just some classical music, my family never let me listen to any other music but music they thought was fancy” he said. Crowley was surprised. He then skates over to Aziraphale’s phone “Oh? Well how about…… this” he then playing music, and the speakers around the room start to play

♬ Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out,♬

Aziraphale listens to the music and smiles softly, Crowley smiles softly “This is Queen, Don’t stop me now” he said and skates over to Aziraphale as he sings the song “ 'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time!” Aziraphale chuckled a bit as he listened to Crowley sing as the two skated together. “I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah Two hundred degrees That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit!” Crowley sang as he held Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale looked at him through his sunglasses as he sang so beautifully, he had never seen someone as beautiful as Crowley.

The song soon ends and the next one plays

♬ I can dim the lights And sing you songs full of sad things We can do the tango, just for two ♬

Crowley listened to the song “Oh, this one's my favorite” he said and started to skate around as he sang again

“Ooh, love, ooh, lover boy What to do tonight? Hey boy, set my alarm, turn on my charm. That's because I'm a good old fashioned lover boy” Aziraphale watched him skate around as he sang, he blushed softly as he admired him.

After a few minutes the song was almost over. Aziraphale was still watching the other skate.

“Ooh, love, ooh, lover boy What're you doing tonight? Hey boy, everything's all right, just hold on tight” Crowley they spins as he sang “That's because I'm a good old fashioned lover boyyyyy!” The song stopped and Crowley stopped spinning, but suddenly Crowley’s sunglasses fell off and slid over to the corner of the skating rink, he looked at Aziraphale and his yellow eyes were now visible. Aziraphale was shocked as his face turned red. No one, not even his fans, have ever seen his eyes behind his sunglasses before. Crowley realized, he then panicked and looked around and saw his glasses at the corner, he then skated over and grabbed them and quickly put them on. Aziraphale skated over to him “You were amazing” he said happily. He wanted to tell him that his eyes were beautiful. Crowley nods “Thanks Aziraphale '' he said. They get out of the skating rink, take off their skates and sit on the bleachers. The two of them had been skating for 5 hours, it was already midnight. Aziraphale turned off the music and then handed Crowley a bottle of water, he thanked him and took a drink.

“So…. Why did you quit roller skating?” Aziraphale asked him, Crowley chucked a bit “I didn’t” he said as he looked at him, “I- i'm just trying something new” he said as he turned to look at him “Oh, were you bored or something?” Aziraphale asked him “yeah, you can say that” he replied as he then looked at the skating rink “How long have you been ice skating?’ he asked the other. He thought about it as he took a drink. “More than 10 years now” he said with a sigh “My family never wanted me to be an ice skater, they wanted me to help them run their company but I refused” he said as he looked down at his bottle of water in his hand. There was a long silence. “Mhmm well good for you for not agreeing to, you're such a good ice skater, at least from what I saw” he said, Aziraphale blushed softly and looked at Crowley “You really think so?” he asked him. Crowley smiles “Yes Aziraphale, you're great! You're one of the top 5 competing in the ice skating competition, people love you!” he said as he sat up more straight now.

Aziraphale smiles and nods “Thank you” he said, Crowley nods then he looks down at Aziraphale’s hand and holds them, he was about to say something but stops, he then saw something underneath Aziraphale’s sleeve, it looked purple, it was a bruise, he lets go of the other hand and used his right hand to move the sleeve up a bit, a huge bruise was on Aziraphale’s wrist. He was shocked, Aziraphale was confused till he realized, he quickly moved his hand away, Crowley looked at him “What happened?” he asked him and seemed a bit worried “Oh…. don’t worry about it, I just hurt my wrist when I fell while training” he lied. Crowley nodded a bit, he then noticed another bruise around Aziraphale’s collarbone area, he was about to ask about knowing he would probably say it was also from training. Crowley looked at Aziraphale and admired his appearance. He so badly wanted to kiss him, he sighed a bit and then asked “So, are you dating anyone?” It was kinda a stupid question but he was curious. Aziraphale looked at him and raised a brow “No I'm not, I could never find the right person” he said with a small chuckle as he looked away from Crowley. Crowley nods a bit “Same” Crowley replied back with. Aziraphale was surprised, he was sure that a handsome man such as Crowley would find someone. Suddenly his phone went off. He looked at it and was surprised, Gabriel texted him and wasn’t happy.

Aziraphale got up “I got to go Crowley….” he said and got up. Crowley sighed a bit “Oh, alright” he said then he handed Aziraphale a piece of paper “Here, take this, open it when you get home” he said and got up. Aziraphale raises a brow but takes the paper, he then puts it in his gym bag and picks up the gym bag “Well.. I'll see you around” he said and left. Crowley smiles as he watches him leave, he was in love with that man and he knew he was.

Aziraphale eventually gets home after calling for a taxi. His home was huge, almost like a mansion.. Well the home wasn’t really his, it was Gabriels. He walked in and he saw Gabriel waiting for him. “Where were you!!? Do you know what time it is?!” Aziraphale gulped a bit as he held his gym bag “I was just training at the skating rink” he explained as he looked at him. Suddenly he got slapped by Gabriel, he whimpered a bit and looked down “I never said you could go! And you shouldn’t have been there till 1 in the morning!” he yelled angrily “Right… sorry sir” he said and nodded a bit “Now go!” Aziraphale did and headed to his room. He walks into his room and sets his bag down, he wants to cry as he looks in the mirror at the slap mark. He sighed a bit but he then remembered the paper. He then hurries over to the bag and grabs the folded paper and opens it.

‘If you need me, you know what to do~’ - Crowley ‘ The paper said and on the bottom there it was, Crowley’s phone number.

[between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place]

8 Shows To Know Me

Thank you @sparkagrace for the tag! I had to spend some time thinking about this one. (I'm honestly terrible at finishing TV shows even if I like them.). But here in no particular order:

Veronica Mars

Little tween me loved this show! When the first season was airing here I used to biked over to my grandparents house on Tuesday evenings because we didn't have that TV channel at home. Maybe the first time I can recall really being a Fan of something, as in like going on The Internet and looking for more content and saving wallpapers and stuff.

(and then they made a new season and ruined everything...)

NCIS

This was a staple in my house when I was like 12-15. Me and my dad and my brother used to watch this (along with a bunch of other shows in similar genres: Criminal Minds, CSI, the Mentalist, etc.)

Good Omens

Love it, ship it, can't wait for season 2!

Normal People

Sorry Tej for copying your answer but: oh god yes! I finished it and immediately wanted to start from ep1 again. I actually finally read the book recently and I kept hearing Connell's lines in Paul Mescal's voice. The show and book complement each other so well.

Skam

The OG Norwegian one of course. I feel like the gif explains it all, but the other seasons are also very good.

Young Royals

Which is basically Skam meets Red, White and Royal Blue and it's amazing of course. Also as a Swedish-speaking person it's kind of hilarious to observe the English fandom for this show and sees people analyze scenes and lines.

Foyle's War (and Midsomer Murders and Agatha Christie's Marple)

Another nostalgia trip. Okay I realize it's sort of cheating to lump these together but you get the picture: brutal murders in cozy British settings. This was a summer holiday tradition, there was always a season of one of these on in the evenings.

But if I had to pick one it would be Foyle's War because I think the storyline outside the whodunnit is most compelling in this one. (Also if anyone knows where you can stream this nowadays, let me know!)

Sherlock

Yeah what can I say I enjoyed it. I was not on tumblr during Those Times but it's the one of the holy trinity that I've actually watched all of.

Okay, that's it, you're welcome to judge my tastes and personality now.

Tagging: @booksandabeer @dontcallmebree @its-tortle @frozen-fountain @burberrycanary (obvs no pressure and maybe you've already done this, I haven't been around much in a little bit)

[a-wondering-thought]

HI 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

(i pull this shit with anyone i follow who has anything remotely in common with me. the moots who know, know 😔😔 sorry)

tis i cristie your new crazy follower!! we have a mighty lot in common 👀👀 okok to the actual asks:

1. favourite YA book and favourite classic book? (i like separating these because one is usually for fandomy entertainment and one is for laughing at gay idiots (affectionate) marvelling over the mind of the author and the beauty of the prose) (also the picture of dorian gray is looking at you with giant puppy eyes rn PICK IT)

2. favourite osemanverse, riordanverse and grishaverse character? (wow universes galore) (also i’ve only read heartstopper so i am not acquainted with the rest of the osemanverse books)

3. have you by any chance read good omens. or watched the tv adaptation which is most possibly one of the only good tv adaptations i have watched in this lifetime. (idk why i always start with read when the show is more popular) you probably haven’t. idk why i asked this. but you should read it. or watch it. or both. yes 👁️👄👁️

4. finally, pick: devotion or rivalry

—

i do realise that when people receive these asks they regard this with a mixture of mild terror and awkwardness so i apologise for that 😀

hiiiii new mutual!!! im vi and i too am crazy so im glad to have another crazy mutual :D

favourite YA book is hard ngl, i think not including soc any osemanverse and pjo/hoo books my favourite ya book is Girl, Goddess, Queen by Bea Fitzgerald. its a Hades and Persephone retelling(i love greek mythology) and Persephone is so badass in it' and i think my favourite classical book is A Little Princess because of reading it when i was younger but im not sure if its classed as a classic? if its not then maybe sense and sensibility? it was the first Jane Austin book i read and im very sorry to disappoint the puppy eyes but i haven't actually read the picture of dorian gray yet which i know is scandalous and i do have a copy but i just haven't gotten round to reading it yet but *aristocrat voice* i might have to start now so that i might please the puppy eyes *swoops off hat and bows*

ahhh you should defiantly read their other books they are amazing! but my favourite osemanverse character is Tori Spring (aka the whole reason i started my blog) my favourite Riordanverse character is Nico Di Angelo(but i do love Blitzen from mc too) and my favourite grishaverse characters are Inej Ghafa and Wylan Hendriks(van eck) (also yes two pls dont make me decide) (and yessss universe galore i love it sm)

im very sorry but no i have not as i have a habit of starting a ton of shows and then taking months to finish them(i currently have seven main ones but three not so main ones and i longgg list of to watches) i do have a lot of mutuals that love the show tho so its on my shows i want to watch list and i have been meaning to watch it so i might soon(im considering just trying to binge it) and idk if my local library has the book but i have seen some of Neil gaimen so if they do i might read it

hmmm im not sure what context you mean(you probably did that on purpose im just stupid) but overall i think devotion bc rivalry can cause conflict which im afraid of :D

___

and dont apologize this was so fun!!! one of the best asks i've ever gotten for sure!! thank you sm for sending me it! and i wanted to ask if we could be friends? and could message you? (dont worry if not) (its just you seem really cool and amazing!!)

[slidepool]

Good Omens Oneshot: Snake Crowley

In a small tucked-away corner of the quiet bookshop held a reptile enclosure. A bright heat lamp shined on various rocks and plants inside the enclosure, and a burnt red and black snake rested on the biggest rock that was placed directly under the lamp. An eloquent sign was placed on top of the mesh roof of the enclosure. It read, 'Hello, I'm Anthony. Please don't tap on the glass or try to handle me, I like my space.' Too many people had gotten curious and some rude customers had tapped on the glass, shouted at the being, and tried to handle the uniquely colored snake. Each time Aziraphale had to step in and escort them out, the snake hissed and carried on until he was picked up specifically into the angel's hands.

Today was no different than a normal day as Crowley had been happily dozing in the warmth of the enclosure. Customers passed by with the occasional gasp of surprise or disgust when someone passed by the area. He couldn't care less and didn't bother to move but a small voice caught his attention as two new customers entered.

"Mom! There's a snake over there!" He heard a kid whisper excitedly as he felt two pair of eyes fall over him. "Can we say hi? Please!"

The mom sighed but he couldn't hear any actual discontent in her voice, "Oh alright, we can say hello." A pair of footsteps walked over to him, he was half tempted to open an eye and gauge their reactions but held off for the moment. "Ooh there's a sign on top, can you try and read it?" The woman encouraged and the kid started to sound out what the card said, occasionally needing help with a vowel.

Aziraphale had added that card not too long ago which helped lessen the amount of people that thought it was a good idea to bother him. Crowley would never admit this but he was all bark and no bite when it came to people messing with him. He could inflict some serious damage, emphasize on the could, but he didn't want to give the bookshop a bad name. Aziraphale had made this nice enclosure just for him and he'd hate to get it taken away because he bit someone.

It took a minute but the kid had finished reading the sign when Crowley yawned, showing off his sharp fangs and alien-like mouth, and opened his eyes. He didn't mind children's curiosity but it was funny to spook them, usually his yawn scared them and he would snicker at their shrill screams. But he was surprised to find the kid staring at him with a big smile, "Pretty teeth," They whispered as he continued to stare.

"Do you know what kind of snake this is sweetheart?" The mom asked almost uncertain,  Crowley silently snickered as he turned to her and she winced at the eye contact.

"I'm not sure, I've never seen any like this one in any of my books." The kid mused happily with a smile, inching his face closer to the glass despite his mom's nervousness.

'Oh so this kid likes snakes, what a pleasant surprise' Crowley thought as he slithered close to the glass too and the child gasped excitedly.

"Hello," He whispered before trying to stifle his giggles. Cowley tilted his head slowly from side to side which made the kid giggle more, he liked this kid. "I'd like to hold you but your sign says not to," The kid said sadly and drooped a little.

"Maybe we can ask the owner if you could see him outside of the tank," The mom offered hopefully trying to cheer up the little one.

Crowley internally smiled, he was definitely going to be on his best behavior for this kid. It was rare he let anyone else handle him other than Aziraphale, but gentle and curious children were the only exception. The pair walked away hand in hand looking for the owner, Crowley couldn't help but wiggle happily as he watched them go. He could pick up on Aziraphale's voice as the family found the angel and talked to him, Crowley pressed his snoot against the glass as he waited.

"He can be a bit of a grumpy gus sometimes, his previous owners were dreadful and he's still learning there are kind people," Aziraphale rambled as he lead the way back to Crowley's enclosure, "Oh look he's excited," He cooed as he noticed the snake's good mood. The angel moved the sign to the side so he could take the mesh wire lid off, dipping a hand into the enclosure. Crowley quickly slithered on and wrapped around Aziraphale's arm, his tail twitching back and forth excitedly as he was handled and the kid's eyes brightened. He tried to stretch his neck out to reach the child but nearly fell and had to be rescued by the angel

"Woah there," Aziraphale lightly chastised the snake as he resituated the being back on his arm. "He seems to like you a lot, you must be very special. Did you want to hold him?" He added with a smile and crouched down to the kid's level, Crowley pretended to not notice the mom take a slight step back.

The child gasped and looked at Aziraphale with big excited eyes, "Yes please!"

The angel gently helped Crowley loop himself around the child's arm and how best to support the snake. The demon nuzzled his head against the small palm, letting his tongue dart out to tickle his palm too. After a couple of giggles, he settled down and glanced around at the group, the mom looked wary but seemed happy that her little one was happy. Plus the fond looks Aziraphale was giving him made him preen at the attention.

"What kind of snake is he Mr?" The child asked as they started to rub the snake's head, Crowley happily closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

"You know, I'm not really sure. He showed up one day while I was in a bit of a pinch, and we've been friends ever since." Aziraphale smiled fondly as he thought back on when he first met the demon.

~~~~

"That was very kind of you earlier dear," Aziraphale said with a smile as he passed a warm cup over to Crowley, who was now in normal human form.

"Well, they didn't scream in terror when I yawned, so yeah." Crowley shrugged and waved off the angel's bright smile, a bit embarrassed with the praise.

[postguiltypleasures]

My Peak TV Journey *Good Omens 2*

While also behind in writing about this, I did watch Good Omens 2 this summer. I loved the original book when I read it as a teen, and mostly enjoy the series. But in the time between my teenage reading and now, I developed an aversion Biblical literalism, something on which this story relies. I’m torn about how to assess this. I also watched the first season with a group of friends and family and the second alone, so I’m also wary about judging it too harshly based on the changes of my circumstances.

I neither reread the the book nor rewatched the first season before the new one, despite being a little more than four years since between each. So the details of the detente that ended the first season, including how Aziraphale and Crowley no longer have official working instructions from Heaven and Hell respectively, were forgotten. It made me think that it’s probably for the best that so few of the first season’s characters returned. (At least the human ones.) 

Aziraphale and Crowley are naturally the center of the story. They are so charming, it’s hard to imagine wanting anyone else there. Aziraphale is trusting and naive, but he really does believe in the mission of Heaven. Crowley is more knowing but more reactive, less a driver of plot. It would be awful if he were still working for Hell. Then the show would be entirely, unequivocally endorsing the point of view of Hell. The scenes taking part in Hell, Hell does look Hellish, even if Heaven doesn’t look Heavenly. Maybe the point of the series is about how much easier it is to imagine Hell and torture than a paradise where people are happy and well kept? I doubt it. It’s more likely that its message is about how dividing things between good and evil/ my side vs yours just cuts us off from so much.

The first season featured Frances McDorment as God wryly narrating us through the various plot points and time frames. She was almost completely absent here. The only time we heard the voice of God was during the part where they told their version of the story of Job. (Pete Davison aka the Fifth Doctor, aka David Tennent’s real life father-in-law played Job and was delightful.) For a brief moment we heard her berating Job for questioning his change in fortune. It felt like a friendly reminder that McDorment played God here. But i mostly didn’t miss the voice over. 

While writing this I started wondering if I was supposed to miss the voice over. Over the course of the first season it partially serves to emphasize the farcical nature of things. They are all under the guidance of God even if they don’t understand how. Was the absence of voice-of-God-over supposed to create doubt about if things are according to plan? To give the sense that maybe God has forsaken us? Or maybe the affect I described with the voice over in the first season was unintentional, and this was a course correction. I’m interested if it ever returns, especially as the way the finale sets up a potential third season makes it look more like a mirror image of the first season than a continuation of the second. 

I’m going to write a little more about thoughts I had while watching before wrapping up. The aspect of the plot where singles in the jukebox of a Scottish Pub all end up turning into Buddy Holly’s “Every Day” was lovely especially when it was revealed why it was happening. It reminded me of how in the book all the tapes left in Crowley’s car turned into The Best of Queen. This did not make the original miniseries, probably because who has tape decks in cars anymore? But also, maybe because of changing opinions on Queen over the years?

I also wanted to not that the episode with the WW2 flashback Windmill, which I only know of from the movie Mrs. Henderson Presents. While I knew it was real, I believe this is only the second time I’ve come across it in pop culture.  

[kitkatt0430]

Okay, so time has come for me to watch Mask of the Red Death part 2 - here's hoping this goes better than the last episode.

Stream turned white as soon as I went full screen. I feel like this is an omen. Anyway, let's restart and try again.

So far so good, I can now see the previously on. So full of plots I don't care about compared to so few the ones I do.

Okay, so I guess we're starting with the CCPD, but it's hard to care about the CCPD with David and Joe gone. I can never remember any of the officers though I recognize at least a few background recurring characters and Kramer just hasn't really grown on me all that much. That said, I'm glad someone remembered that Kramer has powers because hey, she uses copying Roy's powers to pretty good effect, even though doesn't work for long.

Allegra arguing with Hartley, Jaco, and Keith (Goldface, I just got tired of using his nickname all the time) over leaving Blaine behind feels hollow because odds are Blaine isn't dead anyway. Like I said last time, no body? Probably not dead.

Everyone's tired and scared, Barry's been nerfed, but at least Iris has her head on straight. Keith speaks for me when he says "I always liked you" to her. :D

Iris is definitely the brains of the operation. That said, if all the power was basically out, how did they get the tech working to interface with Cecile's powers. That was a big problem last episode and no one ever fixed it. Maybe something hit the cutting room floor that shouldn't have?

Cecile feels that someone is out there in lots of pain and oh apparently Blaine's still alive. Surprise. Anyway, he's clearly been tortured and I do get why Barry wants to rescue him. If there is one thing Barry has that is stronger than his speed, it's his guilt complex.

Khione - Well fine if you won't save Blaine, I will.

Hartley - I cannot let my new friend-shaped person go into danger without me.

*snicker* I mean, that's basically how fast Hartley caves and he goes from angry/annoyed voice to his softer voice. Finally, Hartley and Khione friendship showing up again.

I mean... maybe there's some guilt about Caitlin mixed in there, but Hartley never liked Caitlin in this timeline. Respected her, clearly yes since he went directly to where he thought she'd be for help a few episodes earlier, but doubtful they ever got along well. And now she's gone, so they'll never have that chance. But I do think he's just genuinely fond of Khione for herself.

Jaco folds next. And then Keith, but he's not happy about it.

Kramer - You won't be able to hack our satellite. 'Cause ARGUS upgraded it.

First... since when does the CCPD have it's own satellite????

Second, ARGUS' firewall crumples like tissue paper. There is a joke there about Cisco's inability to secure shit.

third... where the heck did all the Red Death suits come from? Did they spawn like rabbits between episodes???

Barry is right to tell Khione 'no' when they're going into danger and she has zero combat skills.

Since when has Allegra had x-ray vision. Was this something she gained when I wasn't watching last season? Or at least had foreshadowed??? (Probably not on both counts.)

Oooh, Hartley's enhanced hearing comes up again.

Jaco - Feels like a trap to me. Feel like a trap to anyone else?

He is immediately correct. Red Death arrives to monologue!

Okay, so the suits are psychic manifestations apparently? How does Barry even know that? But then how does Ryan know about the vision of Savitar stabbing Barry that almost killed him two seasons ago???

Oh, hey, Grodd is here. And apparently he's connected to evil Ryan now? And the Gorilla City gorillas are gone now, so lets feed that guilt complex of Barry's huh?

And then the band with the Rogues breaks up. Can't blame 'em, but I know they'll be back later.

Iris and Khione talking is lovely. Iris gives Khione some good advice. I just wish we'd gotten these interactions with Caitlin instead.

Was Khione kissing Blaine to activate her healing powers on him (or whatever that was) necessary? I swear if we get Khione/Mark Blaine as an end game ship I will be so fucking pissed off.

Time for a Joe West pep talk for Barry. Or for Barry to pep talk Joe? I do love their father-son relationship. But I knew that Joe wouldn't be a series regular anymore this season, so I suspect this is him bowing out. Or the start of it anyway.

I do love how much use Nash's teleporter is getting in these two episodes. I miss the Wells characters, but it does feel a little like Nash is still there helping them. Just a bit.

Grodd blaming Barry for being alone isn't really fair - Barry isn't at fault for that and it's not like Grodd ever let Barry know what he'd discovered about the Gorilla City gorillas. And I think on some level he knows that and that, more than Barry's speech, is what sways Grodd. He can look into Red Death's mind. But he can look into Barry's too.

Red Death's episode long break down continues. And somehow Barry got his speed back from Grodd? Whatever.

More speedster running/chase scene/fighting. It is pretty fun the way it's done, though. And the Rogues showed back up to help Barry, as I predicted. :D

So does real Ryan! Woo, so good to finally see her. And she nullifies evil Ryan's speed for a Batwoman vs Red Death fight.

Jaco - We'll help out anytime.

Hartley - Ehhh...

Jaco - Anytime.

Hartley - Okay, why not.

I... don't know that I liked the cheesy fourth wall breaking joke the Rogues ended on though.

Chester fanboying over real Ryan is hilarious. And I like how Ryan and Iris low key fangirling over each other was cute too.

So where was real Ryan all this time? I... don't think anyone ever said.

There is so much unexplained in this episode.

Joe leaving to raise Jenna is the right call, but I hate that he's apparently semi leaving Cecile to do it? He's done the single parent raising a daughter before. He deserves to raise Jenna with her mom too. Not just on the weekends. And how do they afford any of this anyway? Joe is retired, so what is their income even looking like?

So much unexplained.

Oh no. Oooooh no. Chester/Allegra is happening. Make it stop. They still have no chemistry. At least Barry is still his usual oblivious self about it.

I... do not like how they find out Iris is pregnant. I mean, it is a bit funny that Khione didn't realize they didn't know yet when she blurted it out, but still. Iris deserves better than the writers are giving her once again.

Anyway, that's it for the episode. It was better paced then the last one and I enjoyed it more, but there were a lot of plot holes in there. So many plot holes. I can't say I really like how the Red Death arc ended.

But Hartley, Jaco, and Keith were fun and it seems like they'll show up again later in the season? Here's hoping anyway.

I feel like a number of things in this episode would have gone better with foreshadowing. Grodd's involvement, Allegra's x-ray vision, the Red Death clones (psychic whatevers)... And other things just needed an actual damn explanation. Especially real Ryan showing up out of nowhere at the last minute. Where was she? In the timeline that Red Death came from? Took a wrong turn in Albuquerque? Where was she this whole time??? We know she was missing, so what the hell?

I think the biggest problem is they were trying to do too much at once in these two episodes and thanks to how poorly paced part one was, they squashed too much into part two.

Anyway, teaser for the next ep shows discussions about the pregnancy happening early - so there's probably concern that the baby she's pregnant with won't be Nora? And then Khione training her powers, which seem to be healing but cold? I'd be more interested if the person training her wasn't Blaine.

His first intention after Khione was born was to kill and replace her with Frost. So Blaine helping Khione figure out her powers is not what I'd call a great idea. And it looks like we may be heading into Khione/Blaine territory, which... him using Khione as a replacement goldfish for Frost, even hypothetically, creeps me the fuck out.

So I might not watch the next episode. Or i might just skim it/skip around looking for good parts. I dunno.

[sastiel-is-my-serotonin]

This seemed like a fun game and there's some people I immediately had in mind who I wanted to join. Thank you for tagging me @imaturtledontchaknow in this post. I got to revisit a lot of my WIPs.

Dance

Ned repeated his question, "Are you going to the Halloween dance?" The dance, we had talked about that this week. Sort of, I asked him about it and made the mistake of looking at his lips. I acted as if I had been staring at his nose because that is super normal as well.

Anger

Castiel tried focusing on the road and ignore the waves of anger that rolled off of Sam. Castiel didn't need to be an angel to detect what Sam was feeling or thinking. As much as Castiel tried to ignore it, Sam's anger was becoming distracting, and Castiel had already lost focus a few times.

Bite

Two taps on my door made me jump, a rough holler of, "Come in!" Somehow made its way out of my mouth. I tried to force my eyes to adjust to the rough, stark contrast of dark to light from my daydream to reality. Sam opened my door, "Hey, Cas. I'm gonna go grab a bite with Dean. Wanted to know if you wanna come with? If you want. The food is on me as a thanks. Do you?" His voice may sound nonchalant his words and posture told a different story. With his hand shoved in his pockets and he tried to hide beneath his hair, I could see his nerves.

Time

"Right now is not a good time, maybe for his birthday or Christmas." Ned tapped my arm with a worried look, he looked like he was about to sneeze, I pinched his nose as a reflex and it seemed to do the trick. I let go and let out a quiet sigh of relief before I sneezed. We froze and the room went silent, I could only hear one pair of feet moving, maybe we could run back through the portal if we move quick enough.

Throat

Castiel averted his eyes and cleared his throat before refocusing on Sam, "These two months have been fun." Castiel held a smile that was bordering on fake and genuine, it was sealed in as genuine when Sam couldn't help but let out a small laugh or sigh, Castiel wasn't sure, but it led into a grin anyways.

Silent

It was beautiful, I remained silent as I watched him finish his work. Once he deemed it to be done, he moved it further away from the door, to the side of the room neither of us step towards.

Memory

"And what good does that do me? From my hazy memory, that's always brought death and bad omens. Winchester. No one from that bloodline gets a happy ending. Not even when it's just half."

Cloud

"Let's keep it that way." I could sense my hearing was getting foggy, I was losing myself in a cloud of self loathing thoughts that were only getting louder-

Press

The only thing that got me to press my hand against the wall to expel Lucifer and Cas from the bunker was Dean's safety. If he wasn't in the equation, I don't think I would've saved myself.

Flower

"Yeah. My brother likes picking flowers with me. My dad doesn't let us." I said inspecting the flower. A petal was gone.

This wasn't too difficult to find all the words but that's because I have so many WIPs it's ridiculous. It came in handy for once. The most difficult ones to find were actually press and cloud because most of them were variations of press like pressed and pressing. And for cloud I had fics with the word but they were all finished and published. But other than that, I had a lot of different options. Fuck, I need to start posting some of these.

Not tagging anyone who was previously tagged, and please don't feel obligated to participate to anyone I do tag:

@rewrite-the-story @raisinghellonstarbug @thequeenofsastiel and anyone who wants to join!

Thank you for the tag @imaturtledontchaknow it was a lot of fun!