#and for what? what did I do for you exactly? what am I still doing for you that you want me around after everything that’s happened?

[prael]

Day 2: Covered

IVE An Yujin x male reader smut

words: 6,374 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

They said you could have been special; you would argue that you are.

Destined for greatness. A bright future. Whichever other way they wanted to express it.

The thing is, not everyone is cut out for the centre stage, and that's okay. You still get to do what you love, surrounded by people who share the same passion and work just as hard. Sometimes in life, you are the backup dancer in someone else's story. Sometimes, you literally are the backup dancer.

Yujin however, Yujin is the star. The one the world adores. The one that everyone around her seems to orbit.

You're just another face in her gravitational pull. You're on the stages and you're in the videos but no one remembers your name. There's probably an edit on Weverse somewhere with a sticker on your face. It's fine though. You've long made your peace with it.

You refuse to let that take away from the fact you spend so much time with An fucking Yujin. You've seen her in every single state, every emotion. She likes her 5 am coffee black and her mid-day one with ice. Yujin loves it when you massage her shoulders after practice and hates it when you play the same song twice in a row. However, the thing she loves above all else (and this can never go public) is having you on your knees—serving her like the queen you know her to be.

That's her secret. It's one you bear—one you're fine with keeping.

The final shoot is tomorrow, and today's practice is over but you know better than to follow everyone else out of the studio. You wait and you linger, and when the room clears out and you're sure everyone has left, you kneel and you wait. Sure enough, she notices and a smile creeps onto her face.

You don't bother to look up. Instead, you stay kneeling, waiting, knowing she's going to make her way over to you.

She does.

You hear her soft footsteps approaching and see the shadow fall over you as she stands there, looking down at you. You look up, slowly, eyes trailing up the length of her legs, over the expanse of her bare thighs and then just as you reach her hips, her fingers slip into your hair. She tightens her grip and yanks your head back so she can stare directly into your eyes.

"Did I say you could look at my legs?"

You gulp, feeling the tug on your hair and the way it makes your scalp burn. Your throat is dry, mouth parted and eyes wide. "No," you respond.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, your hands clenching into fists and relaxing again as she tugs harder, her grip unrelenting.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she scoffs. "Why do I always have to teach you a lesson?"

You open your mouth to speak but the words die in your throat when she shoves you to the ground and kicks her leg out, planting her foot on your chest.

"Take off my shoes, don't talk."

You rush to comply, untying the laces of her sneaker before slipping it off. Yujin switches foot and you obediently repeat the action, putting the shoe beside the first one. You know that you can't allow your eyes to linger, but her bare legs are right over you and it takes all your self-control to look away.

"Socks," Yujin mutters.

You take a deep breath, knowing exactly what she wants you to do. You're slow to reach out, placing a hand on her ankle. She lets you, allowing you to gently lift her leg and slide her sock off, dropping it to the ground beside her. Your hand slides higher, caressing the soft skin of her calf, tracing the contours of her muscles. You're almost distracted until Yujin clears her throat, glaring down at you.

You nod, sliding the second sock off her foot and letting that join the first. You don't know where to look, her skin is right in front of you, begging to be kissed. Her eyes are boring into you, demanding all your attention.

"I don't know if you deserve it," she hums, lifting her foot. She drags her toes over your chest, the ball of her foot pressing down just beneath your collarbone.

"Deserve what?"

"To taste me," she laughs. "Don't think I didn't notice how distracted you were today. Don't think I didn't notice you staring at me."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't lie," she interrupts. "It's a bad habit."

You're so hopelessly disarmed. Lying underneath her on the hardwood floor of the studio with your body burning. She's so beautiful, and it's not fair. It's not fair how the universe created someone who can ruin you so easily and look so effortless doing it.

"You're lucky it's recording today tomorrow. You know what that means."

Like any other day before a big something, Yujin has a need for a release. It's a tradition at this point. The days leading up to something are so full of stress and excitement that it all gets too much and the only way for her to relieve herself is to use you.

You nod. You know exactly what it means.

She lowers her foot, and you feel her toes brush against the crotch of your shorts. You suck in a breath as she rubs up and down the fabric, pressing into you. She's watching your reaction, watching the way you bite your lip and clench your fists.

"You've been bad today. Distracted. Not focusing. Do you think you deserve this?"

"No," you shake your head.

"I don't think you do either." She removes her foot, stepping back.

It's torture. You clench your eyes as hard as your fists, desperate not to act out of turn.

"But you know what I want," she continues as you dare to open your eyes and look up. She's staring at you, hands on her hips. "You know what to do to get back on my good side."

You nod. Of course, you know. It's not the first time you've found yourself on the floor beneath her. You sit up on your knees and shuffle forwards. Her shorts are black and loose. Your fingers slip into the waistband and you tug them down slowly, sliding them over the curve of her ass, past the smooth, glowing skin of her thighs and down to her ankles.

You take a breath. You're so desperate. So hungry. She's wearing the laced panties you like. The ones you bought for her and left in her bag. They hug her so tightly that she seems to be straining against them. Her ass looks perfect, her thighs thick and inviting and her cunt...you can see the outline of her folds. The thin material barely covers her. She knows how much it affects you.

"You're staring again," she huffs, pushing her hand into your hair once more and tugging roughly.

"I can't help it," you whimper.

Her fingers twist and you feel the burn in your scalp once more as you wince in pain. Yujin's hand moves from your hair, dragging down the length of your neck and around to the front of your throat. Her hand squeezes gently, thumb and index finger digging in just below your jaw.

"You can. You will."

You gasp, her grip is tight and you can't breathe, your eyes watering with the pain and the pleasure that it brings. She leans forward, her breath hot against the shell of your ear, her grip tight. You're trembling, shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Beg me," she whispers.

"Let me taste you. Let me kiss you. Please, please let me—"

Her grip on your neck tightens, cutting you off. Your words dissolve into a whimpering mess and your eyes roll back in their sockets as your body melts into her. Her touch, her words, her everything has such an effect on you that it takes you to another world. The only thing that exists is the two of you.

"Pathetic," she scoffs, her lips brushing your ear. "You'll do anything, won't you?"

"Yes," you moan, and you mean it.

"Good," she says as she pushes you away and you collapse back against the ground. "Now make me feel good, will you? I'm sick of waiting."

Yujin steps over you, her legs on either side of you and she pulls the laced underwear to the side, lowering herself down until she's hovering just over your mouth.

She looks ethereal like this, the lights shining down on her. The goddess of your dreams, the star of your story.

"Please, let me—" You don't even need to finish your sentence, Yujin sinks down, pressing her pussy onto your lips and you open your mouth to lick at her. A mouth full of pussy, the taste of her arousal hitting your tongue. She grinds down, the soft skin of her thighs pressing in on either side of your face, trapping you. You lick again, tongue flat against her, licking up from her entrance and over her clit. She grunts and her hips buck forward, grinding her pussy down harder on your lips.

"More," she pants.

And you give it to her. Your tongue laps at her, teasing her clit. Her hips roll and you feel the slickness between her legs growing and it's all over you, coating your face as you desperately reach for her thighs. She slaps your hand away.

"Did I say you can touch?"

You struggle to shake your head between her legs.

"So keep them down."

Your hands go back to your side and she groans in approval, grinding harder and faster, using you like she knows she can. This is so Yujin, to use you like she's nothing but a toy for her to play with. You don't care, you'll do whatever she wants.

You're lost in the moment, your tongue licking, tasting and teasing as you desperately try and find the rhythm she's moving in. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you there. You cut shapes across her clit with your tongue and you feel the shuddering of her legs as she whines. She loves it when you write her name with your tongue. The letters spelling out An Yujin.

It's all it takes for you to be consumed by her. She's in your system and all you want to do is make her feel good.

Even the powerful, composed, elegant, Yujin has to succumb in some form to the pleasure. She's been riding you with so much poise and posture. Her back is slightly arched, so above you is just the beautiful expanse of her upper body—clung to by a sweat-soaked white shirt. She's running her hand across her chest, her fingers twisting a nipple as she works herself into a frenzy on you. Her head rolls, her hand moves to the base of her neck and she moans.

She basks in the light shining down on her, and it's a sight to behold. The way it glistens on her skin. The sweat runs down her chest. Her hair, her face. The way she looks when she's so completely in the moment.

"Fuck—" she gasps and her thighs tense around your head.

You're trapped and you're struggling. Your face is covered in slick and your mouth is filled with her taste. You feel like you're suffocating and all you can think is that this is how you want to die, with Yujin all over you. Yet you know there's more to come. She starts to crumble. The poise fades and she leans forward, slamming the palm of her hand against the floor.

She hunches as she rides harder. She's fucking down onto your face. Grinding her pussy on your lips and your chin, chasing the ecstasy that she needs. She's so close you can feel it in the way she trembles. You hear it in her moaning, her whines. She's there. Right there, on the cusp. 

And how you wish you could take hold of her. Grip her juicy ass in your hands and push your mouth against her cunt and fuck her with your tongue. You'd do it. You would. Your hands twitch at the thought. Your fingers curl into the floor instead. There will be no marks on Yujin's perfect skin from your fingers right now. You keep them clenched and do as you're told.

"Fuck—" She grunts, her thighs trembling. You can't move and you can barely breathe. All you can do is lick at her and let her ride you like a toy.

It's enough. Yujin cries out and her back arches, her head falling backwards. She comes and it's the most glorious sight, watching her body tense as her thighs tremble, clenching around your face. She grinds, rubbing against your tongue as she draws it out. It's messy and loud. She's panting, her chest heaving and she moans, rocking her hips and gasping.

It's like the tension washes out of her body and she sinks down, relaxing against you. She sits on your chest, looking down at you, a satisfied smirk on her face. You try to smile back but all you can manage is a dopey grin as you struggle to catch your breath. She's beautiful like this. Her eyes shine bright, the light behind them twinkling. Her skin glows and she looks like a work of art. A masterpiece.

"You did well," she praises, reaching out to touch your face, stroking her fingers across your cheeks, "you always do well for me, don't you?"

You nod. "I'd do anything for you," you say, and you mean it.

"I know you will." She shifts her hips, her thighs clamping down around your face again, restricting your air. Yujin laughs. "You'd let me suffocate you if I told you to."

And you would. You really would.

"But, I still have use for you," she tells you as she dismounts. Yujin relaxes on the floor next to you, her head propped up on her elbow.

You take a breath and roll over to look at her, still gasping for air. She smiles, reaching out and cupping your face with her hand, thumbing the wetness of her from your cheeks. You're a mess, covered in her, and her eyes tell you how much she loves that sight. How much she enjoys the power of having you like that.

Yujin leans over, her lips grazing over yours. The kiss is so light it makes you shiver. A complete contrast to what you've just experienced. She walks this balance so perfectly. The rough and the gentle, the affection and the torment. She's the best at both and she plays with them like an instrument.

"Do you like me?" Yujin blinks innocent eyes and it's a trap that you fall right into.

"Yes. You know that I do. I like you a lot."

Yujin grins. "Do you like my body?" She shuffles closer, looking down at you a little more. "Do you want to fuck me?"

You gulp, your mouth watering as your eyes wander over the curves of her figure, the way her nipples press against her shirt, the way the hem of it has risen, exposing her midriff and how she plays with the lace of her panties on her hip. You're so hard that you're aching and she knows that. You want her, you need her, you'd give anything to feel her.

"Yujin," you whimper. "Please."

"Do you deserve to fuck me? After being so bad today?"

"I can make up for it. I'll do anything—"

"I bet you would," she hums. Her hand reaches out, sliding over your shorts, her fingers grazing over the obvious bulge. "You want it that badly?"

You nod and you're desperate.

"You want to be inside me?"

"Please, Yujin," you whimper.

She grins, tugging at the waist of your shorts and slipping her fingers under the waist. "You want to grab my ass while I ride you like the toy that you are? Do you want me to bounce on your dick, hm? The one that belongs to me?"

You bite your lip as you nod fervently, watching the way her eyes shine and the corners of her lips twist. Yujin lets out a soft laugh at your desperation.

"Then worship me." She pulls her hand away from your crotch and places it on her hip to pose. "Show me how much you like my body."

Yujin rolls onto her back, throws her hands above her head and bends a knee as her other leg stretches out. She looks so perfect, so inviting. So you climb to your knees, looking over her as she relaxes. There's a natural arch to her body between her shoulders and her ass that leaves a sliver of light between the small of her back and the floor. She's an art piece. Like a statue carved from stone, sculpted and designed to be admired. A creation so beautiful and elegant.

And you're on your knees for her, kissing up her outstretched leg. Your hand traces over her thigh. You're slow, taking your time. The skin beneath your lips is so soft, so smooth, so delicate. You don't deserve her. Your lips press into the path your hand paves up her body. Gentle kisses of appreciation on the thigh you adore so much.

"Yujin—" you breathe the words hot onto her skin. A lick, to taste the sweat from her body, a kiss, to mark the spot. A honey-laced laugh rings in the air. "You're so beautiful," you murmur.

Your mouth presses against her hip, tongue trailing over her skin. Your fingers lip up under her tight-fitted shirt. She's so warm. Her body feels like it's burning and her breaths are heavy.

She looks down the length of her body to watch you as your hand slides up, pushing her shirt with it. Your lips graze over your stomach, tongue teasing and tracing over the defined lines. You're in awe of her. She's perfect, and she knows it, but you still want her to know that she's appreciated. That she's worshipped, admired, adored, lusted for, and wanted.

"I know I am," she laughs, "but tell me more."

"An Yujin," you breathe the name into her skin as you kiss your way to her chest, your hand sliding further up her body until the palm of your hand rests on the softness of her breast. "No one is like you," you whisper as you squeeze the mound in your hand, feeling her body beneath you, feeling the way it moves when your hand does. "You're so flawless."

She moans softly when your fingers pinch her nipple. "Keep going," Yujin hums.

"You're stunning," you continue, looking up at her face as you kiss across her chest to the other breast, your hand still fondling. Your mouth hovers over her nipple and your eyes flicker up to meet hers as you lick over it. She gasps and you lick again, teasing and flicking over it. "You're the most decadent, alluring thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"I'm your fantasy?" Her hands move to the top of your head, her fingers twisting into the strands of your hair as you lick, sucking her into your mouth again, teasing her with the flat of your tongue. You suck and she lets out a sharp hiss of a moan.

"My fantasy," you breathe the words against her chest. "You're my dream."

Her hips lift, pushing against you and the growing ache of your erection. The friction, the heat, the feeling of her—it's so good. She grinds, rolling her hips and rubbing against your cock, smirking at the way you whine, your eyes fluttering.

"You want to cum," she taunts. "Don't you?"

"Yujin," you moan her name again as her fingers twist tighter in your hair. Your hips roll down to meet the grind of her body and your mouth finds the crook of her neck. You inhale the scent of her. You're surrounded by Yujin. It's dizzying. She's everywhere. The smell of her, the taste of her on your tongue and lips, the feeling of her skin on your hands, under your body, the sight of her, the sound of her voice. Everything is Yujin, and you can't think of a better world to live in. "I want you," you tell her. "I want to be inside you, I need you."

"I know what you need," she hums. Yujin's hands tug on your shirt and you sit back and pull it off. Her palms press against your chest, pushing you to lie back on the floor. You watch her and the grace with which she moves, kneeling over your waist as she peels her own shirt over her head and tosses it to the side.

Your eyes are all over her body. Yujin's hands run over the softness of her skin, and she cups her tits in her hands, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, her eyes locked on yours as you watch. Her body is a wonderland. There's no part of it that you haven't seen. No inch of her skin you haven't touched or tasted. You know every crevice of it, every mark and blemish, every imperfection. You know them all and you love them. They're the most perfect imperfections you've ever seen.

She knows the power that her body has over you, the control it gives her. Yujin knows how to wield that weapon, how to make it into the sharpest sword, and how to cut you with it.

"Fuck me," you plead, the words escaping your lips in desperation. "Yujin, please."

"You beg so beautifully for me," she smiles, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. "Lift your hips."

And you obey, lifting them from the floor. Yujin's fingers tug at the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. She smiles at the sight of you, hard and leaking. Yujin's hands slide over your bare thighs. You're exposed, and the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin sends a chill up your spine. Her palms slide up until she wraps one around the base of your cock and her touch sends a shiver through your body. Yujin strokes up, slowly, twisting her hand on the upstroke. Your hips buck at her touch and she grins at the way your cock twitches, the precum leaking across the back of her hand as she reaches the top.

"You're so needy," she says as her hand glides back down. Your eyes are wide, watching every move she makes as if your life depended on it. "I like it," she tells you.

"I'd do anything—"

"I know you would," Yujin laughs, cutting you off. She shuffles forward on her knees until her thighs press on either side of your waist, caging you between her. The way she towers over you, with that look in her eyes that says you belong to her. "You're my toy, aren't you?"

"I'm your toy."

"That's right." Her hand squeezes tighter around the base of your cock as she lifts her hips, hovering just over you. You don't know how long she's going to keep you waiting, you never do. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. She has a sadistic streak that you've never understood and it's always a game of how desperate can she make you before giving in to your begging. "And who does this belong to?" she asks.

"You. Yujin. It belongs to you," you breathe the words, your fingers curling into the palms of your hands.

"That's right, it belongs to me. This cock," she strokes up again. "It's mine. Isn't it?" Yujin's fingers trace up, circling your tip.

"It's yours," you whimper. The desperation has you whining.

"It is," she laughs, and it's a sound that makes your stomach twist into knots. She squeezes you and lifts her hips just a little, enough for you to feel the heat of her body. You feel her thighs squeeze against you as she grinds her pussy on the underside of your cock, dragging the length of you through her folds and over her clit.

Instinct dictates that you bring your hand to her hip, but you know you can't just take hold of her, not unless she's given the go-ahead. You clench your hands tighter, biting your lip to hold in your frustration, your desperation.

Yujin's hips rock against you again, grinding down and using your cock to get herself off. You can feel the slickness between her legs. You can hear the wet sound it makes. She's using you, and she's loving every second. It's the sound you know too well. She's getting herself off. The feeling of her is intoxicating, and your cock is throbbing, twitching as it slides against her pussy, hitting her clit. The moans from Yujin's lips tell you exactly what it's doing to her. How much she loves the way it makes her feel.

You can't touch. You can't take control. All you can do is lie back, your head tipped back against the floor as your fingers grip in vain at the floor, struggling to keep them from reaching out for her. Yujin's body moves like silk in the wind, and you know she's so close. The sound of her, the feeling of her. She's riding the edge, grinding down, the tip of your cock catching on her entrance as she teases you with every move.

"Yujin—" you beg her name as your head falls to the side, eyes clenched closed.

"What?" Her voice is thick with lust and you feel her hand on your chin, gripping your jaw, her nails biting into your cheeks. She turns your face and forces your eyes open to watch the way she moves. "You want to be inside me?"

You can only nod in reply, feeling her fingers tighten around you, squeezing. She grins, leaning over and you feel the breath of her laughter on your neck. Her lips brush your skin. Her teeth nip, biting down on your shoulder, making you wince. Yujin's hips roll forward, and the tip of your cock catches on her entrance. She holds there for a moment, a silent torment of anticipation as your mind swirls and your stomach flips. And then you feel the heat, her warmth as she slowly pushes herself onto your cock. You watch with a hitched breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You feel her. She feels you.

The breath you'd held rushes out, a gasping moan, the feeling of being enveloped by her body. The tight warmth as Yujin sinks all the way down. Her pussy grips your length, squeezing tight and you can feel the way it flutters, the way it grips, the way it clenches around you. Your eyes meet hers, and you can see how much she enjoys having this effect on you. How she loves the way you react, the sounds she forces you to make, the way you squirm and gasp beneath her. She owns you. Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably.

Her hands press down on your chest, and she starts to move, rolling her hips, circling, lifting up just enough that she can feel you slide in and out of her. You can feel it all, you're aware of every movement she makes. How she grinds her clit against your body on the downstroke, the way her hips tilt to find the right spot, the way she moans when she hits the perfect angle. The way she moves when she finds the right pace, the perfect rhythm. It's everything and all at once.

"You feel so good inside me," Yujin purrs. She leans back, placing a hand on the top of your thigh. Her body is open to you. She's exposed. The panties she still wears are pulled to the side, her breasts bouncing with every move of her body, her stomach tightening, the soft skin pulled taut as her abs clench. She's a sight, a beauty to behold and a treasure to worship.

"Yujin, please," you breathe the word into the space between the two of you. It's not enough, you need to touch. You have to. But you're trapped and she's in charge. "Let me touch you."

"No." It's simple, the way she says it. It's like she's not even thinking about the effect she's having on you like she doesn't even realise what she's doing to your sanity. She rides you like a toy, her hips moving, grinding down, her thighs squeezing and relaxing as she works. You can only whine, lying back against the ground. You watch as she takes what she needs from you, her hand slipping down her stomach and to her clit, circling quickly as her moans fill the room. "This is my cock," she breathes, "and I'll do what I like with it."

"Yes," you hiss as your hips push upwards, your hands balled into fists at your sides. You're so hard it hurts. It aches and it throbs, and all you can do is lie back, trapped beneath Yujin and her powerful thighs. "Yujin—" you breathe, but the words stick in your throat.

Her eyes are dark, the lust-filled pools staring down at you as you lie back, completely helpless and at her mercy. Your cock twitches and she gasps, her hand on her clit, rubbing furiously, chasing her release. She's getting closer and closer with each passing second and it shows in her face. Her brow creasing, lips parted and eyes fluttering.

She's fucking herself on your dick. Yujin is using you to get herself off and you love every second of it. The feeling of her walls gripping you tight, squeezing, her body clenching around you. The way her thighs tense and shake as she moves. Her moans, her gasps. Her eyes are on you, watching you watch her.

Yujin gasps and her body shudders, her pace quickening, her fingers circling faster, rubbing frantically at her clit as she chases her orgasm. You know how close she is, and all you can do is watch her face as she gets closer and closer. Her body is shaking, trembling as the wave builds inside her. Her moans get louder, and more intense. Her fingers work harder, and you feel her tightening, the walls of her pussy squeezing down, and then she cries out, her head tipping back, her body arching, her chest pushing out as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

It's beautiful. The way her body reacts to it all, the way she looks when she comes undone. Yujin moans your name and it sends shivers up and down your spine. She looks ethereal like this. A deity to be admired. A queen on her throne.

She's beautiful. She's breathtaking. She's Yujin.

When the waves stop crashing, Yujin collapses onto you, her body limp and spent. The warmth of her body pressed against you feels like heaven and your cock is still inside her, pulsing, aching, begging for its own release.

"I don't know if I should let you cum," Yujin pants in a whisper, her face pressed against your shoulder, the hot breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Could just leave you here like this. All hard and frustrated. Aching. You'd probably go home and get yourself off thinking about me."

She's right. Of course, she's right. You would.

"Or maybe you can show me just how much you appreciate me," she breathes, pushing herself up, hands on either side of your head. "Would you like that?"

"Anything," you tell her. Your hands twitch, desperate to reach up to her. "You know I would."

"I know." She smirks and sits up. Her hips lift until you feel your cock slipping out of her, her wetness dripping onto you. Yujin's fingers trace over the mess she's left, smearing it on her fingertips before bringing it to your lips. You know what she wants. She doesn't even need to ask.

Your mouth opens and she pushes her fingers between your parted lips, letting you lick them clean. You suck her fingers and her eyes watch you, a glint of something dangerous shining. She pulls them out slowly, dragging the tips over your bottom lip. "Good," Yujin breathes the word as she climbs off of you and turns around.

The curve of her ass is a beautiful thing to see. It's soft, smooth, plump. She catches a glance at you staring, a smirk tugging on her lips. She plants her hand against her ass (a harsh reminder that feeling it yourself requires her permission) and squeezes the flesh before letting out a laugh. It's all a game to her.

"You're going to show me, by cumming for me. Cumming on me." She settles back onto the floor, gracefully lying back into a pose. "You have two minutes. Two minutes to show me how much you love my body." She runs a hand from her chest all the way to her hips and you watch, entranced by every movement she makes. Yujin laughs again. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The words kick you into action and you scramble to your knees and shuffle towards her. She laughs at the sweet, sweet honey sound that makes you melt. Your hand wraps around the base of your cock, the wetness from Yujin's pussy coating it, slick and smooth as you slowly stroke your length. You stare at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her fingers trace up and down the skin of her thigh, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

It's intoxicating. You're drunk on Yujin, high off of her beauty, and you're addicted. There's no going back. You're hers, completely. Your fist tightens around your length and your strokes quicken. The feeling of it is so good and your cock is still throbbing from being trapped inside her. You can feel the lingering heat of her body on your skin. The scent of her, the taste, the sound. It's everywhere. Surrounding you. Enveloping you. Engulfing you. Consuming you.

"Two minutes," she hums the reminder, her fingers sliding between her thighs. Yujin's fingers slide over the panties she still wears. "Two minutes to make yourself cum for me. To make a mess of my body."

"Yujin," you whimper her name like it's a prayer. The sound of her voice, the sight of her body. The knowledge of what you've done, of what you've experienced. You've been inside her. You've had the taste of her on your tongue, the sound of her in your ears. Her pussy is still dripping and her thighs glistening. You're still so hard that you're aching, and all you can do is stroke yourself. All you can do is pump your hand and feel your fingers glide up and down your shaft.

Your eyes flicker from the smooth, warm, inviting skin of her chest to her pussy and back. You've tasted her. You've felt her. You've felt the way she grips and clenches, the way she feels. The sound of her when she cums.

"I don't know if you can do it. I don't know if you can cum." Yujin teases and she knows how to play you. "One minute."

"Yujin," you moan her name again and again as you feel it building. The pressure. The heat. Your cock twitches in your hand as you stroke. The sensation of the wet heat, the friction, the knowledge that Yujin is beneath you, but you're hers to command, to control. It's too much and it's everything. You feel it in your core, a twisting, coiling, winding tension that's threatening to snap.

"Do you want to cum on me?" Her voice breaks through the fog. "Do you want to mark my body with your cum? Make a mess of me?"

She throws her hands above her head, stretching out her body and presenting herself for your load. "Thirty seconds," Yujin warns, the hint of danger on the tip of her tongue.

"Yujin—" You can only whisper her name as you stroke. Hard and fast, gripping and twisting. You're so close. Right there, standing on the precipice.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me," she praises. "Show me how much you adore me."

"I—I—" Your words die in your throat, a gasping, breathless moan. You're cumming, the tension snaps and it's all too much. The pleasure rushes over you like a wave. You're drowning in it. You're suffocating. Your hips stutter, thrusting into your fist, pumping your length as you feel the hot spurts of your cum painting over Yujin's perfect, beautiful skin. The first spurt splashes across her breasts, the second spattering across her stomach and chest. Her laughter fills the room. She loves this, seeing the way she's ruined you.

Your body shakes, your hand slowing as the final drops fall from your cock to the expanse of Yujin's body. Your mind swims as you struggle to breathe. Your head spins and your vision is blurry. She's laughing, her fingers swiping through the cum, rubbing it into her skin. Her hands roam all over her body and you're entranced. Your body feels like jelly as you collapse, slumped onto your side on the floor beside her.

"Good boy," Yujin purrs, her hand sliding over her stomach and down between her legs, rubbing at her clit with your cum. She's smearing it everywhere, all over her pussy, her fingers slipping between her folds and then back to her clit. It runs over her chest, dripping down the side of her tit. Her breath hitches and you watch, mesmerised by her. "Such a good boy."

"Yujin," her name falls from your lips as if you've lost all other words, the way a prayer is uttered, reverently and devotedly. "I—"

She laughs again. It's light and playful. "I know. I'm the best, right? You're so lucky."

"Yes." It's the only thing you can think of to say. You are lucky. So unbelievably lucky.

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

The father had turned on the night light. The flickering orange glow lit the hallway like a torch, so the darkness wasn’t what troubled the child.

He’d tucked each beloved stuffed animal into the child’s bed, careful not to lose any of them beneath the comforter lest they become fearful of the dark. The boy had seen it himself, so that wasn’t the cause of his woe.

Had the father checked the closet and beneath the bed for monsters and thieves?

He combed through the night’s events, then nodded. Yes, he had. He’d even checked the toy box for signs of the great green eyes or dagger-like claws the boy was afraid of.

“What is it?” the father asked finally, cradling the sobbing child close. “Did I forget something?”

The boy choked on words. His pajamas were wet with tears, and his pale blue eyes didn’t meet the father’s gaze.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be mad,” the father said. Had the child been hurt? Had he done something he was ashamed of?

The father flipped through every possible scenario he could think of and came up empty-handed. What was troubling the child so?

The man had never had a child before. He’d read every book he could get his hands on, attended first aid and childcare classes, gone so far as to watch Internet videos about raising a child—which, of course, he’d never admit to anyone. But, with all his knowledge, why couldn’t he find an answer to the distress?

Was it due to the child’s parentage? His thin curls and pale, pale eyes had been the sign of something different even before the round of his ears had gone.

He’d found exactly one confidante who knew what the child was. Who knew what to teach the child about, what things the father needed to know, what he could do to protect the child until his true parents returned for him.

But, after nine years, the child’s parents had not yet returned. The father could see on the elven teacher’s face that even she didn’t know if the parents would ever come back for him.

“It’s not common,” she said once, “for my people to abandon their young in the mortal world. I can only presume something happened to them. Until the boy is of age to return to our lands—until he is able to make that journey—”

The father knew what she was going to say. “—I am responsible for his safety,” he finished.

And so that was that. He was the father of a fantastical child until that child came of age.

Yet, even after nine years, the father rarely knew the right thing to say and do. He wiped the child’s tears and pushed his hair from his forehead now, and the child still cried.

After a long, endless moment, the child looked up, and his face crumpled. “I don’t want you to die.”

Ah.

The breath caught in the father’s throat.

The teacher must have gone over that with him.

The fact that the human race was nowhere near as long-lived as the elves was not new information to the father. He’d turned it over in his head again and again.

Even if he did live as long as the child would, it wouldn’t make a difference. The child had his own life and people to return to once the time came, and the father would return to prior things.

It was no one’s fault. Both things—lifespan and other lands—were mere truths of the small family’s existence.

Mere truths that, even so, felt insurmountable at the moment.

“I will die long after you return to your land,” the father said gently. “You will hardly think of me.”

The boy cried harder at that. “I will think of you! Every day!”

“But it will not be thoughts of my death. You will think of the stories before bedtime, burnt pots of macaroni, and staying up to watch the stars. You will think of drives to the park and learning to read.”

The boy sniffled, though his tears had slowed. “But when you die, I won’t know.”

“And there is no reason to know. I would much rather you think about the things like…” the father thought for a moment. “Like when you got scared of the teddy bear’s shadow in the nightlight!”

The boy laughed.

“Or when we didn’t bake the cake long enough and it fell apart on our forks. Chocolate slime!”

Another laugh, this one louder. “Or when you pretended to be Santa but your beard fell off?”

“Yes!” The father let boy from his arms. “Exactly.”

The boy offered a grin, albeit a tired and watery one. He slid off the bed and stood still for a moment.

“So it will be alright?”

“Of course it will be. I won’t let you forget those things,” the father answered. “Now, go to bed. You have lessons tomorrow.”

The boy obeyed, stopping at the door for only a moment to do the special wave he and the father had made up.

The father returned it in kind, and then the door shut. He listened for the soft patter of footsteps back to the boy’s room, and, once they disappeared, he gave a sigh of his own.

Without the orange glow of the nightlight, darkness seemed to engulf him entirely.

Things would be alright. The child was only a temporary part of his life, and soon enough the father would be back to things as they had been nine years ago.

Things would be alright.

He would have to convince himself of that. He’d allowed himself to care too much for the child, hadn’t he? And now he was breaking at the thought that none of it was truly real.

Things would be alright.

He’d always known that it was temporary, so how had he gotten here, so far into the role of father? How could he simply forget this, let it fade into the mundane day-to-day?

It was what it was. That’s how it was always going to play out.

For now, he could continue as things were. Nothing was changing.

Things were going to be alright.

They would have to be.

You're a single human parent of a Elf child, today has you ready yourself for bed you hear them burst open the door with tears in their eye as they jump into bed with you and hold onto you tight, has you comfort them you hear them say through their whimpering and sobs "i don't want you to die".

[redvexillum]

A/N: Hoe, Hoe, Hoe! Happy Holidays, folks! Can you believe it? We've made it to Day 25, and there's just one more story left before Smutmas officially comes to a close! This story is particularly special to me because it's a direct sequel to one of my very first ventures outside my comfort zone—Off Script—where I took on the challenge of writing Alastor as a sub. I really hope you all enjoy it! I did my best to keep him in character, so fingers crossed it hits the mark. And finally—Kit, let’s both finish Smutmas tomorrow with a… bang!

SUMMARY: Alastor thought he was being clever when he snuck extra spices into your gingerbread mix, but his bratty antics had consequences he clearly wasn’t prepared for. As sweet as you usually are, you’re also a master of dominance, and tonight, Alastor learns exactly what that means.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, pleasure dom! reader, bratty sub! alastor, alastor has a tail, oral sex, overstimulation, pegging, anal plug, aftercare, p in v, fluffy-wuffy, no ANGST (because people be thinking I'm writing angstmas??? >:U)

The first time you broached the topic of introducing your particular interests in the bedroom to Alastor, it did not go as planned. In fact, it spiralled into an entirely unforeseen direction. He veered off script, revealing an unexpected side of himself. It didn’t take long for you to realize something that honestly shouldn’t have been too surprising: Alastor was, perhaps, the most delightfully bratty submissive you had ever encountered. 

At first, you had been hesitant, cautious even, testing the waters with a delicate touch. You started slow, pinning his wrists above his head while straddling him, your slick folds gliding teasingly along the hard length of his cock. His body was tense beneath you, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he fought to remain still. And yet, you could see it—the flicker of amusement, the glint of curiosity, and the unspoken challenge in his ruby eyes. 

“Darling,” he rasped, his voice a mix of feigned irritation and genuine arousal, “you do realize I am the one in control here.” 

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Oh, of course, love. It’s all for you,” you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed submission, knowing full well how the words would stoke his ego. 

That balance—teasing the line between control and surrender—was crucial with Alastor. He was willing to explore these new dynamics with you as long as he felt the game was his to win. Over time, these intimate games deepened your connection, building trust in a way neither of you had anticipated. 

It was in these moments of play that you discovered just how much he enjoyed being edged. He saw it as a competition, a challenge, and every false word of bravado he muttered only made you more determined. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted one evening, his hands tied above his head as you licked a slow stripe along the underside of his cock. His body betrayed him, trembling with the effort of restraint even as he smirked. 

“Oh, you’ll see what I’ve got,” you replied sweetly, revelling in the sharp gasp that escaped him as you abruptly stopped, leaving him throbbing and desperate. 

In time, Alastor even began to participate in choosing the tools for your escapades. When you brought out a selection of dildos, he would inspect them with a meticulousness that was almost comical, tilting his head and tapping his chin as though he were selecting fine wine. 

“That one,” he’d say with a grin, pointing to the one you knew he loved. And when you took your time with him, thrusting the toy deep into his ass while your lips wrapped around his cock, he would surrender so completely it left you breathless. His body would go slack, his head tilting back as he moaned your name, every line of tension melting away. In those moments, he was utterly yours, and the vulnerability he showed was nothing short of beautiful. 

But, as you learned, this came with its own set of challenges. 

Take the time you had decided to edge him for hours as “punishment” for one of his pranks—spiking your tea with a hellpeppers just to see your reaction. He had whimpered, begged, and finally come undone in a way that left him breathless. But instead of deterring him, it only seemed to spur him on. From that day forward, his pranks became more frequent, each one more mischievous than the last, as though he were daring you to make good on your “punishments.” 

Like today. 

You had been looking forward to baking gingerbread cookies, humming softly to yourself as you worked. But when you took a bite of the first batch, you nearly gagged. The sweetness was overwhelmed by a fiery burn that made your eyes water. Whirling around, you saw him standing there, hands clasped behind his back, his signature grin stretching impossibly wide. 

“Alastor!” you snapped, pointing accusingly at the tray of ruined cookies. “Did you do this?” 

His laugh was a low, melodic hum, a sound that made your skin tingle. “Why, my dear, I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” he replied, though his twitching nose and barely contained snicker betrayed him. 

You narrowed your eyes, stalking toward him as he took a step back, his grin faltering just slightly. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” you said, your voice syrupy sweet and laced with intent. 

The sharp click of your teeth echoed in the quiet kitchen as you fought to rein in the rising tide of frustration. Your eye twitched, your hands curling into fists at your sides as you surveyed the latest in a string of sabotages. The day had started with a simple enough task: helping Charlie decorate the hotel with festive holiday cheer. It should have been done in two hours. Two. Instead, six gruelling hours later, you were still at it, thanks to Alastor’s relentless interference. 

Like a mischievous shadow, he’d been everywhere, undoing your progress with a gleeful flourish, all while flashing that infuriating grin. 

Now, staring at the ruined cookie dough—a batch you’d painstakingly mixed, rolled, and shaped—your patience finally hit its breaking point. The thought of starting over from scratch, gathering ingredients, kneading dough, and baking again made your stomach churn. 

But just as you were about to storm off searching for a quiet space to collect yourself, something stopped you. 

The faintest movement caught your eye—the way the back of Alastor’s coat fluttered as he turned, the eager, almost expectant glint in his eyes as he glanced your way. 

And then it hit you. 

The realization came as a sharp pang of guilt. Between the influx of new sinners at the hotel, Charlie’s relentless schedule of events, and your constant involvement in helping out, you’d been neglecting Alastor. It hadn’t been intentional, but you couldn’t deny it either. Months had passed where you’d barely seen him outside of fleeting interactions, let alone shared any meaningful moments together. Even the intimacy of the bedroom had been replaced by nights spent alone in your own room. 

You sighed softly, the frustration in your chest shifting into something else—understanding, perhaps even regret. Of course, Alastor, with his peculiar ways, wouldn’t simply say he missed you. That wasn’t his style. No, this was his way of communicating, as exasperating as it was endearing. 

Walking toward him, your demeanour softened. Your fingers grazed lightly down the front of his chest, the movement enough to draw his attention. His grin faltered for just a moment as you spoke, your voice low and soft. 

“I’m going to my room,” you murmured, offering no further explanation as you turned and walked away. You didn’t need to look back to know he would follow. 

By the time you stepped into your room, the shadows shifted, and Alastor materialized before you with his usual dramatic flair. 

“Already, darling?” he chimed, his tone as jovial as ever. “Oh, I pity poor Charlie for hiring someone who can’t manage such a simple task,” he teased, his grin widening as he prodded at your lingering frustration. 

But this time, instead of rising to his bait, you smirked. Slowly, deliberately, you closed the distance between you, your eyes never leaving his. His playful expression faltered, just slightly, as you leaned in, resting your head against his chest. 

“I’m so disappointed, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice carrying a softness that belied the weight of your words. His body stiffened beneath your touch, and a shiver ran through him as your fingers deftly began to unbutton his shirt. 

“You’ve been so bad these last few weeks,” you continued, each syllable dripping with quiet reprimand. 

Alastor’s breath hitched as the fabric slipped from his shoulders, exposing his skin to the dim light of your room. “Oh, that’s what I do best,” he quipped, though his voice trembled slightly, betraying the bravado in his words. 

With a gentle push, he stumbled back onto the bed, his legs spreading instinctively as he leaned back on his arms. His cock twitched, already hardening, as he watched you climb onto him with methodical slowness. 

“And what will you do about it, darling?” he goaded, his tone laced with challenge. 

“Well,” you mused, straddling him without letting a single inch of your body touch his, “I suppose it’s only fair that I receive my recompense.” 

Your fingers traced the sharp lines of his face, moving with tenderness that made him shudder beneath you. His grin faltered, his composure slipping as you let your touch wander downward. Your nails ghosted over his chest, tracing patterns against his skin, stopping just shy of his now achingly hard cock. 

“Darling,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. 

“Patience,” you whispered, a smirk playing at your lips as you leaned in closer. “After all, you’ve been so bad—surely you understand the importance of a little... delay.” 

Alastor’s eyes burned with equal parts anticipation and defiance, but he made no move to stop you. For once, he was entirely at your mercy, and you intended to savour every moment. 

“Since you love to play around so much,” you murmured, your gaze locking onto his piercing crimson eyes, “let’s playtogether, Al.” 

Your words were honeyed, teasing, as your fingers finally wrapped firmly around the thick shaft of his cock. His breath hitched audibly, and for a fleeting moment, his ever-present grin wavered. That alone was victory enough, but you weren’t finished. Leaning in, you let your lips ghost over his, so close that your breath mingled with his. 

“Hours, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice dripping with promise. “I’ll play with you for hours.” 

The effect was immediate. His eyes fluttered closed, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from his lips. The usual bravado he wore like a mask began to crack under the slow, deliberate stroke of your hand. You could feel the way he melted into your touch, his body responding with a shiver as the tension in him ebbed away. 

He no longer held back, no longer stifled the sounds he made or the soft confessions of what felt good beneath your touch. It had taken time, patience, and trust to reach this point, where he no longer masked his vulnerability in shame but surrendered to it with you. 

You pressed your other hand to his chest, urging him back, and he complied without resistance, lying against the bed as you worked him with skilled hands. His cock throbbed hot and heavy in your grasp, silken beneath your palm as you pumped it with slow, deliberate strokes. 

“D-Darling,” he breathed out, his voice trembling, his head falling back as his hips began to roll against your hand. His moans started low, rising in pitch as his body grew more desperate, his movements frantic in his chase for release. 

You matched his urgency, your hand moving faster, guiding him closer to the edge. His foreskin slid over the glossy tip of his cock, only to be drawn back down, exposing the glistening head with each thrust. The slick sounds of your motions filled the room, mingling with his erratic breaths and soft cries. 

“Darling, darling!” he cried out, his hips canting forward one last time before his release overtook him. Hot, sticky ropes of cum painted his chest, streaking his skin with creamy lines. His breath came in heavy, uneven pants as his body trembled in the aftershocks of pleasure. A haze of satisfaction clouded his crimson eyes, but beneath it, you saw the flicker of anticipation. He knew this wasn’t over. 

Your fingers lazily dipped into the sticky warmth of his release, swirling through it before lifting to your lips. Your tongue darted out, tasting him with a soft hum of appreciation. “Mmm, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Al?” you teased, pressing a lingering kiss to the oversensitive tip of his cock. He jolted, his hips bucking instinctively at the sudden contact. 

“You haven’t been finding release without me, have you?” you asked, your voice sweet but laced with mischief. 

“Hah!” His laugh was strained, tinged with his usual bravado as he tried to recover some semblance of control. “Please, darling, I can hold myself back just fine,” he quipped, though his eyes darted away, betraying him. 

“Is that so?” you murmured, your tone light and teasing. Without warning, you leaned down, engulfing his still-soft cock with your mouth. 

Alastor hissed sharply, his claws sinking into the bedsheets as you drew back his foreskin with your lips, swirling your tongue over his sensitive head. His body jerked beneath you, trembling as overstimulation began to set in. 

“Ah, d-darling,” he panted, his voice shaky, the usual radio-filtered crackle distorted by the raw edge of his cries. “A-ah, ah!” His cock twitched weakly in your mouth, his body entirely at your mercy. 

You didn’t relent, your tongue working over him with precision, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure you could draw from him. His head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as his hands fisted the sheets in a futile attempt to ground himself. His breath came in ragged gasps, his voice breaking as he moaned your name again and again. 

But you remained attuned to him, careful to read the signals of his body. Alastor, ever stubborn, would never admit when pleasure teetered on the edge of too much, and you wouldn’t let him push past his limits. For you, his pleasure was your greatest reward, the sight of him unravelling before you igniting a heat in your core that left you clenching and aching with need. 

Still, you slowed your ministrations, pulling back just enough to let him breathe, to bask in the blissful haze that softened his sharp edges. His trembling body told you everything his words wouldn’t—that he trusted you completely, in this and in everything else. 

The moment his thighs began to tremble, instinctively closing around your head, you knew it was time to stop. With a calculated precision, your lips tightened into a seal around his cock, sucking deeply one last time before pulling back. His length slipped free with a loud, wet pop, leaving him quivering and gasping beneath you. 

Alastor's abdomen fluttered with each shallow breath, his chest rising and falling erratically as he tried to gather himself. A thin sheen of sweat coated his pale skin, catching the soft light and accentuating the slight tremor that rippled through him. His crimson eyes, glazed and unfocused, stared blankly at the ceiling, his usual composure nowhere to be found. 

Your gaze softened as you admired the rare vulnerability etched into his features, but a spark of mischief flickered in your chest. Leaning forward, you dragged your tongue languidly along your middle and index fingers, wetting them thoroughly before trailing them downward. When you pressed the slick pads of your fingers against the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. 

His sharp intake of breath was followed by a low, trembling moan as his crimson eyes flicked downward, meeting yours. That familiar grin of his began to reappear, albeit strained, but you matched it with one of your own. Slowly, deliberately, you worked your fingers inside, the tight, hot walls clenching around you as you sank deeper. 

“Ohhh,” he moaned, his voice pitching higher as his hips began an instinctive, grinding motion against your hand. Each stroke and press of your fingers sent shockwaves through his body, and you couldn’t help but relish the way he cried out your name, breathless and desperate. 

“Is this what you missed, Alastor?” you murmured, your voice dripping with sultry amusement. The heat pooling between your thighs was almost unbearable now, your soaked underwear clinging to your skin. You punctuated your question with feather-light kisses along the sensitive curve of his balls, earning another full-body shudder from him. 

“D-don’t be ridiculous,” he managed to huff out, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his bravado. His hips bucked against your hand, seeking more, needing you to go harder, deeper, faster. “You—hah—you’re the one who seems to need it more than I do!” 

His words faltered into a broken cry as you curled your fingers inside him, pressing directly against his prostate. The reaction was instant—his cock, already half-hard, twitched violently before stiffening completely, precum dripping steadily from the swollen tip. Thin, sticky strands pooled on his stomach, glistening in the dim light. 

“I-I c-can smell you,” he groaned, his voice cracking with static as the radio distortion flickered uncontrollably. “I can s-smell your arousal, d-darling.” 

His eyes fluttered as he struggled to focus on you, the effort clear in the way his brows furrowed, and his lips parted with ragged breaths. You smiled wickedly, never ceasing the relentless rhythm of your fingers as you leaned in close. 

“Is that your way of saying you want me to ride you, Alastor?” you teased, your tone saccharine sweet, as you slowly withdrew your fingers. 

The way his ears flattened against his head and his lips pressed together to smother the pitiful whine that escaped him was nothing short of endearing. You straightened up, locking to his gaze as your hands moved to peel away your clothing. 

One by one, the layers fell away, revealing more of your heated skin to him. Alastor’s crimson eyes darkened with unrestrained hunger, his slender fingers flying to his cock, stroking himself slowly as he devoured the sight of you. The moment your panties slid down your legs, his attention zeroed in on the dark, damp patch that clung to the fabric. 

The sight of how soaked they were made his breath hitch. His grip on his cock tightened, his strokes quickening ever so slightly as he watched you stand before him, completely bare, the evidence of your arousal dripping down your thighs. 

Picking up your damp underwear, you held it delicately between your fingers, bringing it close to Alastor’s face. His eyes, smouldering with unrestrained hunger, followed the movement intently. A sly grin curled your lips as you whispered, “Go on. I know you’ve been dying to taste me.” 

In the past, he would have resisted—an adamant refusal to entertain such a base desire. But now? Now, his restraint was a distant memory. He eagerly took the fabric from your hand, his sharp grin widening as he pressed it to his lips. His tongue darted out, licking and suckling on the soaked material, his moans vibrating softly into the delicate fabric. He savoured every drop, his eyes fluttering shut as if lost in your essence. 

While he indulged, you turned your attention to the drawer by the bed, fingers searching for a specific item. A soft laugh escaped you as you pulled out the toy you’d been looking for—one of his favourites. The memory of the day he wore it, the secret only the two of you shared as he moved through the hotel with it snug inside him, made heat rush to your cheeks. 

The anal plug, adorned with curvy ridges and capped with a glittering pink heart at its base, glinted in the low light. Alastor froze mid-lick, his gaze snapping to the toy. His tail, which had been lazily swaying, thumped excitedly against the bed. 

You teased him further, holding his gaze as you slowly lowered the plug to your wet core. You pressed the tip to your entrance, coating the ridges in your slick. Alastor’s breath hitched, and a groan slipped past his lips as he watched you pump the toy in and out of yourself, each movement deliberate, each moan of yours feeding his anticipation. 

By the time you pulled the toy free, glistening and dripping with your arousal, Alastor had already lifted his legs, spreading them wide to present himself. His sharp grin turned expectant, almost demanding, his crimson eyes glinting with challenge and desire. 

You chuckled at his eagerness, running your free hand along the curve of his thigh. “Patience, darling,” you murmured. He squirmed beneath you, his cock twitching against his stomach as you pressed the slick plug against his entrance. Slowly, you began to work it in, the ridges catching slightly against his tight walls before sliding deeper, inch by inch. 

Alastor’s breath came out in stuttering gasps, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as the plug seated itself fully to the base. His cock throbbed, a bead of precum trailing down to pool on his stomach. He looked utterly wrecked, his body trembling and his chest heaving as he adjusted to the sensation of fullness. 

But you weren’t done. Without giving him a moment to recover, you straddled his hips, gripping his throbbing length and guiding him to your entrance. In one fluid motion, you sank down onto him, taking him to the hilt. His reaction was instant—a sharp gasp, his hands flying to your hips as his back arched off the bed before collapsing again. 

The tight heat of you gripping him drove him wild. His cock twitched inside you, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through both your bodies. But your focus wasn’t on his body—it was on his expression. His usually sharp grin softened, his crimson eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. His body trembled beneath yours, the rare vulnerability in him stirring a possessive warmth in your chest. 

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of pure, unfiltered delight, as you leaned forward. Pinning his wrists beside his head, you met his gaze, your movements slow at first. Each roll of your hips elicited a delicious tremor from him, his breath climbing with every downward thrust. 

“Y-you’re i-insatiable, d-darling,” he managed, his voice trembling as your pace quickened. 

You smiled wickedly, increasing the rhythm, the sound of skin meeting skin mingling with his stuttering breaths and deep moans. His sharp cries soon gave way to something softer, more desperate, as his body began to tense beneath you. His head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck as his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Look at me, Alastor,” you commanded softly, and his gaze snapped back to yours. The raw, unguarded desire and faint embarrassment in his expression sent a thrill through you. His cries grew louder, his hands flexing against your grip as he reached his peak. 

With one final, broken moan, his body shuddered violently beneath yours, his cock twitching as he spilled into you. The hot flood of his release filled you, his seed coating your walls as he gasped for air. His body remained taut for a moment before he melted into the bed, utterly spent, his eyes glazed with lingering satisfaction. 

Catching your breath, your body hummed with unresolved need, but it didn’t matter. Watching Alastor surrender beneath you, unravelling with every calculated touch, was pleasure enough. 

His lips were parted, a thin line of saliva glistening at the corners as his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. The edges of his crimson eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and his expression—dazed, undone—was utterly intoxicating. His usual composed veneer had crumbled, leaving him bare in every sense. 

A quiet chuckle escaped you as you finally lifted yourself from his trembling form, feeling the warm trickle of his release sliding down your thighs. “We’re not done yet, Al,” you teased, your voice carrying a sing-song lilt. “We still have one more of your favourites, remember?” Reaching for the strap-on, you held it up—a big, crimson silicone cock gleaming in the dim light, its impressive weight resting heavy in your hands. 

You caught the way his body tensed, his tail twitching in anticipation, but there were no sharp remarks, no coy retorts. He was beyond that now, surrendering completely. With a sluggish roll, he shifted onto his stomach, his cheek pressing into the bed as his hips lifted, presenting himself to you. His red-and-white tail puffed out and flicked upward, revealing the sparkling jewel of the heart-shaped plug still nestled snugly within him. 

“Good boy,” you purred, and his tail wagged weakly in response. His fingers reached back, spreading himself open, stretching his cheeks taut in a silent plea. 

You smiled, strapping the harness to your hips, the familiar weight grounding you in this moment. Slowly, deliberately, you began easing the plug from his entrance. Each inch coaxed a muffled whimper from him as he buried his face in the mattress, his body trembling beneath your hands. The resistance gave way, and with a final tug, the jewelled plug slid free, leaving his entrance clenching and exposed. 

The sight of him, so open, so needy, sent a surge of heat pooling low in your core. You rested a hand on his hips, guiding the slicked synthetic cock to his waiting entrance. Without hesitation, you thrust forward in one fluid motion, burying yourself to the hilt. 

Alastor choked on a cry, his body jolting forward before he melted into the bed, a low, guttural moan spilling from his lips. His claws raked over the blankets, shredding the fabric in a desperate bid for control. 

But there was none to be had—not here, not now. 

You set a relentless rhythm, your hips snapping forward with precision, filling him over and over. The wet slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with his muffled cries and the breathless moans you couldn’t suppress. The way his body clenched around you, his walls tightening with every thrust, only spurred you on. 

“Ah—ah—darling,” he panted, his voice breaking into a mix of static and white noise as pleasure overwhelmed him. His body arched beneath you, his hips rolling back to meet your thrusts with desperation. 

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmured, your breath hot against his ear. “Being filled so completely… You’re so beautiful like this, Al.” 

His only response was a shattered moan, his body spasming violently as he came again, thick ropes of his release painting the ruined bed beneath him. But even as his trembling form sagged into the mattress, you didn’t stop. 

“Isn’t this fun, Alastor?” you panted, your grin wicked as you leaned over him, your pace unrelenting. “I could do this all night.” 

His claws curled into the shredded fabric, his body shaking with overstimulation as he gasped and whimpered beneath you. He was utterly wrecked, undone, every piece of him yours in this moment—and it was everything you had missed. 

Your hands slid to either side of his trembling frame, hovering over him as you moved with deliberate intensity. His voice had dissolved into a symphony of broken moans and guttural grunts, his ears pinned flat against his head in a rare display of vulnerability. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over his ear as you purred, “Let me see your face, Al. Don’t rob me of my pleasure.” Your fingertips traced the back of his head, the touch tender yet insistent. 

He shivered at your words, slowly turning his head to meet your gaze. His lips hung open, strands of saliva pooling beneath his cheek. His crimson eyes, distant and unfocused, shimmered with tears that spilled in streaks down his flushed cheeks. And yet, despite his unravelling, the faint trace of a grin lingered—a testament to his unyielding spirit. 

“More?” you asked, voice laced with teasing affection. Alastor’s only reply was a low, ragged moan as his hips pressed back against you, silently pleading. A soft chuckle escaped you as your fingers danced down the curve of his spine, drawing a visible shudder from him. “You really are a masochist, aren’t you, Al?” you murmured, your words barely above a whisper. 

When his moans faltered into silence, his teeth clenching as he fought to muffle the smallest of whimpers, you knew he’d reached his limit. Carefully, you slowed your movements, easing out of him with a touch as gentle as a whisper. Both of you were coated in a thin sheen of sweat, your breath coming in soft pants as you sat back. 

Alastor lay trembling, his body spent and quivering in the aftermath. Every so often, his legs would twitch, jolting with the lingering aftershocks of overstimulation. His hand reached out, trembling and seeking, and you didn’t hesitate to meet it, intertwining your fingers with his. The silent gesture spoke volumes—his need for your warmth, your gentleness, your grounding presence. 

With care, you removed the strap-on, setting it aside before sliding into the bed beside him. Your body folded seamlessly into his, your hand cradling his as you pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles. His half-lidded eyes locked onto yours, filled with exhaustion and unspoken affection, unable to look away. 

Smiling softly, you lifted his hand, your lips brushing over each finger with reverence. One by one, you kissed his thumb, his index finger, trailing your touch over his palm. The gesture was unhurried, filled with tenderness, as you snuggled closer to him, your lips finding the curve of his shoulder. 

A warm chuckle rumbled low in his chest, his voice soft and worn. “Darling,” he rasped, his tone laden with affection as his tail gave a lazy thump against the bed. He sighed deeply, basking in the featherlight kisses that travelled up his neck and over his face. His cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids—all received your gentle attention before your lips finally found his. 

The kiss lingered, a soft press of emotion and intimacy. When you pulled back, his voice, though hoarse, carried a familiar teasing lilt. “You’ve been far too busy this month,” he murmured, his crimson eyes slowly opening to meet yours. 

Your heart swelled, warmed by the rare vulnerability in his gaze. You smoothed back a stray strand of hair from his face, your fingers brushing his skin with care. “I have, haven’t I?” you answered softly. Your lips curved in a tender smile as you leaned down to kiss him again, the touch light, barely there. “I missed you,” you whispered against his lips, your voice thick with sincerity. 

He chuckled again, though it was tired and weak. “And yet, you chastise me about your cookies,” he teased, his grin slipping back into place. 

“Ruining my cookies,” you corrected with a mock glare, your tone playful. 

“You love it when I spice up your – ah – cookies,” he countered, his voice carrying a faint echo of words he’d said long ago—a callback to the early days of trust and intimacy you’d built together. 

A soft giggle bubbled from your lips as you pressed your forehead against his, your eyes brimming with affection for the cunning, mischievous demon you adored. “You’re such a silly man,” you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his. 

His arms came around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear was a comforting reminder of the unspoken bond you shared. In that quiet moment, you held each other close, the world beyond forgotten. Only the warmth of his body and the soft hum of his love remained. 

“And you, my darling, are my special girl,” he murmured, his voice a tender caress against the quiet of the room. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm and soft. Slowly, his breathing steadied, each exhale becoming longer, deeper, until it melted into the gentle rhythm of sleep. 

You stayed there, cradled in his embrace, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. A gentle smile tugged at your lips as your fingers traced small, absent-minded patterns along his side. The warmth of his words lingered in your heart, a balm to the chaos and distance of recent days. 

As you listened to the quiet thrum of his heartbeat, you made a silent promise to yourself. Next time, you’d find ways to give him the attention he deserved, to show him how much he meant to you—perhaps even preempt whatever mischievous “spicing up” he might dream up to draw your focus. 

For now, though, your heart felt full, brimming with love and contentment. Snuggling closer to him, you let yourself be enveloped in his warmth, your body fitting perfectly against his. The steady cadence of his heart matched your own, the two rhythms intertwining as if they were always meant to be. 

You closed your eyes, a peaceful smile lingering on your lips. Wrapped in his arms, you let sleep claim you, your dreams filled with the love you shared and the quiet promise of all the moments yet to come. 

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[papaya-twinks]

box box! - l.n

Warnings: Swearing, ‘equal rights, equal fights’ joke

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: all the cute things you and Lando did on Boxing Day!

𝐼𝒸𝑒 𝒮𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔

“Oh god, Y/N,” Lando said, standing on the edge of the ice rink, his feet turned inward slights as he picked at his thumb, his eyes wide. “Lando, I promise it’ll be okay,” you said, doing a twirl on the ice as he stared at the ice, clearly anxious.

“Easy for you to say,” he protested, “you’ve done this a million times!”. You sighed, holding a hand out as he slipped his gloved hand into yours, taking a deep breath. “Exactly, so I can keep you upright and good,” you promised.

“I trust you Y/N,” he said, putting on a brave face for you as he glided onto the ice, his legs shaking as you led him into the rink, his breath coming out in puffs of white. “See? It’s so soothing, isn’t it?” you asked as he nodded, his eyes wide.

“See, you’re a natural,” you smiled approvingly as he let one hand go, his legs moving him slightly forwards. “Yeah,” he said proudly, “a natural…yeah I am,” he moved his other hand out, slowly gliding to you, as you steadied his arm.

“Y/N, did you see that?!” he asked, his eyes filled with childlike excitement, and god, you wished he could be happy like this all the time. “I did, I did,” you said, slowly spinning him round as he let his skates move with yours.

“You’re so good, Lando!” you said, eyes shining as he held onto you. “Look,” he said, doing a clumsy, slow spin on his own, his legs moving round in a circle as you giggled, watching him proudly. “Happy Boxing Day, baby,” you said, kissing his nose.

“Mhm,” he hummed into the kiss, “now race you round the rink,” he said, moving forwards to start skating round, only to stumble, clutching onto the side, “hey, go easy on me!” he called after you as you glided round easily.

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𝒞𝓇𝑜𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔

“So…this way?” Lando asked, turning one of the needles as you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, baby, I just said, this way,” you said, showing him how to do it as his brow creased, a frown on his perfect face.

“I don’t get it- you’re doing it too fast!” he groaned, catching your wrist in one hand and making you start again, your movements slow and obvious, showing him exactly what he needed to do to create the pattern he wanted.

Trust Lando to completely ignore your advice of doing something easy like a square instead of something hard like making a damn replica of his F1 helmet, and a life size one too! Trust this man to do stuff like this.

“C’mon, look,” you said, lifting his chin and taking the neon yellow wool (which had you ages to find) and showing him the same stitch again, your needle moving perfectly, the hook in your other hand as he watched.

“Baby, this stuff’s hard,” he said, his voice nearing a whine, “remind me to never ever complain when I say it takes you ages to make you stuff,” he said, looking over to the strawberry cow on the side of the shelf.

Crocheting had meant to be a little calming activity for you the day after the hectic mess of Christmas, until Lando had walked up to you with his huge doe eyes and begged you to let him try make something with the wool.

“Maybe crochet isn’t for you, yeah?” you smiled as he nodded, “what about we go do something else for you instead?” you asked as he nodded, stuffing his mouth with the Christmas cookies on the side, a pout on his face still.

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𝐿𝐸𝒢𝒪

You’d gotten Lando a bunch of presents for Christmas and vice versa, but the idea to get him an extra present for Boxing Day was one of the best you’d had, if you did say so yourself, especially seeming as it was the Lego McLaren.

Especially seeing Lando’s confusion melting into a gleeful grin as he saw another present waiting for him under your gorgeous Christmas tree, the excited look he gave you, and then the way he tore the wrapping paper off.

“Y/N!” he gasped as he saw the little Lego McLaren, the one with the mini figure and orange car, his eyes wide as he set it onto the coffee table, clambering onto the sofa beside you, opening the box as the packets fell out.

“Build it, c’mon,” you smiled, clutching your mug of hot cocoa as he put his own down, opening the packet with all the car pieces. You smiled, opening the other one with the mini figure parts, slowly building it into the character.

“Look, it’s you,” you showed him the little mini figure, even with his special helmet as he grinned. “They made me handsome,” he said, watching as you gave the mini figure a kiss. “C’mere,” he mumbled, letting you kiss the real him on the lips.

The rest of the building was filled with giggles and jokes, a pause between the building for a tickling session with you two, before resuming again, to end up with a proper built Lego McLaren with a mini Lando standing on the side.

“Put me in,” Lando said, sliding the character in, “there! A championship winner, that is,” he said proudly, patting the mini figure on its head as you giggled, kissing his cheek again. “Maybe you should be an engineer instead,” you smiled.

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𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓅

“Only coz it’s Boxing Day,” Lando said, poking your side - you’d been giggling and snickering for ages since Lando had agreed to let you, after ages of whining and begging, for him to let you do his make up, and make him ‘all pretty’.

“Tickles,” Lando mumbled as you blended the foundation into his skin. You were glad he’d let you do a full face of makeup up rather than just simple things like a bit of mascara and some lip gloss, but he loved seeing you happy.

Your smile, with all its radiance, was one of the best things he had in his life, and if it meant looking like a bit of an ass with some make up on his face, he didn’t mind, he’d do anything for you anyways, whether he wanted to do it or not.

“You have such pretty skin, baby,” you hummed, the lights if your vanity reflecting on his skin, sending a gorgeous golden glow onto his face, his lips plump and pretty. “Yeah yeah shush,” he mumbled, cheeks tinged pink.

“Look at you,” you snickered, “all pink, don’t even need blush,”. He rolled his eyes, only to be tutted by you for opening his eyes whilst you were applying the mascara. “Damn baby, those lashes are something else,”.

“Yeah,” he smirked, eyes closed, “get on my level bitch,”. You snickered, punching his arm as you pushed the wand back into the tube, turning his chair to the mirror. “Thoughts?” you said as he looked over his face, a smile on yours.

“Quite good, actually,” he said, running a finger over his glossed lips. “Can your girl fight?” you joked as he kissed your cheek. “You get she can, and she’s damn gorgeous, so don’t even try it,” he teased, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

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𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓈

“But baby, we always watch the Grinch,” Lando grumbled, taking a handful of popcorn and eating some, his mouth stuffed full of stone salted goodness. “Exactly! It’s like a tradition,” you said, “our Boxing Day tradition,”.

“Can I cancel my subscription to that tradition? It’s so repetitive!” he said, his voice nearing a whine as you sighed. “Lando, what’s repetitive is your obsession with ‘Dexter’,” you said he mocked a gasp, hand on his chest.

“You take that back, that show is so good!” he said, flicking your cheek as you rolled your eyes. “Fine! Here’s a deal,” you said, “choose a movie that isn’t utter bullshit, and we can watch it, okay?” you said as Lando nodded firmly.

“Anything to get out of who-ville,” he muttered snarkily under his breath, flicking through his Netflix suggestions. “Christmas Chronicle?” he suggested, only to be met with your instant decline, a sigh on his lips.

“Picky little girl,” he said, looking to you, “this one,”. You looked up - The Muppet Christmas Carol. “Please? Pretty please?” he asked, fluttering his lashes (you didn’t even know he could do that) as you sighed, groaning.

“Fine! But we are so watching the Grinch next year,” you said as he nodded, his face beaming as he knew fully well he’d just bat his pretty lashes out of watching that film. “C’mere,” he said, pulling your grumpy form into his side.

“Love ya,” you know that,” he pressed a big warm kiss into your head as you huffed. “Yeah, you bet your ass you do,” you said sassily as he laughed, “having to put me through watching some puppets instead of a green guy…love you too though, you muppet,”.

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𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓈

“Nice and neat,” you said, watching as Lando layered the baby blue colour onto your nails, his nose very nearly touching your palm from how close he was, the brush moving ever so slowly from your nail bed to the tip.

“Yeah, I’m staying in the lines,” he said, keeping the brush steady. “Oh shit,” he said, a little line skimming from away from your nail, and slightly onto your skin. “It’s fine, just wipe it off,” you said, watching as he grabbed a tissue.

“Y/N, why’s it not going even?” Lando frowned, staring at a little blob starting to form at your nail beds, sliding down thinner and thinner to the tops of your nails. “You’re putting too much on,” you said, examining the nail bed.

“If you put too much, it starts to gather at the bottom,” you explained as he blinked. “What do I do?” he asked, setting the bottle down. “Wait til it’s dry and we’ll file it,” you said, “but continue the other nails,”.

If you were honest, it felt good to have your nails pampered and taken care of the way Lando was doing it, your hands well massages form the moisturiser and creams he’d used to work the tension from your aching fingers.

“Like a professional, you are,” you said, as he blew on your fingers, the other hand already dry. “I wanna do a pattern,” he said, taking a bottle of white nail polish with a very thin brush. “Slow,” you reminded him as he took the brush out.

“Damn, Lando,” you said, looking at the bow he’d drawn on the top of your middle fingers, and the cute little French tip, “you should be a nail artist,” you said as he smiled proudly. “That’ll be one kiss and a cuddle,” he said, accepting your kiss gracefully.

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𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈

“Y/N,” Lando whined, resting his chin on your shoulder as you spooned roast potatoes onto his plate, “I want more potatoes,” he said, his voice demanding as you rolled your eyes, moving some onto his plate.

“Okay bossy,” you said, his hands massaging at the supple flesh of your hips and waist as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Just wanna enjoy my meal,” he said, the words more directed to you than the actual food on the plate.

“Thanks angel,” he mumbled, pressing a warm kiss to your neck, peppering your skin with little pecks, as he took both plates. “What a gentleman,” you said sarcastically. “I am a gentleman, don’t be so sarcastic,” he tutted.

“You watched me make those food plates and didn’t even offer to help!” you said as he flushed. “Yeah, well, you were doing fine on your own,” he protested. “Sexism, me thinks,” you smiled as he scoffed, hitting your arm.

“As if,” he said as you squeaked. “You can’t hit a woman!” you pushed his hand away. “Equal rights, equal rights, now eat up, pretty,” Lando teased you, kissing the spot he’d tapped, “need to be a beefy girl so you can fight me,”.

“You’re a little freak, Lando Norris,” you said, chewing on your turkey. “So are you, Y/N Norris,” Lando said, a smirk on his face as he watched your cheeks turn that gorgeous shade of red and pink that he loved.

“Got you blushin’, have i?” Lando snickered, nudging you as you rolled your eyes, flicking his arm. “Maybe that should be my Christmas present next year,” you said, pecking him softly as he smiled. “Maybe before,” he hummed.

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[raccoonrobyn-imagines]

Danny whined as His New Adult held him close as he walked towards somewhere "safe". He didn't really mean to, it just came out cause one of his cuts was pressed on a little too firmly, and he immediately went completely still, hoping that Mr. Red Hood didn't hear him. Mr. Red Hood thankfully just held him in a slightly different position so his hurts wouldn't be pressed on anymore.

Danny just curled into His New Adult more after that.

-----

Hundreds of miles away, Jazz Fenton is beating the shit out of many different GIW goons who were trying to get her to tell them where her baby brother was. Despite her awful aim, she is muscled and tall and trained by Pandora. With a creep stick in hand and a fierce yet grim scowl, she beats the last one into a pulp, and stands up fully. "Are any of you going to tell me what this was truly about? Because my brother isn't in your purview. You deal with Ghosts, not teenage boys."

After a few seconds pass of complete silence, she kicks one of the ones remaining that's still conscious with almost bone breaking force.

That one finally coughs up a weak "We know he's Phantom. We need to capture all Ghosts."

Jazz's scowl deepens and with a near ghostly echoing snarl, she replies. "You have all just signed your death warrant then. It doesn't matter that Danny said he would be the one to take care of you all. It doesn't matter that you're technically with the government. What matters is that you just attempted to make me hand over information that would end up killing My Brother."

Jazz grins, sharp and bloody and filled with pin point precision malice onto the ones that they work for.

"You might know that Danny is partially a Ghost. You all failed to understand one thing though."

The woman, no, The Beasts smile grew larger and larger, and her eyes were a bright toxic green, but they were just teal? Weren't they? Or were they always fully green? What?

"You forgot that while My Brother is half ghost, I am close behind. I am as liminal as you can ever get without dying like he did. And now? You are attempting to stop me from fulfilling My Obsession."

The Beasts giggle is ready and sharp and the sound of a home burning with people inside. The sound takes a moment for the agents to place, but once they do? They realize exactly who they are hearing trapped in that building. It's their family. It's their family and what they knew to be Jazz Fentons true laughter, untouched by this Ghostly Echo.

"I will ensure that your entire group burns for this. I will ensure that no one will ever try to hurt My Family ever again."

The Beast reaches into her purse on her countertop, and pulls out... how the fuck did they not know that she had that weapon? Where the fuck did she get a serated hunting knife that's as long as her arm?!

"No One Will Ever Touch My Baby Ever Again."

DcxDp

Danny is living on the streets in Crime Alley the main issue is that he was deaged into a six year old by the GIW and had to run. The Fenton Parents were across the country at a ghost hunter's convention and Jazz was away at college. Danny's been on the streets for a few weeks now, his phone was broken during his escape meaning no contact with Sam and Tucker.

Red Hood had just finished a report on a joint case with the other bats concerning a drug ring trying to set up in Gotham and Crime Alley, when this tiny six year old with a white shock in his black hair and bright blue eyes and old bandages from multiple injuries popped out of a dumpster holding a pack of unopened hot dogs that were only a day passed the sell by date.

The two immediately make eye contact and Danny just slams the lid on the dumpster and wiggles intangibly out of a rusted out hole on the back of the dumpster and runs when his intangiblity flickers and fails as soon as he's out. Jason isn't exactly sure what he saw for a moment but when he realized what happened he's immediately on the search for his tiny doppelganger.

Jason snatched up the little kid. For a moment, he paused to think, ‘Am I seriously kidnapping a kid?’ before he recollected his thoughts and explained to himself, ‘Yes, because this kid needs help.’

The kid wriggled in his hands, frowning and pouting. He kicked his little legs as he cried out, "Kidnapper! Kidnapper! Help! Someone help!"

"Kid, where are your parents?" Jason asked. He held the struggling kid and brought him closer to his chest.

Something like an electric current from static buildup zapped between them. Jason flinched and the boy stilled.

Then he went quiet and sniffled, cuddling closer to Jason's chest plate, rubbing his chubby cheek against the bat-symbol there.

Jason awkwardly moved his face away from his taser and asked again, "Kid, where are your parents?"

"... gone," he mumbled. "My sista can't find me."

Jason gently patted his back, bringing him closer into a hug. The kid buried himself closer and Jason wondered if his initial fight was due to fear or something. "What's your name?"

"... Danny."

"Okay, Danny. Let's find your sister, okay? Want to come with me?"

Danny nodded silently and Jason resisted the urge to smile and coo. He was quite cute, with his pouty expression and teary eyes. Jason used his thumb to rub away at some dirt on his cheek before adjusting his hold on him.

"Alright, kiddo, what can you tell me about your sister?"

——

Danny stared at the strange, liminal man who was afflicted with ectoplasmic rot, as he went on a vague tangent about Jazz.

He was pretty sure that Jazz and his friends were already searching for him, since he had been gone for awhile now.

He was also pretty sure that if he gave up too much information, this man would've been able to find her too quickly, which prevented Danny from giving him the help that he needed.

Danny sighed.

Who knew that after he would be deaged, he'd have to adopt a grown man?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs. 

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.” 

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this. 

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark. 

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.” 

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was. 

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s. 

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red. 

Like She’s been crying. 

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood. 

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“ 

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more. 

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious. 

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand. 

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go. 

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this. 

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours. 

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips. 

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you. 

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you. 

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over. 

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire.  You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too. 

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs. 

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants. 

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.” 

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go. 

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak. 

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan. 

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.  

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans. 

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?” 

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut. 

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[hunieday]

Yuki - 16PRODUCERS Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Momo: (Good morning... Momo from Re:vale here...)

Momo: (Today I’m at Yuki’s place early in the morning…. To have a very exceptional conversation... Okarin, can you hear me…)

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you for your hard work, Momo-kun! But what’s with the odd energy, it’s as if you’re playing a wake-up prank?

Momo: (I’m keeping the energy low since Yuki’s still stuck drifting in dreamland…)

Yuki: I’m sleepy

Momo: Kyaa! Yuki’s here in person!! Even sleepy Yuki is super handsome 😍✨

Momo: Yuki just got up from the sofa! 🥺🌟 Okariiiin! How are things going in the studio?

Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun, thanks for your hard work as well. So I’m supposed to be stationed in the studio?

Okazaki Rinto: The president walked out to attend a meeting just now, so it’s really quiet here. I just made some coffee!

Momo: You’re all set for the discussion!! And guess what, Yuki’s brewing some tea for us too! 😭 Such a gentleman...! 😭✨

Momo: Camera crew, zoom in closer‼️

Okazaki Rinto: There’s a camera crew?

Momo: I’m the camera crew!

Yuki: Momo brought two phones today for some reason.

Momo: Well yeah, since we’re gonna talk via rabbichat today I wouldn’t be able to capture your beautiful face otherwise!!! So I brought my spare phone to record you 😎😎

Yuki: How dedicated

Okazaki Rinto: How very dedicated.

Momo: Hey wait a sec, I just noticed while I was snapping pics but is your neck hurting, Yuki!?!?!?!?!?

Yuki: You caught me. I probably slept wrong.

Yuki: I fell asleep at the desk while I was composing and now I can’t turn my head to the right

Momo: Huhhhh!!!! Then I’ll sit on your right side to protect your neck!!

Yuki: Absolutely not. I won’t be able to see your face

Momo: Wait a sec,,,,,,

Momo: Yuki, aren’t you pulling the Super Darling gun a bit too early in the morning….being this beautiful should be illegal!?!?!? 😭😭

Yuki: Only for you, Momo.

Yuki: But what exactly are you protecting my neck from?

Momo: Oh you know, a stray baseball flying in from the right, or someone bumping into you and making you stumble!!

Yuki: That’s straight out of a manga.

Yuki: So what would you do if a water bucket came flying in from the left?

Momo: I’ll dash to block it and say something like “close call…”!!! lolololol

Momo: Wait, Yuki, why’s your manga knowledge so extensive!?!?

Yuki: Ruri-san made me read some when I visited your house.

Momo: What the hell is nee-san plotting lololololol

Yuki: It was pretty interesting.

Okazaki Rinto: I’m glad you seem to be enjoying yourselves over there! Now then, shall we get started?

Momo: Sorry Okarin lolololol we’re sitting across from each other and ready to start 🤩 

Okazaki Rinto: Good! They requested a laid-back, relaxed conversation for this, that’s why we’re doing it through rabbichat.

Okazaki Rinto: Let’s start with Yuki-kun, how did you feel when you heard that Momo-kun was going to produce your song?

Yuki: I was really happy of course. Momo always gives me energy with his warm words, so I was curious about what kind of melody he would give me through this production.

Yuki: Momo’s very good at conveying his feelings, so I always felt like he’d have a knack for creating music that resonates with people, something that lingers in their minds and stays in their hearts, warm and comforting.

Okazaki Rinto: I see…! That’s a perspective only someone who regularly composes music would have.

Momo: Oh you... You always make me happy with your words, Yuki 🥲

Momo: But to be honest, it was suuuuper stressful….

Yuki: Really? Even though “Can’t Stop Emotion” turned out amazing.

Momo: Yuki,,,,

Yuki: It’s tough, but also a lot of fun, right? Making music I mean.

Momo: Yeah. It was a lot of fun.

Momo: I didn’t fully compose the song myself since it was a team effort, so I didn’t fully understand everything you do but

Momo: Having to convey my feelings through something other than words and gestures was super difficult, but I was so happy. How do I explain it… I treasure that feeling!

Yuki: I can relate

Yuki: Whenever I’m working on a new song, I start cursing everything around me. I contemplate never working on anything like that ever again, quitting songwriting altogether. But when I’m finished and I hear Momo’s voice on the song, I realize that “ah, there’s no other job that could make me happier than this.”

Momo: Yuki,,,Can I sit next to you,,,,?

Yuki: This position is very comfortable.

Momo: Awwww ‼️ I got rejected 😭‼️

Okazaki Rinto: So Momo-kun, how did you decide on what direction to take amidst all your hard work?

Momo: First and foremost, I thought about what kind of Yuki I wanted to portray! Like the Yuki who’s not a morning person, the Yuki who’s super proactive when it counts, the Yuki who’s sensitive and overflowing with emotion, the Yuki who’s amazing at cooking, super into cleaning, who’s just a kind, dashing gentleman with a beautiful voice…

Momo: But at the end of the day, I wanted to shine the spotlight on Yuki’s passion for music. A quiet, calm, yet fiercely unwavering flame. I wanted to express that dignified strength and the freedom in his boundless music.

Momo: And that’s the reason why the intro is quiet and minimalistic, but as the chorus hits, the music bursts forth like it’s flying, flapping its wings, dancing, being set free, going on a journey! Those are the feelings that resonate within me when I listen to the music Yuki makes for me!

Yuki: You really put a lot of thought into this

Yuki: You have real talent, Momo

Momo: Huhhh???!!! you don’t have to flatter meee 😆 even though that makes me happy 😆✨

Yuki: I’m serious.

Momo: Y-You really made your point come across...

Okazaki Rinto: What on earth just happened over there?

Momo: Yuki sat down next to me 🥹🥹

Yuki: I made sure to face him from the side that doesn’t hurt.

Yuki: It’s just as you described, Momo. When I got the demo, I was moved by how the song felt like it was taking me on an ever-changing journey.

Yuki: I felt the same way I did the day you brought me out of that dark place, showing me so many new and different sides of this world.

Yuki: Maybe that’s why the song felt familiar to me.

Momo: You’re the one who changed my world, Yuki!

Momo: Back when I thought there was only one path for me, when I felt trapped and depressed, I came across the music you wrote.

Momo: It warmed my frozen body, frigid to the tips of my fingers, brought color back to my world, and filled me with the urge to move ahead, to be passionate about something.

Momo: I poured all those feelings from back then, how I feel now, as well as my desire for us to always stay at the top into the lyrics!

Yuki: I wouldn’t have been able to move forward if not for your words.

Yuki: I felt like giving up on everything at some point, I could’ve thrown it all away. But you’ve always been there to save me. That’s why it’s all for y-

Yuki: No

Yuki: Nevermind, I don’t think I can say that right now, but I will tell you this

Yuki: "Can’t Stop Emotion" will be my treasure, always and forever.

Yuki: Stay by my side and keep singing with me, Momo. You’re the absolute king, unparalleled by anyone.

Momo: Okay,,,

Momo: A long, heartfelt message from Yuki,,,I’m eating so well,,,

Okazaki Rinto: What a wonderful day for you two to be honest with each other. I’ll keep supporting Re:vale forever and beyond!

Okazaki Rinto: Alright, can you please tell us more about the costume?

Momo: Sure!!! First of all, Yuki’s like a snow fairy who descended upon us during winter, so I pictured the stars shining brightly in the clear winter night sky 🪄🧚‍♂️☃️

Yuki: A fairy, huh?

Momo: You’re such a beautiful fairy that your face stands out amidst the clashing patterns! I wanted to show off your gorgeous sex appeal, that’s why I decided to express that with a variety of intricate patterns💫

Momo: And then I added chiffon material to the jacket to evoke the image of the starry sky, with scattered, shiny silver details all over, paired it with slim-fit pants to accentuate Yuki’s figure and balance the outfit for a sharp, smart look!! 💫

Yuki: Your fingers move so fast when you’re talking about me that it’s impressive

Momo: Well I am talking about Yuki after all 👍👍

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you for the passionate explanation! What about the details in the photoshoot itself?

Momo: Didn’t it look like a snow fairy had descended!? 🪄🧚‍♂️☃️ I really wanted to make it snow for real, but I didn’t want Yuki to feel cold, I was thinking about what to do and then it hit me…

Momo: Why not use light to represent that snow!? And that’s how we got Yuki, sparking gorgeously like the handsome man he is 🌟

Yuki: Everything was dazzling for real 

Momo: That’s how much Yuki shines in my eyes! From the first time we met until now! Forever and always!!

Yuki: Really? You’re always shining bright, Momo.

Momo: For real!? 🥹 Then we can always enjoy that light together 🎄

Yuki: That’s true ^^

Okazaki Rinto: It’s Christmas, so that works perfectly!

Momo: I love how you’re always watching from a distance without interrupting when we’re like this, Okarin 🥹

Okazaki Rinto: I’m flattered! As much as I’d love to see more of your shenanigans, it’s time for you to say a few words to your fans…!

Momo: "Can’t Stop Emotion" is like a selfish wish of mine. It doesn’t portray the gentle, idol-like Yuki. Instead fully expressing my admiration, my love for him, my passion and my promise to keep going as the kings.

Momo: So, I hope our fans listen to this song and continue supporting us, forever and ever. We’ll fly towards the miracle waiting for us tomorrow!

Yuki: Momo called it “a selfish song”, so I want everyone to know how elated I am and how tremendously important it is to me that Momo’s being this selfish.

Yuki: And I feel so much more determined now that this song has been gifted to me. I’ll continue to be the absolute champion, together with Momo. And I hope all of you will follow us.

Yuki: Thanks to Momo, I’ve rediscovered the joy of creating music. I know what it’s like to push through everything to go on, to aim higher and higher. That’s why Re:vale is invincible.

Yuki: There’s no one greater than us, is there? Let’s move towards the future we want to see with you, with everyone.

Momo: Yuukiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Yuki: Momo’s crying now.

Okazaki Rinto: Maybe he’s still hung up on the fact that you couldn’t wipe his tears last time!? (1)

Yuki: Today’s a Re:valeful day, so come over when you’re done, Okarin.

Okazaki Rinto: What do you have in mind?

Momo: Oh yeah, we’re gonna rewatch all our past live performances! We’re gonna reminisce over drinks! (๑>؂•̀๑)👍

Yuki: It felt like the right time to reflect on everything we’ve done so far, especially fresh off producing songs for each other.

Okazaki Rinto: Is it really okay for me to intrude on such a special day...?

Momo: Of course! Re:vale’s journey would be incomplete with you, Okarin!

Yuki: Re:vale’s what it is because you’re here with us.

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you so much! I’ll bring something tasty with me!!

Momo: Hell yeah! Then, let’s chat until morning!! 🥳

(1)This is a reference to Momo’s 16PRODUCERS Rabbit chat.

[sheepispink]

Milkin’ and Cookin’ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི part 3 of Sweet as Sugar (bakery!au, simon x reader)

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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Ghost— or well, Simon— notices how much you seem to dread your upcoming trip to the local farm. You seem to hate the idea of driving alone, especially with that rickety car of yours.He never thought he’d say it himself, but, one day off work wouldnt hurt, right?

A/N: (British)english glossary: Boot means the trunk of a car for all you americans. This chapter is actually so British it’s funny

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You always dreaded these trips; it took far too long to get to that farm, and even though you loved to see the sheep there, it was a painfully long drive with all the harsh bumps and the like. Your car wasn't made for that, though you wouldn't dare complain much, knowing that your parents wouldn’t be able to afford those expensive cars made for the bumpiest land of Wales. Even so, it was your turn to pick up the fresh produce that made your bakery so popular in the first place.

“It’s just.. really far, and it always seems to rain whenever I go.” You complain to Simon as he nurses a cup of tea in the empty shop, not quite off duty for another two weeks, but he somehow finds time, to come by anyway. It’s empty since it’s near closing time but you didn't need to kick him out when all he was doing was keeping you company as you wiped up a coffee stain from the table.

“How far is it?” He asks, his gruff voice a sheer contrast to your lighter one, almost like smog covering the air.

“It's a two hour drive, but it’s worth it; they have some of the best eggs and quality milk around.” You hum, not thinking twice before you grab a tissue and hand it to him, letting him wipe the small crumbs from his typical order. Despite how he refused to take it off in front of his fellow soldiers, who knew him for way longer than you have, he always pushed his mask up to his nose around you, even if it looked a little silly sometimes and he almost caught you giggling. His lips were scarred, not that you looked at it that often, in a way that looked dehydrated, but you had a feeling it was for a different reason. You could see another scar peeking near his cheek, but it never really showed properly, and you promised yourself you’d try not to stare when he did reveal his face every now and then.

His body was a different story, though; you were shivering and he’d still roll his sleeves up, a few tattoos sneaking past his elbow but not quite yet. He confessed he planned to get a whole sleeve, but a mission came up suddenly, and healing tattoos never went well with that. “When’re you heading down anyway?” He says, dabbing at the crumbs on his lips before finally pulling down his mask once more. “Thursday. We’ll have to close the shop on Friday so we can restock.” He nods thoughtfully before eventually standing, and you grab the cup before he can even place it on the counter, heart freezing for a moment when your fingers brush. “I’ll take that. Back to duty?” He nods in return, slipping his leather gloves back on again and picking up his jacket from the chair. “Training, debriefs, the usual.” He leaves a tip at the table, something you’ve insisted he doesn't have to do, but he says it’s for his ‘overtime’ at your cafe. Besides, the last time you ran after him to give him the money back, he had already disappeared down the street, unable to be found again.

It’s Thursday morning, and you’ve dragged yourself out of bed at five am to allow enough time to get ready and start packing your car with crates, making sure you’ve counted it many times for the right amount for all the usual produce. As you told Simon before, you weren't exactly anticipating this ride, but it was what had to be done, even if you’re half awake. Well, at least the roads are empty. Closing the boot door, your hands clasp over your mouth, essentially muffling your own scream when you realise the masked figure that was ominously standing there was actually the Lieutenant himself as he steps into the porch light. “..Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya” His voice is visibly awkward for once, eyes glancing elsewhere, and you laugh nervously, still recovering from a pounding heart. “It’s.. fine. Almost thought I'd get robbed, just um.. say hi next time?” You watch him nod quickly in return, his hands shoving into the pockets of his jeans. Oddly casual.

“So why’re you here anyway?” You question, grabbing a few of the groceries and spices the farmer had asked you to bring down for him. After all, he didn't come down to town very often. “You need a lift to your base or somethin’ ?” That makes him chuckle, a cooler bag of seafood in his arms, farmer’s favourite apparently.

“I came to help you.” That causes your eyes to widen in surprise, watching as he easily places it in the back seat before nicking the keys from your pocket. He leaves you standing in confusion whilst he climbs into the driver's seat,the rickety truck starting up with a heavy growl. “This rusty thing is a Land Rover? Hard to believe tha’ “ He mutters gruffly, ignoring the look of offense on your face as you climb up into the passenger seat. “I can drive you know, if you’re gonna keep complaining!” You exclaim, nose wrinkling up as you turn to frown at him. He stifles a chuckle, eyes rolling beneath the mask as he reaches over your body, clicking your seatbelt in for you.

“Don’t bite my arm off now; I'm going, I'm going.”

The drive goes by smoothly, even with only one of his hands on the steering wheel. Only now have you actually looked over him since he terrified you. He’s got a thick jumper on and a zip up hoodie on top of the jeans you noticed earlier. “Starin’ at my bad fashion sense?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you snicker, relaxing in the seat as you shift your focus more directly over to him. You’re practically curled up on the seat, legs folded on the seat. “No, no, I'm no better either.” He glances over your own worn trousers, covered in straw and muck from your last visit. It was safe to say you both had the right idea, as any nice clothes would’ve likely been ruined by the time you left, if not as soon as you got there. Even so, he can't help but find the sight oddly domestic, a small grin forming beneath the mask at your hair pulled back and the fingerless gloves on your hands. Cute.

It’s ten o’ clock when you arrive due to a large pothole causing you to take another, rockier route. Directing him, he pulls into the small driveway and parks the truck as the farmer exits, a haybale over his shoulder. He looks no older than about fifty three, a wide grin on his face as you step out of the car. “Lass!” He exclaims, the Scottish man patting you so hard on the back you almost cough, and you make a dramatic sigh in return even if you’re unable to hide the grin creeping up.. “Good to see you too, Mr.Wheatley. I’ll put the things in the usual places?” He nods, leaning on a wooden pillar, the paint peeling off already. You head to the backseats, grabbing the crates for him when you suddenly hear a low whistle and what sounds like a large thwack. You turn on your heel, instantly feeling the embarrassment that will soon come as the farmer gives you a smirk, looking between you and Simon, who can only stand there awkwardly as he places down another bag. “Now who is this lad?” He asks, and you carry over the cooler bag, trying to seem unaffected but flushing nonetheless.

Simon can't help but find it adorable how you stand in front of him, almost like trying to shield him from the farmer’s mischief—it’s the same protectiveness you’d expect when someone’s partner is insulted. Except Simon is far larger than you in both height and muscle, and so he doubts anyone would be bold enough to insult him anyway. “He’s a friend of mine who came to help me out.”

”Just a friend?” The farmer raises his brow, tilting his body to peer round you at the masked man still setting up all the things the pair of you brought.

”Take the damn seafood!” You grumble, plopping the heavy cooler bag in his arms as he chuckles, entering the house to leave you alone.

“Mr Wheatley basically runs this farm on his own, ever since his brother passed last year. His wife lives here too, but she doesn't attend to much other than feeding the chickens—she’s actually a writer.” You explain, carrying around one of the crates as you lead Simon to the chicken coop. The air is much fresher here, even if it smells mostly like hay and animal poo, but the point still stands. Ghost nods along to your words, watching as you check the eggs before picking them up before following your same action. “Is that why you collect what you need yourself?” You nod in return, crouching down to pick up a chicken and carefully move it so you could grab another egg.

“That, and for quality checking.” Lifting up the egg to him, you show him the crack running up along the side, about to explain other things you check for when you yelp, falling forward on the dirt and causing the yolk to splash on the icy ground. “Ow!” The culprit stands behind you, clucking as it watches your movements and follows. He has to forcefully stifle his chuckles when you squeal again, desperately shooing the chicken who seems intent on pecking at your butt. “It’s trying to eat me!”

“I don't know; I think he likes you.” You’re met face to face with said chicken when the Lieutenant grabs it, keeping it just a short distance from your face as he teases you. “Simon!” You yelp again, and quickly you scramble back up and out of the chicken coop, the chicken still clucking away in his large hands.

For the next three hours, he follows you around like a lost puppy, which you find rather amusing yourself. He’s never been in a situation this unfamiliar before, and whilst he’d usually take initiative, he’s a bit afraid of accidentally getting you the wrong items. Instead he chose to hold the crates for you, using his strength to support you even when he couldn’t fathom how you milked a cow so easily. “So you have like a 1% chance of killin’ me when I drink yer tea?” He raises an eyebrow as you explain the dangers of unpasteurised milk, knowledge you picked up when you started working more shifts at the bakery. At his question you have to practically stave off the facepalm, shaking your head at his words as you now measure out the amount of milk your bakery will need until the next visit. “We only use fresh milk for our baked goods; this way the oven burns off any excess pathogens.” He probably should’ve guessed that, but it was worth the face you hadn't even known you pulled. “But, if you’re looking for a new way to kill your enemies on the field, I guess unpasteurised milk holds a good chance.”

“I am not throwing milk bombs at anyone.”

That makes you snicker, his grumpy self returning as you poke fun at his job again–only an hour ago you had giggled at the horse poo and asked if that was his duty. Even you know he can't hold it for long, especially when you poke him in the side with that cheeky grin. “I think you’re just scared your cap’ will hire me on the spot.”

You’re walking back to the car, the final crate full and ready to pack when it starts drizzling down, water pattering on the floor around. “Huh.. but I checked the weather forecast this morning..?” Only now had you glanced up at the darkening clouds, a soft frown sporting your face. “You really shouldn't be surprised with British weather.” He says gruffly, placing the final crate into your boot whilst watching the drops fall from the sky onto the concrete below. “Not the worst, but a storm might be brewing up.”

“Get over ‘ere you two, or do ye wanna get soak’d?”

Instinctively, you grab his hand and pull him into the warmth of the farmer’s house. Although the rain is falling so heavily now that it’d be likely impossible to drive home—for the next hour or so at least.

“Sorry..” You sigh, sitting on one side of the table, your hands warmed by the mug of tea you both prepared. He clutched his own, though his gloves protected him from the majority of the cold. Still, you can't help but feel like you inconvenienced him somehow, even if he had insisted on coming himself. “Are you sure this is okay, y'know, for your job?” He just gruffly nods, brown eyes moving to watch how aggressively the water patters against the glass. “I’ll drive us back in the evening. Don't fall asleep on me.” You grin cheekily, crossing your legs as you stand, placing your now empty teacup in the sink. “No promises.”

The banter is cut off when your stomach growls, your hands instinctively clutching it, a sheepish grin forming on your lips. “Didn't eat much for breakfast. Fancy a jacket potato for lunch?” He nods and stands to join you as you reach into the cupboard, pulling out two large potatoes. He takes them from your hands, washing them in the sink whilst you start grating some of the cheese.

“So how’d you know the farmer? I mean, you act close enough to be his niece.” Ghost comments, cutting a cross into the potato, and he can’t help but feel oddly warm at the way you easily fell into a routine.

“When I was about seventeen, I did some work experience here, ‘cause of university applications and stuff. His daughter grew very sick, and with the nearest medical services three hours away, I volunteered to nurse her back to health instead.” His eyes soften as he watches you, the way your eyebrows tug together as you concentrate. “Did you end up going to uni?” You shake your head this time, sliding over the plate of cheese before crouching in front of a cupboard in search of baked beans.

“I knew my parents couldn't afford it, so I didn't bother. The only reason we got the bakery was because the lady who previously owned it had left it in such a pitiful state it was rather cheap.” He pulls. out the steaming potatoes from the microwave, pressing into the potato to open it before fluffing it up with a fork. “Before that it was either working here on the farm or part time at the coffee shop down the road.” He hadn't realised someone as sweet as you could have that hand dealt to them; of course, it could be worse, but still it was different from the stories he usually heard. You grab a knife and spread butter across both of the potatoes, catching him off guard before you load up the baked beans and cheese. “Is that much butter really needed?”

Practically seconds later, he has his mask pulled up to his nose, scarred lips wolfing down the fluffy potato as he grunts. “I could eat this every day, flippin hell.” You laugh, taking a bite out of your own, the warm gooeyness of the cheese and baked beans warming your insides. Probably not the best dish, but definitely not a bad one. Though for him, who's used to eating dehydrated MREs with only the taste of cardboard—it’s practically luxury. “How bad is the military food?” You raise a brow, scooping another spoonful of the beans on his plate when he finishes his share. “Not bad,” The words are muffled by his full mouth, a sharp swallow quickly clearing his throat as he wipes his chin with a napkin. “On base, it’s fine; definitely not a lot of flavour, but it does the job. That’s why your bakery is such a trea’ love. Haven’t had food that tasted that good since Soap hosted a Christmas party.”

“Soap?”

”Member o’ my team.” He nods gruffly, stealing a baked bean off your plate and popping it in his mouth. His arms lean on the table, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the great muscle practically spilling over.He doesn't usually mention things about his work or his friends, so you decide not to pry for now.

Once you finish your plate, he takes the dishes to the sink and begins to wash them, whilst you grab a fresh towel to start drying them off. You tilt your head as you rub the plates with the towel, your mind wandering elsewhere. He’d been so nice to you recently, and all you’d done is give him a free tea a couple of times; you couldn't help but feel as if you should give him something in return. Couldn't you pack a lunch for him? It’d be in a nice container, a healthy sandwich loaded with meat and salad, a smaller version of his typical sausage roll on the side too. For dessert you could give him a muffin, or a little tart and then you couldn't possibly forget a flash of hot tea too. How would his coworkers react? You can almost imagine their faces when he opens it, randomly appearing with a pretty little box. A hand lands on your head, snapping you out of your stifled snickers, as it protects you from a cupboard opening just above you. “What’re you thinkin’ about now?” His voice is laced with suspicion, watching how you look far too amused despite the lack of jokes he’s made. That can only mean you’re up to something. “Nothin’, just thinking about what you’d like for lunch.” He raises a brow at that, but you quickly grab your keys from the table and pull your boots on. “C’mon, i want to get head back before it gets too cold.”

The ride back is quiet, almost silent if not for the soft hum of the radio. You decided to connect your phone to it, not really wanting club hits playing and rather something slower. It’s not awkward, though; more of a comfortable blanket over the pair of you as he drives through the narrow roads. Determined to talk for a bit, you showed him a few of your favourite songs and then some childhood favourites too. He nodded along, even gave you a few he often heard around. Tiredly, your head starts to droop closer and closer against the window, and you almost jump when Ghost lets his hand rest on your knee. “Sleep if you want. You’ve been up since early.”

“You’re always up early, though—how are you never tired?”

He can only shrug, knowing he probably shouldn’t delve into the aftereffects of his missions, even more so down the PTSD route. “Got used to it, I guess. Don't worry about me, okay?” Thankfully, you’re too sleepy to question down that route, asking him whatever tired question meets your mind until you’re quietly snoozing in the chair. It was probably his fault for cranking up the heating in the first place, making you all cosy like that, enough for you to completely fall asleep. He turns the music a little bit higher and finally relaxes his shoulders. He should really hang around you more; he hasn't felt this good in years.

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A/N: please comment ideas for the name of the penguin plush from ch2, he will make a return!!! I was thinking pingu but i wanna involve u guys too.

Taglist:

@bieberismysoulmate @hidden-treasures21

[notbecauseofvictories]

50/50

Well, 2024 sure did...happen.

Anyway! I didn't set any sort of goal to watch 50 films and read 50 books this year, but that's where I ended up. Neither number is exactly accurate, and I'm leaving out television, revisiting what I've already read/watched, and all the ridiculous novels I pick up when I'm hungover, but still. I'm kind of impressed with myself. I didn't get to 50 books last year, and I don't think I've watched 50 movies in a year ever---but the more I watch them, the more I explore what they can do and communicate, the more I want to see. As a lifelong reader, it's interesting to explore a new kind of art, to try and intuit your way in through a strikingly different form of communicating the exact same humanness.

TOP FIVE 2024

FILMS

The Florida Project (2017)

Crimes of the Future (2022)

M (1931)

Something in the Dirt (2022)

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021)

It's been months and months since I saw The Florida Project, and I still think about it. The bright and artificial sherbet coloring of it; the dank and mold and shadows that linger around the edges....Actually, I think of all these films in terms of their aesthetics first. Not that there wasn't a story there, but because they all represent such a marriage with form. Consider Crimes of the Future with its fading decay, its browns and rust; M with its stylized, refined cityscape even in the greyscale of 30s cinema; Something in the Dirt where every shot is mundane, or fantastical or both; and We're All Going to the World's Fair, with the particular blue-grey loneliness of the internet age. Surely the benefit of watching a movie (as opposed to anything else) is being presented with something to watch, and I like when directors and creative teams understand that.

Honorable mention to American Psycho (2000) since I'm still a little insane about it---or maybe Corsage (2022) because whether or not it was a good movie, it was nevertheless the most uncompromising, brutal portrait of a historical figure I've seen.

BOOKS

The Rehearsal, Eleanor Catton

Big Swiss, Jen Beagin

Vintner's Luck, Elizabeth Knox

Wylding Hall, Elizabeth Hand

Diavola, Jennifer Thorne

Some people may try to tell you that horror is a discrete genre---I am here to tell you that it's not. All great novels are horror stories, and those listed above especially. From The Rehearsal's self-important artistes, to the therapy-speak Millennials of Big Swiss, to the musicians of Wylding Hall (who miss every sign that Something Is Happening) and the Pace family of Diavola (who deny that the signs mean anything, even after fleeing their vacation home in the night)....all these novels are a study in people experiencing something painful, even terrible. And yet, that provides incredibly fertile territory for their authors to explore the things that come with horror---complicity, desire for closeness, narration and performance, the open wound of family, the thin netting of modernity that keeps us from plunging into something older and darker than we can comprehend.

The only exception might be Vintner's Luck. Not because it's not there as a theme, but because the novel itself spans the narrator's life. By the time he's middle-aged he's committed so many errors, he can't judge too harshly when others do. In this respect it's almost an answer to the questions horror poses---not just how do you survive this? but how do you go on, having survived that?

Honorable mention to Dead Inside, by Chandler Morrison, because it was stomach-turning in the very best way. Echoes of Cipher by Kathe Koja---when an author really knows, really understands, how to wield grossness without shirking or apologizing for it, the result is delightful.

Books of 2020 | Books of 2021 | Books of 2022 | Books of 2023

[kooqitas]

𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝓾, 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓾𝓼

#pairing: santaclaus!scoups x reader ♡ smut [18+ mdni], pwp #warnings:ok, maybe i went a little over the moral line again but...

[MINORS DNI]

you were never a child who believed in santa claus, consequently you became an adult who didn't teach children about the old man, it was strange, you saw your friends from school having children and getting married and decorating christmas trees and you never understood why they cared so much about something superficial... of course, as the years went by, the act of living alone in another city completely affected the christmas spirit that you no longer had! of course, you're not some kind of grinch, you don't destroy anyone's christmas, you're just not involved in this celebration.

so this is the situation: it's past midnight and you're lying on the couch in your red pajamas while eating wine and a panettone, and yes, that was the height of your christmas spirit! you were watching some random christmas movie, but to be honest, you couldn't even tell the plot since you weren't paying the slightest attention.

you decided to go to the kitchen just to get another bottle of wine.

and that's when things went wrong.

you heard a loud noise as you left the kitchen, followed by a rustling of clothes. oh great, someone would rob your house on christmas day. okay, you're not the biggest fan of the date, but damn, doesn't the thief have a family?

you grabbed a knife, praying he didn't have a gun, but when you got to the kitchen you found only a hot man on your couch- what?

you screamed, he screamed, it was pathetic!

"who the fuck are you? why are you in my house?"

"what do you mean, who am i? santa claus!"

"fucking santa claus, get out of my house now!"

and you pushed the guy out, but when you turned around there he was again on your couch. what the hell was that.

"you know it's not very polite to kick santa claus out of the house, right?"

drunk. you were definitely drunk.

"hey, hey, hey, young lady!" the supposed santa claus yelled at you. "don't turn your back on me."

"dude, fuck you!"

santa rolled his eyes, extending his hand to you and giving you a smile. "you can call me seunghcheol."

"fuck you!"

at that point, you just accepted that you were delirious. santa claus doesn't exist. if he did, he wouldn't be in your house, much less so... hot and young.

"i can read your thoughts, respect me!" seungcheol scolded you, making you roll your eyes and laugh, doubting the telepathic power of the supposed santa claus. "i already understand that you want my dick in you, stop thinking about it!"

"wait. what?"

"damn, you really don't believe that i'm santa claus?" and you definitely denied it. who the fuck would believe that crazy story? "i'm here because someone wrote a letter saying that you needed an unforgettable night of sex."

"fuck, your job pays you so little that you became a prostitute?"

you laughed, and in the next second, santa claus was in his underwear. no, he didn't remove anything, they just disappeared and damn, he was so hot, you really wouldn't mind a night of sex with this crazy guy using inexplicable magical techniques.

"i can still read your mind!" he scolded. "you know what they say about girls who don't behave?"

"that they don't get christmas presents?" you scoffed.

"exactly. but apparently you're an exception, since i'm here today to give you a present... the best one."

"are you going to make me work in your toy factory?"

"no. your toy will be my dick making you dumb."

and the next minute you were on your knees for santa claus, his red underwear making it clear that he liked the present as much as you did.

......

okay guys don't kill me… should i finish it?

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (8/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Sylus takes you to witness a dragon celebration and things take a rather fiery turn.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Thigh riding.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (9)

Read on AO3

Life in the mountain was different.

You hadn’t noticed it at first but things were different. Ever since you and Sylus actively started getting to know one another the mountain felt more homey. You weren’t just a servant wandering these halls, both mystified and turned on by the dragon you served. He had become a friend.

Things had never gotten as personal as they did the day he told you about what life was like for him growing up. It had been a lot for him to admit, even under the initial guise of a draconic folktale. He never mentioned it again and you didn’t pry. But you were glad.

Your dragon was someone you knew. Questions you had no longer had to be filled with your imaginings. When wanted to know something about him, he just told you.

You were happy and you felt trusted.

You had noticed a shift in Sylus too. It was more subtle but he was around more. He went out of his way to seek you out and talk to you throughout the day. He was gentler, not as aloof. He still teased you but it felt more like a joke between the two of you instead of him trying to antagonize you.

You also just had fun together now. When you were bored you’d go to the hoard room and make towers out of the gold coins and jewels for fun. You taught him human card games and even tried to teach him human dances too. You quickly realized that dragons were not the most graceful of creatures when not flying.

“It’s really not that hard. Try again.” you held him at arm’s length as you tried to get him to copy your moves. “Out and in and your arm goes up and I duck under. One and two and three and four.”

You tried to do the move but again Sylus twisted the wrong way when you ducked under. “Are you purposefully getting this wrong to spite me?”

“I would never.” he settled his hands on his hips. “I just don’t understand how I am supposed to angle my body so that it doesn’t end up twisted.”

“I keep telling you, just arc backwards, follow the movement the way it flows. You’re the one that’s supposed to be leading, I follow you, you don’t follow me.”

“Why are we learning this again?” he asked.

“For something to do.” you shrugged. “I grew up doing this dance every year at the village festivals. My father would always take me out onto the dance floor when I was little and then when I got older and I could have other partners, I always made sure to save a dance with him. Dancing was always my favorite part of the festivals.”

“Your festivals sound like they are more fun than dragon celebrations.”

“Really? I would have guessed that a dragon party would be far more interesting than a human festival. I mean, what do a bunch of dragons do at a dragon celebration? Food? Games? Dancing?”

“Food definitely. Games, maybe. Dancing, never.”

“So what do you do?”

“Depends on what the celebration is about.” Sylus thought for a moment. “Actually, there is one that should be starting soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We cannot exactly attend but we may still watch the events from a distance.”

“That doesn’t sound like so much fun.”

“It might not be. But I thought perhaps you’d like to witness a little about dragon culture.”

“I would. You’ve piqued my curiosity. When is this celebration?”

“Three days I believe, during the half moon. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours by flight.”

“What do you mean flight?”

~~~

“This is the best thing ever!” you shrieked with glee as Sylus and you soared through the warm summer air. Sylus had you wrapped tight in his arms as he flew. The wind stung your face but you couldn’t stop beaming.

“That was right in my ear, little bird.” Sylus said. “I know you’re excited but I’d still like to be able to hear.”

“Sorry.” you knew that it was easiest for him to fly when you were still but you were just so excited all you wanted to do was bounce around. “I cannot believe that I’m really flying!”

“It’s very freeing, isn’t it?”

“It’s amazing!” you clung tighter onto his neck. “I wish I could fly myself. It must be annoying that you have to carry me.”

“I don’t mind. Just try to keep still, we have a long flight ahead of us until we get to the shore.” He reminded you. It took a couple of hours of straight flying but eventually you saw the blue of the ocean in the distance. The only time you had been to the ocean before was when you were very small and you didn’t remember much of anything. It was still impossibly big, even from a distance.

Sylus touched down on a high cliff about a mile from the beach. “Why don’t we go down?” you asked. “I’d love to get my feet in the sand.”

“Not today. This is dragon land and this is a very important tradition that is happening today and I’m afraid if they smell a human has been tromping around down there, we may get in some trouble.”

“And being on the cliff is better?”

“We’re downwind, also, what is most important is the sand. They should not care that we’re up here so long as we don’t touch the sand.”

“The sand? What’s so special about the sand?”

“You’ll see. Now, how about we have some of the food you packed.”

You slung the pack off your shoulder and opened it up. Inside was a blanket, a large skin of water, and a lot of food you had wrapped tightly in paper to avoid leaking all over the pack. You knew Sylus needed a lot of food and after such a long flight he was bound to be ravenous. You laid out the blanket over the grass and sat down to eat.

Even if you couldn’t go on the beach it was nice to be by the ocean. The salty sea air blew across your skin and the sun warmed your face. You watched as the waves rolled and crashed down below. It was so peaceful.

The peace was abruptly broken when a deafening roar echoed across the air. You had immediately scrambled next to Sylus, searching the sky for what had made such a noise. Sylus chuckled and pointed out in the distance where a swarm of dots in the distance were growing larger and larger. “Are those all dragons?”

“Yes. Now is when we have to be quiet and keep our heads low. They shouldn’t know that we are up here but I’d rather not risk it.” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “Stay close to me, it’ll help mask your scent.”

You huddled close and watched as dragons landed on the beach. They were beautiful and frightening. They came in many shapes and sizes and colors. Some as green as glittering emeralds, others had opalescent scales that reflected the sun like a mirror, and then there was the largest of them all, a hulking red and black dragon, with eyes of molten fire and two long silver whiskers.

Sylus pointed to the largest dragon, “That’s the elder of this tribe, Tengya. It’s said that he’s lived for over five thousand years.”

“Is that why he’s so big?” you whispered, afraid to talk any louder.

“Yes. Unlike humans who stop growing at a certain point, dragons only get larger the longer they are alive. His size is testament to how long he has been on the planet. Many battles he has faced and he remains.”

“Do dragons die naturally or are they immortal?”

“They can die of old age, most don’t make it to that point. Most dragons end up dead battling other dragons or being felled by humans. Not Tengya though, no one that has challenged him has survived.”

“I can see why. He’s terrifying.”

“Yes he is. Imagine living with him.”

“Live with him? Did you live in his tribe?”

“I did, for a bit.” he gruffed. “He’s about as approachable as he looks.”

You didn’t ask any further questions and instead watched the dragons on the beach. The sound of their roars only got louder now that they were all gathered together. As the sun began to set the elder, Tengya, stepped forward and the beach fell silent. He sat back and nodded to one of the smaller dragons to step forward. It was a sky blue dragon that stepped forward and bowed their head.

There was an expectant silence as the blue dragon dug its claws into the sand, arched its back, and then blew a hot wave of fire out of its mouth into the sand. It was then you realized what it was doing. It was the same as what your father did in his shop but on a much larger and less precise scale. The dragon had turned the sand into twisting tower of glass.

The dragons on the beach thumped their tails against the ground, almost like applause.

“What is this?” you whispered to Sylus.

“It’s a rite of adulthood.” he explained just as quietly, “Adolescent dragons have to demonstrate their power by blowing a fire into the sand to create large craters and statues. The bigger the formation, the more powerful they are seen.”

“Amazing.” you watched as the next dragon stepped forward to a new patch of glass. This one used its wings to pick up more sand as they blew their fire and made an even taller sculpture than the last. “What do they do with the glass afterwards?”

“It is considered treasure and taken back as the first piece of their proper hoard and usually given a place of honor.”

You thought back to the hoard room back at your mountain. You had explored it quite a few times now and you could not recall seeing a giant glass sculpture anywhere in there.

One by one you watched as the young dragons stepped forward and made their creations. It was amazing to witness but the sun had long since set and you were starting to get cold up on the cliff. A shiver ran through your body and Sylus pulled you onto his lap, his wings extended from his back and folded in around you to shield you from the wind. You leaned against him, sapping whatever warmth you could get from his body.

“You know,” you said, “I’m glad you were the dragon that moved into the mountain. Before meeting you I would not have thought I’d feel so safe in a dragon’s arms. ”

“Nor did I think I’d embrace a human like this.” he said, nuzzling his nose against your hair. “I’m glad it was you that hiked up the mountain. Anyone else would not have been nearly as interesting.”

Your heart was beating terribly loud again. You picked your head off his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Sylus,” your cold hands rested on his broad warm chest. “I’m scared I’m going to do something foolish.”

“And what foolish thing is that, little bird?” he asked. He stared back at you through half lidded eyes, once again letting nothing show on his face.

“This.” you leaned closer, your eyes falling shut as you pressed your lips to his.

He had gone rigid in your arms, his lips unmoving against yours. Immediately you worried that you had done something wrong. You pulled back slightly, embarrassed beyond words. “I’m sorry. I told you it was foolish--”

Sylus grabbed the back of your neck and pushed your mouth back against his. You gasped and his tongue swept into your mouth. You wound your hands into his silvery hair, trying to pull him even more into you. He tasted like heat and spice, as if you had taken a drop of the summer sun and let it coat your tongue.

“You continue to surprise me.” he murmured against your lips.

“And you worried me. I thought I had ruined everything for a moment there.” you chuckled.

“Took me a moment to realize you had actually done that.” his hands landed on your hips, adjusting you so sat more comfortably on his lap. “You taste even sweeter than I thought you would.”

He pulled you back in, pushing your entire body flush to him so not a part of you wasn’t on him. His teeth gently worried your lower lip and you could feel the sharp point of his canines graze your skin. You felt something slide across your ankle and squeaked, worried for a moment it was a snake before realizing it was Sylus’s tail.

“Don’t mind it.” he said, “I feel it sometimes has a mind of its own. But this, is all me.”

His tail had slithered under the fabric of your skirt and wrapped around your thigh, pulling your leg over him so you were straddled on one of his legs. “What are you--ah!” you got your answer when he jostled the leg you were straddled across.

“Ride it.” his voice had dropped to that low growl you had heard him use when you were both in the hot spring.

Oh gods, were you really doing this? You lowered yourself so your cunt was pressed right to his thigh and ground your hips down. The bit of friction sent pleasurable ripples through your body and you could feel heat pooling between your legs. His hands roamed up and down your body, touching you in a way you had only allowed in your fantasies.

“You’re still so cold,” he said, the pad of his thumb teasing your nipple through the material of your dress. “Just look at how you shiver.”

“Sylus,” you ground against his leg a little harder. “Please Sylus.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” his mouth latched to your neck, biting and bruising the sensitive skin.

You moaned aloud, pressing yourself more into his touch. You knew that you had to have soaked through the material of your undergarments. You normally went without since it meant more laundry to do but considering that you had to fly here you wanted the extra cover. Right now it was very inconvenient. You wanted to feel the leather of his pants rubbing against your clit. Wanted to stain his leg with your arousal.

“Sylus,” you panted, “I want to feel you more.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I can do that.” he said. You thought he was going to let you shuffle about so you could get the undergarments off but instead his hand slid under your dress. “Lift your hips up.”

You weren’t sure what he was doing but you lifted yourself off his leg. You felt the pressure of his claws, cold and hard press against the soaked material and a grin spread on his face. Then the sound of cloth ripping as he cut a slit at the crotch. “There, keep going.”

You lowered yourself again, this time feeling the leather of his pants directly against your soaked and sensitive cunt. You moaned again and he plastered his mouth to yours, swallowing the sound.

“Keep going. Don’t stop until you come.” he commanded. “I want you looking in my eyes as you come undone.”

You threw your arms around his neck, your forehead pressed to his as you rode his thigh. Your cunt spasmed and clenched around nothing longing to be filled. It was all getting to be too much. You were dizzy from pleasure, so close to an orgasm but it was right out fo reach.

Sylus kept his hands on your breasts, rubbing and pinching your nipples through the cotton. His tail was still wrapped around your one thigh, squeezing it tighter and pulling your leg back down when you tried to wiggle off his leg. He switched from biting and bruising your neck to kissing you fiercely. Every little sound you made he wanted it poured down his throat instead. And at this point there were many sounds for him to feast upon.

You were panting and moaning his name against his lips. “Come for me.” he said. “I need you to come for me, my wildfire.”

“Sylus!” your voice cracked as you came.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eyes. Your cunt twitched again, flooding with arousal but nothing to cling onto. All of your juices spilled out onto his thigh, making the leather supple and soft underneath you.

You collapsed forward, your face buried in his neck. His hands gentled up and down your back, easing you back from the high. “Breathe, you did so good. You were so good, little bird.”

“I…I’m feeling much warmer now.” you muttered into his neck.

He chuckled. “Yes. Me too.” For a minute yout sat there catching your breath before Sylus moved you off of his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s probably best we head back now while you’re still warm.” he said.

“But--”

“Trust me, I want nothing more than to tear this dress to pieces and fuck you till you’re screaming. But we also don’t want to garner too much attention up here.”

“Attention?”

“Remember what I said about dragons having an excellent sense of smell?” he nodded towards the beach. “I would really rather not have everyone down on the beach realize that there is a very horny human and dragon nearby.”

“Oh right…” you had forgotten where you were for a moment.

“Come along. Quickly.” he stuffed everything back in the pack and handed it to you.

You gave one final look to the dragons down on the beach surrounded by their giant glass sculptures that glittered in the half-moon light. Sylus scooped you into his arms and you were back to the skies. You held tight to him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck as you began the long flight back home.

[firstkanaphans]

Khun Dome's Peaceful Property fic, CH. 2

The director of Peaceful Property wrote a fic as a Christmas present for the fandom. You can read my translation of the first chapter here. And you can find the original Thai version of this chapter here.

2 days ago The night Peach called Home but he didn’t pick up Sat, 21/12 peach93 & Dome Online Psychic

peach93: [phone call to Dome lasting 01:13:06] peach93: Thank you na krap, Uncle Dome Online Psychic: Not a problem ja Dome Online Psychic: I’m always here if you need advice Dome Online Psychic: 💯💯💯 peach93: But Uncle krap peach93: I still have doubts peach93: Why does it have to be on the night of the 24th? Dome Online Psychic: It’s in accordance with the universal astrology Dome Online Psychic: It’s just a coincidence that it also happens to be Christmas Eve peach93: But aren’t you a Thai psychic krap? Dome Online Psychic: Do you believe me or not? peach93: Fine fine. I believe you krap. Dome Online Psychic: Just do exactly as your uncle tells you Dome Online Psychic: And it’ll fix your bad luck Dome Online Psychic: Your life will be free from aging, illness, and disease Dome Online Psychic: So you can love each other for a very long time peach93: We’re just friends krap Dome Online Psychic: [picture of a very surprised Peach] [Translator’s note: It’s Tay Tawan] peach93: Wait a minute na krap. How did you get my picture? Dome Online Psychic: I am a psychic Dome Online Psychic: Seeing the future ❌ Seeing two male friends act suspiciously ✅ Dome Online Psychic: May it be so. Like TayNew 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 peach93: Uncle!

Today Tue, 21/12 14:14 Vimarnsukman Ghost-Hunting Co.

pangx2🍞: [Screenshot of the thumbnail for an episode of “Ghost Talk Radio: The Haunting Wave of the New Generation.” The episode is titled “The Demon of Wat Pho Kla has been defeated” and the host’s name is Khun Polka.] [Translator's note: Wat Pho Kla is the temple Peach was visiting in the previous chapter. And also Khun Polka appears to be GMMTV manager P’Jack.] pangx2🍞: Isn’t this the ghost the villagers asked for your help with, Hia? peach93: Yes pangx2🍞: Oh! You did the job by yourself without saying anything? pangx2🍞: I missed out on filming the ghost-busting content peach93: Ha ha  go HOME!: [gif of Michael Scott from “The Office” saying “OH, WOW!”] Lawyer Kan: May I say something na ka Lawyer Kan: I have told the customers at the restaurant that we will be closing early tonight ka Lawyer Kan: For your Secret Santa activity, Khun Home peach93: Thank you so much, Kan! go HOME!: [gif of an animated penguin coming out of its shell saying “I LOVE YOU! ❤️”] Lawyer Kan: I will pretend not to see your message, Khun Home na ka go HOME!: 💔💔💔

pangx2🍞, Lawyer Kan, & Suradech Ketmuangrong

pangx2🍞: Did you see, Mae!!! Lawyer Kan: See what ka? pangx2🍞: [screenshot of the above text conversation where Peach admits to ghost-busting solo] Lawyer Kan: I can read it in the group just fine by myself na ka pangx2🍞: In my whole life, I’ve never caught Hia in a lie. Not even once pangx2🍞: This is the very first time! Lawyer Kan: What are you talking about na ka? pangx2🍞: I’ve already looked into everything pangx2🍞: Hia was the one who went to exorcise the ghost for the villagers that night pangx2🍞: But it seems Hia pangx2🍞: Oops. Sent it too soon ha ha pangx2🍞: It seems P’Home was there too pangx2🍞: They’re such good actors  pangx2🍞: Secretly going to exorcise ghosts together just the two of them! pangx2🍞: It’s very suspisious ka pangx2🍞: Isn’t that right, P’Suradech? Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krap Lawyer Kan: You spelled “suspicious” wrong ka Lawyer Kan: Why don’t you just ask them directly ka? Lawyer Kan: Since you’ve already figured everything out Lawyer Kan: As it is now, you’re hiding the truth just like them ka pangx2🍞: Whose side are you on, Maeeeee!!!! Lawyer Kan: I’m just saying that everything you’ve accused them of Lawyer Kan: Cannot be used as evidence in court ka Lawyer Kan: Legally… pangx2🍞: 😪😪😪 pangx2🍞: Wake me up when you’re done typing Lawyer Kan: You have to find more concrete evidence ka pangx2🍞: [picture of Peach and Home asleep in bed together] pangx2🍞: This isn’t evidence enough ka?! Lawyer Kan: Stop using the same old evidence ka pangx2🍞: Then what do you want me to do, Mae? pangx2🍞: In just a few hours, it will be time for Secret Santa pangx2🍞: I will not be able to hold it together long enough to play the game! pangx2🍞: I will not be able to hold it together long enough to play the gameee!!! pangx2🍞: I will not be able to hold it together long enough to play the gameeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!! Lawyer Kan: Then you need more evidence ka

Lawyer Kan invites Dome Online Psychic to chat

Dome Online Psychic: Hello, Khun Lawyer Kan. This is the new Line account of Uncle Dome Online Psychic since the old Line account I used for a very long time has disappeared. You can contact the team here na krap. Thank you krap 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 Lawyer Kan: @ Dome Online Psychic I would like to speak directly with Uncle Dome ka. I do not want to speak with the automated message response system ka. 

Dome Online Psychic joined to chat

Dome Online Psychic: What’s up ja, Nong Noo Kan? Lawyer Kan: Allow me to get right to the point na ka, Khun Uncle Dome Dome Online Psychic: Do you want a group reading? Dome Online Psychic: That will be more expensive na

Suradech Ketmuangrong left chat

pangx2🍞: Oh! P’Suradech!!! pangx2🍞: Wait! I will pay for you!!! Dome Online Psychic: What do you want to know, Nong Noo Kan? Dome Online Psychic: I see your soulmate is in this group too na Lawyer Kan: I don’t want to talk about that ka! pangx2🍞: [gif of a cartoon rabbit saying “EH, I’M CONFUZZLED…”]

pangx2🍞invites Suradech Ketmuangrong to chat

Dome Online Psychic: Oh! Then what do you want to talk about ja? Lawyer Kan: [picture of Peach and Home asleep in bed together] Dome Online Psychic: Didn’t you say not to use the same old evidence ja? Lawyer Kan: My friend is curious ka Lawyer Kan: Whether these two are dating ka Pangx2🍞: Not just me ka Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krap Dome Online Psychic: Hmm Dome Online Psychic: Where should I start? Lawyer Kan: You can just jump straight to the answer ka Dome Online Psychic: Well it’s like this…

15:13 peach93 & go HOME!

go HOME!: [picture of Home posing for the camera wearing a designer backpack] peach93: What do you want? go HOME!: I just thought you might like to see it peach93: You did not  peach93: Are you going to ask if you should post it? go HOME!: Should I post it?  peach93: Learn to think for yourself sometimes  go HOME!: [gif of Adam Sandler giving the camera a thumbs down, captioned “LAME”] go HOME!: [screenshot of the above picture now posted to Instagram with the caption “Once upon a time.” The picture has 1.3K likes and was posted 1 minute ago.] peach93: I bet if you post it, you will get a thousand likes immediately na go HOME!: I already posted it peach93: I was being sarcastic go HOME!: oh go HOME!: what’s your problem? go HOME!: if you didn’t want me to post it you could have just said so peach93: Would it have stopped you? go HOME!: fine go HOME!: i’ll delete it peach93: Why? peach93: It’s already out there peach93: People are reposting it on Twitter go HOME!: dude go HOME!: it’s called X now you know? peach93: Not funny go HOME!: so what do you want me to do? peach93: Forget it go HOME!: [gif of blinking man] go HOME!: i’m sorry na go HOME!: but when you post a picture go HOME!: you tag everyone go HOME!: except me peach93: I tag you go HOME!: hidden tags are not tags peach93: You’re talking nonsense peach93: You need to learn to think peach93: Why might I hide the tag? ​​go HOME!: i don’t like to think! go HOME!: if there’s something you want to say just say it peach93: 😩 go HOME!: fine ​​go HOME!: i’m dumb ​​go HOME!: i have no idea what you’re talking about ​​go HOME!: i never do​​ ​​go HOME!: that’s why i always have to ask you directly  peach93: For me, you are more special than anyone else peach93: Do you understand now? go HOME!: more special than anyone else go HOME!: are you making fun of me? peach93: Ughhhhhhhhhhhh go HOME!: then what do you want? peach93: 😩😩😩 ​​go HOME!: tell me!!!! peach93: Go tag me in that picture ​​go HOME!: tag you? ​​go HOME!: what for??? peach93: Are you going to tag me or not? ​​go HOME!: fine fine fine ​​go HOME!: [Screenshot of the same Instagram post with “peach93” now tagged right in the middle. The picture was posted 4 minutes ago and now has 2.7K likes.] go HOME!: happy now? peach93: I’m going to call you. Answer the phone peach93: [phone call with Home lasting 00:04:13] peach93: 🙂 ​​go HOME!: [gif of a confused man captioned “THAT’S IT?”] go HOME!: next time you have something to say, just say it directly  peach93: You still don’t understand go HOME!: 😿😿😿 ​​go HOME!: be patient with me ​​go HOME!: okay? peach93: Fine go HOME!: [Screenshot from Home’s Instagram of a picture of him shirtless sitting on the side of the pool. It has 13K likes and was posted 3 months ago.] peach93: Don’t post that one! ​​go HOME!: It was posted a long time ago!!!

16:17 pangx2🍞, Lawyer Kan, Suradech Ketmuangrong, & Dome Online Psychic

Dome Online Psychic: [phone call lasting 01:04:13] pangx2🍞: Oh my godddddddddd Lawyer Kan: Thank you for the information na ka, Uncle Dome Dome Online Psychic: Keep an open mind, kids! pangx2🍞: So do we have to pretend like we don’t know ka? Dome Online Psychic: I can’t give you much advice Dome Online Psychic: action = reaction Dome Online Psychic: Bad luck can only be stopped by not dwelling on it Lawyer Kan: But you’re sure your predictions are correct ka? Dome Online Psychic: My predictions are only estimates Lawyer Kan: I’m starting to doubt everything you’ve told us ka Dome Online Psychic: If there’s nothing else, I will be leaving now na ja

Dome Online Psychic left chat

pangx2🍞: Mae pangx2🍞: i think he overcharged you Lawyer Kan: Yes ka Lawyer Kan: This is clearly a scam. He is a fraud. Lawyer Kan: Where did he go? pangx2🍞: We should take everything he said with a grain of salt, Mae pangx2🍞: But at least we have more evidence now pangx2🍞: [gif of mischievous racoon rubbing his hands together captioned “Hehehehe….”] Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krup

7 hours later 23:57 Vimarnsukman Ghost-Hunting Co.

pangx2🍞: [A collection of 4 pictures from the Secret Santa event.] [Translator’s note: They’re BTS pictures from the filming of Peaceful Property. Dome’s in one of them.] go HOME!: [gif of a tired baby raising his arms captioned “YAY”] pangx2🍞: So funnnnnnn pangx2🍞: except no one had time to dress according to the theme pangx2🍞: let’s do it again next year p’homeeeee 💖💖💖 go HOME!: sure thing girl! Lawyer Kan: I just got home na ka Lawyer Kan: Today was fun ka. Thank you na ka peach93: Are you sure it was fun? peach93: Ai’Home ate the cake all by himself and didn’t share with anyone pangx2🍞: 555555555555 go HOME!: [gif of man looking around as if to say “Me?”] go HOME!: who ate the cake and didn’t share it with anyone? pangx2🍞: 👀👀👀 Lawyer Kan: You’re a growing boy ka. I understand ka. Lawyer Kan: Merry Christmas, everyone ka pangx2🍞: merry christmas jaaaaaa peach93: 🥳 🥳 🥳 go HOME!: [gif of dancing Santa Claus captioned “MERRY CHRISTMAS”]

pangx2🍞, Lawyer Kan, & Suradech Ketmuangrong pangx2🍞: Mae!!! Lawyer Kan: What is it now ka? pangx2🍞: Did you see the way they were looking at each other? pangx2🍞: I only have one word: loveeeeeeeeeee Lawyer Kan: Khun Pang ka Lawyer Kan: Stop rambling ka Lawyer Kan: I think they were acting normal  Lawyer Kan: It’s normal for boys to flirt with each other Lawyer Kan: And argue like a married couple Lawyer Kan: And stare into each other’s eyes Lawyer Kan: It’s normal ka pangx2🍞: Normal pangx2🍞: When is that normal? pangx2🍞: since p’home came into my brother’s life  pangx2🍞: he smiles more often pangx2🍞: #crying 😭😭😭 Lawyer Kan: Just let them be themselves ka pangx2🍞: but i think they really like each other  pangx2🍞: it’s just that neither of them will make the first move pangx2🍞: right, p’suradech? Suradech Ketmuangrong: Krup pangx2🍞: you’re no fun pangx2🍞: i’m going to chat with my other friends Lawyer Kan: Congratulations on having more than four friends na ka

3 hours later Wed, 25/12 03:13 Vimarnsukman Ghost-Hunting Co.

Suradech Ketmuangrong: Everyone krap Suradech Ketmuangrong: Khun Noo has something he would like to tell everyone krap Suradech Ketmuangrong: Only he doesn’t want to disturb everyone’s sleep  Suradech Ketmuangrong: So I am typing this message for you to read later per his orders krap Suradech Ketmuangrong: [picture of Home in a hospital bed] Suradech Ketmuangrong: Khun Noo is very sick Suradech Ketmuangrong: He had been admitted to the hospital krap

To be continued

[marscardigan]

to the moon and back

remus lupin x reader

summary: your son is just like his father. remus hates that.

warnings: angst, mentions of self-hatred and anxiety, panic attack, cursing, not proofread!!

When you gave birth to Teddy, the marauders delight, you noticed he looked just like his father. The same lopsided smile, the little frown, how he looked at you with pure adoration and joy... everything reminded you of Remus. You adored that. It was like you just made him a twin. And it wasn't only you who noticed it, oh no, everyone did.

From Sirius' jokes to Lily's compliments, everyone knew he looked just like Remus. It was only the named one who seemed to dislike it. So when everyone left the hospital the night teddy came, you confronted him about it. "What is it?"

Remus looked up at you, looking confused. "Come on, don't lie to me" He laughed, failing at making you calmer. "I just don't know what you're talking about, dove"

"You've been weird and quiet all day"

"I am weird and quiet always" you scoffed, frowning as if you were just insulted. "Answer me, please. I am worried over here"

He moved his gaze to the window, avoiding your eyes. "You aren't going to like it"

"Don't care, just want to know why you look sad and why you haven't looked at your son in all evening" Remus grimaced at your voice. "So you noticed" Still, his eyes didn't meet yours. "Of course I noticed" You answered, offended.

"I just... don't like... that everyone says he looks just like me" He tried explaining, but you didn't get it, you couldn't bear to get it, after how proud you were your child looked just like his father. "I just wished he looked like you, that's all"

You pouted, looking at Teddy's sleepy face. Remus kept spiraling on his own thoughts. "I don't know why I feel this way, i should be proud of it" The postpartum hormones started to hit you harder, and some tears escaped your eyes. "If it helps, I couldn't be prouder that my kid looks exactly like you"

"Oh baby, please don't cry" Remus got up from his seat, and with his warm sweater dried every single tear left on your cheeks. "Let's just hope he gets your personality"

"We better hope he doesn't get your sense of humor, because we're screwed then" You laughed, and Remus joined too. He then started to believe in the possibility of loving his own son, even if he looked just like him, and made him sick inside.

When things started to get better, and your kid was almost two years old, you received a letter from the Potter's. Teddy was staying with them for the weekend, so you two could get some time alone. But all of your plans got screwed when Remus got a letter from James. He came to you, hand shaking while grabbing the piece of paper, tears threatening to escape from his beatific chocolate eyes. You got up from the bed and swiftly went to his side, grabbing softly his cheeks, which were burning. Before he could explain himself, he started crying, panic running through his veins. You asked what was wrong multiple times, but the only thing that left Remus' lips were "I told you", repeating it until he couldn't breathe. You tried to do everything you could to stop him from the anxiety, but every time something like this happened, you never knew what to do, so you hugged him and make his head hide in your chest, tears falling from your eyes as horrid shouts left Remus' mouth.

Once he got calmer, he just gave you the letter, too tired to even open his eyes. You didn-t have to read it to know what it said. So before he could do anything, you were going to the Potter-s and taking Teddy back home.

You left your son's room after putting him to sleep, and tiredly, you searched for your husband, only to find him smoking outside the porch. Remus didn't turn around, only lightened another cigarette. "I-m going to bed" You said, hoping to get some reaction from him. After a minute without any sign of him hearing you, you sighed, going to your shared dorm. Before you could close the door, you heard him mumble something under his breath. After asking to repeat it, he finally turned around, cigarette between his lips. "I said how bad is it."

You looked at his eyes, ignored the big eye bags those carried for almost two days now. "It could-ve been wor-"

"No. Tell me how bad is it" He cut you off, voice monotone.

You started to lose patience. "Well, if you're so interested about it, why don't you just try to look at your son's face? Then you could see how fucked up it actually is". You spitted at him, angry about his behavior. "But I told you, the scar on his cheek will fade eventually"

"That's what the doctor told me with mine" He almost laughed. You crossed your arms. "Thank god we have a better doctor then." Remus' tries to look guilty were hidden behind a weird smile, "So this is funny to you now? The safety of our child?"

"Of course it's not fucking funny, for god’s sake!" He almost shouted, throwing the cigar out. "I tried to warn you, ya know. About it before we had... him. But as always, you didn't listen"

"I did listen, you dumbass" You answered back, your words sounded almost venomous. "But as I told you back then, I couldn't give a shit, not before and not now, about it."

"You do seem mad about it" He shrugged.

"I am mad about it because our son needs his father, and his fucking father can't even look him in the eye" You pointed out at him, getting closer. "He needs you, and you seem to be gone." Your voice cracked, and Remus gaze softened just a little bit. He called out your name, but you ignored him. "I swear that every day that passes I have more clear that you are going to leave us, leave him, and I, I can't stand it."

"No, listen, it's not-"

"You listen to me" His eyes looked worried at your face, almost noticing now how pale and unhealthy you look, or have been looking for the past week. "I am scared every time I wake up and not finding you in bed, because you're gone" Your throat suddenly feels dry, as if your thoughts somehow would become reality once spilled. "Teddy needs you, I need you..."

Remus grabbed your hips, caressing your skin with his thumbs. "I know, I... I have been on my mind too long" He looked down, almost ashamed. "I was so scared of passing my... condition to him that once it happened I didn't know what to do after" He finally whispered. "I had no one when it happened to me, and I would've loved to have someone" "Let's give Teddy that support he needs, especially from you." You took advantage of the closeness of your bodies to rest your head in the crook of his neck. "He really misses you"

"I miss him too..." He sighed. "God I'm such an awful father" You shushed him, not daring to open your eyes. "Don’t say that. You are wonderful, you just need someone to remind you that"

Without being aware of his smile, Remus looked down at you, hiding the biggest smirk that now rested on his lips. "I love you, dovie. Love you to the moon and back"

"And just so you know" You looked up at him, copying his smile. "I couldn't be prouder that he is just like you"

And Remus started to believe it. He started to believe the blessing he had with Teddy, but mostly he started to believe how lucky he was to found you, and how his son would found just another angel like you in a future.

[blooddrinkingbartender]

"I certainly will have to," Bill said, as he glanced over at Leofric, "I know he's probably got some ideas of what he can give me to at least make it go a little faster. Your eyes are starting to look somewhat clearer at least."

"Colours have come back," Leofric confirmed. His eyes weren't completely grey anymore. The sclerae were being back to completely white, but the irises were still a murky greyish-brown, and the pupils were filmy, "And while it's easier to make out people again, my surroundings are still somewhat blurred."

"Russell did say that the guy seems to hesitate to really hurt humans. He was lashing out at everyone else if they were supernatural or a human with strangers powers. As in, we're completely average humans without anything particularly remarkable about them," Travis said, "I may be buff but I am just a human, and from what I saw, he was swinging that whip sword around to try and make us retreat. Russell is fast and sneaky, but he is also just a human. That could work to our advantage."

Russell couldn't help but look at Travis in some surprise. He had voiced exactly what he was thinking.

"And you noticed it too, Custard, of course you did," Travis added, "I think you're doing great there, sports elf. Practice makes perfect as they say."

"We, we still gotta be careful though," Russell said, "Even if, if he might not want to hurt us badly, he, he could still put us to, to sleep or, or do other things if, if we're not careful. That's, that's what happened to me after all."

"Yeah, I remember that. You were all fucked up and out of it when we came looking for you," Travis said.

"I, I think if, if we're gonna face, face him again, Travis and I need to be, be up close and, and personal," Russell said.

A dirty tactic for sure, but he hadn't survived this long without using them.

"I will do that," Antonio said, "While delving into potentially traumatic memories is not a pleasant experience, I will make the process as minimally invasive as possible. Wait, sidekick? I'm the sidekick?"

But it seemed that any arguments on that matter would have to wait. Veronica had returned. Travis wasn't startled this time at least, giving Veronica a small wave.

"Oh hell yeah, I could do with some," Travis said, "Fighting bad guys and making them run away is hungry work."

"I'll, I'll help you get, get that dished out, and, and served," Russell offered then.

"Sounds like you're going to have to listen to the dogtor too."

While everybody would have to listen to her mother. Rook already dreaded whatever Veronica was putting together and there was going to be no way of escaping that.

"You know, it kinda looked like he didn't want to hit you guys either. But he was definitely spooked when he saw you!" Erica said, retrieving the glass, "I'm practicing! It's a bit hard because I'm used to doing things with my hands, but I’m doing my best."

While giving it her own spin. The shadow tentacle received a few pats for doing such a good job, before it disappeared.

"I simply did what I thought might work." Lucien replied.

He wasn't going to mention that he had hated seeing Rook being used again. It didn't make up for his own actions, but he wanted to help her get out of the hold of that horrible individual.

Lucien nodded again. "Despite our link, you'd be best suited. I wouldn't be the most gentle, you see. That wasn't something I had a chance, or interest, to practice that much."

As long as Rook was fine with it, of course. The last word was hers, though she didn't seem to mind much.

"Whatever." she grumbled, "Leave that to your sidekick, if you don't wanna do it."

Lucien smiled. She had said that, not him. He watched as Veronica appeared in the corner of the room, perhaps in an effort to not scare Travis again.

"In any case, the soup is almost ready." he continued, "Those of you not waiting to receive treatment are welcome to have some."

[what-have-i-unleashed]

three cheers for your ego

hello mtt nation, i am here with my promised angsty christmas fic, as part of my defeat of my evil twin in the twinter war (i am the better twin now obviously). enjoy, and happy holidays >:3

When Sans comes back home from a tiring scouting mission, he immediately notices something is off. The food rations he’s so sure were left near the kitchen entryway are gone. That meager bits of fresh meat he’s scraped together for Gyftmas just simply… disappeared.

“what happened to the food?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

His younger brother, seated on the sofa in the living room, flinches but doesn’t look away from his intense blood red gaze. His hands twist nervously in his lap. “I… I GAVE IT TO THE BUNNIES.”

“you what?” Sans says, voice deceptively quiet. His whole body goes rigid and his fists clenches, threatening to break off the door handle he’s gripping.

“THEY NEED IT MORE THAN WE DID – THAN I DID,” Papyrus replies, his voice carefully laced with a tone of defiance that is not very helpful right now. “AND… IT’S GYFTMAS.”

Sans thunders across the room as he stands before papyrus, his teeth clenched so hard he can hear them grinding in his skull. “what does that even mean?! who the hell cares if it’s gyftmas?! that was all we had! do you understand what you’ve done?!”

Papyrus shoots up on his feet, his frame towering over Sans’ short stature. Sans unconsciously takes a step back, momentarily surprised by his brother’s reaction.

“I UNDERSTAND PERFECTLY,” Papyrus says, his voice low and steady. “THEY HAVE KIDS, SANS. LITTLE ONES. AND THEY ARE HUNGRY AND COLD. DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO NOTHING? TO TURN MY BACK ON THEM?”

“yes!” Sans snaps. “exactly that! if we starve, who’s gonna save us? who’s gonna keep you alive?!”

Papyrus’ face twists in discomfort, but he stands his ground. “I DO THINK ABOUT IT, BROTHER,” he says, his voice soft. “IT’S UNCOMFORTABLE TO THINK ABOUT. BUT, WHAT’S THE POINT OF SURVIVING IF WE’RE JUST… CANNIBALIZING EACH OTHER IN THE PROCESS, LIKE WHAT’S HAPPENING IN OTHER PLACES? IN SNOWDIN, WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A COMMUNITY, SANS.”

“oh, spare me the sentimental piece,” Sans growls. “do you know how hard it is to get food around here? and you just threw it away to some family who wouldn’t lift a finger to help us if the tables were turned!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Papyrus shoots back, his voice slightly trembling. “KINDNESS STILL EXISTS! NOT EVERYONE IS LIKE YOU!”

The words hang in the air like a shotgun. Papyrus looks shocked at what came out of his mouth, but he doesn’t look sorry. Sans stares back at him, mouth open like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. Without a word, he turns on his heel and storms towards the door, anger rolling from him in waves.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Papyrus demands, rushing to block Sans’ path. Sans glares at him, irritated.

“where do you think?” he hisses, his eye narrowing dangerously. “i’m taking our food back.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO ROB THEM?!” Papyrus gasps, disbelief making way to horror. “THEY HAVE KIDS, SANS!! AND THEY HAVE NOTHING TO EAT!!”

“well, too bad then,” Sans spits. “no one steals from me. and the bunnies will learn real quick what happens when someone does. they’re gonna have a mad time.” A feral grin spreads across his face.

Papyrus stands in front of the door, defiant. “NO.”

“out of my way, paps.”

“NO! I WON’T LET YOU!”

“you think you can stop me? i can easily shortcut pass you.”

“I KNOW! BUT IT’S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING, AS YOUR BROTHER! IF YOU CROSS ME, I’LL WHACK YOU TIL YOU SEE SOME SENSE IN THAT CRACKED HEAD OF YOURS!!” Papyrus crosses his arms, disapproving.

“you think you’re so much better than me? you think you can survive on morals alone?”

“NO,” Papyrus replies, his voice soft. “I JUST WANT TO BE BETTER THAN THIS.”

After an eternity, Sans drops his coat and lies on the sofa, the tension in the room lessening but still palpable.

“well, merry fucking gyftmas then,” he mutters. “i hope you’re happy with this.”

The frozen streets are silent, blanketed with layers of dust and snow. The streetlights flicker weakly as Sans makes his way towards the party venue and his favorite spot in Snowdin – Grillby’s. The place is quiet and empty, but bears a feast of dusty wine bottles, cold cinnabuns, and some canned goods. Sans hums a strange, broken tune as he prepares the table.

“paps, do you think this will be enough?” he asks, holding up a container of homemade soup he made by himself. He turns to the younger skeleton lingering near the jukebox, whose face is skeptical but amused.

“I THINK THAT SHOULD SUFFICE, BROTHER!” Papyrus says. “NO ONE WOULD EXPECT MUCH FROM YOU LAZYBONES, SO NO NEED TO BE SO WORRIED!”

Sans chuckles, putting the soup container onto the table. “you’re right, paps. shouldn’t be too important how it tastes – it’s the intention that counts.”

He walks up to the jukebox to see if it still works. A bit rusty from underuse, but he can fix it in a flash, no problem.

As he works, Papyrus trails behind him, his voice teasing. “WOW, YOU’RE REALLY PUTTING IT ALL THIS YEAR OF ALL TIME, HUH? FOOD, DECORATION, MUSIC, ALL THAT JAZZ. NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

“ha, good one, paps,” Murder snorts, then in a softer tone he continues. “it’s gyftmas. it’s supposed to be a special day. i guess… i just wanted to do something different, something new, this time. something nice. for you. for everyone else too.”

The next minutes are draped in silence, but the more comforting kind as Sans tinkers with the jukebox. Papyrus’ voice breaks it for just a moment. “IT’S WEIRD SEEING YOU SO… SENTIMENTAL.”

Sans doesn’t answer, busying himself with fixing the broken machine and then with arranging cracked plates and mismatched cutlery. He tries to be as meticulous as possible, careful not to disturb the frail air of festivity he has created in this small space. It should be a wonderful day today after all.

When everything is done, Sans sits in his place, reserving the place next to him for his brother. No one has arrived yet, but he guesses he can always start the feast early, a private celebration between him and Papyrus.

He pours a glass of wine for himself, then one for his brother. Papyrus looks a bit affronted at being offered a drink, but he doesn’t complain, so that should be good enough.

“a toast.” Sans raises his glass. “to time. to the end of a year. to family. to… the ones we’ve lost.” He clinks his glass softly against Papyrus, who doesn’t pick it up but does sigh, an exasperatedly fond sound.

“to you, sans. to your newfound resolution. and holding on to your goal for once in your life.”

Sans drinks, and drinks even more. The guests start to pour in, their voices echoing around him but muffled as if he was underwater. Only Papyrus is clear in the cacophony – a beacon of light he can hold onto in this strange but joyous time. Sans laughs at the jokes coming from Papyrus, his voice bouncing off the walls of the bar. He smiles as he listens to Papyrus recount the things he can’t be sure are real in his inebriated state – childhood memories, plans for the future, a warmth that doesn’t spread to his snow-soaked bones anymore.

So, he drinks again. And again. And again.

As the nights wear on, some things start to slip through to his foggy mind. Plates that remain untouched. Wine bottles that remain unpoured. The soup he made sit alone on the table, growing colder by the second.

And yet, Sans still smiles. At his brother, who hasn’t changed at all. “thanks for staying this time,” he whispers, trying to touch Papyrus’ hand but stopping at the last moment, the distance between them so small yet so inexplicably big at the same time.

“OF COURSE, SANS,” Papyrus says, a faint grin on his severed skull. “I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”

It has been raining snow a lot these past few days in the town. A normal monster would be freezing out in the snow, but, well, he’s hardly a normal monster anymore, is he? Few things phase him at this point, and the cold isn’t one of them.

He knows he isn’t supposed to get close to anyone, but he can’t help it when his friend hasn’t been here with him for months now and the light show in the snowy town is too tantalizing to pass up. So he goes in, wearing a large puffy coat and some hat and scarf to cover his whole face up – a perfect disguise. Now he looks like one of the children playing around near the big tree in the town center. Just a normal, socially awkward child standing near a building, watching his peers mess around from afar. It isn’t exactly fun, but it’s something to do to sate off the gnawing boredom in his chest.

And then, he sees them again.

A skeleton monster just like him – how peculiar. He was interested of course, but something has held him back, something nagging at him at the back of his mind. He can’t name it exactly, but it makes his SOUL pang uncomfortably in his ribs, as if warning him of something. So, he is content with just staying back, idly watching the scene play out.

The strange skeleton monster has been doing this for days – asking people around about their sibling, someone with a name that keeps slipping away from his mind. Again, how odd. Everything about this skeleton monster is odd, from the way they tower over most people yet never intimidate anyone, to the way they enthusiastically play and talk with the town’s children like it’s second nature to them. They’re an opposite of him, and yet-

Ah, whatever. It’s no use thinking about it anyway.

He watches as the skeleton monster again asking the townsfolk about their brother again. And again no one has any clue where the missing person can be. The monster looks dejected, but only for a moment. The resilience… it would be heartwarming to see if he had one.

He subconsciously takes a few steps when the monster finally stops at the giant tree with presents underneath it. He has taken some of the presents for himself, and no one seems to have noticed so far. The skeleton monster looks up at the tree, which has a star on top of it. When he gets just close enough, he can vaguely make out what they’re saying.

“-I WISH THAT THIS GYFTMAS, MY BROTHER WILL RETURN HOME! HE STILL HASN’T PICKED UP HIS SOCKS, NYEH!” the monster grumbles, then in a softer tone continues with a mournful sigh. “… I WISH I HAD SEEN THE SIGNS. HE HASN’T ALWAYS BEEN THE MOST CHEERFUL PERSON, BUT I THOUGHT HE’D TELL ME IF SOMETHING’S WRONG. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED… I DON’T KNOW WHY HE LEFT… I FEAR THAT- NO, THAT’S- I WOULD KNOW ABOUT IT, SURELY!”

The phantom watches the whole scene slow around him. There’s something about this monster that feels familiar to him yet fills him with dread. They’re… weak. Vulnerable. Sentimental to a fault. In this world, it’s kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. There’s no place for kindness when everyone is out to get you.

But, looking at this monster, whose eyelights sparkle under the lights, he feels an urge to avert his eyes, something clawing at his red-hot deadened SOUL. A memory flickers in his jumbled mind: his friend showing him the real stars on the surface, twinkling like their carefree eyes.

Ah, isn’t he forgetting something?

He turns away, boots crunching in the snow as he disappears into the shadows. This is just a distraction – a fun yet trivial thought experiment. But the image of the monster standing under the Gyftmas tree, wishing for something impossible, stays in his mind long after he’s gone.

[roseofcards90]

this is super random, but did you notice that gekkabijin didn't appear at all in coquelic's flashback/vision(??) of the garden in flora unfurl?

this paired with the fact that gekka technically failed the garden admission test but was let in (for whatever reason i gen forgot 😭) ... do you think that coq doesn't see her as a member of the garden? or gekka doesn't see herself as one? or maybe both???

OH!!! This is so interesting actually, I ended up looking into it because I was also confused on Gekka’s Garden status 😭

I think long story short, she is still considered a member of the Garden (to Coq and the others) while Gekka seems to see herself as a member but she doesn't think she's strong enough to be??? Let me try and explain.

Shown here in Gekka's arrest records, we do know she was defeated by Sumire in the test, but she was still allowed to join the Garden. That would make her a member:

Gekka herself still has her personal goal of trying to become the "number one assassin". She doesn't want to be weak, so she's trying to improve herself and train. Despite being accepted as a member, they think she is still not worthy of joining. Gekka was also the one who chose her own name, not the mentor/Coquelic:

Because of what she says here, it seems like she doesn't really view herself as a "true" member? And that's why she keeps training, why her wish is to be stronger and become a worthy member. Despite this though, she's looped in with the other Garden members in Coquelic's interrogation. She's clearly close with them and treated as a member there.

In Glitchwave Nihil, she is the only member to not become a stand in the real world, and she even remarks on this in the messages you get during the event. She's sad that she was the only one left behind 😭 this seems to suggest that at the very least, she sees herself as a member but still thinks she isn't strong enough.

Because of her voice lines and her ECB text, we also know that the mentor looked down on Gekka while she was there. This is one of the major reasons why Gekka continues to train and why she also doesn't think she's strong enough for the Garden:

"So piteously weak that I don't even want to bother killing you."

The mentor's attitude we see here is noteworthy because it's pretty unclear who the mentor is here (something that the sin website also takes note of). This could be the previous mentor, or it could be Coquelic. I am heavily leaning towards this person being Coquelic, only because that harshness (which often masks the concern she has for her flowers) as a mentor is a trait she's shown to have before in Sumire's interrogation and in general (idk if you've played through Sumire's interro but basically Coq is very harsh there with her because she doesn't want the Chief to betray Sumire and have her get hurt). I don't think it's that farfetched to say this was Coquelic trying to protect Gekka because she wasn't ready to be a full on member yet.

In short, I think Gekka ultimately sees herself as a member, but she is still in the whole "I need to be stronger" mindset so that's probably she seems a bit more distant than the others.

What about Coquelic though?

I also think Coquelic and the others see her as a member, despite her lack of a presence in Flora Unfurl. A lot of this is evident in Coquelic's interrogation, where she is treated as one of them.

Coquelic mentions her along with Sumire, the other Garden member at the bureau at the time when she is trying to get captured by the MBCC:

And she is included with them again when Coq talks about each of her flowers and their wishes. The one for her and Gekka is interesting because it seems to suggest that Coq was the mentor who looked down upon Gekka before (although it could still be the previous mentor who did this tbh. That part is unlcear, but I think it would make sense given Coq's tough love attitude and their relationship)

I'm not exactly sure why Gekka isn't really shown in Coq's vision (assuming you mean this image) but it could just be because she wasn't involved in the Rain Burst/Flora Unfurl story line, so that's why she's not present in this 😭 (kinda sucks that she's being left out yeah but I'm glad they still have her in the interro)

We know that despite not being shown there, she is still included here in Coquelic's interrogation, which definitely suggests to me that she is a member of the Garden to Coquelic and the others.

Also it’s funny that you mention that scene from Flora Unfurl because I also wondered why Gekka wasn’t shown there when I first went through the event fkdjndfj what's even more funny is that in Coquelic’s interro, another similar scene shows up except Thistle is the one not included this time LMAO:

But I think the reason why Thistle isn't here (and also why she doesn’t show up in Coq’s interro like the others and only in a flashback) is probably because they didn’t want to show her new design yet 💀 since Thistle's interrogation takes place before Coq wakes up (and she's in her new outfit there), it's not like they could've shown her here lmao since she released as a playable character after Chapter 13, and Coquelic's interro released way before then (despite the story itself taking place after Chapter 13).

Still mentioned tho!!! Also iirc in Thistle's interro, Coq only began to wake up when all the members of the Garden were present there, another nod to Gekka being considered a member to her!

TLDR: THEY ARE ALL ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY, COQ IS JUST A GRUMPY OLD GRANDMA ABOUT IT KDJSNDFKJKFD