#can't wait to make more charts!

[i-am-trying-my-best-okay]

@inafieldofstarflowers came up with this idea that the new foxes put together this conspiracy board of whose in what relationship among the og foxes - they even made a whole blank board.

I simply had to try it, though I bet each of the new foxes have their own theories and then put it all together.

My justification (Keep in mind Jack and Sheena, from what I've seen, are depicted as intolerant assholes - traumatized intolerant assholes, but still):

Jack is just constantly furious that everyone seems to be on Neil's side, not understanding it, dubbing it a weird obsession. He knows Dan and Matt are involved, since they're the most blatant couple. He doesn't really know anything about the Monsters and doesn't care to, except for Kevin. Speaking of Kevin, guy's hypervigilant on everything about Kevin, so you know he's got opinions on every single one of Kevin's relationships he sees (even if he's wrong). Also, he just writes of Seth all together, since from what he watched last season Seth was just deadweight they were better for losing. He also thinks Nicky and Andrew have sex, despite everyone being like "Jack they're cousins"; he mostly thinks this because of his homophobia. He also thinks Dan slept with Wymack to get her position because he's an asshole.

Robin didn't contribute to this until after she's been instilled into the Monsters, now slowly coming out of her anxiety induced dissociation. So she's only recently started paying attention to the dynamics of the other players, and she mostly only knows based of the Monster friend group point of view. Even then she's not all that invested in such things, so barely picks up on relationship dynamics outside of the Monsters; even Dan and Matt. The first time she sees Matt and Dan kiss she's the only one surprised. Most of her guesses are surprisingly good for her passively observing, though she does think Andrew is way to obsessed with Betsy because he keeps telling her to go see Betsy, and after all Robin's failed therapy she really isn't putting any stock on another therapist.

Sheena mostly hangs around Jack, so she doesn't see a lot of the Foxes outside without Jack by her side, taking in his own opinions and making them hers. I don't think Sheena has a good idea of having genuine friendships so whenever she sees anyone acting close of the opposite gender she just thinks they've hooked up. Due to her skewed perspective she doesn't believe Dan, someone who used to be a stripper, can be dating anyone, so she just considers them being two people who constantly hook up and are closer than other hook ups. She thinks Dan and Allison both got with Seth, again the whole "any male and female relationship means sex" thing, but she noticed Allison seems more connected if Seth is brought up so she thinks they were closer. Also, due to her homophobia, just thinks Nicky slept with all the Monsters (minus those he's related to). She's also kinda tired of Kevin's yapping about Jean and Jeremy.

[niko-baka]

since i played raise your bat in chapter 3, i've been obssessed with the rhythm minigame... which is why i was ecstatic to find lightners live plus!!! :D

it's a browser game developed before chapters 3 and 4 came out so it doesn't have any of their songs for now, but ezio eagle says they plan on adding them! \o/

ft. NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A

[freyadragonlord]

Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint - ANIME PREDICTION

Since they announced they are making an ORV anime just a couple of days after I started reading the novel for a second time, I decided to take the chance and try to estimate what the flow of the adaptation is going to be, and how many seasons it’s going to take to adapt the whole story.

(Why? shrug emoji)

Disclaimer! I only read the pre-revision version of the novel, so I cannot take into consideration any change made in the final version of the story beyond the point that is currently been adapted in the webcomic.

For the purpose of this chart, I imagined “standard” anime seasons made of 12 episodes, each around 22-23 minutes long.

I accounted for the fact that the novel’s chapters are longer later on than they are at the beginning, so while for early seasons I estimated that each episode would adapt between 4 and 5 chapters, towards the end it changed to be between 3 and 4 chapters.

I tried to imagine which scenes would take more screen time, and which were more or less likely to be omitted.

Finally, I considered which would be the more effective point to end each season, in order to give it a sense of “completion” and end with an exciting arc.

With that in mind, I estimated that the anime adaptation is going to be 11 seasons long, divided as such:

Season 1 =

Start: The beginning of the novel and the First Scenario. End: Dokja’s first resurrection after fighting the Red Dragon, and him experiencing Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint - Level 3 for the first time. Chapters adapted: 1 to 56/57

Season 1 introduces most of the main characters as well as the rules of the scenarios. The focus of the season is on the conflict between incarnations, showing how the end of the world unearths the ugliest, most ruthless side of certain people – including Dokja –, but also a strong sense of cooperation and companionship.

We also get to know the core aspects of Dokja’s personality: his approach for overcoming the scenarios and tricking incarnations, constellations and dokkaebi alike; his soft spots beneath his mask of coldness; the depth of his relationship with Ways of Survival, and the first hints of his trauma; his strategy to sacrifice himself in order to win.

Season 2 =

Start: Dokja talks with decapitated Sooyoung, and the War of Kings begins. End: Dokja makes three promises to 41st Yoosung after failing to save her, and he beats up Paul. Chapters adapted: 57/58 to 110

While the conflict between incarnations continue with the War of Kings, in this season the role of villains shifts more clearly towards the constellations (particularly the Historical-Grade constellations) and the dokkaebi, and the way they manipulate humans and situations for their own personal gain.

We are introduced to Stories as a crucial source of power and status that incarnation can earn through their action. This season also introduces the remaining main characters of the first part of the novel: Sooyoung, Yoosung, Sookyoung and Seolhwa.

Season 3 =

Start: Dokja makes a deal with Dionysus and goes to the Underworld to recover 41st Yoosung’s soul. End: Dokja learns about his Fate from Dionysus, while his companions destroy Paradise. Chapters adapted: 111 to 168

From the Underworld to Peaceland to the Constellation Banquet to the Dark Castle, this season sees a change of scenery as the characters finally leave Seoul, and they start making friends and foes from other countries (or other dimensions).

Kim Dokja’s Company is created, and Olympus is immediately introduced as one of its greatest opponents, but also as one of their strongest potential allies. In general, as Dokja finally gets to meet the Constellations face to face, some of them turn out to be friendlier and more helpful than expected, while Dokja officially starts the process of becoming a Constellation himself.

Season 4 =

Start: Kim Dokja’s Company wonders who is the person who Dokja loves the most, while Dokja gets kidnapped by his mother. End: Dokja wins the Revolutionary Game, he finds out that Joonghyuk came to look for him in the Demon Realm, and he receives the First Revision of Ways of Survival. Chapters adapted: 169 to 220

This season is about Dokja’s past, his trauma, and his family – the one from his childhood, but also the family he has made since the Apocalypse started, and all the way to him hatching Biyoo’s egg. It’s a season about the people who love Dokja, and the people who Dokja loves, and the length they would go to save each other.

The Fourth Wall’s role in the story becomes central, first in a villainous and then in a helpful way, and a new Wall is introduced through Jang Hayoung. The power of words and Stories grows into a tangent, physical presence, and we get to learn the ways in which Dokja influenced Ways of Survival, both in the past through his comments, and in the present through his actions.

Season 5 =

Start: Dokja learns the content of the First Revision, and he meets Asmodeus for the first time while saving Joonghyuk. End: His constellation supporters incarnate to fight for Dokja, Kim Dokja’s Company wins against Surya, and they earn their first Giant Story after winning the Demon Realm. Chapters adapted: 221 to 275

This season is all about the Demon King Selection, from the moment Dokja and Joonghyuk gain the qualification to participate, to the quest to find stronger allies, and finally to their victory. We get to find out more about Joonghyuk’s past regression, we finally meet one of his greatest enemies – Anna Croft – face to face, and the Transcendents become vital allies of the main characters.

The Constellations (and the Demon Kings) are officially done interacting with the story only indirectly, and they start to physically incarnate into the scenario either to fight against Dokja, or to fight at his side.

Season 6 =

Start: As Kim Dokja’s Company recovers from their last battle, they learn that there is a bigger disaster coming, while more of Eden starts paying attention to Dokja. End: First part of Gigantomachia, Dokja and Joonghyuk kill Ares together. Chapters adapted: 276 to 331/332

The Secretive Plotter is finally, properly introduced in the story, and we start to see hints about the identity of the Outer Gods, as Dokja witnesses the lives of characters from another world. Sooyoung’s importance grows, both in the 1863rd Round and in the main world line, and her role as a strategist is established.

The scenarios’ number rises exponentially, and with it the difficulty of its challenges, as even the strongest Nebulas start to feel threatened. Eden becomes more involved in the story, looking for ways to avoid its destruction, while Olympus tries – and fails – to defend itself from Kim Dokja’s Company’s revenge. The status and power of Dokja’s Nebula begins to grow beyond the Star Stream’s expectations.

Season 7 =

Start: Second part of Gigantomachia, Poseidon and Hades join the battle unexpectedly, and Dokja finds out that his mother was injured. End: Kim Dokja’s Company clears the Kaizenix Archipelago scenario, and they go together through the portal towards the next battle. Chapters adapted: 332/333 to 381

Dokja’s Big Freak Out season. From the agony of having to choose who to save between his own mother and Sangah, to his companions finally finding out about Ways of Survival, Dokja goes through a downward spiral of self-doubt and guilt, culminating in his confrontation with Joonghyuk on Reincarnation Island. Dokja, Sooyoung and Joonghyuk are established as the “reader, writer and protagonist” trio.

The Great War of Saints and Demons is introduced, and angels and devils alike seem to want Dokja’s destruction as much as they wish to destroy each other.

Season 8 =

Start: The Great War of Saints and Demons officially begins, while somewhere in the pit of Hell, a mysterious Apocalypse is awakening. End: Dokja learns the truth about the Outer Gods from Secretive Plotter, and he agrees to help them. Chapters adapted: 382 to 423

This season deals with the different victims of the Story. First, the representatives of the Oldest Good and the Oldest Evil, who cannot help but fight each other even when it brings to their own destruction, because their Stories are so strong that they consume them. Then, those beings the Star Stream determined to be enemies for the constellations and incarnations to fight: the dragons. Finally, the Outer Gods, the “useless characters” that got expelled from the Story and deprived of their memories and identities.

The Secretive Plotter – Yoo Joonghyuk – turns out to be the biggest victim of the Story of all, and Dokja learns a horrible truth about Ways of Survival that partially changes his future plans.

Season 9 =

Start: Dokja and his companions enter (separately) the Journey to the West, while Joonghyuk is haunted by his fight against Secretive Plotter. End: Kim Dokja’s Company successfully recover Hyunsung’s soul, Dokja evolves into a Myth-grade constellation after fighting against Ra, and the group finally feels ready to face the Outer God Kings. Chapters adapted: 424 to 466

This season introduces peculiar scenarios where Kim Dokja’s Company have to roleplay as characters from other stories – first in Journey to the West, then in Oz -, and two new Nebulas (Emperor and Papyrus) try and fail to defeat Dokja and his companions.

Joonghyuk is going through an identity crisis after fighting and losing against another version of himself, which eventually leads him to remember that he’s not actually living in his 3rd Round, but rather the 1864th. The 999th Round becomes central to the plot, first through 999th kkoma working with Dokja, and then by introducing the other Outer God Kings.

Kim Dokja’s Company is really fed up with Dokja sacrificing himself, and even Dokja starts to admit that maybe surviving the apocalypse to live a relaxed life with his companions wouldn’t be so bad.

Season 10 =

Start: Dokja and his mother are healing their relationship, then the battle against the Outer God Kings begins. End: Kim Dokja’s Company work with the Outer God Kings to defeat the Dokkaebi King, and the group manages to save their constellations. Chapters adapted: 467 to 511

This season is battle after battle after battle, and every constellation, incarnation, dokkaebi and Outer God has to join the fight and decide where they stand: either with Dokja, or against him.

The season begins with Dokja talking to his mother, and ends with him seeing (a fake version of) his father. The Outer God Kings start as foes and end as allies. Dokja has to choose what kind of reader he wants to be.

Season 11 =

Start: Kim Dokja’s Company crosses the Final Wall and goes to meet the Oldest Dream. End: The End Chapters adapted: 512 to 551

The Reveal and the Epilogue. We learn what it truly means to be a reader, to be a writer, and to be a protagonist. The end.

[darlingsblackbook]

Zayne x CrushingNurse!Reader | Part Five

Where has your smile gone? ANGST PT.2

Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

I | Zayne drops his voice a little lower than necessary while standing beside you knowing it will usually make you nervous, murmuring, “You’ve stopped stuttering. I almost miss it.” Your heart skips a beat but you keep your face neutral, “I practiced.”, you reply before walking away.

II | Zayne purposely asks you to help with something simple, things he could easily do himself. He knew it made you nervous, he could always feel the ice around his heart melt everytime he saw your hands shake as you tried to help. What he loved even more was teasing you about it. “Hands shaking today?” he asks lightly- carefully. You don’t even smile. “Not at all." He frowns.

III | “Your notes are unusually thorough, much more than usual. Am I making you nervous again?”

“No.”

He pauses. He pauses in that way that would always make you squirm, eye darting everywhere but his way, fingers twisting in the cloth of your scrubs.Now, you don’t even blush.

IV | During rounds, he lingers at your side a beat too long- long enough that you’d normally turn tomato-red and trip over your words. Now, you just shift away and keep taking notes. He stares at you. Silent.

V | You haven't brought him coffee today, nor did you yesterday - or the day before that actually. A routine you had been stuck to for months, suddenly halted. Zayne tried to recall the few days before you started acting so distant, had he done something? Said something? Where has your smile gone? Zayne thought, just as he saw you walk past his office- cup of coffee in hand.

VI | He bumps your shoulder very lightly while reaching for a chart. “Careful,” he says dryly, “wouldn't want our nurse to fall and get hurt." You reply, “There are things that cause a lot more pain than just a fall." He stops mid-motion, like what?

VII | He starts standing closer when reviewing reports with you—close enough that your elbow brushes his. You used to flinch. Now you don’t even react. You shift your chair away and don't even look his way.

VIII | “Nurse." Zayne calls out one day, "Could I speak to you for a moment?" You hesitated for a moment before taking a step forward before halting again at the faint sound of giggles. "I'm busy, Doctor." “Yeah." Zayne mutters, eyes locked on you, "You seem to be a lot these days.” You could barely keep your bottom lip from trembling, responding with a simple, "Yeah." before you walked away.

IX | Zayne starts correcting your minor errors in a purposely sharp voice, just enough to gurantuee a reaction from you - at least it used to. You only say, “Thanks for pointing it out." and fix it. It feels too calm. Too clinical. Nothing like his nurse.

X | He tries to joke during a lull between patients: “Still not a slightest hint of a smile. Should I be worried?” You just reply, “Probably not,” without even looking up. Zayne’s smile falters just slightly.

XI | He casually mentions, “You haven’t tripped over the IV cart all week.” You respond, “I learned how to walk.” There’s no laughter in your voice. It doesn’t sit right with him at all.

XII | He walks up behind you while you’re writing and says your name. A few weeks ago that would’ve made you jump and stammer. Now, you turn slowly, blink, and wait.

“…Yes, Doctor?”

It irritates him- if only you knew how much.

XV | He's done, he can't take it anymore. He corners you one day, just as you're about to leavs, quietly and not so casually this time, “Did I… do something?”

You give him a polite smile. “Of course not.”

"Then why? Why have you been acting like this? Who hurt you?" He fires one question after another.

You feel the tears pool in your eyes but you don't say a word. Not one. You just push those tears back and smile sadly, breaking the doctor's heart into a millions of pieces and walk past him and out of the door.

All Rights Reserved © DarlingsBlackBook

This is a bit of a filler part but it is needed to fill the gap between the last part and the next one ( a lot of drama will go down )

Taglist : @sylusgirlie7 @jeonjenny @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @draftbeerbibi @weebinator01 @satorustorm @asilaydead @ninaandtuna @gremlinartstudio @keyiswatching @dreamlesssleepsaga @eurynam @amerti @neobitch127 @m30wk1ttycat @yuurisfavblog @dysphxriaii @zainaaryam @floofycookie @beesin03 @thatpersonnamedrook @chiikasevennn @ollie-the-fae @dramaticalsachan @babylilxc @minsified @destinysrequiem @xsammijoanneex @hirostrvw @pepperushia @starllight613 @seris-the-amious @moonlight-inthe-sea @luvvhue @gojosballsack69

If I have missed anyone, please let me know! I'll make sure to add you for the next parts♡

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 2

Synopsis: An ending tour marks the beginnings of a change. Just when everything was going so right. A meeting sparks emotions that were buried deep within one and another. What does that mean for our hunters and their source of peace.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn (?), Yandere (?)

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Word Count: 2.5k A/N: I'll be honest here, the yandere part is quite slow. Apologies if you're reading this purely bc of the yandere part. Also probably OOC.

————————————————————

A lift plunges further into the stages interior with the three hunters excitedly discussing the sight of gold along the honmoon. All their efforts are paying off with the near closeness of blocking the demons away from the surface.

"Did we just see gold?!"

"Yeah, I can't believe we're doing it."

"It's so exciting!"

"Okay. You know what this means. Its time to release the song."

"(Cough) Whoa. That was weird."

"Good thing we're taking a break."

"Yeah. Sounds like you need the rest."

"Yeah. Just need a little water."

"Did someone say water?"

Just as the doors opened the girls were met with an entourage of staff, just to take care of their well-beings after the show. Meeting the proud smiles of their managers Bobby and (Y/N).

Urging to give them water immediately as they walk and Bobby complimenting them on their performance. (Y/N) walks besides the girls and adjusts some of their robes and getting permission to take off some of their accessories.

As a reward for the success and topping the charts yet again, Bobby organised a staycation at fancy resort for them. But they promptly denied since mainly Mira and Zoey were more excited about relaxing on their couch.

Since the resort is now available, Rumi states that he should go to the resort instead. Which Bobby promptly got a robe and face mask on.

"Oh, wait. (Y/N), are you okay? You seem a bit... um, tired." Bobby questions, pausing her exit to follow the girls. Granted she didn't get much sleep due to the stress of organising the venue with Bobby, along with keeping up with the girls every time a demon showed up.

Not to mention the three girls asking for little pointers and ideas for the stage performance up until she firmly told them to stop.

Look. She likes her friends, really she does.

She just wishes they would leave her alone sometimes.

Zoey clung to her space so she can get pointers and ideas for lyrics, while also eagerly curious as to what she does outside of the tower.

Mira is much more chill about how they spend time together, typically asking her to watch something on the TV and eat together. But she started taking more of her personal time and commonly asking where she went by herself.

Rumi can be described as professional, initially. She tried to converse first, but (Y/N)'s shaking body was enough to stop trying for a while. But again, they grew acquainted and the hunter began joining in on her lyric writing and demo making sessions. Though once again, she never left the poor girl alone.

Though for all of them...

They refused to.

"Y-Yeah... I just need to rest for a while. But I got some things to take care of before that." Pulling a reassuring yet still tired smile his way, before following the girls in their shadows.

————————————————————

"You're telling me, that the girls released 'Golden'? Now?!" (Y/N) had been on the phone with Bobby as he made his way back for promotions.

(Y/N) was nervously fiddling with her good luck charm on her waist as she was taking in the news. But as much as she wanted to help with the promotions tonight, she couldn't hold off on what she had to do now.

Speeding through the streets with a guitar case on her back, a baggy hoodie and pants while donning a face mask to avoid people as much as possible.

She didn't wear a mask before, but fans started to recognise her as a manager for HUNTR/X. Her blood pressure by itself couldn't given her a heart attack right then and there when she heard that. Never again. She doesn't even know why they liked her so much.

The city nightlife has always been a somewhat suffocating, yet calming. Bustling crowded streets of people coming off work just to drink and let their worries leave for just a moment, families and friends going to dinner to spend time together and unwind. Such people made the night calming for her.

But the suffocating darkness that lingers underneath...

It always chokes at her.

However, her duties are of the most effective during those darkening nights.

Pushing away her inner anxieties and paranoia about herself, she pursues into the nightlife.

Coming down to a secluded park, long emptied for the streets and lights. Its playground seen better days and benches uncleaned with lingering brown leaves and twigs. By passing the structures, (Y/N) finds a suitable large old tree for herself. Its roots coming out of the ground and some leaving a space that make it appear like a throne among the tree.

Taking a seat in the centre and dismounting her case, showcasing to no one, a black electric guitar with gold and light blue accents along its body. A shiny exterior that makes look untouched, no lingering fingerprints or stains and signs of its use. A small notebook used and battered laid within the case. Stickers of the HUNTR/X girls and other musically themed ones about the cover.

(Y/N)'s touch detests the guitars unused appearance, but causes the accents to glow in the night. Picking up the notebook and flicking through the pages, she stopped at one page and put it to the ground, still visible for her eyes.

Tuning her guitar to its right sound, she began to pluck the strings.

————————————————————

As the honmoon glowed its usual blue, a deep pink purple teared through like paper. Clawing out the hole is a purple hand, followed by a black sleeve of a hanbok.

As soon as their feet touch the ground, a puff of pink smoke covers their body to reveal a young man who looked like he just came out of a drama series.

Middle parted black hair with dreamy brown eyes that can melt a girls heart. A dark teel green hoodie underneath a black jacket, paired with dark blue jeans and shoes.

An attire fit for a heartthrob, an ideal standard perfectly. Too perfectly.

Gwi-ma gave his blessings to humour Jinu's demon boy-band plan, in exchange he would erase Jinu's memories.

Earlier than planned, he decided to scout out the perfect place for the newly formed Saja Boys to debut. Surfacing through the night was a perfect cover for him, nobody would take full notice of him just yet. Using this time to casually scope the area.

Smirking at the large number of souls in the night. Numerous fans ready to be converted into loyal fans for him and the boys.

Though as he was admiring an empty park, he feels a sudden rush of his heart racing. Clenching his chest like he had heartburn, he freezes in his spot.

'What is this? Why does my chest hurt?'

As Jinu was questioning his sudden chest pains, his head flicks up as his ears picks up a haunting voice coming from the park.

"Watch the sunrise along the coast"

"As we're both getting old"

"I can't describe what I'm feeling"

"And all I know is we're going home"

"So, please don't let me go"

"Don't let me go~"

A gentle yet haunting voice echoes through the empty park. Ruptures of calm and contentment filling those along the outsides of the park.

Nobody bothering to humour their sudden feelings and search for the source of the voice.

All but one.

Stepping on the old green grass, Jinu follows the closing strums of a guitar and the warming vocals of the singer.

"And if it's right, I don't care how long it takes"

"As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face"

The echoes of laughter from a once young girl fills her mind. Followed by the joint giggles and chuckles of a mother and father. All just happy to be together.

No care for what setting they were in, whether it was the busy streets of a city or the quiet hums of animals in the countryside, nothing could wipe off their joy and love for one another.

Until it did.

"Save your tears, it'll be okay"

"All I know is you're here with me"

"Ooh ooh, oh, oh oh"

"Oh oh oh oh oh"

A pitiful smile plastered on her face. Pouring her heart and soul into her voice.

Rays of blue and lavender light ripple through the city. Areas closer to the park reveal small parts of the honmoon, glowing a lavender purple.

A memory in her mind becomes as clear as an old tape record. Or one could say a thought.

Her body growing older and older. Watching as those who care for her grow weaker and weaker. A bittersweet image.

"Watch the sunrise as we're getting old, oh oh"

"I can't describe, oh oh"

"I wish I could live through every memory again~"

"Just one more time before we float off in the wind"

"And all the time we spent waiting for the light to take us in"

"Have been the greatest moments of my life~"

Hiding behind a tree Jinu peaks to manage out the silhouette of a figure sitting at the foot of the largest and oldest tree in the park. Based on the voice he could distinguish the singer to be a girl, but her hair was shaggy and covered her eyes.

He did not think this haunting voice would come from here.

"I don't care how long it takes"

"As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face"

"Save your tears, it'll be okay"

"You're here with me"

Lifting her head, facing up to the old branches of the tree. That pitiful sad smile she held brought something unknown to his heart. He couldn't place why it felt so warming. Yet so haunting.

He felt reassured for some reason. Like his guilt and shame was washed away, clearing his head.

There was no sound of Gwi-ma.

For the first time in 400 years, he heard nothing but the haunting yet comforting voice of the singer.

"Ooh ooh, oh, oh oh"

"Oh oh oh oh oh"

"I can't describe, oh oh"

The plucking of her guitar came to an end. An overflowing amount of lavender light spreads along the honmoon, but it didn't push him down.

He felt at peace.

Unknowingly to himself, he took a step out from behind his hiding spot. Continuing to take more and more steps until he was right in front of her.

"Are you the one singing?" He was mentally cursing himself for the obvious question.

The singer in question froze. Slowly turning up her head, Jinu is met with a shiver of nerves. Piercing (f/c) and gold eyes stared back. Her pupils constricting as her hands began to shake.

"W-Who says it was m-me?" He sort of expected a quieter speaking voice. Just not this melodic. Her body was nervously shaking from his presence alone. As a demon, he should feel a certain thrill seeing her so fearful from him. Alluring humans to listen to their own shame and insecurities so they can be consumed by Gwi-ma.

But he hated seeing her shake.

"Uh, you are the only one here. I-I just wanted to say that, you have a beautiful voice." The compliment nearly rolled off his tongue flawlessly. He felt unnaturally shy with her (f/c) eyes on him.

While Jinu was weirdly nervous meeting the singer, (Y/N) felt like she was sweating bullets.

'There's only one explanation for this.'

No regular human pays attention to her singing. The only reason why her backing voice is discussed online, is because its among their favourite girl group.

'He's a demon.'

"U-Um... thank you...its nothing special..." Quieting her voice until it became a near whisper. Trying to ignore the demon as she packs up her notebook and guitar.

"What's your name?"

'He wants to keep talking? Should I tell him?'

Its not everyday that a demon wants to get to know her. It was strange. Unnatural. But what malice did she hold towards the male who has done nothing but try to talk to her.

She's not really a hunter anyway.

"(Y-Y/N)..."

"I-I'm Jinu, its nice to meet you." He holds out a hand for a shake. But he's just met with a blank stare.

(F/c) eyes barely blinking while simultaneously looking him up and down. He's never felt so self-conscious in centuries, he was beginning to sweat.

Thankfully for him, she peeled her gaze off and locked up her instrument once again. Slinging it on her back once she stood up at full height. While this was happening, Jinu put his hand away faster than a car. He could feel blood rushing to his ears out of pure embarrassment. He doesn't even know why he feels this way, they literally just met.

"A-Anyways! I wanted to ask if-"

"What's a demon like you doing here?"

Her question catching him off guard.

She knew what he was.

'Is she a hunter? How does she know?!'

"A regular human d-doesn't usually pay mind to my singing." Her statement coming out a bit louder than before. She didn't exactly look happy with being noticed.

Though in reality, she was feeling her heart race.

Of course she knew the effects her voice has on demons. Its what her ancestors have been doing for centuries. Things just changed when her mother met the Sunlight Sisters. Their duties were altered by the wishes of the hunters.

She can freeze a demons actions just by them hearing her voice. But it does not strengthen the honmoon as much as the hunters. Her weapon can barely kill a demon. Yet her voice and emotion poured into her singing is always enough for them to leave on their will.

Beyond what her mother has informed her of their ancestors, that is all she knows of her capabilities.

Jinu on the other hand didn't know how to respond. Humans don't pay attention to her melodic voice? He was beyond stumped.

'How could the humans not listen to this beauty!? I-I can't even describe how it feels to my body and mind!'

He had to stop himself mentally before he went on a tangent he didn't know was in him.

"I-If you're done staring. I'm gonna go." Walking past him in his frozen like state, trapped in his waring thoughts. Realising she passed him, he quickly snapped his neck over.

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. Lifting up an arm and doing a little wave, paired with the softest smile he's seen in years.

"I'll see you around, Jinu."

For the first time in 400 years, he met someone he wants to protect again.

Damn whoever stands in his way.

————————————————————

Edit: Trying my absolute best here :') Its a bit insane. Also if anyone has ideas for duet ballad or even like r&b songs, pls tell me, its for the fic and an idea I have in mind. And tell me your favourite saja boy bc I badly want more content about them.

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024

[prlssprfctn]

Bruce, Alfred, and Barbara get fed up with Batboys pissing them off, and because all of them are competitive, they decide to come up with a perfect solution — the best son of the week chart. Each of them create ten criteria that boys should follow in order to get more points from all judges, except they keep it in the dark what criteria are. So they would always walk on the eggshells.

Does it work? Barely. Does anyone win? Yes. Jason.

The only problem — he had no idea about the contest, and he doesn't give two flying fucks.

Damian: That's pure nonsense! Todd was never fit for this title!

Tim: Wait, wait, I think, it makes sense!

Tim: Think of it! Alfred's criteria are probably about keeping things clean and something along these lines, right?

Dick: Right! And what Jason does when he is in the Manor?

Damian, slowly: Washes dishes after himself. Sews his suits back himself. Cooks. Helps with laundry.

Tim: Exactly.

Dick: It is hard to say what bothers Babs, but Jason loves her. He barely pisses her off. Even if he argues with us, he has a not so secret comms with her, so-

Damian: Thus, the only negative points to Todd would come from Father.

Tim: Which is still bad for the record, but much less than our results, because we definitely fuck up at least one or two points from Alfred and Babs.

Boys: *collective groan*

Alfred, in the Batcave: So, are they right? You gave our boy negative points?

Bruce: ...Just two out of ten.

Barbara: Wow, not you being merciful to Jason. Who died?

Bruce: Some drug dealer, that's why I put one negative point.

Barbara: No, I meant— Nevermind. What was the second one for?..

Bruce: He stole your father's tires.

Barbara: I honestly don't think dad minded much.

Bruce: I know.

Alfred: Master Bruce is just jealous.

Barbara: You can't just put negative points for that! It should be followed by a criteria—

Bruce: Well, I put it in the family bonding criteria.

Alfred: *a patient smile of a person who hasn't seen a ray of hope within past 30 years of his life*

[sangunary]

very random but batfamily with a reader that just favors Tim. They have a whole space under his desk and everything. Eats his snacks, drinks his sodas, ect. Refuses to bond with anyone else, Tim and Reader might as well be conjoined twins. This can be normal batfamily or yandere batfamily it's completely up to you!<3

Batfam x Child Reader! (Platonic)

SYPNOSIS: Your family thought they adopted you, turns out you adopted only one of them.

IMP: PLATONIC, Reader is a child.

It was supposed to be a normal investigation, just two couples that got murdered in their own home.

When he enters another room he saw you, in your my little pony pajamas with a round red plushie with a poorly drawn face around your arms, completely oblivious to the brutal death of your parents.

He couldn't hell but let a slight smile, in such darkness there you were happy to see him. Happy to see a stranger in ridiculously dark clothes.

The room he found you in was no condition for such a ball of happiness, wallpaper teared, water dripping although it was summer, your bed was extremely mess ans solid hard.

He picked you up as you wrap your tiny arms around him clutching onto your plushie. No thoughts in your head as you look dead in his eyes, sucking onto your thumb.

"Ba-man"

You spoke, thumb still in your mouth as your lips parted to form a smile.

He was definitely going to adopt you now.

Your first day with the family was amazingly wonderful, everyone wanted to hold you or bite your cheeks for some reason.

You did choose your favourite from the start, Tim.

When anyone tried to pick you up while he holds you, you would simply turn away and wrap your arms around his neck so they won't seperate you.

Try feeding him anything you can hold onto, pulling his hair cause it was beautiful and you wanted them or the time you didn't stop crying for the whole day straight because Tim went to school.

As you grew older your favourite did not change to the disappointment of most.

Your room was never occupied by you and instead you slept next to Tim much to his dismay.

Unlike him you slept like you've never slept before plus you were deaf and can't feel any touch when you slept.

He would wake up with you on the floor still asleep and he would have to pick you up and make you face the wall, yet you still managed to end up at the bottom of the bed without him knowing.

You arm on his nose or your entire body ontop of him like a cat that want more warmth and will get it no matter what.

Under his desk was something else, a whole new place you had created.

Tim spent most of his time on the desk and you knew it, since you don't want him to be alone you build your own room under his desk.

Picture of my little pony, a chart that doesn't make sense but Tim would listen to you mumbled about it, food and drink, pillow and his jacket you used as pillow and books.

You would read aloud to him while he work on a case, you did have trouble reading and in the end Tim would just read the book with you and intentionally make mistakes so you won't be so embarassed.

Jason who didn't like this was trying so hard on the sideline to get you to drop Tim yet to his Disappointment you were stubborn.

"C'mon we can go watch my little pony till ten if you say im your favourite"

Jason have been trying for years to beat Tim and get the favourite. He tried to spend more times with you but it's impossible when you follow Tim like a duckling even waiting outside bathroom.

"I know you love Pony"

Jason was determine, it wasn't fair at all. You saw Tim call him a tomato and from that day you practically glue yourself onto him, he was way too happy for Jasons liking.

He already wanted to Bash his head for replacing him and now he wanted to throw his head throw a wall for getting all your affection.

"No, Timmy said no"

"You- When did you start listening to adults, you should be a rebel..."

"No"

Jason have never wanted to shake a child so hard just cause they weren't rebellious like he was.

Before Jason could continue his persuasion you saw Tim walk by and instantly went towards him, leaving the older male still kneeling on the ground with my little pony disc on his hand.

"...You like pony?"

Stephanie who just walk into the scene commented, with a wide smile.

"Shut it"

Jason left with the disc still on his hand, leaving Stephanie who was over the moon with her discovery to shout at him.

"Nothing wrong with liking ponies!"

Tim bought everything in two now, doesn't matter what he bought you would always swallow them without even knowing what it was.

It was honestly adorable, eating or drinking anything he ate because you wanted to grow up like him. For someone with short arms you could reach high.

If Tim was to eat something you would eat them without hesitation and proudly huff when you swallow.

You drank coffee once didn't sleep the entire night just went crazy around the house all night.

That's how they made you eat disgusting medicine, by making Tim eat something else that look alike to the medicine and faster then a cell could enter your brain you would chuck them down.

"C'mon brocoli is healthy, you'll grow up like me!"

Dick tried to convince you as he tried to push the food through your mother yet you stubbornly resisted.

And you resorted to pulling his hair, it doesn't hurt that much but it still does hurt and you were in no mood to let him go easily.

"Aouch! Geez, you pull real hard huh? Okay let go now no more brocoli"

Dick tried to gently pry your hands away from his hair but you wouldn't budge, pulling with all your might which hurt way more.

Before Dick could resort to yanking you and have you pull some hair out Tim walk in with no reaction to the current dilemma Dick was in.

Sat next to you and pick a brocoli and fed it to you, which you open your mouth without any second and chew, your hands remain on his hair.

"Tim, could you atleast get her to let go-"

"Let this be a punishment for you forcing her to eat when she obviously doesn't want to"

"She just ate, it's not the food it's the feeder!"

You didn't let go of his hair until Tim pick you up.

It was quite normal for people to mistake Tim as your father even tho you two look nothing alike.

Random mother's and elders or even workers praising him for being such a strong single father who loves his kid, Tim doesn't care about the comments. He absolutely found them hilarious.

"Bless your heart for stepping up for your child, the world need a father like you"

An old grandmother who was walking down the street would comment and Tim on the other hand just nod along with it, no denying or acception.

Even the journalists would intentionally made jokes about how Tim was more of a father than Bruce could be to you, and you thought Bruce was... Your distance uncle and not your father.

Every time anyone brought up the Wayne family and Tim or you is mentioned, everyone will agree that you adopted your own father while your adoptive father became your uncle.

You would hold his hands because they were comfortable unlike the others and if anyone tried to hold your hands, insult everywhere.

"Is your hand made out of cement...?"

"...Did your hand ran a marathon? Why so sweaty?"

"Did your hand ate a giant?"

"Your hand's have different gender"

"You hold onto me like im about to fly"

"No please"

"...Your fingers ate a snake"

"It should be illegal for you to hold hands"

Damian love's your fast mouth but hate it when it's towards him, he secretly tried to teach you how to fight Tim went wrong you ended up attacking him.

His plan backfired real bad.

Did they hate that you loves Tim so much while activity insulting them without even understanding your own word? Yes, they still love you.

It was as if you had adopted Tim solely and the rest were just extra benefit.

Tim loves the fact that you were so open about him being your favourite, he's a proud father of one which is you.

As much as the family love's you, you can only love one and that is your adopted father Tim.

Yes, you adopt your father.

[felassan]

David Gaider: "If I really dig into my empathy, I can kinda see the thinking here. Like, let's say you don't actually know much about games. You're in a big office with a bunch of other execs who also don't know much about games. What are they all saying? "Live games do big numbers!" "Action games are hot!" Your natural response? "We should make more action games, and all our games should have live service!" Cha-ching, right? Then some uppity devs spoil your buzz by saying "that doesn't apply equally to all games" or "we have an established IP with an audience that has certain expectations". You frown. You go look at their sales. Good, sure, but not as spectacular as live service and action games! Profit's great, but what's the point if you're not #1 in the charts? If you're not making headlines? If the devs can't make it work, this is THEIR failure. This, after all, is the future of gaming! Eventually, you're going to ask yourself why we (the company) even bother with those other games. Like single player games. It's a question you've asked aloud before. The fans bristle, but you're not here to supply every audience what they want. You're here to make money and increase share value. Maybe I'm being unkind. There are certainly all sorts of lessons a company could learn from a game like Veilguard (I still haven't played it, so I'm going off what other people have said), but "maybe it should have been live service" being the takeaway seems a bit short-sighted and self-serving. Not that there's any shortage of that, when it comes to deciding why a game doesn't do well. For the anti-woke crowd, for instance, there are woke games that do well and woke games that do poorly and only the ones that did poorly did so *because* they were woke. Says more about them than the game. My advice to EA (not that they care): you have an IP that a lot of people love. Deeply. At its height, it sold well enough to make you happy, right? Look at what it did best at the point where it sold the most. Follow Larian's lead and double down on that. The audience is still there. And waiting. ❤️" [source thread]

--

User: "Maybe they can sell the IP to Larian. Or someone else who would treat it respectfully." David Gaider: "I suspect Larian is, smartly, done with working on third-party IP. You do all that work, and the IP overlords do little more than dictate the minutiae and make your life difficult and then you have to cut them a huge slice of the proceeds too? Not a lot of studios are going to bite THAT hook. [source] I know you said SELL the IP, but there's no way EA will relinquish its hold on an IP that could potentially do big numbers. In their ideal world, a studio takes it on, does all the work, and they rake in the cash. Giving up that kind of potential would require BIG money... and who would buy it?" [source]

[moyazaika]

blood in the water.

m! yandere prince x gn! knight reader ♡ mdni 18+

cw — blood, betrayal, obsessive themes, lack of autonomy and unbalanced power dynamics. 2.4k wc.

a/n — well well well

you can barely make him out through the mist.

a heavy and decadent cloud of perfume rolls over the warm waters of the royal banya; makes it difficult to chart your course to where your prince is. you narrow your eyes, glimpse the outline of his frame, solid and familiar, beyond the swirling haze that's descended over the pool's surface.

"moy knyaz," you clear your throat. my prince; the title rolling off your tongue like honey. "i've arrived with the supplies you asked for."

he spares you a glance over his shoulder, the movement causing gentle ripples in the water around him. you think briefly, like a fool, that he will wade to the edge of the pool to meet you where you stand. you lower your head, gaze drawn respectfully low.

"ah, sweet knight." you can hear the smile in his gentle words; that familiar lilt of felicity, all soft at the edges. "there you are; i was almost beginning to worry," he hums. "whatever took you so long?"

"apologies for the delay, my prince." you rest a hand over your heart, imbue as much sincerity as you can in the action. "i will ensure that it does not happen again."

you'd never been in the bathhouse before, so it was difficult not to feel like a stumbling fawn. you'd never had any reason to be in this wing of the palace; seeing as you were the prince's knight, and not one of his personal attendants—and yet, you contemplated quietly, this time he'd called specifically for you.

(the thought of it makes you feel strangely special.)

"very well.” he concedes. “you have brought what i asked for?"

"yes, my prince." you nod, hold out your hands over the edge of the pool. present to him upon your palms, folded neatly and perfumed in his favourite scent, the silver silk he uses during his trips to the bathhouse. you wait, expectantly, for the feel of his fingers swiping the washcloth from your hands—and yet, it never comes.

"dorogaya, you do not intend to keep me waiting any longer, i hope?"

you blink, head still lowered out of respect. "i'm sorry, my prince. i do not quite understand."

"eyes up, sweet knight, and clothes off." he says slowly, enunciating each syllable as one does when speaking to a child; "it seems," he sighs softly, "that i am in need of your ministrations tonight."

never one to go against his words, you raise your head, albeit reluctantly. almost immediately, you meet his tar black eyes. his gaze heavy and stifling, as he observes you lazily over his shoulders. you can't help that your attention drifts down to the prominent corded muscles of his back; the strong, solid shape you only just manage to make out through the soft, dreamlike mist.

he smiles at you so kindly, then, as if he is understanding of your appraisal; the curl of his lips feels dangerously close to an invitation to dip into something far deeper than these waters.

"you are already late," his voice, deceptively gentle for how low it is, brings your attention back to the task at hand, and out of your shameful reveries. you swallow nervously, as he turns back; the air in the banya feels colder, then, when your prince's eyes are no longer trained solely on you. "please, luybov moya. do not make me wait any longer."

my love, my love, my love; how gently he calls for you from the water.

the affections fall from his lips like sweet nectar, and you are so helplessly caught in his tenderness that there are no more questions to be asked, even if they weigh heavy on your mind.

your shirt is the first to go. the intricate buttons of your tunic difficult to undo with shaking fingers. trousers, next. stepping out of the fabric as it falls at your feet. working to loosen the lace of your boots.

tentatively, you dip your toes in the water. it's warmer than it looks. a welcome reprieve, though, from the chill of being undressed. the hair on your skin stands on end when the prince speaks up.

"clothes off," he repeats softly, without sparing you so much as a backwards glance. "i will not repeat myself."

"ah," you look down at the flimsy undergarments you still don; the scrap of decency they provide in maintaining a facade of respect in the presence of the tsar's son. thin fabrics that hide the skin on your back, marred by grotesque scars from previous battles waged and lost and won in the name of your beloved prince. and yet—albeit with trembling hands, you reach for the hem. "understood, moy knyaz."

you let yourself sink into the pool, as it envelopes your bare body whole. it's nice, and warm. welcoming, you think to yourself.

you nervously wring the silk in your hands as the gentle undulations of the water naturally push you closer to the prince; and you're silently grateful for the mist of the heavy perfumes and steam that descends over the banya and nips at (as well as obscures) your scarred skin.

perhaps it is because of this veil that it takes you so long to realise your prince is covered in blood.

you still in your movements—taking in the swirling ink-like clouds of deep red in the cerulean water around him; the spray of dark blood over his jaw, and the muscles of his chest; how it drips, thick like sweet nectar, from his hands—held out towards you.

"moya milaya," he murmurs, watching you through low lashes. his eyes are black like heavy tar. you find yourself stuck—sinking into the quiet darkness before you; "won't you purify me?"

you reach out, closer, press the silk against the inside of his wrist, right above his pulse. you delude yourself into thinking you can feel the steady thrum of life through the touch; but all you're met with is his warm skin, slick with blood. it smears when you wipe it, stains the fine fabric of the washcloth.

"your highness, are you—" your eyes flicker up to meet his, but your hands don't slow in their pace as you scrub him free. concern pulls the edges of your heart and everything threatens to unravel in the absence of an answer. "are you alright? were you hurt? has the physician allowed you to—"

"i am fine, sweet knight. the blood," your prince's lips curl into a knowing smile, "none of it is mine."

"i don't understand, moy knyaz. forgive me for my ignorance, but who did—" you blink, desperately searching his impassive face for an answer. "our enemies? conspirators against the tsardom? an assassination attempt? because i was never made aware of—"

he places his hand over your own. the touch is careful and light, merely a suggestion—

you still immediately.

realise, with dawning horror, that you've scrubbed his skin raw. the blood pools in the water, your insistent, frantic efforts leaving the skin of his forearm all angry and hot and red—markers of blossoming pain. tense muscles, and all. the silk looks as if it has been drenched in ink.

"not of the tsardom," the prince says lightly, 'but enemies still; and i already know you were not informed because i ordered it so."

the threads your heart was hanging on by are pulled too strongly, too soon. everything comes apart. a sense of betrayal, and then a deep-rooted shame, washes over you. you swore you would follow this man to the ends of the world; and yet, he does not even trust you in his darkest hours?

you wish to sink into the water and never resurface from its depths. beg, silently, for the fog to swallow you whole beneath the weight of your prince's gaze.

"apologies," you manage shakily. "i have failed to protect you, my prince. i understand that you find me incapable of serving you for any longer. as your humble knight, i shall—"

"hush."

fingers skimming up your neck, resting at your jaw. the impossibly soft way the prince forces you to meet his eyes, so kind in their own right. so full of mercy.

"bednyazhka," he whispers under his breath. you poor thing. "you worry far too much. it will be the cause of your undoing, one day."

"it is worth it for you, moy knyaz. i would gladly lay down my life for you."

"yes," he murmurs. "of course, that is what you would think. a shame.”

"apologies, i..." you frown. "i do not understand."

he smiles ruefully. "no. of course, you do not." his fingers fall from your face, and you find, shamefully, that you mourn the touch far more than you should. instead, they brush against your knuckles; raw from hours of combat training. he runs his thumb over the broken skin. "seven, sweet knight. this is the number of attempts made on your life in the past week."

you had...

you swallow nervously, coming to terms with the news. the urge to say something overwhelms you (strangely, an inclination to defend yourself) but the words evade you. your throat closes up.

you had no idea.

(find solace, at least, in not needing to wonder about the sorry sort of fates they must have met at the hands of this man before you.)

he swipes the washcloth from you, continues speaking in hushed tones; "our enemies grow restless as we prosper. they want nothing more than to hurt me. previously, i have not had to worry about this, because of you."

"and now?" you whisper.

"and now, luybov moya, my enemies rejoice." he takes your trembling hands in his own, inspects the blood from his skin that now stains yours by carefully turning over each and every finger in his palm. "they have found a way to hurt me." he confesses, "because of you."

the touch is feather light. barely even there.

"do you understand, my sweet knight? you are the reason i prosper, and yet, devastatingly so, the sole cause of my ruination."

the gentle undulations of the water around you has lulled you into a false sense of security. you feel safe in this moment, knowing your prince is in such close proximity. the two of you stand close enough for you to feel the heat of his body against yours; breaths in sync, breathing the same perfumed air in—and out.

in—and out.

you almost think you've misheard the prince when he speaks again.

"and this is why i have decided," he says softly, "that you will never pick up a sword again."

his words instantly break the fragile tranquility of the moment like a delicate thread that's been pulled at for far too long—an inevitable snap that still manages to hurt. you shake your head, affronted by the mere thought of such an absurd idea.

perhaps this is some sick jest. surely, he must know? the value of your sword? what it means to you?

you swore an oath to protect the tsar's son. it is an insult to your very being should you fail to uphold this royal promise. you have already let him down enough.

"i can not be of no use to you, moy knyaz."

"that will never be the case." he smiles. "i have many uses for you in mind, moya milaya."

how can he say it so affectionately? my sweetheart falling from his lips as he takes from you the one thing you can never bear to part with.

"but i have always fought!" you protest. frantic, desperate laughter bubbles past your lips. it sounds wrong and forced even to your own ears. he drinks it in, all the same. "i have always wanted to protect you. it is my purpose and duty and—"

who am i without it?

"yes, and i will always cherish you for it, but now, your fight is over."

your prince has always been the most beautiful man in the tsardom to you. out of an unwavering loyalty, you have followed him through the darkest snowstorms and to the most desolate battlefields. you have raised flags in his name and stared down the barrel of your gun to an innocent child for his legacy.

despite it all, he has only ever been your prince; and you, his most trusted knight.

in this moment, though?

the man before you is unrecognisable. he has forgotten who you are.

"the purpose of my life is fighting." you repeat, hoping to remind him of what your sword represents; a plea for him to let you keep it. "it is why i live. it is what i promised to forever do, until the very end of my life—i exist to serve you.”

"and you will." the prince assures you keenly, presents you with a reminder of his own. "there are other ways to serve."

ah—

so this is what you've fallen to.

"you cannot do this," you cling to him. dig your nails into his skin, forgetting the sheen of blood that already lies there; like a thin film. some impossible barrier separating your reason from his actions. "please, my prince. you can't."

please don't turn me into an accessory.

"my sweet knight," he gently pries your hands off of his shoulders, brings your wrist to his lips. he kisses away the blood on your skin as if this display of affection will wash you clean of your shame. "there is nothing you can do to stop me. it has already been done."

it dawns on you laughably late. of course, this is the true reason he called you to the bathhouse; why else would he be waiting for you? what other purpose for your presence—when he's never needed anyone else to purify him?

how foolish of you to think yourself an exception. the silk washcloth floats in the pool's water that gently ripples from all your shaking. it takes effort to hold yourself together and string the words you wish to say into anything even remotely sensible.

yet, you fall short, even then.

"why?" your strength is futile; any attempt to wretch your hand out of his hold fails. his fingers stay wrapped in place, careful not to bruise you with their strong hold—yet completely unyielding to your every effort. "i don't understand."

why would you strip me of who i am? why would you strip me of who i have always been?

tendrils of dark blood swirling in the warm water around you, your prince only smiles adoringly in response. his black eyes are so impossibly shallow as he watches you fall apart before him; and yet you find yourself drowning in them all the same.

"why would you do this to me?"

this is the first time you will hear this answer from the prince, but you already know—

(even whilst he peppers dozens of soft, sighing kisses into your wrist and up your arm, over your shoulder and down, down, under)

—you already know it will not be the last.

"because i love you."

[mrsmandalorian]

short n' sweet tour

--pedro pascal x singer!f!reader

summary: on the debut night of your arena tour, you pull out all the cheeky tricks to grab Pedro's attention while the crowd goes wild.-this fic features a tiny bit of 'Bed Chem" and the whole song of 'Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter !!

lyrical genius masterlist / main masterlist / wc:4.9K

warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied, smut!!!, and fluff!, p in v, hard and quick FUCK, sexual TEASING, pet names, pillow humping, dry humping, wandering hands, makeout.

a/n: the next part is finally here! thank you for all the love on this series. hope you guys enjoy this part! pls leave some feedback and let me know what you guys might be interested in seeing in the future! much love, maddie <3

The electricity from the crowd vibrates backstage as you nervously wait for your cue to run onstage. All the hard work throughout your career has led to this moment—the first concert of your North American leg of the arena tour. It started in  Staples Center in Los Angeles and concludes in Sweden next year. 

The pre-show recording starts as your team quickly helps you with your earpiece and offers words of encouragement. Take a few deep breaths to calm your nerves as you hear the team start a countdown to your entrance over the earpiece. 

“Three, two, one-go, go!” the stage manager says from behind you.

As the crowd roars, you dash onto the elaborate stage to begin the show with one of your many comedy bits, acting as if you are half-ready for the show to start, still in your sequined bath towel. You finally end up center stage to find your microphone and strip from your fake towel to a custom sparkling bodysuit with sheer sparkling tights, which causes an uproar from your fans. 

Looking into the sea of people and phones, you give your best smile and take the moment as best as possible. The tune of your first song starts as your dancers slowly come out to join you on stage. It was showtime. 

The crowd was whole of thousands of fans and familiar faces from family, friends, and celebrities. The cheers and joy in the room made all the struggles and hard work behind the music worthwhile. The impact your music has on people truly makes it all significant. You released your album, and it was a fantastic experience; it topped the charts for weeks and went viral on social media. It has undoubtedly been the best year of your life. Your career has already taken off, but the overwhelming success you've experienced in the last six months has been remarkable in more ways than one.

Your nerves disappear as you sing through the setlist and entertain your fans with your cheeky comedy bits and lovable personality. Your setlist consists of songs from your new album, older hits and gems, and karaoke from your favorite artists. Much like your most recent singles, your latest album is very sex-positive and cheeky, which sets your performance to the same tone. You were expecting a good reaction from the crowd, especially someone. 

After a few songs and the addition of a sheer robe, it was finally time for one of your more sexual songs off your album, Bed Chem, which had a very sensual tone of dance to it. The lights dim as you get into position on a retro circular bed part of your elaborate makeshift apartment stage. You position yourself seductively in the middle as you stare up at the camera above you, which will project onto the large screens for the audience. 

The song starts as you twirl your hair with a massive smirk. As you go through the first few lyrics on the set bed all by yourself, you can't help but imagine your bed chemistry with your lover, Pedro, which causes you to blush heavily. 

Your imagination halts as your dancers join you on the bed to continue the song and choreography. The canopy opens to the audience, but you have been so caught up in your performance that you haven't taken a second to look at those chocolate eyes in the audience. 

As you continue the song sensually and playfully, you are met at the edge of the bed with your dancers. Staring into the crowd to find his eyes, you meet them with a large smirk, holding them as you sing the following few lines. 

“And I bet we'd both arrive at the same time (bed chem)

And I bet the thermostat's set at six-nine (bed chem)

And I bet it's even better than in my head (my, ooh).”

Your gazes hold until you give him a wink, which earns you a smirk and wink back from him. The tension between you and him burned hotter than the stage lights, igniting every inch of you—even in a room packed with thousands. You were so smitten with him as you continued your choreography with your female dancers. 

During the song's outro, the ladies leave you to dance with the guys as you kneel on the bed. One of the male dancers joins you, holding a camcorder that projects onto the screens, and he joins you on the bed. Playfully actingout a scene with him until the canopy curtain closes and your reflections show you both undress and embrace onto the bed as the lights dim to darkness. 

After the song ends, the crowd erupts, and you run backstage for your first outfit. As you change, one of your few mini videos and dancers entertain the audience. Touching up your makeup and dabbing the sweat from your brow, you quickly grab your phone to send Pedro a selfie of you winking and making a kissy face: “All for you, baby.” 

The concert flows on—another outfit change, playful banter, and electrifying moments with the crowd—all in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the thoughts of your irresistibly fine man. After an intensely emotional song, your setlist picks back up with cheerful, fun music that has gone viral for your whole tour. You walk yourself down in your long, custom, sexy dress down the catwalk of the stage as you talk with the crowd. You compliment and express your gratitude to your fans as you prepare for the next song. Before the song, your team and you have been doing a comedy bit before to give the spotlight to a fan. 

You complimented the crowd on their fabulous outfits, which you knew took them a while to pick out or make. The best part of the bit happened once your dancers joined you just off the main stage onto the catwalk. 

“Oh my, everyone, look! Who is this hottie in the front row right here?” You let out a shocked expression as you fan your face dramatically. The camera for the large screens directs the camera to the person you are referring to, who happens to be Lux Pascal. The crowd goes wild as Lux starts to blush. “ You are breathtaking! Whoever made you, God bless them. God bless their genetics.” You joke with her as you twist your hair in a fake, flirtatious way. “Um, what's your name, gorgeous?” 

The camera pans back to Lux, where she plays her part and screams, “Lux!” to you. You both laugh together. “Such a beautiful name! Our names would be perfect for us to be in a relationship together. Oh my god! My clothes just fell off thinking about us. I will have to arrest you for being too hot!” You say as your long skirt falls to reveal your shorter skirt underneath. A brief glimpse of Pedro standing beside his sisters and your friends sends the arena into a deafening uproar, the sheer volume making you giggle into the microphone.

Your dancer hands you a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, which you give to the security guard with a wink and blow a kiss to Lux before you start to get into position for the next song, which the intro has begun. 

The dancer brought a chair for you to sit in between them to start the song. They all still wave and send Lux flirtatious signals as part of the bit. The music begins, which causes you to smirk because of the context. 

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it (get it)

Whole package, babe, I like the way You don'tt

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

You promise yourself just one glance. Flashing him your brightest grin, your eyes meet him—and the instant connection sends a deep blush rushing to your cheeks. It remains on your face throughout the song as you continue to sing. 

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

Your blush never fades as you pour yourself into the sultry song about your lover, every lyric a teasing confession. Your movements are sensual and playful, and the choreography pulls the audience deeper into your world. They sing along to every word, their energy electrifying, reminding you that moments like this make it all worth it.

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself; hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

You quickly make your way down the catwalk as you sing and dance, smiling at the sea of people around. You get right to the tip of the heart at the end of the stage and give your cheekiest smile. 

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

As the lyrics leave your lips, you drop to your hands and knees at the center of the heart-shaped stage, rocking your hips in a slow, sensual tease. With a playful bite of your lip and a cheeky wink to the crowd, the message is crystal clear. The arena erupts at the bold display, but you’re already back on your feet, slipping seamlessly into the next move. The cameras cut to Pedro—his head shaking, a knowing smile on his lips as he chuckles with your friends. The stage slowly rises above the crowd as you continue to sing. 

I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love

“Alright, LA, sing this next part with me at the top of your lungs!” you exclaimed to the crowd, shimmering in the air. “Let me hear every single one of you!” You seamlessly kneel and place your hand on your chest as you sing the bridge. 

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)

Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

Behind you, the screen flashes the song’s lyrics in bold, glowing letters, each word pulsing with the rhythm. As you reach the bridge, your mind drifts—those lyrics, once just melodies, now feel like a private confession, each line a tantalizing reminder of your lover. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep singing, letting the emotion seep into every note.

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

The concert rolls on for a few more songs, each moment more electrifying than the last. A hint of sadness creeps in as the night nears its end, but the thrill of an unforgettable show lingers. Still, excitement bubbles within you—soon, you’ll be backstage, ready to celebrate a night that was nothing short of magic.

“LA, this has been the most unforgettable night of my life. My first big tour, my first night, and I got to spend it with you. I can’t even put into words how much this means to me—how much you mean to me. Thank you for believing in me, for screaming with me, and for making this dream a reality. I’ll never forget this night… unless the adrenaline wears off and I completely black out. But seriously, I love you all more than words can say. Thank you for everything!” You express your gratitude, trying not to get too emotional about the overwhelming feeling. You gently wipe your few happy tears from your face.

You blow kisses and wave as you gracefully go backstage with your dancers. Your team is waiting for you to help take your earpiece out and celebrate with you. They all give you compliments and congratulations. If there is any criticism, they will let you know tomorrow. 

After returning to the greenroom, the energy from the performance is still buzzing through your veins, and your friends and family pour in from the audience. Laughter and praise fill the space as they hug you and gush about their favorite moments of the show. Their words warm your heart, but before you can respond to them all, a familiar touch sends a shiver up your spine.  

Strong, warm hands settle on your hips, grounding you instantly. You turn swiftly, already knowing who they belong to, and are met with Pedro’s soft, adoring smile. Before you can say a word, he pulls you into his embrace, his scent wrapping around you like a comforting haze.  

“You were incredible, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with pride. His hands trail down the fabric of your outfit, savoring the texture beneath his fingertips. The simple gesture sends a wave of goosebumps across your skin, and you can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch.  

Still basking in the moment, you slowly pull away just enough to meet his gaze, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you,” you whisper, the connection lingering between you.  

With his presence still humming through you, you turn back to your loved ones, laughter, and conversation effortlessly filling the space once more.

As the last of your friends and family trickle out of the arena, heading off to prepare for a celebratory late dinner, you stay behind in your dressing room, savoring the moment. Pedro remains by your side, a comforting presence as you decompress from the night. The air between you crackles with unspoken energy, and it’s clear you both can’t keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were quite the tease during your set, angel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. His warmth envelops you as you sit on the small couch, his hands exploring your body with a playful familiarity. You giggle at his words, nodding in agreement, the tension between you both palpable.

“You knew exactly what you were doing to me,” he adds, his fingers dancing along your waist, drawing you closer. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that sends your heart racing. “I’d love to see your stage set.”

A rush of excitement floods through you, your smile growing as you meet his gaze. “I’d love to show you,” you say, your voice soft but laced with promise. Taking his hand, you lead him toward the stage door, the lingering buzz of the night still thick in the air. A few crew members move about, cleaning up and prepping for tomorrow’s show, but your focus is entirely on him.

Waltzing onto the stage, you gesture to the elaborate setup, walking him through the details as you chat about your performance. His hands never leave you, fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin as he listens intently, slipping in jokes that send both of you into laughter.

But as you near the infamous round-shaped bed at center stage, warmth floods your cheeks. His smirk deepens. “You looked blissful the whole night,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. “But there were two moments you looked absolutely delectable.”

His lips brush your neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses that send a shiver through you. A nervous giggle escapes as you instinctively tilt your head, granting him more access. Slowly, he eases you back onto the bed, his touch growing more assured, guiding you into surrender.

That’s what you do—surrender to him. It had been weeks since your schedules aligned, since you’d had a moment like this, and you weren’t about to waste it. You let him take control, guiding your body with ease, his fingers threading through your hair as his lips capture yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

A soft whimper escapes as he presses closer, his hands trailing down the front of your body, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “You were such a tease tonight, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with amusement. His grip tightens around your thigh as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body and how he moves against you sends a shiver through you, the anticipation crackling between you like electricity. “I think you might have been trying to get a reaction out of me.”

His hips dip into yours as you feel his warmth glide against yours, which causes you to squeeze your legs around me. His hands wander down to your bum, and he holds you close for a moment. With one swift movement, he flips you and positions you on top of him. Gripping your ass before giving a quick slap against your behind, which causes you to let out a yelp. You bury your head into his chest because you are embarrassed by being too loud and getting caught.

He gives you two more slaps that make you whimper against him and cause him to snicker. “Two can play the game, love,” he says as he grips your hips and pushes you against his clothed member. You buck your hips to create some friction between the two of you, which makes you let out the slightest whimper in need. His hand remains on your hips as you throw your head back as you let yourself hump him against him. He enables you to ride him as his hands roam towards your breast and knead them roughly, which causes a noise of frustration to erupt out of you. The slickness in your panties makes your determined hips work furiously against his hardened member. 

You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t notice Pedro’s smirk, the glint of mischief in his eyes. He had a plan—one carefully crafted to make you pay for every playful tease, every bold move you pulled on stage.

Your breath hitched as his hands moved with deliberate slowness, his touch both gentle and commanding. “You had your fun tonight,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Now it’s my turn.”

With a wicked smirk, he tightens his grip for just a moment before effortlessly sliding you off his lap, the loss of his warmth sending a desperate ache through your body. His hands linger—slow, deliberate—tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you. Then, just as your breath catches in anticipation, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. It’s tender, almost reverent, yet it only leaves you craving more.

As he rises, his gaze locks onto yours, dark with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he’s done. Without another word, he strides off the stage, vanishing into the shadows, leaving you there—breathless, flushed, and utterly undone, your body still humming with the need only he can satisfy.

For a moment, you lay there, catching your breath, your mind racing. You wouldn’t let this old dog win—not yet. Your teasing wasn’t over. But damn him, he’d left behind something deeper than just a game. The ache he ignited wasn’t one to be toyed with; it demanded more than just playful taunts. It needed to be answered.

Your body still burned from his touch, every nerve alive with the memory of him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin, the soft press of his kiss on the top of your head—a contradiction of tenderness and control that made your pulse quicken.

No, this wasn’t over. But first, you had to deal with the fire he’d so effortlessly set ablaze.

And that’s just what you start to do. 

Slowly, you push yourself up, your body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch. A quick glance around confirms what you already suspected—the crew has cleared out for the evening, leaving the stage bathed in dim, moody light, the perfect setting for what you’re about to do.  

A wicked smirk tugs at your lips as anticipation curls low in your stomach. If he thought he could leave you like this, aching and undone, he had another thing coming. This wasn’t just about need; it was about control and claiming the upper hand. And what better way than here, on his stage, where every move was meant to captivate an audience?  

Especially when that audience was him.  

With a slow, deliberate breath, you step back onto the fluffy pillow-covered bed, already imagining the look on his face when he realizes just what kind of show you’re about to put on.

You glance across the bed, your eyes drifting over the pleasurable options laid before you, each a temptation, a promise. The sight alone tugs you back to past nights, to the moments when distance kept you apart but never truly separated. You’ve performed this wicked little act for him before, in the privacy of your own home, a sinful display meant only for his eyes—his voice in your ear, coaxing, commanding, praising.

But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, this is your stage. Your domain.

The empty venue hums with silence, the stage lights casting a soft glow, illuminating the space where you captivate crowds with every note you sing. But now, there’s only one audience member you care about. He thinks he’s won, leaving you breathless and aching, but you smirk to yourself—this game is far from over. 

Your hands find the subject to your pleasure, which happens to be the firmest and fluffiest pillow on the bed. You mount the pillow as you had just previously mounted your lover. Your determined hips start at work again, creating your own friction against the softness of the pillow against your soaked panties. You couldn't hold back your soft moans as you rode in a familiar rhythm. 

Caught up in your own pleasure, you barely registered the weight of unseen eyes on you—though deep down, you felt it. That familiar heat, that electric prickle along your skin, warning you that you weren’t alone. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.  

The game, the teasing, the push and pull—it all faded into something raw, something uncontrollable. You weren’t performing anymore. This wasn’t for show. This was need, pure and aching, a fire burning too hot to be tamed.  

Your breath hitched, your body surrendering to the moment, lost in sensation, in the hunger that refused to be ignored. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, he watched. Silent. Waiting. Taking in every movement, every sound, every unguarded moment of you unraveling before him.

Before you knew it, rough, familiar hands were on you—firm, possessive, claiming what had always been his. A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, quickly followed by a frustrated groan. You had been so close, teetering on the edge, almost lost in your own pleasure, only to have him interrupt just as you were about to tip over.

But even through the frustration, you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

His touch and presence were precisely what you had been craving all along. The heat of his body pressed against yours, the unmistakable dominance in his grip, the way his breath fanned hot against your skin. He had been watching, waiting, letting you think you had control. But now, he was done watching.

His lips ghosted along the shell of your ear, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd let you finish without me?" His fingers tightened, his body caging you in, making it clear—you weren’t going anywhere. "You put on quite the show, sweetheart… but now, it’s my turn."

Hands worked quickly, rough and unyielding, as he maneuvered you with ease—his strength undeniable, his intent unmistakable. Before you could catch your breath, you found yourself in the position you had so proudly displayed in your performance tonight, the one meant to tease, torment, and tempt him beyond reason.  

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, his grip firm as he held you there, ensuring you understood exactly what would happen. His lips barely grazed your skin, his breath hot and taunting. "You wanted my attention, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice laced with hunger. "Now you have it. Let’s see if you can handle what you’ve been begging for."

His boldness caught you off guard as you felt your slickness become bare, and the sound of pants unzipping rang through your ears. Before you knew it, his thickness probed at your walls, determined to finish what you both had started. His fingers make quick work to find your bundle of nerves, forcing you to moan deeply into the pillows. 

His hands gripped your hips firmly, but his eyes flickered to the pillow beneath you—still damp with your wetness, carrying the intoxicating scent of your need. The sight of it, the evidence of just how lost you had been in your own pleasure before he caught you, sent a dark, satisfied smirk across his lips.

"Look at this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as his fingers ghosted over the damp fabric. "You were really putting on a show for me, weren’t you?"

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his hands worked quickly, positioning you exactly how you had so boldly displayed yourself during your performance. "But now that I’m here," he continued, voice dripping with wicked promise, "let’s see if you can handle what you were begging for."

His promise was quickly answered as his hips brutally thrust into trying to relieve his ache of desire as well as yours. All at once, his thrust and fingers worked you up to mold effortlessly beneath his movements. You were moaning and gripping onto the fuzzy bed before you knew it. You heard his groans as you both were about to finish in sync. There was no more game at play, so you relinquished it and rode out your high together as he moaned heavily into your ear. His heavy moans are replaced with deep gasps from exhaustion, which match yours, and an adoring smirk on both of your faces. 

"I guess this means the war is over," you murmur, your breath still uneven as he eases away gently, cleaning himself off with slow, deliberate movements.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, his smirk softened but still present. "Maybe," he muses, casting you a knowing glance. "Or maybe we just found a new way to fight."

His fingers trail over your skin one last time before he leans back, watching you with the kind of satisfaction that promises—truce or not—this was far from the end.

In quick motion, he finds your discarded panties, using them to clean the two of you the best for the situation. He leaves kisses down your body as he does so, being the gentle lover again. He might fuck hard, but he is always a gentleman in the end (literally). 

The two of you return to your dressing room, the air still warm with the remnants of what just transpired. There’s a quiet intimacy in how he lingers, watching as you slip into something more comfortable, his hands occasionally brushing against you in small, affectionate gestures.  

You take a moment to clean up, smooth your hair, and touch up your makeup while he stands behind you, his presence steady and familiar. Every now and then, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, a silent reminder of just how deeply he adores you.  

Falling into your usual rhythm, the playful teasing and gentle touches return, the two of you wrapped in the sweet comfort of each other. As he helps you fasten a necklace, his fingers grazing your skin, he meets your gaze in the mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ready, beautiful?"

With one last glance at yourselves, you take his hand, feeling nothing but warmth as you step out together, heading off to meet your loved ones for a late dinner—still lost in the afterglow of the night and of each other.  

As you settle into the car, the city lights flickering past the windows, he suddenly turns to you with a smirk, his tone light and teasing. “I do have a question: why are all the songs you write about me pertaining to  sex?” 

You roll your eyes, laughing as you shove his arm playfully. "Oh, shut up and drive." 

His chuckle fills the space between you, the perfect sound to end a perfect night.

[weeping-treee]

A Desperate Man- Part 1

Simon is so desperate for you, and he can't bring himself to care.

All parts here

Simon’s never noticed women. Even with the way they flaunt and throw themselves at him, he’s never given them the time of day. In his mind, it’s just the job— and getting it finished. When he needs to loosen up? His hand works perfectly fine.

Until you show up. The perky new trauma surgeon he first noticed in the base medbay.

It started a month ago. Thirty whole days. God, only thirty days—and he feels like a teenager.

He hears your voice as he’s sitting with Soap, waiting for him to get patched up after a mission. Something about the soft, reassuring sound makes his head turn. It almost reminds him of his mother..

Maybe that’s why he noticed.

Maybe that’s why he looked.

But he froze when he saw your face, dark eyes were staring— trailing your every move, for reasons he didn’t yet understand.

But god help him, the one thing he knew in that moment was that he wanted you to speak to him like that.

Soap's voice snapped him out of it, the Scot chuckling and shaking his head.

“See somethin' ya like, Lt?”

The Scot's tease is only met with narrowed eyes as he stares back down at the knife in his hands.

Over the next few months, Ghost goes out of his way to be noticed by you. To really meet you.

Even managing to "accidentally" get a knife to the shoulder on the most recent mission.

It’s not his first stab wound, and it won’t be the last. In his head, the pain was worth it— worth being close to you. Worth having a reason to stare. To hear your voice as you reassured him.

So there he sits, arms crossed against his chest. Silent. Brooding. Waiting for his name to be called—to be noticed. There are men who have worse injuries, so he'll wait hours if it means he'll feel your soft hands on him, with your softer voice to top it off. Even if the smell of blood and antiseptic mixing assaults his sinuses.

That’s when he hears it. Your voice—sharp but solicitous—calling out his name. His real name.

“Riley? Simon Riley?” you say, checking over the clipboard, then looking up from it.

He shot to his feet—too fast. Like a rookie—making him look like an eager puppy. But fuck it, he’s waited long enough.

“It’s Ghost.“ he corrects. Plain and simple.

“Noted.” You smile softly, nodding as you jot it down on the chart.

That smile. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His shoulders tense. He's gone, and he knows it.

He’s nervous...

Actually nervous.

He’s sitting on the bed, watching you prep the tools and bandages before he manages to say something.

“You’re new.” He grumbles—it’s more of a statement than a question. He mentally grimaces at how much of a jerk he probably sounds like.

“Mhm, I am. Been here about a month now... you?” You retort sweetly, slipping on latex gloves and setting up the suture kit.

If he weren’t sitting, he’s sure his knees would give out. God, that voice. He could get drunk on it.

“Years now. You lose track when you’re facing death every other day,” He manages to joke—and you laugh. You actually laugh, and his heart skips a beat.

He made you laugh.

“I bet,” you say with a chuckle, gently examining his shoulder, fingers lightly pressing around the wound.

His heart races as you touch him. Your hands are warm. Careful. Gentle.

God, he’s falling, and he doesn’t care if anything catches him.

“It’s superficial.. I take it this isn’t your first rodeo with a stab wound?” You ask, applying antiseptic around the area.

He lets out a low chuckle—that raspy sound that makes you glance up at him.

“No. Not my first rodeo. Don’t be afraid to hurt me, love.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue so smoothly, and you blush—just a little. He sees it. He takes it as a win.

“I vowed to do no harm, Ghost.” You chuckle softly, irrigating the wound with saline..

“But I will give you the choice.. numbing or no numbing?” You ask, your eyes meet his, steady and professional.

“Don’t need numbing for a few stitches.” He says without hesitation, which makes your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Got it. I’ve got a tough guy on my table.” You tease, wiping saline away and rinsing your hands of it.

He shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a subtle shift beneath the balaclava—just enough to know he's smiling.

You know he’s smiling behind the mask—and he knows that you know.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

──★ ˙🎸 ̟!!The 8th House in the signs and our sexy side ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!!

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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💿Masterlist💿 💿Masterlist 2💿

♈️──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Aries: Having Aries in the 8th House makes your sensuality so intense that sometimes you can't even contain it. There's something urgent about your desire, something that doesn't wait, that gets to the point, that doesn't hide. You seduce through action, through impulsiveness. Through that fire that doesn't ask permission. You can seem intimidating without meaning to, and sometimes you don't understand why someone wants you so much if you didn't even realize what you did. But your presence radiates that "I take what I want" vibe, and that, deep down, is crazy.

♉──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Taurus: There's something about you that calms and simultaneously generates desire. As if your body spoke another language. As if your hugs were a place where everything stops. You seduce with the way you walk, the way you touch, even the way you breathe. You're so connected to pleasure, to the senses, that people want to stay there. Your sexual energy isn't loud, but it's persistent. It creeps in slowly until it can't be released. You take your time with desire, but when you do it, you do it like a queen.

♊️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Gemini: You're curious, mentally restless, and that translates into a playful, ever-changing, almost unpredictable sensuality. People don't always understand why they're so attracted to you, but it's because you connect with them from places that aren't obvious. You speak to desire through ideas, laughter, unexpected questions, and perfectly timed changes of subject. You educate more with conversation than with a body. More with a knowing glance than with an obvious gesture. Your sexy side isn't constant, but when it appears, it's a bombshell of stimulation. Because you make the other person think, feel, and get lost.

♋️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Cancer: Having Cancer in the 8th House means experiencing desire as a deep emotion that transforms everything. Loving you (or simply wanting you) isn't easy. Because your love doesn't stay on the surface. Your sexual energy blends with your wounds, and that creates a magnetic attraction. Your sexy side is lunar: it changes, it hides, it appears when you want it to. But when you show it… oh my. It feels like returning to your body after years away from it.

♌️──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Leo: Having Leo in the 8th House makes your sensuality brilliant, passionate, and very, very hard to ignore. There's something about you that seduces even when you're not trying. It's that confidence you radiate, that way you move as if you know someone is watching you, even if they aren't. But the sexiest thing isn't that you show off, but that you open up honestly. You love with everything. You desire with fire. And you want to be chosen, admired, desired as if you were a work of art. Because you know you are. Your sexual energy has something theatrical about it, but it's not fake. You want real intensity.

♍️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Virgo:Having Virgo in the 8th House means having a desire that observes, that analyzes, that enters slowly but deeply. Your sensuality is one of those you can't see coming. At first, you seem controlled, measured, until someone realizes that beneath it all lies a fierce intensity. You seduce from the details, from what others don't notice. From the way you place your hand, from the way you read the other person's body as if it were an open book. Your mind is always connected to desire, even if you don't say it out loud.

♎️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Libra: Having Libra in the 8th House means having a sensuality that disguises itself as charm, but hides storms behind every smile. You seduce unintentionally, just by existing. Because you know how to be. Because you create beauty in every gesture. But be careful: you're not superficial. What you want is real, aesthetic, and emotional connection. You love harmony, but you're also turned on by the play of desire, sustained gazes, hands that barely touch. Your sexual energy is elegant, yet intense. Sometimes you don't notice how much you desire until someone manages to confuse you a little.

♏️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Scorpio: You are literally pure sexual energy. You don't need to speak to generate desire. Your gaze says it all. You seduce with emotional intensity, with silence, with the depth with which you love or desire. You touch places that hurt, that heal, that transform. Your mere presence can make someone rethink everything. And yes, it can be scary. Your desire doesn't seek simple pleasure, it seeks fusion. And whoever surrenders to you… never comes back the same.

♐️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Sagittarius: Having Sagittarius in the 8th House means experiencing desire as a constant search. Like an adventure that begins in the body but doesn't end there. You seduce with your enthusiasm, with your humor, with your mind that never stops exploring, your charisma in general. You have something wild and sweet at the same time. As if you were kissing with the desire to know the other person's universe, not just their skin.

♑️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Capricorn: Having Capricorn in the 8th House means having a sensuality that feels like a contained storm. You seduce with your mere presence, with your steady gaze, with that "I know what I'm doing" that is as reassuring as it is erotic. Your sexual energy is rooted in stability, but that doesn't mean it isn't deep. Quite the opposite. You truly love. You truly desire. You just don't show it right away. You tend to show it with actions, with commitment, with silent dedication.

♒️ ──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Aquarius: Having Aquarius in the 8th House means desire turned into rarity. You seduce with what is different. With what is unexpected. Because it doesn't fit, and precisely for that reason, it fascinates. You don't seek possession. You're not interested in sex as something repetitive. You're excited by what breaks the mold, by what stimulates the mind before the body. And although you sometimes seem distant, your sexual energy is intense, electric, unforgettable. You seduce through the conversation that no one else dared to have.

♓──★ ˙🎸 ̟!! 8th House in Pisces: Having Pisces in the 8th House gives a very special style for experiencing sensuality. You don't just jump in for physical desire, but rather need to feel emotionally and spiritually connected to the other person. You have a gentle, dreamy, and very empathetic energy, you pick up on what the other person is feeling, sometimes without being told. In intimacy, you give yourself completely the other person, not only body to body, but also soul to soul. You can have an inner world rich in fantasies and a very romantic, even somewhat idealistic, way of loving.

[nanamiskentos]

BED CHEM— geto suguru minors dni. art by to00fu !

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (b) and let the show begin !

prologue. → ditching your friend's christmas condo party for your scrumptious, needy boyfriend? yes please!

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. awful usage of brainrot slang to weird geto out (mission successful), making out, messy sèx, crèampiè, nothing crazy !

word count. 5k! song inspiration. bed chem — sabrina carpenter

a/n. happy 1 month birthday to this blog!!!!!! 😭 kind of fitting that i celebrate with a geto fic <3

mp3. where art thou? why not uponeth me? see it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy !

"hey," you say, holding up the dress and crinkling the red satin in your fingers, "what'd you think of this one?"

it's a gorgeous number, a sheer, corset bodice with a daring thigh-high slit, all set to softly drape off your shoulders. the kind of dress that screams 'sexy without trying too hard' and 'television heroine vampire heiress'. your goal in life.

geto doesn't even glance up from his latest obsession, crouched by the kitchen counter. he's eye level with a pavlova, drizzling raspberry glaze over it like he's performing surgery. without missing a beat, "it's cool. for someone desparate in witness protection," he deadpans.

you scoff, clutching the gown like the aforementioned television heroine, "you just say weird shit sometimes. what does that even mean? and a day one hater, didn't even look up..."

"and yet," geto mutters, still hyper-focused on his dessert, "i know i'm right."

you throw the dress onto the couch dramatically, "suguru, you bought this dress for me."

that gets your boyfriend's attention and he looks up, catching the gleam of familiar red satin, and visibly gulps, "oh. my bad. it's, uh, hot you'd look hot, i mean."

"nice save, baby," you arch a brow.

he tosses his inky black hair back, some of it falling right back into his face, "what's it for?"

you sigh, propping your legs up on the worn couch, "that big party, remember? my friend who got married and had a kid last year, y'know her right?"

geto hums, popping a fresh blueberry into his mouth, without taking his eyes off the pavlova, "mmph," he says through a mouthful, "the one who married the guy who cheated on her like thrice?"

you grin, delighted he remembers the gossip you've spoon fed to him over time, "yeah, well, apparently he tried making it up to her by buying her an entire condo."

geto wrinkles his nose in disgust, "tacky. ya' just can't buy class."

"totally," you sigh, "but it's so nice in there. and when she hosts parties there, i can't really complain. it's like, so gorgeous."

then, you glance back at your focused boyfriend, watching as he artfully arranges more berries atop the meringue, "mhm, speaking of gorgeous, are you gonna stand there making love to the pavlova all night, or are you gonna help me accessorise this thing?"

geto glances at you, his violet eyes narrowing playfully, "why so needy? jealous of whipped egg whites and sugar?"

you flop your arms to your sides with a dramatic sigh, "what if i am?"

geto exhales as though you are his most tiresome, and favourite thing in the entire world. grabbing a silver spoon from the cutlery rack, and dipping it into the sticky-sweet raspberry glaze. he's striding towards you, and there's that signature air of both exasperation and amusement, "open."

you comply, simply because dessert trumps dignity, and not before biting down on the spoon with unnecessary force just to mess with him. the glaze simply melts on your tongue, and you smack your lips, "mmm. wait, this shit's really good. what's it for?"

geto laughs, stepping closer to swipe his warm thumb across your bottom lip to catch a stray bit of glaze, "for us, jus' us. thought we'd have something sweet for christmas."

you clutch your chest like a damsel, "i thought i was your sweet thing for christmas."

your dear boyfriend rolls his eyes, swatting your arm lightly with the sticky spoon, leaving a smear of glaze, "tch, what am i gonna do with you?"

you gasp in mock outrage at the sensation, but geto's expression shifts, softening as he swings a knee up onto the arm of the couch, "wan' me to come with ya?"

you blink, thrown off from his hauntingly beautiful features that you'll never get tired of, "come with me where?"

"that party, love."

your jaw practically hits the floor, "wait, really? you actually want to? thought you hated these things?"

geto's lips quirk upwards, shrugging a shoulder, "the things i do for my pretty girlfriend."

cue the squeal. exaggerated just enough to irritate him, just a bit. you clutch his arm, bouncing slightly, "aw! you really do love me!"

geto's exasperated look cracks, softening into something far more quiet and fond. he places a hand on your head, ruffling through your hair just enough to make you scowl at the mess, "don't push your luck," he warns. but his tone betrays his amusement, "i just feel bad i haven't gone to any of the others with you."

"i'm glad you said that, though, suguru," you start, already scheming as you lean forward and rest your head on his knee like its the most natural pillow in the world. he lets out a soft puff of breath, almost instinctively leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

"remember those high-waisted pants i said would look really good on you?"

geto frowns, "the ones you said made me look like a...and i quote, a slutty mushroom?"

"bingo. you should wear them. the world deserves to see your delicious gyatt —"

your baiting words are accentuated by a pinch to the back of his dark sweatpants but cut off by his sharp exhale, and the way his fingers, which had been lazily tracing the curve of your ear, freeze mid-motion.

"my what, love?" geto asks, his tone a mix of suspicious and the kind of dread reserved for people who know they're about to regret asking a question.

"gyatt," you repeat, completely unrepentant, no shame nor misery, "it means —"

"i know what it means," geto cuts in, deadpan with a faint and tell-tale blush creeping onto his tan skin, "i'm cutting off our wifi. all our electricity actually."

you laugh, patting his muscular thigh lightly before squeezing it again for good measure, "oh, so you do know what it means. that's embarrassing for you, babe."

"and yet, somehow, i still have the moral high ground," geto grouches, pinching the bridge of his nose, "and you say that i say weird shit. now you're bringing gojo's tiktok fuckery into my own home."

"first of all, it's our home," grabbing the red dress and standing, almost knocking him off the couch's arm, "second of all, my big and tall and beautiful boyfriend is such a cutie patootie when he's embarrassed."

geto groans, tilting his head back, "stop. you're emasculating me."

you pause in the doorway, "you cry everytime we watch strawberry shortcake. you do that shit to yourself."

"that was one time!" geto protests, but you can hear the smile colouring his voice.

"two times."

"the mermaid episode was emotionally poignant. power of friendship and moral honesty despite the promise of treasure," he calls after you, "you wouldn't get the timeless themes!"

well, mission accomplished. the dress fits you like a second skin, hugging all the right places. and you're not even ashamed of how long you spend admiring yourself in the mirror. the way the corset lifts your chest, well, it's definitely giving hot and sexy vampire now.

you delicately pat a glitter bomb compact over your skin, letting the soft shimmer catch the light on your collarbones and shoulders. it's a fine balance, you think, but you know there's a fine line between 'faintly glittered-up' and looking like 'fenty beauty just projectile-vomited rosé rave' all over you.

"suguru!" you call out, expecting a snarky reply but hearing nothing. typical. "suguru!" you yell again, just because you can. you wander out of the bedroom, only to find him already in position: stretched across the couch, legs draped lazily over the armrest.

and fuck, he looks good. wearing those wide-legged pants you suggested, and obviously, you were right about them. a crisp white top with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms. geto's hair is pulled back into that high, slightly messy knot he's so fond of, but a rogue and choppy strand has escaped, brushing against his cheek.

the whole look screams 'effortlessly hot' and you can imagine how smug he'd be if he knew what you were thinking.

"oh. hey, love," he greets casually, scrolling through his phone and still draped over the couch like a catalog model who knows all his angles. but then geto looks up, and the phone nearly slips out of his hand.

"uhhh, hey," he says, his eyes widening as he takes you in, and his rosewood lips part, as he says it again, clearly dumbfounded, "hey."

you laugh, crouching down next to him, amused by the way he's visibly short-circuiting, "not bad yourself," you tease, "what were you looking at?"

before he can stop you, you lean in to peak at geto's phone, pressing yourself against his side. glitter from your collarbones transfers onto his skin, but you're too busy laughing at his dimly lit screen to notice.

"suguru!" you gasp, your shoulders beginning to tremor, "fuckass yahoo answers, of all places. wait — i can't believe people still use that. stop moving your phone, let me read!"

is it good or bad if my girlfriend says i have a gyatt?

geto's ears turn deliciously red, and he locks his phone with an exaggerated click, "okay. nosy mcgee," and he's grumbling, "makin' me sound like a loser."

you pat his cheek lightly, grinning like a cheshire cat, "it means i think you're scrumptious," you say with mock seriousness, "like top-tier snackish. like, as in, i like your ass."

geto huffs, his lips twitching despite himself. and then, leaning forward, he presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. you wrinkle it instinctively, thinking of all the concealer and powder you had layered earlier.

"well," he says, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, "i think you're pretty too."

you sigh dramatically, "just pretty? why did i end up with a nonchalant man?"

geto gasps, his mauve eyes widening in mock offence as he juts his lip forward, "hah, 'scuse me. i'm not nonchalant. i'm like the total opposite of nonchalant. i'm like...chalant."

you snort, catching his stray fingers as they linger close enough to your lips for you to playfully nip at them, "yes. you are. my very chalant boyfriend. what a hero."

geto rolls over to his side, so he's facing you. absolutely wrinkling his white shirt, "thank you for recognising my efforts."

but then his tone shifts, his gaze running over you, "but seriously, you look hot. like crazy hot. like wow, my girlfriend is insanely hot," and he leans in slightly, "and i jus' can't stop looking at your two, beautiful, perfect..."

it hits you that his gaze has dropped to the swell of your chest.

"suguru! my eyes are up here, you dog."

"shit, been caught." and he's still laughing at your grumbles, grabbing your wrist and gently pulling you up in one swift motion, dragging you alongside him towards the bedroom.

"hey!" you protest half-heartedly, trying to dig your heels into the carpet, "the front door's the other way, genius. we're gon' be late."

geto doesn't stop his stride, glancing back at you with a pleading look that's also smug at the same time, "yeah, but you're the one who looks like that. don't think i can function. i need a minute."

"geto suguru, everybody. one-minute wonder. all he needs to finish."

you hear your boyfriend's scoff, as a teasing laugh escapes him, "hah, can't help being like this, can ya? got a gold medal when it comes to pissing me off."

you smile sweetly, "it's because i love you."

geto rolls his rich-plum eyes, his hand guiding you towards the bed as he shakes his head, "you know i love you too, right?"

"duh."

"good," geto says, and with that, he's leaning in. pressing a hot kiss to your jaw, then moving to your waiting mouth. it's messy, sloppy, the kind that makes your pussy clench a bit. sue you, eh? it's just the effect that geto suguru has on you.

you let out a soft whine as his tongue smears across your satin-finished, ruby lips, perfectly lined not ten minutes ago. but then geto's pulling away, circling his finger lazily in the air. a wordless demand that leaves your thighs clenching in anticipation.

you playfully huff, but spin yourself away from him. planting yourself on all fours, hearing geto grunt as he seems to appreciate the view. tsk, your predictable, eager boyfriend.

his large hand is running slowly down your spine, like he's savouring the way the satin clings to you. it's sending shivers down your body, and you're certain that if geto were to push your dress up and cup your core with a large hand, he'd pull it away wet and dripping.

"ah, pretty. so pretty, aren'tcha?" and his fingers are tugging taut at the ruched dress, like he can't quite believe you're real and his. despite three smooth years of professing your love to one another.

"suguru," you protest, "y'know 's not a cheap dress, babe."

you can hear the amusement tinging his smooth voice, "i know. i bought it, remember? don't want you worryin' your pretty lil' head over it."

you let out a soft sigh as you feel him entirely lean his weight over you, enveloping you in that heady scent of leather and cardamom. scooting your ass back, so tight satin would faintly drag across his very pronounced erection.

"f-fuck," and geto's laugh is sharp, disbelieving. half a huff, and half a chuckle, but entirely in awe. broad, warm hands are gliding over you before the gentle press of his palms come to rest on your hips. he's sliding your dress up, letting satin rustle with a soft, whispering sound. leaving your skin exposed to the sudden and sharp kiss of the christmas air.

"wow," geto whistles quietly, appreciatively. he seemed to be enjoying the sheer red thigh-high tights that clung to the plush of your thighs like a second scarlet skin, and you gasp as he hooks a long finger underneath the lace border, snapping it once briefly in a mild sting.

his hands are so close to where you need them most, and it's so utterly infuriating. he's practically dancing his finger tips over your inner thighs, ghosting so close to your underwear. panties that were surely languid, weighty by now. you could feel the damp cotton growing far more slippery and tacky as geto suddenly ran a finger over your clothed cunt.

and you can hear the elation in his voice as he lifts a finger up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around your syrupy taste, "hah, you're practically a super-soaker. that's pretty cool."

you scowl, fighting the urge to swivel around and pounce him in retribution, "y-yeah, thanks," but the bite in your words is tempered by the lazy heat that coils in your stomach, "but you're taking too l-long, baby. can't you jus' -"

and you're deciding to take matters into your own hands, as geto seems fascinated by how thin, clear strands create small bridges between his fingers. you reach for the waistband of his high-waisted pants, running your own hand down his absurdly slender waist, right over a godly chiselled torso.

"y'got impatient, didn't you, love?" and now geto's scowling, hauling your wrist back to pin it behind your back like you foretold. but not before planting a soft press of lips to your inner arm, gentle and tender.

but you flex your fingers behind your back, stretching them out, groping at the air. your boyfriend must have noticed, almost immediately because of course he does, and you can hear a soft, knowing coo from behind you.

"ah, 's what you want, right?" he teases, sliding his cool, slender fingers over yours, intertwining them effortlessly, "just wanted me holdin' your hand, how cute."

"maybe i was j-just stretching," you huff, but squeezing his hand tighter.

geto hums, unconvinced, as his thumb brushes lazily over the back of your hand, and you can hear the sound of fabric rustling behind you, "sure. totally not begging me to hold your hand like some lovesick, little dove."

but any retort falls away from your tongue, right when you feel something heavy, and hot smack against your tailbone, leaving a faint, moist kiss that feels cold when it patters off, "now pay attention."

you muffle a small, desparate whine, as geto has one hand tangled with yours and the other being used to hold and smack his thick cock once more over the base of your spine, "hope s-she's ready f' me now."

you feel as though all the air has been utterly pushed out of you, just from geto practically splitting you in two. you don't even have to look at geto to know that he's absolutely wrecked already, just from the throbbing, curved tip of his cock pushing past your tight walls, snagging with only the mildest resistance.

you can almost see it in your mind's eye, picturing it all just from his low curses and gasp.

how his chin must have tucked low enough to kiss his sternum, feathery strands of hair spilling over his forehead. those inky lashes fluttering in disbelief and surrender over hazy mauve eyes.

"s-she's always so eager to take me," geto croons, and his eyes are practically glued to the way your puffy folds bulge and drool over his shaft slowly feeding inches into you, "almost there, love."

"look at, hah, t-that," your boyfriend drawls, but you can hear how entirely undone he is, that tremour cutting off the end of his words in a sharp gasp as you arch yourself into him, letting that stretch take you so deliciously.

"keep your back arched like that, love," geto murmurs, and his hands are guiding you, pulling your hips back in a gentle, rhythmic push-and-pull over his cock. leaving you to feel his girthy shaft rummage and jostle around your insides, leaving a hefty divot at the edge of your cervix in a way that has you suddenly keening out a faint moan, "doing s-so well for me."

and fuck, the sound of his groin smacking wet kisses against your ass has you feeling like your head was going to explode, and your heart was going to give out, pressing right up into your throats. but you can tell geto is pleased, ruined even as he slowly drags his cock out of you at a filthy, slow pace.

if only to make you feel every throbbing vein on him, and how it imprints on your gummy walls.

there's something just so right about him being in you like this, having his pretty love bent over and absolutely stuffed full of his cock, something that just makes sense.

and right now, nothing else in the world matters save for you, and geto can't bring himself to even care about deadlines, or a decent and sensible christmas dinner, or some stupid party. not when he's letting his weighty, drooling tip loll out of your folds.

thick and heavy like a heated rod in the cool air of the evening, as he pushes two long fingers to spread open your syrupy folds, running the angry-red tip over your gloss, before finally pushing himself back inside.

"i w-was gonna say it was this dress, love," geto stammers, swirling his hips around, trying to rustle right into you, "but i think it's just you. ya know w-what you do to me right, hah, don'tcha, pretty?"

oh you are more than aware. and that heightened sense of perception is only exacerbated by how the thick curve of his cock is bruising into you. slamming into you with a heavy smack!

geto's world tilts, leaving him teetering on the edge of an embarrassingly early orgasm. but he feels little shame, not when his head is so heavy and his lips sting, caught under the desparate press of his teeth. every shallow breath he takes feeling like it's just unravelling him further, circling the tips of his fingers over your clit, just so you can whine and arch yourself into him more.

geto decides to play that card more, wrapping a thick arm around you to pull you into the air slightly. that faint increase in angle making you buckle as his weeping tip pulls symphonies of thick, angry squelches from your sensitive cunt. each jostle of his sharp, staccato hips feeling more and more shaky.

"not too much, r-right?" geto's breath hitching in uneven bursts, caught somewhere between delirious laughter and incredulous, overstimulated sobs.

that sweet, and unsteady wheeze results in tears pricking at geto's eyes from the delicious heat of your pussy, falling over the feverish nape of your neck, "know you wanted to go o-out, wanted to wear this pretty dress but i think 'm gonna d-die if i stop now, 's okay with you, yeah?"

"not t-too much, suguru," you hiss, feeling crystalline tears pool in your own lashes, just from pure please, "f-fuck, 'm already so close."

and you truly are, he's drilling himself into you at a beastly place, jostling a large hand over your chest, brushing over the lace lining the corset bodice, as if he's desparate to get his hands into your dress, to brush his thumbs over sensitive nipples.

his cock leaving searing trails of precum against your drooling, fluttering walls, leaving behind a wet trail that almost burned you. the force of his crashing hips leaving stamps in their wake, and geto's gasping and groaning at the faint cling of your dewy pussy, snatching him in quick, forceful bursts.

you shuffle precariously, still jostled against him, as you push down the bodice of your dress. probably damaging the framework a bit, but it's so worth it to hear geto almost sigh in relief, letting his hands run over the fat of your tits. pinching, swirling his fingers over the soft skin.

geto thinks he might just collapse over you in a weak heap when he hears your whine, "wan' more, s-suguru."

yes, more. that's exactly what geto wants to give you. he wants to see you milk him dry from the heavy balls swinging against your skin, wants to see you heave breaths of air as his seed drips out of you. wants to have you pressed against him for hours on end, to flip you over so your ankle lock behind his neck.

his imagination must have been working overtime. for like the peak specimen of male virility that he is, geto suguru just ends up cumming instead.

and with an embarrassing, heady grunt from him, geto's pulling his pulsating cock out of your folds, doing his best to keep himself steady enough to use his other hand well.

to keep running his fingers in tight circles around your clit, while he lets his spurting cock pump load after load of translucent, white fluid paint your spine a pretty pearly sheen. coming right on you.

it's so messy, it's so filthy and geto feels mildly numb as he decides to push his still throbbing cock, one that is still spurting right back into you, as he pushes his weight onto you, taking care not to force you too harshly against the crumpled sheets.

and geto just can't help himself, can't stop himself from leaving sloppy, wet kisses to the back of your neck, to your cheek. can't help himself from tilting your face back so his mouth can meet yours, and he can taste that raspberry syrup from earlier on your tongue, sweet and tangy.

and geto doesn't even care that he sounds ruined, raw and brittle. absolutely tattered as he whines, "we d-don't have to go to that party, right? hnngh, jus' need to hear you say that we don't have to, i think 'm gonna need some more of her. milking me so w-well."

he doesn't hear much apart from your gasps, your short cries like a mantra of "ah, ah! suguru!"

you weren't even sure how much time had passed, an hour even. or more. and you vaguely wondered if your friends were still there. sitting at some christmas party in some luxury condo, whispering over flutes of champagne, wondering about where you were. unaware that your adonis-esque boyfriend had been pounding himself into you, stretching you out over his cock until you were seeing heavenly stars.

until you were feeling thick ropes of white paint your insides once more, and streaks of dark dimmed your vision, and mauve and violet flashed behind your eyes.

you're tugging at the hem of your dress, still laughing fondly as you watch geto. his tousled, choppy hair falling out of its knot, and his eyes half-lidded and blissed out. his crumpled white top clings to his lean frame, and he's propped up lazily against the headboard with his other thick arm slung back behind his head.

"give me another hour, and we can do it again, love," geto huffs, his voice still a little raspy from earlier.

you shake your head in amusement, despite the mildly uncomfortable feeling of slick sticking beneath your thighs, splattered over your beautiful dress, "mhm, what a nice way to spend christmas, huh?"

geto stares at you adoringly, and his eyes are heavy with contentment, like he can't quite believe that you're here, and for a second, you think maybe the world would stop right there, in this perfect moment.

he runs a thumb over your face, pressing down on your lower lip, "i think it's better than some party," and geto's tone is dreamy, lazy, "no offence to your friend."

you snicker, thinking about whether you're going to need some well-thought excuse for your dear friend. or whether you're going to spill the whole truth for her.

but just as you're about to pull geto's plush mouth into another lazy kiss, his brow furrows. a sudden, concerned shift in his expression.

"hey," your boyfriend mutters, reaching to find his phone, "what's the humidity like tonight?"

you blink, caught off guard, "humidity? what's it matter?"

well, your skin feels unusually sticky, like the air itself is clinging to your sweat-dampened skin. despite the cool air of the december night. and there's that sweet, pleasant tiredness settling into your bones.

geto's suddenly sitting up, his eyes wide with realisation, "wait, love. fuck," he's muttering, scrambling up to his feet, "the kitchen!"

before you can process what's happening, he's racing for the door, and you stare at the empty spot on the rumpled sheets where your broad boyfriend was sitting not ten seconds ago.

"what is wrong with that man?" you murmur, but you hear a panicked cry from the kitchen, something about that damned pavlova going limp and soft with the heating on.

you bite back a small comment about something else going limp and soft, deciding to save that one for later when he's back in bed.

[astrolook]

🏠Mundane Natal Astrology: Planets in Houses as Daily Behavior 🛋️

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home! A single placement or aspect isn't enough to conclude and the whole chart has to be analyzed!

Venus in 1st -> These natives always check the mirror before leaving any room. Can mimic others' tone and body language naturally. Can be photogenic. Would feel “off” if they don’t like their look that day. Usually better treated in public or in customer service than their friends.

Mars in 2nd -> Seriously, these natives works better when they’re a little pissed off or under pressure. They dislike it when people touch them (even their peers/ family) or move their belongings without permission. Can get impatient waiting for paychecks or deliveries. Less likely to share their food with others. Less likely to lend things easily to others. They would rather throw it away.

Sun in 3rd -> Corrects the grammar usage of others. Takes pride in “knowing things” before others like news, facts, trivia, and movies. Repeats jokes louder if no one laughed the first time. Gives people nicknames instantly and uses them like they’ve been friends for years. These natives have at least one go-to story they’ve told a dozen times with perfect delivery. Will correct others' proNunCiaTion under their breath if it’s wrong.

Moon in 4th -> Cooks or cleans when emotionally overwhelmed like resetting their furniture or wardrobe. These natives have playlists they loop hard when they're doing chores. Hate when people sit in their “spot” at home, even if it’s just the end of the couch. They’ll randomly hum the same song a family member was just thinking about or say the same thing at the same time without meaning to.

Saturn in 5th -> These natives avoid karaoke, dancing, or anything that makes them look silly in public. Natives would abandon their hobby if they weren't immediately good at it. Plays to win even in board games. They get visibly annoyed if their friends don't take a game seriously. They won't get along with overly playful people. For example: If they're playing Monopoly with their friends, they make sure people are followin' the rules exactly.

Mercury in 6th -> These natives Google symptoms immediately, even if it's just a headache or stomach pain. They might keep a diary/ notepad to note things down like phone numbers, addresses, etc. These natives are very good at finding small errors/ mistakes others make. They're always the one who catches the professor’s typo or the boss’s small mistake in a document. Has strong opinions about pens, mobile phones, and gadgets. Makes their own cheat sheets just for peace of mind, even when they don’t use them.

Jupiter in 7th -> These natives would give long answers or more than one answer to a simple question or during arguments. They can't stand narrow-minded people or people who are pessimistic. These natives somehow end up talking to strangers in checkout lines or elevators. Overshares if they like someone. More likely to buy expensive gifts or things that are way too big to show their love. One can expect a sink full of dishes after they make a quick meal.

Uranus in 8th -> These natives can get obsessed with documentaries about cults, serial killers, aliens/ UFOs, or bizarre crimes. They use words like, "Not to sound crazy/ weird but....." at least once a week. Out of boredom, these natives would look up people’s net worth, criminal records, or family history just out of curiosity. Would never share their password for streaming, even with their own family, and are less likely to have joint accounts with their spouse. Watches absurd things, UFO stuff, occult documentaries, etc, while eating dinner.

Neptune in 9th -> These natives zone out in classrooms, meetings, etc. These natives can develop a "weird connection" to a place/ country they never visited b4 and would think they had a past life there. For example, someone living in California feels a connection to Egypt. More likely to fall for fake quotes, toxic positivity, MLMs, or inspirational videos when young. Will impulsively sign up for a class or course because the title felt “right,” then drop out within weeks.

Pluto in 10th -> These natives delete or hide old posts, or photos that don’t “match” who they are now. Keeps a tight grip on what personal info people know about them. More likely to keep their phone brightness low in public. More likely to browse incognito, even for normal things. They always sit where they can see the whole room and their backs never face the door. They delete chats/ messages after reading them if they feel unnecessary or too revealing.

Saturn Rx in 11th -> These natives might hesitate to post on social media. Canel plans last-minute. Feels uncomfortable around people who are super loud, overly fun, or touchy in friend settings. Seriously, they will take the long way home just to avoid walking by a group of people they kind of know. They stare at textboxes for long minutes before deciding not to reply at all.

Jupiter Rx in 12th -> These natives hoard screenshots of quotes, threads, or spiritual advice they never look at again. These are the kind of people who start writing a journal, write 3 deep pages, then forget it in a drawer for 6 months. Also, they zone out while doing dishes and imagine writing a book they’ll never start. Would say they’re “not religious” but low-key gets spooked if at night after watching a horror movie or prays to God just in case a ghost shows up.

Uranus Rx in 1st -> These natives adjust their expression in mirrors to see which version looks most “acceptable” for today. They sit in corners or far edges of rooms instinctively. When shopping, these natives avoid busy aisles or wait for people to move instead of squeezing past, as they don’t like being “in the way.” Can repeat outfits even if they have a lot to wear. Buys one random item in bulk “just in case.”

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[sixeyesonathiel]

soldier satoru & nurse reader <3

it starts with a cough. not yours, not his, but the guy in the cot beside him—loud, hacking, dramatic. satoru barely notices it anymore. he's grown used to the chorus of war: the whine of distant mortars, the metallic clink of stretchers being wheeled past, the low moans of feverish men tangled in thin sheets. sometimes the wind pushes in through cracked windows, carrying with it the bitter scent of gunpowder and wet soil. sometimes, it’s just the stale, heavy air of waiting.

but then you walk in.

and suddenly, everything stills. not in silence, not quite, but in focus. it’s like the background noise takes a polite step back, just for a moment, to let the sight of you settle into his brain.

he's supposed to be asleep. or pretending to be. he has a routine for it: eyes half-lidded, an arm thrown dramatically over his forehead like he belongs onstage, a faint groan timed just right. it worked like a charm with every nurse before you. earned him extra blankets. sometimes dessert. once, even a pity letter home signed with a heart.

but then you happened.

you didn’t even blink at his performance. just came to a stop at the end of his cot, jotting something on your clipboard with the smooth, steady ease of someone too tired to be impressed. “private gojo,” you said flatly, “if you’re dying, at least wait until after i finish this shift. i don’t have time to clean up a dramatic corpse.”

he blinked.

and then he was gone.

he didn’t know it then, not really. just that your voice cut through the clamor in a way nothing else did. that your hands, when they pressed against the back of his neck to check for fever, didn’t flinch. they were cool. precise. careful in a way that made his pulse jump. like he might shatter if handled wrong. like he was something real, not just another body taking up a cot.

no one's ever treated him like that before.

he starts getting progressively worse. intentionally.

not in any life-threatening way—just enough. a button undone here, so you’ll fix it. a limp there, just to see you crouch, frowning, hands warm against his shin. once, he even faked a nosebleed with beet juice from the mess hall, just to see if you’d touch his face.

“you’re limping on the wrong leg, dumbass,” you murmur one afternoon, barely glancing up from your chart. your brows don’t even lift, but the corner of your mouth twitches.

“no i’m not,” he counters, switching legs mid-step with zero shame. “i’m ambidextrous.”

“that’s not what that means.”

“sure it is. look it up.”

“i’m going to hit you with this clipboard.”

he grins, soft and lopsided, a lock of silvery-white hair falling over one eye as he leans back on his cot, utterly pleased with himself. she’s so mean, he thinks, nearly giddy. he might be in love.

“you are the worst patient here,” you mutter another morning, tugging his blanket up far too tight, knuckles brushing against his chest in a way that makes his breath catch. the corners of your mouth twitch like you're trying not to smile.

“and yet,” he drawls, his voice low, playful, teasing, “you keep coming back. makes a man wonder.”

your sigh is exaggerated, practiced, but your fingers brush his wrist as you check his pulse—a beat too long. he doesn’t move. just watches your profile, the way your lashes flutter when you read, the way a strand of hair slips loose from your bun and clings to your cheek. he wants to tuck it behind your ear but knows better.

he notices everything.

the soft whistle in your nose when you’re concentrating. the way your lips part when you’re thinking. the little nicks on your knuckles from a day too long, a blade too dull. how, by the end of each shift, you smell faintly of antiseptic and mint and something warm he can't name. how your shoulders sag just a little more with each hour that passes, but your voice never wavers.

her kindness is blinding, he thinks one night, lying on his side and watching you from across the ward. you kneel beside a boy no older than fifteen, whispering something low as you bandage a wound that’s far too wide for his body. your hands don’t shake. but when the kid vomits beside the cot, you gag. audibly. eyes watering, face turning green.

“you okay there, florence nightingale?” he calls, lips twitching, voice slurred with sleep and stifled laughter.

“do not talk to me right now unless you want puke on your boots,” you bite back, a hand clamped dramatically over your mouth. your other hand is still stroking the boy’s hair.

you’re all thorns and sunshine. it’s disorienting. it’s you.

he's not used to kindness that doesn't want something. not used to someone who sees him, really sees him, and still rolls their eyes instead of looking away. you treat him like he’s not special. it makes him want to be.

“you ever think about running away?” he asks late one evening. the air smells of iodine and gunpowder. there’s a new hole in the ceiling and a bird nest in the rafters. your shadow is cast long over him as you tape gauze across his ribs. his breath hitches when your fingers graze his skin.

“every day,” you reply, your tone flat. then you glance up, eyes catching his—steadily, quietly. “but someone has to keep you from dying of man-flu.”

he winces theatrically, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. “it was a real fever. you said so yourself.”

“you microwaved the thermometer.”

“resourcefulness is a survival skill.”

“idiocy is not.”

your eyes crinkle. just barely.

he thinks he’s in love.

no—he knows it.

and maybe, if the sky doesn’t fall, if this godforsaken war ends, if the world lets them both live—he’ll tell you.

maybe.

if you haven’t already figured it out from the way he only fakes injuries when you are on shift.

[c4tluver02]

group project

wc: 3.5k

summary: You and Steve get paired up for a group project. You dread it and Steve can't help but want to figure out why?

cw: r has long hair, shy!reader, r has female anatomy

a/n: i think this is the longest ive written? we all cheered!!

The start of your senior year has gone smoothly so far. You woke up on time, nothing went wrong with your makeup, and you made it to school with no issue. After parking you met up with a friend who had called you earlier to tell you she already had ‘hot school gossip’. Classes started in 10 minutes so it gave you two times to talk. 

“Okay, so you know how Kelly dropped out?” She started.

You nod ready to hear the rest of the story until you hear a loud yell from the end of the hall. Both of you turn your heads to see King Steve and his group of friends. Tommy was jumping up and down and Steve was rolling his eyes laughing at him. Grinding your teeth at their obnoxiousness you turn your attention back to your friend. 

“If I am in any class with those fools I might just have to walk out.” She says still gazing over the group. 

“We’ve made it this far without, let's hope for one more good year!” You respond sarcastically. 

Suddenly the bell rings. You’ll have to get the details on Kelly during lunch. You and your friend part ways and you head towards the first period class. 

After being here for three years already, you have the place down. It doesn't take you long to find out where your class is and luckily you're early enough to pick a good seat. Another hope you have is the absences of a seating chart. But with all these hopes you risk not being lucky at most. 

Everyone starts walking in, the class is filled with chatter and still the seat next to you is empty. Class starts in exactly one minute, it looks like you got lucky with this one. Allowing your attention to be soaked up by the teacher, introducing herself, you miss how someone sneakily got into the seat next to you. 

Feeling a presence, it doesn't take you long to turn your head to see who it is. And of course the luck didn't last long, here he was in all his glory. King Steve sat perched on the stool next to you, messing with his hair and setting down his backpack. Nothing is being taken out and he looks rushed. 

Trying to look around for any other empty seats, but they were all taken. The teacher started yelling out names for attendance and afterwards let the class know that the seats you are in are the ones you'll be in for the rest of the year. You’re quick to drop your head into your hands and Steve takes notice of it. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

You are surprised he would even bother to care but maybe you look ill and he probably doesn't want to be near someone like that. It is hard for you to wrap your head around it and all this thinking makes you pause. 

“Yeah, I'm okay.” You nod.  It comes out after a few seconds which definitely doesn't help your case. 

The thought that he doesn't even think the reaction was about him tells you pretty much all you need to know. But thankfully he doesn't ask you anything more, the rest of the class is the teacher speaking and for once you’re grateful for it. 

–

During lunch you were quick to inform your friends that your first period of the day would be shared with Steve Harrington and the sad looks you got made it all worse. It wasnt that you hated Steve, his charm got him through every door and if we were being real he didn't hurt to look at either. It was no surprise why so many girls tried to get with him but in a class you're not someone Steves going after. If anything he was gonna ask for your homework to copy and because you have no backbone you’d probably give it to him. 

So truthfully Steve wasn’t some bad guy, he was just bad for you. 

And each day Steve came in he was almost late to class. Watching the clock has become somewhat of a fun game for you, waiting to see what time he gets here each day. Some days he arrives with 30 seconds to spare before he's officially late. Others make it with a full 50 seconds remaining. And each time he sits next to you he offers a small smile. It wouldn’t be weird if it was anyone else doing this, however, this was Steve we were talking about. Steve who sleeps with a new girl each week and only thinks with the, rumored 8 inches?, in his pants. 

Still, always being polite, you give him a smile back. It never lasts long and your body always turns back to the teacher but it’s still there. This is what Steve holds onto. But if you knew the things he was saying about you to Tommy your face would turn bright red. 

–

“She barely even looks at me. Like did I turn ugly overnight?” Steve asks dramatically. He's eating lunch with his friends and for some reason you aren't throwing yourself his way. It’s not like Steve necessarily wants that but he’s surprised it isn't happening. 

“Maybe she’s already dating someone else?” Tommy asks, digging into his burger like he hasn't eaten in days.

“Nah I already asked Carol and she said she was single. I swear I give her smiles and each time she turns away.” Why wouldn't you talk to him? Steve thought his super power was being able to make anyone like him. He was just that type of guy, likeable, fun, easy to talk to. And here you were writing him off like he was some loser. 

“I dunno man.” Steve sighs as Tommy talks with food stuffed in his mouth. “She could like the other gender.” He says with brows raised, the last part comes out in a low voice like it was some scary secret.

Maybe Steve should have just kept the topic between him and Carol. He needs a plan to talk to you. Something about the way he knows nothing about you makes him all the more intrigued. He had completely missed your name during roll call on the first day of school, the teacher doesn't even do it anymore. Which in any other case would mean that Steves skipping the class, but he couldn't, because then he’d miss you. 

–

The next few weeks Steve tries more and more to up the conversation between the two of you. You’re often quick to cut it short or give clipped answers. Neither help Steve and his mission to befriend you, or at the very least get to know you. 

When he got to class he gave you the classic Steve Harrington smile and the one you gave back made his heart skip a beat. It always did. Now Steve hasn't said it outloud but you were someone he could see himself falling for. Your long hair matches so nicely with the pretty smile you flash. And the way your bra sometimes pokes out from your shirt is never lost on him. 

Class was boring so far, all the teacher had talked about was some book stuff, Steve had zoned out for most of it. But then hands were being raised and that was quick to wake him up. The teacher was pointed at tables to group up and you and Steve had been paired together. Apparently there's a group project due for the midterm. Each pair had to make a presentation and Steve’s smile was big. This was his moment to talk to you, maybe even get you out of this school for dinner or something. You however looked a little less happy than Steve. Over the few weeks you’d grown to unfortunately not hate him. He was nice to you despite all the horrible things you've heard from other girls. Maybe it was all gossip or maybe you just had to wait for the right moment for him to use you and move on. This group project seemed like the right moment for that, forcing you to do the work and slap his name on it. Sounded convenient. 

Although what really surprised you was when Steve came up to you during lunch. You were completely unaware as your back was facing his table but the wide eyes from your friends made you turn around. 

“Hey Steve.” You say kindly but still a hint of shock in your voice. 

“Hey! So, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come by my place to start working on the project? I know we have a few weeks but I think it would be good to get an overall idea of what we want to do.” He tries to make it come out with confidence but with all these eyes on him he stumbles. 

Your eyes only grew wider as you looked back at your friends as if they could tell you what to say. Barely a month of school has gone by and it started with you never having a word with Steve to now you going to his house. To say you were shocked is an understatement. 

“Okay, yeah, we can do that. Could you write down your address for me?” You ask while simultaneously grabbing a pen and paper.

Steve tries to write neatly but his chicken scratch still comes through. It's legible and really that's all that matters. 

“So how does Saturday at 12 work?” Steve asks once he's done. 

“12pm on Saturday works perfectly.” You smile. He gives you a nod and waves a small goodbye ending the conversation there. He hopes that when you're at his place you’ll feel more open to talk or Steve will feel more open to keep the conversation going. 

–

Saturday comes sooner than expected. With school starting back up so does homework and for some reason they are drowning you in it. Barely any room for down time the weekend is like a breath of fresh air. You can finally sleep in and be lazy. Well, you would be if you didn't have to go to Steves. Speaking of your room is a mess from you trying to find an outfit. Not wanting to come off too casual but also not wanting to look like every  other girl that threw themselves at him.

The drive to his house was short and it took you a second to actually get past the anxiety of knocking on his door. With all the courage you could muster, you gently knock on the large door which Steve is quick to open and greet you with a big smile. 

“Hey sweetheart, perfect timing I just got some snacks for us all ready to go. You can come in.” He says waving his hand towards him, signaling to walk. 

You hope he can't see the way the pet name affected you. He’s never called you that before, maybe he doesn't even know he did it. 

Shutting the door behind you Steve places a small hand on your back to guide you through his large house. 

“It’s all still in the kitchen, I just need to bring it over here.” He says bringing you both to the kitchen. 

“Are your parents home?” You ask looking around for them.

“No, they are gone for the week on some business trip.” 

You give him a small ‘oh ok’ as you help with the bowls of food. One has chips, the other has cookies, and the last one has grapes. 

“I didn’t know which you’d like so I just thought all three could be nice.” The gesture is sweet, and he's right, they all look good. 

Placing all three bowls on the table in the living room he sits on the couch and you follow through with the same action. He grabs a grape and pops it in his mouth. 

“Can you catch a grape?” He asks, he’s doing a lot of the talking but you don’t really know what to say. Too shy to start a conversation that may lead nowhere.

“No, but I don't think I've ever tried.” Steve can see that you're even more timid outside of school than you were in school. A new territory doesn't bring you out of your shell. 

“It’s pretty easy. When you throw it just follow the grape with your eyes and then once it comes down catch it!” He throws the grape into the air and catches it with ease. You can’t help but wonder if he's trying to impress you with these little tricks. 

You throw a grape into the air and move your head towards it with an open mouth but it lands in your lap. 

Embarrassed with your fail, you pop it quickly into your mouth. It is a crunchy grape and super sweet at the same time. It must be nice to be rich and have nice grapes, you think. 

“Here throw and I'll catch.” Steve says handing you a grape. 

“You just saw my throw, I don’t know how good this’ll be.” Your brows are furrowed and Steve laughs. 

“You got this, c'mon I’ll catch it I promise. Won't let you down.” His head is thrown back and he has a steady eye on the grape in your hand. 

He’s so locked in and ready it makes you smile. Doing what he asked, you turn to face him and throw it in the air. It’s not exactly far enough which makes Steve pull himself forward. He catches it but not without his hands landing on either side of your thighs, a little close in your personal space. 

He doesn't move his position as he crunches down on the fruit. “See? Told you I’d get it.” The smirk that appears on his face is evident and you fight everything in you not to inspect every mole on his face. 

“You wanna try?” He asks, still not moving. Why isn't he moving? 

“I think I’d do even worse.” You respond shyly. Steve isn’t in love with all this negative self-talk; he needs to do something about it. 

“You just threw a grape and it was great. There's no hurt in trying right?” You aren't sure why he's filled with compliments for you but whatever he’s doing is working. Each word pumps you with confidence and you agree to do it. 

“Just try and copy what I did, eyes on the grape, lean to wherever it goes, and boom you got it.” He states simply. 

You can't help but roll your eyes at his explanation. It obviously wasn't as easy as he's making it out to be and the embarrassment from your first try is still in you. 

“Ok grumpy, ready?” Steve says light-heartedly with a laugh. 

“Just throw it Harrington.” You say tilting your head back, getting serious. 

You’ve never called him that before and Steve can’t say he hates the way it sounds coming from your lips. The serious tone doing wonders for him he almost forgot your demand. 

Following through, he throws it and you lean out a little and catch it. It’s perfect for your first try and Steve’s loud cheer is proof of it. 

“You did it!” He says all smiley.

“I did it!” You’re on your knees now with fists up in the air. Your laugh fills up the room and Steve thinks it might be the best sound he’s ever heard. 

“Do you wanna try with a chip?” Steve asks, he really just wants to sit and talk. 

“As good as I am at this newfound skill, I think we should probably get started on the project.” You say biting into a cookie. Steve nods in agreement, he’s probably being a bad partner right now but he doesn't really care too much. 

“So what did you have in mind?” He asks. You’re leaning your head against the cushion of the couch and eating a cookie he made just for today. His heart might devastatingly break if he doesn't get to kiss you sometime soon. 

“I don’t even know, I think maybe doing it on one of the required books could make it easy?’ 

“Okay smarty pants, that's a great idea.” Steve says, poking a finger into your hip. It tickles which makes you giggle. “That way when we have to read the book we’ll already understand it.” He finishes and you're still smiling from the complement. 

“Exactly! We can kill two birds with one stone.” You’re done with your cookie and it’s as if Steve could read your mind and he hands you another one. 

“We need to go to the store to pick up all the supplies. Along with the books, you think she’d lend us some copies early?” He asks, thinking about how stubborn the teacher is. 

The thought of Steve already planning another meet up for you two makes your body feel like it's on fire. It’s obvious that you would need to see him again for the project but now you’re going out shopping with him. 

“I think she would if she knew it was for the project. If all else fails add the library to the list after the store.” 

It falls silent after that, the plan fully set and now it’s just a fight of who asks who. Steve doesn't want you to go and if he asked, you would say the same. An hour and a half has already passed but it feels like you’ve been here for 10 minutes. But the sun is setting and you did tell your parents you’d be home at a certain time. 

“Steve, what time is it?” You say it gently, not wanting it to come off like you're dying to leave or something. 

He quickly glances at the watch on his wrist and tells you it’s 6pm. You know your family is waiting on you to eat dinner but the feeling of leaving Steve here all alone makes your heart physically ache. 

“What are you doing for dinner?” 

“Oh, um maybe mac and cheese? I dunno, I have to go shopping. My parents barely left me with anything.” He says it with a laugh at the end, he doesn't want to sound pathetic. 

“Would you like to come to mine and eat dinner with me?” This is a bold move coming from you and Steve knows it. Which is exactly why he thinks it's all just a pity move. 

“Oh, no, no I don't want to impose on your family dinner. I swear it’s all good I’m used to it when my parents are gone.” 

You let out a small huff. You’re not great at asking for things like this and he’s not taking the hint as easily as you’d hoped. 

“I am trying to invite you because I want to hang out more, Steve.” Maybe the direct approach will work, you’re already this far into asking. But still your head is hanging low in case of any rejection. 

“Oh.” It’s all he says.

“Okay nevermind. Thanks for having me.” You’re quick to grab for your shoes and get up but Steve places a hand on your thigh before you fully get off the couch.

“No, that's not, I didn't mean it like that.” His hand is still burning on your thigh. “I just didn’t think you liked me that much.” 

Your eyes soften and guilt starts biting at you. “I do like you. I just didn’t know you, I guess.” The shrug you give is paired with a small hand on top of his own, still resting on your thigh. 

Normally Steve would make a joke about how you ‘like like him’ but he doesn't. Because you're not some girl he plays around with, and to gain your trust is something Steve is ready to fight for. Which means he's gonna go about this in the right way, no cutting corners, nothing to make you think this is a one time fling. 

Which is why he declines your extremely sweet invite. Steve will meet your family when you can proudly talk about him across the table to your parents. He’s not gonna be some boy you bring home but someone who will come over when the time is right. 

Before you leave Steve gives you his number and for the next few nights you two talk for hours. Only hanging up when your mom calls you down for dinner. It’s nice learning all these things about Steve, each fact fighting against the awful rumors being told about him. And with each time you two meet up to work on the project, the less school work gets done and the more flirting comes out. You’re getting braver and Steves getting softer, a perfect pair. 

It’s never a lazy complement or a small hug. It’s only ever full of passion and heartfelt. You learn that Steve can’t keep his hands off you, always one on your thigh or tangled with your own, he is ridiculously generous with the compliments, and never fails to call you something deathly sweet. 

The shyness within you fades as your bubbly personality shines, Steve can only be enamored by you. And he isn't afraid to show it during your first period together. Each day the two of you get closer and closer and soon enough Steve is able to go to that family dinner as you introduce him as your boyfriend.