#forgive me if I have drawn anything poorly

[aemulatorizrafel]

Inbal doodle!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Out of sight, out of - wait.

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[moonstruckme]

hi maeeee!! can i request a poly! marauders where maybe reader is fighting with only one them and the others are shocked when they find out and try their very best to fix it even though things are quite tense? thanks maeeeee ilyyyy💐💐💐

Thanks for your patience with this one angel! It's not as angsty as I planned when I started writing it, but I hope you enjoy it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

It’s James who finds you this time. You’re curled up in a corner of the couch, pretending to read whilst secretly feeling sorry for yourself. Your boyfriend sits next to you, touching your shoulder so that you turn to him for a kiss. 

“Still upset?” he asks after a peck. 

You ignore the complicated, knotty feeling that makes itself known in your chest. “Not at you.” 

“No, I know.” James smiles a little, gifting you another kiss. “I’d be coming in here with my tail between my legs if you were. I’d hate to be on the wrong side of either you or Rem’s wrath.” 

You stay quiet. You wouldn’t go so far as to call what you’re feeling wrath—that seems a tad dramatic to describe the low flame of vexation you’ve been burning for your tallest boyfriend—but you don’t feel like opening yourself up to the subject with James. You’ve already heard it from Sirius this morning. 

“Angel.” James gives your shoulder a cajoling squeeze. “Come on, when are the two of you going to get past this? It’s very awkward sleeping in the same bed with two people who are quarreling, you know.” 

“We sleep exactly the same as every other night.” 

“There’s underlying tension,” he counters lightly. You roll your eyes, and James laughs. “Oi, don’t get cross with me now, too. I’m just telling you about my lived experience.” He leans his head on your shoulder, all sweetness and treachery. “You’re really not gonna forgive him? You know he’s gonna stick you with Sirius in the divorce.” 

You huff a laugh. James grins up at you hopefully. You know there’s some sense to what he’s saying; one of you has to be the bigger person eventually. It had started small, a stupid disagreement, but you and Remus are each stubborn and petty enough to not want to admit where you were wrong. Now you’re more angry with him for being angry with you than for anything else. 

When you think of his coldness to you—never mind the fact that you’ve been cold to him in turn—that flame of vexation burns a little brighter. 

“I don’t know why you’re over here trying to convince me,” you tell James. “I won’t have any problem forgiving him if he actually apologizes.” 

James sighs. You look down at your book to avoid his disappointment. 

“Okay, then. But he does feel really bad, so you know. He’s in the bedroom with one of his headaches, and he asked if you were still upset with him.” You look up. James levels you with a weighted look. “Could probably really use a cuddle, if you two were on good terms.” 

James is at least only somewhat smug when you abandon your book to go to the bedroom. You pass Sirius in the hall, who gives you a smile and a firm peck on the lips, likely having just left Remus himself. You enter the bedroom expecting to see the curtains drawn, lights off, and your poorly boyfriend in bed, but instead Remus is standing, well lit by the daylight streaming in through the windows, book tented on the bed still made from this morning. He appears as though he was just on his way out. 

“Erm, hi,” he says, brows pulled together in the middle. He looks to be studying you. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” you answer, bemused. “Are…are you?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The door clicks shut behind you. You startle at the sound, not having closed it yourself. Then, you watch as a resigned sort of irritation comes over Remus’ features at the same time as it settles into you. 

“Pricks.” He moves past you to the door, jiggling the handle. “It only locks from the inside, you twats.” 

“Love you too,” comes Sirius’ voice. “You can come out after you kiss and make up.” 

“And say you’re sorry!” adds James. 

Remus scowls. 

“Open it,” you tell him. 

“What do you think I’m trying to do? One of them is holding it shut.” 

“Let me try.” 

“Be my guest.” Remus steps back, letting you have a go at the handle. By putting everything you have into it you manage to twist it, but you can’t get it open even an inch. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, gorgeous.” Sirius sounds smug enough to make your face feel hot. “James is holding it on the other side here, a few more minutes and you’ll make him break a sweat.” 

You let go of the handle with a huff, turning and stalking towards the bedroom window. You start moving the desk out of your way. 

“Would you really rather climb out the window than be in a room with me?” asks Remus. You look over your shoulder, and he’s sitting on the bed, side-eyeing you with his back propped against the pillows. 

“It’s not about you.” You shove your hip into the desk, budging it enough for you to get at the window latch. “They lied and made me feel all guilty just so they could lock us in here.” 

“What’d they tell you?”

You try to get your fingernail behind the latch. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Sirius had me thinking you were quite upset.” 

“Yeah, and probably that I was asking after you, right? James told me you had a bad headache.” 

A chuckle. “That was enough to make you come in here looking so flustered?” 

“My mistake,” you huff, but it turns to a short whimper when your nail breaks. “Christ, you’d think they’d make these easier to open. What if there was a fire?” 

“Don’t go out the window,” Remus says calmly. “You’ll ruin your tights.” 

You work another nail behind the latch. “I can’t just let them win.” 

“Mm. That’s a bit of a problem for you, is it?” 

A bitter coolness settles over you. You turn, crossing your arms. “Something to say?” 

Remus picks up his book, cornering a page. “Just making an observation, is all.” 

“Remus,” you say sternly. “Don’t act like you’re any better. You could’ve apologized at any time.” 

Your boyfriend levels you with a look. “Would that really have made a difference?”

“Yes!” 

“Honestly?” He looks like he doesn’t believe you. “All I have to do is say I’m sorry, and you’ll forget about all of this and be completely happy with me?” 

You shake your head, bewildered. “…Yeah. I mean, I would want to know that you understood how you hurt my feelings, but yeah. Really, it’s not that complicated.” 

Remus’ expression softens. “I do understand that, dove. Do you understand how you hurt mine?” 

“I…” You find you can’t quite look at him. “I imagine it’s sort of similar. Because I’ve been cold to you.” 

“And because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says. It doesn’t sound like I told you so, not smug so much as gentle. “But it was a small thing to begin with, wasn’t it? I’m ready to be past it.” 

You frown at him. “It’s not about the argument for me. I’m already past that, it’s just everything else.” 

Remus considers you. “Would you come here, please?” 

You swear you wouldn’t go if he didn’t sound so kind. But you find yourself with your legs curled underneath you on the bed in front of him, Remus coaxing your hands into his. 

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says sincerely, looking you in the eyes. “It was a silly argument, and I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, sizing up whether he means it. “I…also could have been less stubborn,” you admit begrudgingly. Your tone softens. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, too. I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” Remus’ touch coasts from your hands up your arms as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. “Are we okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, mollified. 

He smiles at you. “Hear that?” he says towards the door. “You can let us out now.” 

There’s no response. 

Remus frowns as you get out of bed, going to try the handle. The door comes open, revealing and empty hallway. 

“Pricks,” Remus mutters. 

You find your boyfriends in the living room, James flicking through channels on the telly while Sirius reads the back cover of your book. James notices you first. 

“Oh, hello.” He grins at you as Sirius looks over. “All sorted, then?” 

You’re half tempted to pretend you didn’t make up just to spite them. When you look over at Remus, you suspect he’s thinking the same thing. 

“That was sort of mean, lying to me like that,” you say to James instead. 

He looks a bit contrite, but Sirius says insouciantly, “You were never gonna do it by yourselves, babe. We weren’t ready to start divvying up the furniture because you wanted to have a row.” 

You kiss your teeth. “I think I might be having a row with you now.” 

“What, us?” James’ eyebrows rise above the frames of his glasses. “What for?” 

“You lied to us both to make us feel bad,” Remus reminds him, “and then locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius isn’t impressed. “Well, it wasn’t really locked, was it. If you’d gotten desperate, you could’ve taken it off the hinges. Or just checked again after a couple minutes.” 

“She broke her nail trying to get the window open.” 

You hold up your torn fingernail as proof. Sirius coos, reaching for your finger and bringing it to his lips while you scowl at him. 

“Sorry, lovie. We had a plan to bring you food in a couple hours,” says James. “We were even going to let you out for bathroom breaks if you needed to go.” 

“Really, you wrapped it up much quicker than we were expecting,” Sirius praises. He’s still holding your finger, drawing his thumb up and down the side in easy, consoling strokes. “We thought you’d ice each other out until supper at least. I’m quite proud of you.” 

Remus scoffs. 

“Oh, come now.” Sirius grins. “Give us a kiss.” 

You roll your eyes but turn to Remus, extricating your finger from Sirius’ grasp to meet him in a chaste kiss. 

The other boys cheer. “There we are!” James tilts his face up expectantly. “Now one for me.” 

You and Remus exchange a look. 

“No,” you say coolly, “I don’t think so.” The two of you go to sit on the far side of the couch, away from both Sirius and James with you curled against Remus’ side. He looks a tad smug as he puts his arm around you. 

“Oi!” says Sirius. “Look what you’ve done, you’ve made James pull his sad puppy face. What do you have to say for yourselves?” 

“You lied to us,” you say again, slowly, with emphasis, “and locked us in the bedroom.” 

Sirius scoffs. “So dramatic.” 

“Oh, that’s rich.” 

“Will it help if we say sorry?” James asks meekly. 

Remus looks at you. You shrug. 

“Maybe,” he says. “You’re more than welcome to try and find out.”

[cemetrygatess]

Some thoughts and tips on beating writers block:

1. You cannot beat writers block by wanting to write

And in fact in my experience, the more you want to write, the less able you will be to do so. For me, the biggest step in overcoming writers block is accepting that I have it and that’s normal and okay. More pressure and self critical thinking has never helped me.

2. Ban yourself from writing

Reverse psychology can be something you do to yourself!! Set a date before which you are not allowed to write (a week, a month your choice). Whenever I do this I rarely make it to the day I said I would without “cheating” and writing.

3. When you are writing, set future you up for success.

Write one sentence of the next section or chapter. Or give yourself a little outline of what happens next. Write a few bits of dialogue for an upcoming portion. Anything that makes it so you are not tackling something empty next time you start.

4. Classically condition yourself

This one is going to sound nuts but I did it on accident for work. Every day I would play a specific number game (nerdle) to get my brain started and that made we wake up a bit and be ready to code. Now I can play that game and get started working so much more easily than before. It can be anything- a place to sit, a flavor of tea, some activity you do before, etc etc etc. Ideally it should something you like doing but only do before writing. Of course you have to start this while you’re writing, but once the connection is there you can trick your brain later. Also! You may have done this without realizing, in which case, following your old habits might help you write!

5. It’s okay to switch WIPs

If George RR Martin can do it so can you! Will he ever write winds of winter? Seemingly no, but he has written other books. If there’s a Problem with something you’re writing you can and should take a break and write something else. If your thing is too sad, write something happy. If it’s too complicated and plotty, write something simple. You might find yourself drawn back to what made excited about the wip later.

6. Done is better than Perfect/editing is easier than writing

All hail the shitty first draft! It can be terrible! So bad! It’s easier to write poorly than well. Give yourself permission to write poorly.

7. Community helps

Join a writers group or discord! Little group writing sprints and discussions make writing less solitary and more communal. Similarly, doing writing for specific events (NaNoWriMo or fandom exchanges etc) can help you feel like you are writing for something and often there is a community built in! People that wrote a lot for school sometimes find a deadline helpful.

8. Is it really writers block?

You might have writers block, or you might have other stuff going on! Maybe the writers block is actually a symptom of a mental or physical health issue. Maybe you’re really stressed at work or school or by family. I recommend going after the cause if this is the case! See a therapist or a doctor! Finish school! Change jobs! Move somewhere better! The writing will be there when you are ready for it. In the meantime forgive yourself for being human.

[itshomobirb]

trying to recover from being a people pleaser is like. why are you treating me poorly. why have i continued to accept this treatment. please don't leave. i value your presence in my life more than i value myself. your behavior isn't my fault. here are ten different excuses ive made to explain why your actions are actually okay and forgiveable. it wasn't always like this. was it? i cant expect you to change, that's asking too much. i know there's something fundamentally wrong with me, and that's why ill grovel at your feet for forgiveness, for the sin of being alive and upsetting you with my mere presence. please don't hate me. i dont want to be treated this way. ill do anything for you. your treatment of me isn't my fault. but it's my responsibility to put in 1000% of the effort to fix this, to fix our relationship. it takes two to tango, and if you're going to continually step on my feet, then maybe i should step away. thank you for always putting up with me, ik it's hard work to tolerate someone like me (horrible, unlovable, just an overall terrible person). why did you say that to me. you're clearly in the wrong here, but why do i feel bad about it? why do i feel such intense shame and guilt? why is it always up to me to make amends? to forgive and forget? ive drawn my line in the sand. but it's ok, you can cross it, ill understand it was my fault for drawing the line in the first place.

[where-the-flash]

"The Henpecked Duck": A Morbidly Intensive Reflection (Part 1)

(image: vcrfromheck.tumblr.com)

What you see before you is a facsimile of a VHS tape my grandmother mysteriously owned in the early nineties. The tape was specifically for my older sister and myself in the hopes that it would pacify us if we got too rowdy. My grandmother eventually donated it once we were older....without asking my permission. We're not on speaking terms at the present moment.

The videotape was entitled "Cartoons R Fun", which is embossed on a rainbow you might see arched over Mount Ararat post-Deluge. Indeed, cartoons "r" fun, if you forgive the juvenile usage of a homophonic letter as a plural present tense of the verb "to be".

Daffy Duck, proudly standing on a tan blob with thin pencil lines to signify a nest (one that's peacefully floating on a violet overcast sky), is holding a freshly-hatched, over-sized duckling in his hand, as a quaint HOME SWEET HOME knick-knack looks on lovingly. Not an accurate depiction of the advertised short, but we'll cross that poorly-drawn bridge when we get to it. However, the tilted Dr. Caligari-esque shadow of a window in the background is indicative of the mood of the short in question.

(image: vcrfromheck.tumblr.com)

The tape was top-loaded with four chortle-filled public domain follies produced between 1937 and 1941. Those amusements being, The Henpecked Duck, I Wanna Be a Sailor (see?), Robinson Crusoe Jr., and A Coy Decoy, as the tape advertises in a tacky brush font, on a showbiz marquee being lugged about by two (presumably) unpaid simian laborers, "Henpecked Duck and MANY MORE..." ("Henpecked Duck", as you might have noted, is missing a definite article, adding to the lackadaisical charm of the proceedings).

These tapes were not the best quality. I know this because the last ten seconds of A Coy Decoy are cut out, missing the all-important punchline of Daffy procreating with a toy duck. (it took me fifteen years to discover this, thanks to the miracle of www.youtube). The tape was too short so it ended on a blue screen of death. The shorts were not in black-and-white, nor are they in color, as the box cover deceptively advertises with its omnipresent "all color" rainbow. Rather, it's presented in a dusty sepia-tone (the shorts fell into public domain so I can incorrectly presume that the sepia is an after-effect of neglected film preservation). This in itself is not a bad thing. I like my cartoons to look like the first act of The Wizard of Oz. They look pristine and well-preserved, like something perfectly bronzed to a fine sheen. If I were to flick my finger, the film would make an audible 'ding'.

Anyway, the cartoon that sticks out the most (obviously, it's the main feature) is The Henpecked Duck. Released on August 30th, 1941 (about three months before the United States entered World War II....this was back when the epidemic of housewives battering their husbands with frying pans was of more pressing concern than Hitler), it was directed by Bob Clampett (the insane bad boy of the Warner Bros. animation department) and written by Warren Foster. It concerns a married Daffy Duck getting into some hot water after accidentally misplacing their unborn child. It is an intense piece of marital melodrama framed through the irreverent filter of Looney Tunes.

I've always been drawn to it. Not in any sort of substantive way (I'm not a child of divorce or anything of the sort), but in the sense that it's a piece of media that I've consumed to such a inordinate degree that it gains a kind of vague meaningfulness. It's also an overlooked short that I feel should have a little light drawn towards it, as a way of saving it from the gaping maw of obscurity. And since every piece of media has been discussed to death on the internet, I thought I could annoy you and place my minuscule stakes on this 7-minute short from 1941. Hopefully, this will be the final, definitive word on the subject. My legacy depends on it.

Let's examine this short in embarrassing, navel-gazing detail, shall we?. Not just gazing, mind you, I mean gripping my hairy belly between my two mitts and, depending on how much bendable flexibility I still have stored in my rapidly fading youthful figure, blow into my umbilicus scar, until you hear an audible plop-plop-plop.

(note: I put a sepia filter on these black & white screencaps to simulate how I experienced The Henpecked Duck as a child.)

WAH WAH WAH WAH WAHHHHHHHHHH. Doodly-doo, doodly-doo, scattily woo woo woo woo doo, doodly-doo, doodly-doo, doo doo. (That was obviously Mendelssohn playing over those overlapping rolling pins.)

The short opens on darkness, a cacophony of plaintive whinging blooms on the soundtrack. People are demanding divorces left and right. The camera suddenly springs back from the darkness to reveal the shadowy entrance of what appears to be a ramshackle barn or chicken coop. It's hard to tell considering the entrance takes up the entire frame. The lack of a proper wide establishing shot and the numerous disembodied voices only adds to the feeling of anxious dislocation. A wooden plank leads forbiddingly into the darkness. A crudely written sign hangs over the entrance, "Court of Inhuman Relations."

(A small reservation I have is the sound mixing on the voices being too loud. You can almost hear Carl Stalling's score which, from the few strains that I'm able to eke out, carry an foreboding menace).

Transition to a close-up of Porky's gavel (Porky is presiding over this raucous kangaroo court) rapping on the judge's stand with an aggressiveness too intense for the viewer to even process in these first few seconds. The camera rapidly pulls back from the gavel, to a wider shot of Porky, to an extreme low-angle long shot of the aisle as the crowd quiets down. Already, we have two instances of the camera springing back rapidly from close-ups to establishing shots, as if the cameraman was suddenly dropped out of the sky and is quickly trying to adjust to the foreign scenario he has just encountered. Needless to say, it has a startling effect.

Porky Pig announces the first case of the day: Duck vs. Duck. He orders Mr. Daffy Duck to approach the stand. There is a shot from Porky's perspective where we can see the entire courtroom with Porky's gavel and water jug hugely prominent in the foreground (they take up almost half of the frame, symbolizing the firm grip that the rural judicial system has even over the lowliest waterfowl). The courtroom is a surreal scene indeed. It consists of barnyard animals, from a duck with an abnormally long neck, to a dopey-looking black mutt, to a fat hog sitting uncomfortably on one of the benches, and a snoring elderly hen (who provide a few visual gags near the end of the short).

Daffy Duck slowly shuffles up the aisle. His overbearingly grim disposition are not unlike a POW during the Bataan Death March, with his slouched posture and hangdog eyes. Stalling's score is just as slow and methodical; a prominent trombone emitting a onomatopoeic 'wah-wah'. He walks past the onlooking crowd, eerily still and blurred in the background. The few figures he walks past in the foreground are featureless and emit a dull glow like bronze statues. The stillness of the crowd make Daffy's isolation unbearable.

Daffy approaches the stand as Porky calls up Mrs. Daffy Duck. Before I move on, I must point out a glancing detail and a naggingly under discussed trope of old 30's-40's cartoons: glassy eyelids. Daffy blinks a few times as he looks up at Porky on the stand. His eyelids have a glassy, polished tint, as if run through a shoe buffer. It is an unsettling detail, adding to the surreality of the mise-en-scène.

Mrs. Duck, unlike Daffy, charges up the aisle with a straw boater cocked at an angle, in the manner of old-time gangsters, and a ridiculous poofy ball bouncing from it (what else could one call it but a 'poofy ball'?), giving off a unexpectedly violent energy. Unlike the pathetic trombone used on Daffy, Stalling utilizes blaring trumpets, giving her entrance a martial air. I must amusingly point out that Mrs. Duck is essentially Daffy with a hat and skirt (no pronounced Minnie Mouse eyelashes either).

Shot from an intense low angle close-up, Mrs. Duck, the perennial battle-ax stereotype, chants the four most iconic words of my salad years: "I WANT A DIVORCE! I WANT A DIVORCE!" It's amazing how a single moment can be so easily etched into such an impressionable young mind. The immediacy of it (no one in real life can shout banal declarations with such dramatic relish) and its startling bluntness struck me as unusual in a Looney Tunes short. It's so dramatically heightened when compared to the more relatively light-hearted tone of other Warner Bros shorts. Though as I've grown older, I can't help but see a bit of the parodic in it; melodrama bursting to the brink of burlesque. Not to mention the almost shrill string section that accompany these outbursts.

Mrs. Duck rains a flurry of invective on Daffy (with a couple of thwacks on the head from her vanity parasol). We get a closeup of Daffy, where we get some fine acting on his end. As she twaddles on, he winces and grimaces, being verbally battered into submission. At one point, she commands him to respond. In a subtle bit of comic acting, Daffy opens his beak in an air of sarcasm (noted by the over-exaggerated intake of breath), and just as he's about to speak, he automatically snaps his beak closed just as she tells him to shut up. Henpecked, indeed, if you are unironically tickled by the avian-adjacent pun of its title.

The Honorable Porky Pig orders Mrs. Duck to calm herself and explain the origins of this particular domestic strife. I must point out that as Porky speaks, we get a two-shot of Mr. and Mrs. Duck. It's almost a still shot, except for the poofy ball on her hat, which slowly bounces until it comes to a stop, like a toy soldier winding down. It's a minute detail that adds to her energetic characterization. Even when she's still, she's moving.

At this point we are launched into the dramatic thrust of the short. We are spirited backward into the past by way of flashback. This is where the real fun begins.

We arrive at the abode of the Ducks (we get no exterior establishing shot) where silhouettes (projected on a wall of two by fours, adding to the rural decrepitude) of the couple hover over a nest with a plump half-oval of an egg nestled on top. A framed embroidered artwork of the words "Home Sweet Home" adds a touch of ironic bonhomie (the music of "Home Sweet Home" is gently playing in the background). Mrs. Duck is lovingly instructing Daffy to manually incubate the egg while she goes to visit her mother. She walks past the camera and out of frame. She then violently (and comically) juts her face back into frame (her beak thrusting like a dagger) with an idle threat of strangulation (the music suddenly turns menacing).

Daffy sits obediently on the nest, replying to every matrimonial trumpet blast with the soft-spoken yet seethingly sarcastic, "Yes, m'love." Daffy's comic acting is brilliant here. The frozen smile, the disingenuously coy eye-blinking, the listless, non-committal head nodding. Not to mention Carl Stalling's expressive soundtrack, with Mrs. Duck's dialogue highlighted by stormy percussion and Daffy's highlighted by softer staccato variations on the "Home Sweet Home" theme. When Mrs. Duck leaves, Daffy gets up off the nest and vents out his frustration, mocking her with multiple "Yes, m'love's" (we also get a sense of the wide space of their sparsely furnished house, giving it the feeling of a stage). The omniscient Mrs. Duck suddenly bursts through the door screaming, "What's that?!" Daffy springs back to the nest (the music oddly spring-like itself), a eerie moment of silence before Daffy quietly, obediently says, "Yes, m'love." Mrs. Duck leaves.

After an indeterminate passage of time, Daffy is still sitting on the egg (his arms uselessly crossed as opposed to the demure limpness he expressed when the missus was about), looking bored and restless. Carl Stalling's score here is particularly striking, giving this little interlude a weird note of foreboding. Daffy decides to examine the egg, shake it, and balance it precariously on his digit. How I relate to Daffy's fascination! There is something miraculous about that ovoid vessel. Its perfect shape and dimensions. Its firm yet fragile shell, its smell reminiscent of sticking your hand out of a speeding car window, then smelling the palm once retracted. When you put a knife to a boiled egg, you see its uniform circularity with its white outer layer and its yellow yolk (sans zygote, of course).

Daffy, in a fit of pure sponteneum, lays to rest the age-old chicken-or-the-egg conundrum by rendering it moot. We get an extreme close-up of his hand fondling the egg then pressing the egg between his palms until it is squeezed out of existence. Even Harry Handcuffs couldn't pull off a feat of such trickery. Daffy, standing confidently on his nest like a master sleight-of-hand, chants some magical hoodoo ("Hocus pocus, flippety flam, razzmatazz, and alacazam!") and the egg reappears between his two fingers (with an amusing "boing", clearly a human's voice).

He is amazed by his newfound abilities and addresses the audience with cross-eyed relish. Notice that the borders of the frame move inward so there there is a thick black outline underneath and to the sides. We cut to a wide shot of Daffy stepping off his nest (making a hearty reference to Major Bowes, an old "Gong Show"-esque radio program) and then stepping forward and out of the frame, his feet planted on the black. It's meant to be a fourth-wall gag but it's awkwardly executed because you notice the frame retracting in preparation for the gag. Frankly, I'm not quite sure why they had to break the fourth wall at that particular moment.

Daffy makes the egg disappear again. I must point out Stalling's lovely rendition of Juventino Rosas' waltz, "Sobre las Olas" (Over the Waves), a calming Wurlitzer standard, but like its title, suggests that Daffy is heading into choppy waters. He repeats the magic words and, lo and behold, the egg does not reappear. Daffy's eyes bulge out of his head and looks at the audience, shrugging with uneasy reassurance. He tries again. Same result. The tempo of the scene steadily grows faster (along with the score) as Daffy desperately tries to make the egg reappear. Daffy is now hysterically banging the floor, imploring an indifferent deity to make his unborn child whole again. Of course, it wouldn't be Looney Tunes if they didn't make Daffy break the fourth wall ("Say, is there a magician in the house?"), then immediately falling back into character (now that felt like a more appropriate fourth-wall gag than the previous one). A clock ticks on unrepentantly.

(continued in Part 2...I hoped to fool you and claim it's Part 1 as a dramatic cliffhanger for this intense marital thriller...it's only because Tumblr allows 30 images per post so I had to break it up into two parts....I apologize if I have completely demystified this [allegedly] mature and thoughtful examination)

[deityforged]

i know this thing's got you all twisted up , but try to forgive yourself .

forgive..... yourself.

FORGIVE HERSELF? What a joke. There was nothing to forgive. That's what she wanted to say to them. But there was something caught in her throat when she opened her lips to speak, a cloying, rancid taste on her tongue that prevented her from saying what she wanted to.

She wasn't responsible for any of this. She WASN'T. Anyone who said otherwise was a liar.

Perhaps telling Lyric about the past had been a bad idea - not that she thought they would have reacted poorly, she's known them well enough now to know what information she could withhold and what she could tell. Lyric deserved to know the truth. Monsters aren't just born, after all. They were made.

She muses over this fact for a moment, their words still ringing in her ear as the pair of them stand as they are, finger tips apart, but they may as well be on opposite sides of the world, the way golden eyes are boring into tombstone. The stone is cracked, and wethered, and the name is barely visible - even with the care she put into tending to him as he was, the gods had decided that not even in death, could she have her husband. No, there was nothing to forgive. She wasn't responsible for Viraj's death. She wasn't responsible for the ostracizing stares & her starving to death.... for her having to sacrifice her child so that he would no longer suffer. There wasn't anything to forgive because she hadn't done anything wrong.

I didn't do anything wrong.

Her voice trembles, akin to that of a rusty door hinge - since when has her vision got so blurry - the taste of salt, and iron fills her mouth - her teeth have drawn blood again, from gnawing upon bottom lip. the tears cascade downwards, her silent sobs filling the gaps in the silence.

I didn't do anything wrong. So why did this happen to me?

@lunarscaled.

[darkobssessions]

Isn't it strange, isn't it oh so rare that I found you there? On an island which I last minute decided to go to? Isn't it a miracle that I met you and knew you and felt you? You were so familiar. Even now, thinking of you. You have a round vibe, a right vibe. A fit in my hand, fit in my heart, fit inside me vibe. When I'm close to that face, when you roll those eyes, when I'm in your embrace, nothing else matters. Isn't it destiny that we met? Cruel, cruel, destiny that we parted? That you are not currently here? That we are drifting, you are questioning. But questioning what? This is undoubtedly the love of a lifetime. Your soul and mine are so at ease, our bodies love. Our minds buck and fight. We are mirrors. I gave you my pain, you gave me yours. I feel free now. You're lost. I'm losing you, but my heart is opening to you. How is yours closing? It can't be closing. You must be ignoring, how could you be anything but longing, deeply, madly for our intertwining?

I am lovesick. I've heard people describe their loves, but few like this one. Where we are counterparts. Where we reflect the same love back. Where we are made of the same stuff, attracting and repelling. Going back to the drawing board to transmute the push apart, only to be drawn in, closer, more magnificent. I miss our talks. I miss our growth. I miss swimming in our deep waters. I miss your eyes. I miss your laugh. I miss everything about you. I adore you. From the innermost caverns of my being to the farthest reach of the universe. I love you. I guarded myself once against you, steeled myself against the inevitable goodbyes, but now I will be present in the horrific twilight of your impermanence. I will be present for it, I will not flinch, I will take you in, I will be present for it, I will not flinch. I will be in the urgency of the intimate seconds that tick, the eternal love that wore us this time. I love this us, I love you. I won't believe you are moving on, I won't believe that. I can't.

I love you, I said, when you moved your hands, your face shone. I love you gobbled out my mouth, my eyes shining with the glare of your recognition. I love you always, I love you purely, I love you madly, I love you torturously. I love you mostly poorly, not fitting of the caliber of the intensity, of the depth of my feeling. I love you selfishly and sloppily and ignorantly, too lightly, much too angrily, I love you ungratefully, I love you without understanding that in a moment you will be gone. I love you harshly. I see you and don't recognise you, and don't soften for too long. I love you by being shut off and angry. I love you by showing you wounded me. By running away. By shielding myself from the agony of loving you so strongly. I love you so stupidly, you along with all the moments I miss, goodbyes I do not enunciate, and animals I will never get to hold again. I am a foolish one. I didn't get enough. I will never get enough. This ache is bigger than the world. I can't stand that girl that fought with you. I can't stand that girl that wasted time with you. I didn't get enough. How can it be over when it is definitely not for me? How can you forgive me when I have been so utterly stupid? I long for you, over and over and over again. Like the shore for the sea. I am not coping. You said, is love enough? No love is not enough, it wasn't enough to make me bleed into the present moment to moment then. It is now, is it too late?

[ianthedisastrous]

Character Name: Iandore Lightfoot Title/occupation: Viscount Magick Status: Elven Sorcerer (Out) Biography: (tw: death, mourning)

Iandore had taken to writing letters, although many he never sent.

One to his mother, at the end of his previous Season. A declaration of certainty, chance, risk in the match he had found. A swell of joy scrawled in ink that remained tucked into his journal, knowing the disappointment it brought, knowing he had broken her heart for the sake of following his own.

'I am endlessly sorry, but my heart simply will not allow anything less. Lady Rabbit has been an excellent mentor, do not think poorly of her for the choices I make. This is the chance I must take, even if it leads me so very far from home. I did not know love could be such an unruly creature, nor could I.

I wish you could be here, I never imagined a wedding all on my own, all over a title that was not nearly enough. The day was lovely, but something was missing. Someone was missing.

Forgive me for how selfish I am.'

Another, six short, devastating months later, in anger and grief, with his eyes drawn to the rainy afternoons and the empty gates of the estate attached to a name he shared with a husband who did not return because of something as foolish as a dispute over their lands. Lost, in that way that cannot be reached; resting in the quiet earth.

It joined the first, because he could not stand the thought of letting it go when he had let go of far too much already.

'I will never know why the world gave me you, but for no longer than a moment. As if any life there was to make could only be so few breaths. I should have saved them, spent them with more care.

And now I cannot stomach the thought of spring. My chest may as well collapse, it is no more than an empty cage of ribs and splintered what might have been woven tight, suffocating me.

The thought of swaying trees and the blooming flowers that will continue on, gracing the gardens with their sweet scent and soft colors, as though they have any right to while you are not here to see them is one that leaves me in longing for winter.

This place is becoming my grave as well, day by day.'

When he finally heard from home again there was yet another letter, left boldly upon his desk to greet his kin from the States if they ever bothered to come seeking him in the empty halls, demanding he return to the Season, that the family name remained tarnished with his choices to marry the wrong match in Viscount Riku.

'I leave this haunted place to the lot of you, and I hope it serves you well because I will not any longer. My late husband does not linger here and neither will I another day. If he has found peace I must seek my own alone, as this world will allow me nothing else.

I take my name back, what remains of my sparse means after these months with the estate in decline, and the rest is for your hungry hands to claim as you wish. It will not please you, but my will to see the beauty here has crumbled as the stones have begun to.

Do not call on me, I know you would never welcome me, I find no comfort in wishing otherwise anymore, and my home here has withered away around me. Whatever lies ahead, you are welcome to these ghosts.

I do not know what life I must live now, but I am tired of dying each day.'

Iandore returned to travel, to quiet evenings alone and the road as far as his dwindling funds could take him knowing he had nothing left to fall back on. His words kept him company, a peace in them, a smaller joy, to fill the emptiness where his heart lay tangled in memory.

But now, nearly two years behind him and a heart tired but somber, he has come to the ends of his means, found himself in London once again during that unlucky time, the Season in full swing.

He has no energy for it, these silly games of airs and importance, and certainly is unsuited for them with empty pockets and no prospects. Uncertain of a future he was never taught to survive without comforts he took for granted, Ian persists if only because he has memories to still carry, but fortune may not have abandoned him just yet.

[darkobssessionspoetry]

Isn’t it strange, isn’t it oh so rare that I found you there? On an island which I last minute decided to go to? Isn’t it a miracle that I met you and knew you and felt you? You were so familiar. Even now, thinking of you. You have a round vibe, a right vibe. A fit in my hand, fit in my heart, fit inside me vibe. When I’m close to that face, when you roll those eyes, when I’m in your embrace, nothing else matters. Isn’t it destiny that we met? Cruel, cruel, destiny that we parted? That you are not currently here? That we are drifting, you are questioning. But questioning what? This is undoubtedly the love of a lifetime. Your soul and mine are so at ease, our bodies love. Our minds buck and fight. We are mirrors. I gave you my pain, you gave me yours. I feel free now. You’re lost. I’m losing you, but my heart is opening to you. How is yours closing? It can’t be closing. You must be ignoring, how could you be anything but longing, deeply, madly for our intertwining? I am lovesick. I’ve heard people describe their loves, but few like this one. Where we are counterparts. Where we reflect the same love back. Where we are made of the same stuff, attracting and repelling. Going back to the drawing board to transmute the push apart, only to be drawn in, closer, more magnificent. I miss our talks. I miss our growth. I miss swimming in our deep waters. I miss your eyes. I miss your laugh. I miss everything about you. I adore you. From the innermost cavern of my being to the farthest reach of the universe. I love you. I guarded myself once against you, steeled myself against the inevitable goodbyes, but now I will be present in the horrific twilight of your impermanence. I will be present for it, I will not flinch, I will take you in, I will be present for it, I will not flinch. I will be in the urgency of the intimate seconds that tick, the eternal love that wore us this time. I love this us, I love you. I won’t believe you are moving on, I won’t believe that. I can’t. I love you, I said, when you moved your hands, your face shone. I love you gobbled out my mouth, my eyes shining with the glare of your recognition. I love you always, I love you purely, I love you madly, I love you torturously. I love you mostly poorly, not fitting of the caliber of the intensity, of the depth of my feeling. I love you selfishly and sloppily and ignorantly, too lightly, much too angrily, I love you ungratefully, I love you without understanding that in a moment you will be gone. I love you harshly. I see you and don’t recognise you, and don’t soften for too long. I love you by being shut off and angry. I love you by showing you wounded me. By running away. By shielding myself from the agony of loving you so strongly. I love you so stupidly, you along with all the moments I miss, goodbyes I do not enunciate, and animals I will never get to hold again. I am a foolish one. I didn’t get enough. I will never get enough. This ache is bigger than the world. I can’t stand that girl that fought with you. I can’t stand that girl that wasted time with you. I didn’t get enough. How can it be over when it is definitely not for me? How can you forgive me when I have been so utterly stupid? I long for you, over and over and over again. Like the shore for the sea. I am not coping. You said, is love enough? No love is not enough, it wasn’t enough to make me bleed into the present moment to moment then. It is now, is it too late?

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Part 5

Part 4 | Part 6

TW: fluff, a bit of mutual pining some slightly scary descriptions (nothing too major), Dream's kind of a simp in this part and I'm here for it, a bit of heart-wrenching angsty character death to prepare you all for Part 6 😅

“You can’t be serious,” the smooth voice purred dripping with condescension and judgment.

You huffed and pushed past them. “You are not welcome here.”

Desire laughed, a sound you hated more than any other. They turned to you, the exaggerated smile on their lips the only thing that made their current appearance flawed. The dark hair and pale skin were unsettling, but the way they mimicked his eyes truly made you uncomfortable. “I knew all those years ago that I felt something shift in your pitiful little pool of desire, but this…” they clicked their tongue as they pulled at the dark fabric that adorned them. “Is simply pathetic.”

“Get. Out.” The low growl of Puck echoed from behind you and the trees groaned as their roots began to shift. 

They rolled their eyes, in a blink returning to the blonde hair and gaudy outfit that suited them best. Desire checked their nails, confident and unbothered by your display. “Come now, Mistake. I came to extend an olive branch after all.”

“There is nothing you could offer me that would make me believe anything that came from your mouth.”

“Ouch,” they whined, pretending to wipe a tear from their eyes. “Trust me or don’t, that’s on you. But I feel compelled to warn you that your little… crush on my big brother will be the end of you.”

You shook your head at them. “I’ve entertained you long enough.”

The roots of the trees bound them tightly, but Desire only chuckled. “One way or another he will cast you aside and remind you that all you are is a Mistake. A Burden. It may not be today or tomorrow, but the time will come.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “Enough.”

This time Desire appeared to be upset at your darker tone. “Suit yourself, but do remember I tried to reason with you.”

The Forest settled almost immediately after the pestering Endless’ presence was gone. You stood on the path, breathing heavily for a moment… shaken by their unannounced presence and even more so by the sting of their words. You’d heard it all before, of course, but Desire was always adept at twisting words and situations to shape how they pleased. Slow pants echoed the path behind you as Puck tiredly made his way to your side. He sat down instantly, looking up at you with sad eyes. “Forgive me, I should have been quicker to apprehend our intruder.”

Your dear companion had grown older quickly. Much like Gaia and the others had. He’d lasted just as long as she did, but you feared his time was nearing its end. You sat beside him, stroking his slightly damp greying fur and letting the rest fade away. Desire’s insults meant nothing, were nothing. It was all just another game, another attempt to rile you into doing something drastic. You’d not let them bait you now. “There is nothing to forgive Puck. Desire wished to speak with me, and they would not have left until they got what they wanted even if you had gotten here first. I am simply glad you’re by my side.”

His snout pressed to your cheek. “I shall be at your side for as long as I am allowed, my lady Daunt.”

*

The earth felt odd beneath your fingertips, damp and soft yet stiff. Abel knelt beside you, guiding your hands with gentle instructions and encouraging words. As time passed with your constant visits to The Dreaming you found yourself drawn to the brothers and their gargoyle companion. They bickered about everything, Cain often killed Abel over minor inconveniences and poorly timed words, but you could still feel the deep bond the two shared. Perhaps they were not close like most brothers would be, but their oddities made you feel more comfortable within the perfection of Dream’s world. 

As you gently placed the plant in the small hole Abel had dug for you a smile crept onto your face. “There you go!” Abel praised, helping you bury it the rest of the way with a laugh. “I told you it would work!”

“As much as I love your enthusiasm the plant has not yet grown,” you pointed out looking down at the little pale-leafed thing. “It’s not likely to, but I suppose it has more of a chance than the others.” You turned, looking over at the white withered plants that had not survived your touch.

Your friend waved dismissively at the words. “This one is going to be the most beautiful flower in our garden, I just know it.”

Cain looked down from over your shoulder and made a low noise of agreement. “If it blooms it will indeed be quite the sight.”

Dusting off your hands you sighed and looked over at The Corinthian who stood against one of the trees a ways from where you all stood. Poor Gregory sniffed at him, tentatively trying to pass him the ball that he adored so much. The Corinthian, of course, ignored the creature's attempts and instead looked over at you, dark shades reflecting Cain and Abel's garden… or more accurately the darkened and dead version of it. “What do you think Corinthian?”

“I think we’ve been here for hours and the tea party has gotten boring.”

“Boring, boring, boring,” you huffed. “Is that all you’re concerned about?”

That sparkling wicked grin of his flash. “Oh, I got plenty more to fuss over.”

You smiled back. “Fuss as you see fit, Dear Corinthian, but do try to let us boring people have some fun as well.”

The nightmare seemed to bristle at your words, as he did much in the months that passed. The Corinthian was hostile by nature, it was his function to be the dark and twisted nightmare that humans feared, but there was something deeper in his darkened shades and his tight smile. Something that you’d seen before in Destruction. Discontentment… A plan begins to shape inside the pearly whites of your friend's eyes. It frightened you, the thought of losing yet another being you called friend. What frightened you more was how poorly Dream would take this departure. You could nearly still feel the cold of his hands around your throat, could nearly still see the cold callous rage that his eyes held. 

As if summoned by thought alone a dark figure walked across the bridge and entered Cain and Abel's beautiful garden of color. The star blue eyes of the Dream King met yours and you offered him a humble smile before turning to look back at your friend, only to find him gone. Cain and Abel rushed to Morpheus’s side, blabbering on and on about the honor and offering him everything they had on hand to please him as he visited. With a calm and smooth face, Dream merely waved the two off. “I’m afraid I’ve only come to retrieve the Lady Daunt.”

“Am I in trouble, Dream Lord?” you teased, slowly making your way toward him.

“Hardly,” he replied, lips perking up into a fraction of a smile. “Lucienne simply wished to show you some books before the sun sets in the Waking World.”

You hummed and curtsied to Cain and Abel. “Thank you both for your time. I always enjoy my visits to your beautiful homes.” Gregory rubbed his head against your arm until you pulled him in for a hug and scratched his chin. “Goodnight Gregory.”

Abel smiled, bright with eyes full of mirth. “It is always a great honor to host you, Lady Daunt.”

“You are always welcome in the House of Mysteries.” Cain bowed lowly.

“And the House of Secrets of course!” Abel bowed even lower.

Walking beside Dream felt lighter now than it had when you first truly entered his realm. There was space between both of you, his hands were always woven together behind his back and yours were always brought together at your front, but the small space that separated your two bodies grew smaller and smaller with each passing day. Sometimes, when you weren’t feeling stubborn, you’d admit to yourself how much you longed to feel him as you had the night in Fiddlers Green. You’d danced once or twice since that night, but those dances never required you to touch. 

It was embarrassing, the feelings that had begun to swell within your chest. This was hardly the first time you’d had them, but those were far more fleeting and small while the new ones… You spared a glance at Morpheus, taking in the way his dark hair grew even messier in the light breeze and the way his pale skin stood out amongst his darkened clothes, the way the ruby shimmered with each movement he made. These feelings were far more complicated… far more laced with danger and pains of the past. It was unlikely either of you would be able to move forward in such a way, and yet it was all you seemed to wish for in recent days. Foolish, You scolded yourself, looking straight ahead again. I refuse to have a measly crush on Dream of the Endless of all beings. Absolutely not.

He couldn’t help but watch you, as you sat beside Lucienne at the library table and politely looked at the books she held before you. Though much time had passed since you first ventured into his realm you’d been cautious of what you touched, though Dream couldn’t exactly blame you for such things. He recalled all the stupid and hurtful comments he’d made to you about the fickleness of your touch. So many times he’d berated you for having the nerve to change what was his, to touch what he’d made with your hands. It was something he thought of often in the quiet moments when he watched you, something he longed to take back. He hoped that with enough time you’d grow more comfortable here and would begin to feel safe enough to reach out and hold the books on your own, to shake his people's hands, and to interact with The Dreaming as he did.

It was not often he could gaze upon you without being blatantly discovered by either you or his librarian, who’d give him a knowing look before silently returning to her work. It was Jessamy that could never keep her beak shut about his long looks. She’d perch on his shoulder for hours after your departure and scold him for not making a move. She didn’t understand, none of them did… none except The Corinthian.

His nightmare was many things, but Dream had never expected him to care about your feelings and certainly hadn’t expected the nightmare to approach him with thinly veiled threats. Dream may have been his creator, his king, but The Corinthian respected you… loved you in a way Dream had never thought possible. It was concerning, but the endless allowed it because The Corinthian made you feel safer here, welcome, and Dream selfishly wanted to see you as often as you would allow.

*

“Something occurred to me the other night,” Dream said thoughtfully as the two of you walked along the pier.

The gentle lapping of water that surrounded you made you feel at ease. This place was one of the few that you knew from before and the familiarity of it made you relax. “Oh?”

“I’ve not ever seen your work.”

“No, I don’t suppose you have,” you mumbled in reply.

Dream made a soft noise, a hum of curiosity. “I would like to.”

“You wish to accompany me?” You asked, turning to look up at him.

He tilted his head and smiled down at you. “I do.”

Anxiousness bubbled up in your throat at the thought of what his sudden request meant. Desire’s poisonous words echoed in your mind as you looked into his deep eyes, searching for any fragment of the hate and the anger and the disgust that he’d held for you not too long ago. For a moment you thought about refusing him, of telling him he could follow another night… but the longer you looked into those eyes of his the more you wanted him to come with you. It was often lonely, traversing the minds of creators and hiding away their beloved thoughts of inspiration and creativity. Dream could perhaps help ease that feeling, or of course, he could make it worse.

“You would have to abide by my function,” you reminded him. “I did not think you would be so willing to cause your beloved human's such distress.”

He offered only a light chuckle in response before turning away from you. “I suppose I shall leave you to it then.”

“No!” You hurried and grabbed him by the sleeve, huffing out a breathy laugh as he turned back to you with a smug expression. Damn him. “You can join me if you wish to.”

You stepped off the pier and stood on the water, looking back up at him with a smile as you held your hand out for him to either take or reject. There was a pause as the air around you filled with mist and echoed cries of dissonant voices and for a moment you could have sworn Dream looked uncertain. The usual plainness of his features had downcast into a thoughtful and hesitant look. Still, he took a step forward and took hold of your hand letting you guide him out onto the water. The mist curled around the two of you as you stood, the voices growing louder as he looked around. “Now what?”

It was your turn to smirk at him as your hand tightened around his and you replied, “Now you hold on.”

The water below your feet sucked the two of you into the depths of unconscious thoughts. The darker beings that dwelt within forged a path away from you, further than they normally did because of their creator's presence at your side. The rush of it all never lasted long, the water rushed by you pulling and desperate as it always was, but this time there was a gentle nature to it, a caress of something that felt oddly like Dream’s magic. His hand tightened around yours as one voice began to cry out louder than the rest and you soon found yourself standing in an ornate dance studio.

You discreetly checked to make sure Dream was still beside you before you walked deeper into the space, weaving around the statues of dancing figures. This dreamer was one you’d been expecting to see again. He stood looking over papers scribbled with the foot placements he had slaved over for years. The dreamer's face was pursed tightly, scrutinizing the work in front of him, a look you’d seen far too many times. Lifting your palm you gently blew a haze of mist toward him, watching as the papers caught in its pull and swirled around the room, hanging high in the air as the dreamer jumped and whined trying to grab them.

He turned to you, eyes filling with tears as he shook his head in anger. “Why? Why must you torment me, witch?”

For a moment you felt Dream’s power pulse to life beside you, but it silenced when you set a gentle hand on his arm and walked toward the dreamer. “You do not need them.”

“I do,” he insisted as tears began to spill from his eyes. “I cannot dance without the steps.”

You lifted your hand to his face, gently wiping away the sparkling liquid. “You already know the steps. Now you must only trust in your feet.”

The dreamer looked up at his work and shook his head. “No, I need them.”

Stepping out into the large space you slowly began to move through the steps of his dance, moves you’d grown familiar with during each of your visits. The dreamer watched you for a moment before he hesitantly fell into step beside you and began moving with you through the various dancing movements. You smiled at him and stopped, gesturing for him to continue. “Trust your feet.”

You and Dream stood beside one another and watched as the papers above slowly began falling to the ground as the dreamer danced through them with ease, laughter, and joy filling the dancing studio with golden hues of light and misty figures of dancing people. Another voice echoed in the space, drawing you away from the dancing and toward the mist with the Dream Lord at your side. The walk through the mist was almost always a long affair, shapes of trees and figures occasionally caused you to drift to one side or the other. Usually, it would be walked in silence, but as you moved Dream spoke, “You helped him.”

Looking over at him you nodded. “That is part of my function.”

“I…” he paused, shaking his head. “I suppose I always thought it would be far more malicious than that.”

Thoughts of what Desire had told you as well as that familiar dull ache of old pain roiled within you. “Do you think me a cruel being, Lord Morpheus?”

His starry eyes lit in the dark mist. “Perhaps I did long ago. Perhaps I was too keen on making you the villain that I could not see the truth of your nature, though it was bare before me.”

“I don’t fault you,” you said softly. “For many years I was unknown to you, a stranger with access to parts of your home without your knowledge or consent. I can only imagine what it must have been like for you.”

“That first hundred years was quite… stressful. However, there was no need for me to continue such unpleasant behavior. You did not deserve such treatment.”

You smiled at him as the mist began to thin. “I hope we can put the ugliness of the past behind us now.”

The dark sleeve of his coat gently rubbed against your arm as the two of you gravitated closer together. “That is my hope as well.”

When the mist finally cleared the two of you stood in a crowded theatre filled with mumblings and low whispers. On the stage, a woman dressed in a beautiful gown and fine jewels stood, wide-eyed and fearfully looking out at the crowd. You walked toward the stage as the conductor hissed heated words at the poor girl and gently you took her hand, drawing her eyes to you. She almost sobbed. “I cannot sing… I cannot remember the words.”

“We’ll sing it together then,” you offered as you began humming the beginning note.

The two of you slowly worked past the awkward and soft start and steadily the fear began to dwindle from the singer's eyes as she found herself remembering the words and the notes. It was only when she began to look away from you, to engage with the crowd that you’d let go of her hand and silently slipped back into the crowd beside Dream.

He didn’t understand how he could have ever thought you were cruel. The more he thought about it the more obvious it was that he’d never truly witnessed an occasion in which you’d enjoyed the darker aspects of your duty. Your function was not unlike his, he after all was responsible for the nightmares that also plagued humanity. As he watched you hold the singer's hand and sing gently beside her, voice soft and melodic, Dream found himself lost within your voice. Even when you spoke he felt pulled to you, but now, it was undeniable that Dream of the Endless found you beautiful… more than beautiful.

When you rejoined him in the crowd he had to actively stop himself from reaching out to touch you, and the whole walk to the next location he had to remind himself to keep his feet moving forward so as not to drift closer to you. When the familiar tall trees and darkened misty woods opened up around you two, Dream noticed you stiffen. The Forest may have been your realm, but it seemed that when the dreams of others were involved you did not feel comfortable within its woods, and as the two of you walked further into the depths of The Forest he understood why.

There in front of you looking around lost and afraid was a small child, ten at the oldest. Children were a sore spot for Dream, something only his closest confidants knew. You approached the child with gentleness and patience, kneeling to look into her eyes as she turned to you. “I’ve lost it. It was the best and most beautiful thing and I’ve lost it.”

“The Forest tends to draw in many beautiful things,” you explained softly. “If you follow the path you will find what was lost.”

The child looked ahead at the path down an even darker portion with mist and gnarled trees. “I am afraid.”

You smiled at her. “I shall be beside you, but it is you that must lead the way.”

With a timid nod, the child took your hand and you turned, quietly telling Dream to follow behind at a distance. The two of you walked hand in hand down the narrow pathway as Dream watched with a tender and remorseful feeling in his chest. For this one quiet moment, he allowed himself to think of his son, to remember what it had been like to be a father to such a small and fragile being. Dream remembered when you’d found out about his son and had congratulated him, even though he’d been nothing but cruel to you during that visit. As he watched you now, kind and patient and gentle, he regretted not introducing you to his son… regretted every time he made you flee Calliope’s side when the two of you just so happened to cross paths. How many times had he driven simple and innocent companionship from your grasp? How many times had he denied you the only thing you ever longed for?

The child's eager cheers echoed back to him as he stepped beside you. A cat, covered in glitter and changing colors leaped down from a tree branch and into the girl's arms. Before she could even turn to thank you she was gone, swallowed by a wave of mist. “Does this happen often?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “The Forest call is a powerful thing. Some creators, no matter how young, get drawn here… pulled into the realm.”

He hummed softly, watching you wave your hand to clear a path through the trees. For a moment neither of you spoke, the question was poisoned on his tongue, wanting and waiting to be spoken. "I've not seen much of your realm."

Looking at him you tilted your head curiously. "No, you're not. I did not think you would find it interesting."

"Would I not?"

"You are used to grand palaces, gold, and marble, subjects to greet you. There is none of that here."

"And yet I still find myself marveling at its beauty." He replied. "I shall bid you goodnight if it is your will, Lady Daunt, but I do find your realm interesting. I would cherish being shown more of it, if and when you would allow such."

You hummed softly at his gentle voice and beautiful eyes. Years ago such a request, especially from him, would have made you feel apprehensive and tense, but now you felt… Seen. This was not the great King of Nightmares or the Dream Lord asking you, it was Morpheus, the endless being behind his vast titles. With a curt nod, you spoke, "There have been some changes that may be to your liking."

He smiled. "Do you intend to keep me in suspense?"

"Perhaps I should," you teased. "I've heard such tales of your patience, great Lord Morpheus."

The sound of his low and joyful laugh sent shivers up your spine, but unlike the times before they were ones of wants and a desire to hear him laugh again. "I am certain you've heard much about me."

An old howl echoed around you and the quiet pants of Pucks breathing fell into step beside you and Dream. He regarded your dark companion with narrowed eyes and then bowed to you. "I trust your duties have been fulfilled for the night, Lady Daunt?"

"Of course darling Puck."

"Do you require assistance banishing the Dream Lord from our realm?"

"Not this time," you assured him, looking at Dream with a smile. "He's asked to receive the tour."

Puck grumbled at your side as you crossed the bridge and walked toward the hut. “I shall accompany you then. Make certain our… guest… remains on his best behavior.”

You knelt and smoothed your hand over his fur. “I am quite certain he’ll behave. You should remain here and rest.”

He growled lowly. “I am to protect you. To remain beside you always. Yet I cannot…”

“You have done that and more.” Pressing your head to your loyal companions you sighed. “I wish for you to rest now, my friend. If only for a few moments.”

“Will you call for me, should you need me?”

“Of course, I will.”

Puck said nothing more but followed you to the door to your home. Dream hesitated to follow, but did so once you beckoned him forward. The hut was small, truly only enough room to fit you and Puck inside it, but it was warm and held everything you’d collected from dreamers over the years and things from the Waking World that caught your eye whenever you visited. Puck pulled himself onto your bed and curled up in the center of it, his face illuminated by the fire as you knelt and pressed a kiss to his head. “We won’t be long.”

His bright eyes looked past you toward Dream. “I will not hesitate to hunt you down should any harm befall my lady.”

The Endless nodded. “I mean her no harm.”

When the two of you left Puck to his rest, Dream walked straight toward the wilting garden just down the path. He examined each plant with a gentle touch. “Abel thinks I can get them to grow eventually. He says I frighten them.”

“Frighten the plants?” He replied with a chuckle. “You are rather terrifying.”

“Only when I need be,” you insisted, gently stroking down a dark leaf. “I hope to see them bloom one day. They would be so beautiful.”

“They will be,” Dream agreed. “Now, you said there had been changes to your realm. I must admit I am curious.”

You nearly blushed under his soft gaze. “They aren’t anything extravagant.”

“No gold?”

“No gold, I’m afraid you remain the King of such finary.”

It wasn’t often you walked through The Forest without Puck, but with his health declining you’d not ventured far in a while. It felt nice to do so with someone beside you, someone that appeared to be enjoying the gnarled trees and misty ground. Whether it was an act or genuine you didn’t know, nor did you care. He was here… He was curious and that was all that mattered. The two of you walked for a while longer before you came to the mossy willows whose white leaves and fuzzy patches had sunlight filtering through them. You’d noticed it a week ago, noticed how this small part of the path was brighter than the rest with hardly any mist and bright golden rays of the sun.

"Sunlight!" You breathed smiling up at him. "There's sunlight here, Morpheus!"

He smiled, eyes shimmering in the golden glow. "Indeed there is."

"It's so beautiful," you insisted looking up at it, feeling the heat of it on your face.

"Yes, it is," he replied, though it was not the sun he looked at but rather your glowing face... Your happiness. That was the true beauty in the Dream Lords' eyes.

You felt vulnerable, felt like you would shrink under his intense gaze, and yet you enjoyed it. Blushing you shook your head and began leading him toward the mountains. “Pardon my enthusiasm. I’ve never seen the sun here.”

Morpheus bent over, catching your gaze. “I enjoy your enthusiasm, Daunt. It is so rare that I am present to see it.”

You never thought you’d hear the words enjoy and you in the same sentence. Smiling even brighter you came to the cave's mouth and entered the darkness without hesitation or fear. Behind you Morpheus paused. You turned, offering up your hand once again. “Come now, Dream Lord, if I’d wanted to smite you I’d not do it in the dark.”

The damp darkness of the caves didn’t frighten you anymore, in fact, you found the constant dripping and slight smell of moss to be comforting now. The deeper you got the stronger the smell grew until you reached the larger area where the ceiling glowed a vibrant blueish green and crystals of every size and color shimmered around you. Morpheus’ face changed from slight doubt to awe. “It is beautiful here.”

“It is,” you agreed. “However what I wanted to show you is up ahead.”

“You have something grander than this?”

With a simple shrug, you pressed forward. “Perhaps not grander, but it’s my favorite spot here.”

As you exited the darkness The Forest opened up around you with tall trees of emerald surrounding a wide open lake of sapphire blue. From where you stood on the rocks you could see the white fish swimming below, could feel the gentle breeze that blew a small tuff of mist over the top of the water. It was peaceful here, quiet… home.

Morpheus stood beside you, eyes roaming over every inch of the space you shared with him, bright and full of wonder. He breathed in a deep breath and smiled. “The air feels lighter here.”

Stepping off the rocks you stood on the water and gestured for him to follow. “Would you dance with me, Morpheus?”

“Dancing with you is something I could never tire of.” He took your hand and the two of you glided across the surface of the water, dancing until the skies above you cleared to a clear view of starlight.

You tilted your head back, looking up at the stars with tears in your eyes. “Thank you for asking to come with me.”

“It was enlightening,” he admitted, his eyes glued to you. “Thank you for showing me your home.”

You looked back down at him and sighed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I am simply glad you wished to see it.”

“Goodnight, Daunt.”

“Goodnight, Morpheus.”

*

The day was one you dreaded for a long while. You sat on the bridge with Puck in your lap, quiet and sad as his breaths grew more labored every moment. It wouldn't be long now. He'd kept his final days simple, walks with you through dreams and The Forest, nights watching the fireflies and afternoons beside the lake. You had fulfilled every wish, all but one.

"I do not want to leave you."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pressed your face into his fur. "I do not want you to go."

"When Death comes, I do not want you to remain."

"I will not abandon you."

Puck whined softly. "I do not wish for my last look upon you to be etched with sorrow. I cannot pass on to the next life knowing I left you in such pain."

After a long moment of silent thought, you nodded. "Very well, my darling Puck."

"Thank you, my Lady Daunt."

It wouldn't be long now.

Death was rarely the one who sought out Dream, but she clearly believed that this time his presence would be helpful. She walked with him beside her, quiet and thoughtful as he always was before that curiosity finally overtook him. “Where are we going?”

She smiled at him, sad and reverent. “I’ll tell you if you promise to be nice this time.”

His head tilted at her phrasing. This time? “I promise.”

“The Forest.” She told him, realization immediately pulling his lips into a tight frown. “Daunt’s companion will be passing into my lands today. I thought you might… perhaps… be able to offer her comfort.”

“What makes you think she’ll be glad to see me?” He inquired. “Last time I was present for such an intimate exchange I was nearly smothered by roots.”

Death shook her head at him. “You’re not fooling anyone, little brother. You and Daunt have been far too civil as of late.”

He huffed, the breath curling in the air as they shifted through the border and into Daunt's realm. “I was not aware you were watching us.”

“I wasn’t,” Death insisted, only to be met with his smirk and sideways glare. “Okay, maybe I popped in once or twice to check up on things between you two, but I was not watching!” She nudged his arm and offered him a sincere smile. “I’m glad you two are spending time together. She’s sweet and you could use a bit of that.”

The pair grew silent as they crossed the bridge to find Daunt lying beside her greying wolf. She spoke softly to him, her smooth skin gliding across the dull coat of the wolf as it labored in every breath beside her. Dream could see the tears in her eyes, could feel the hurt and fear in the air that surrounded them. He remained behind as Death walked forward and knelt beside the pair. This time it was Daunt that spoke first. “He’s asked me not to stay.”

Death paused, pulling her hand back with a nod. “He won’t be alone.”

“I know,” she whispered, pulling her face into the beast's fur, mumbling a soft farewell to her beloved friend before she stood and placed a hand on Death’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Daunt walked to his side and stared ahead into the thick trees and mist. Dream said nothing as he watched his sister. He said nothing as he tentatively took hold of Daunt’s hand and held it. For a moment the only sound that could be heard was the gentle flap of Death’s wings as she lifted the wolf Puck to the Sunless Lands. The moment that followed was quiet, and then the trees began to groan and shriek as Daunt wept. His firebrand coat wrapped around her and the sounds of the forest grew quiet as he held her in his arms.

[magistralucis]

Tillchard one-shot where one of them has their head on the other's stomach and gets his hair played with? 🥺 Pretty please? A drabble? 🥺 A paragraph? 🥺 For the Tillchard-starved ones? 🥺

After picking out the waterweeds they rinsed all traces of the lake from their bodies. They took turns in the bath and washed their hair, and soon it was time to dry off, lounging in front of the rickety fan. “Hold still.” Till scolded as he ran the comb through, which was difficult with a very squirmy and giggly Richard lying across his lap. Something about how the edges scraped his scalp. “Risch, I really do need you to be still for this one. I don’t want to pull anything.”

“I don’t mind. It just tickles.” Richard spotted a knot tangling a pale-blond lock by his cheek, and reached up to untangle it, squinting as he felt around the strands. “It tickles a lot. I’ve always been a nightmare with the comb, you’re not the only one to go through this.”

“I could tell.” Till said dryly, but leaned down to help, gently running the tip of the comb through the lock to loosen the knot completely. Only once that was tucked neatly behind Richard’s ear (and sealed with a kiss!) did he carry on. “Still, I’m happy you came along. I hope it wasn’t boring for you?”

“Are you kidding me, where can I fish if not here?”

A crescent smile rose to Till’s lips. “Or take a dip?”

A devilish grin rose to Richard’s. “Or take an exceptionally convenient dip.”

Convenient being the key word: Richard had never actually learnt to fish before Till taught him, and he was highly entrenched in the other’s company, as well as the only location from which he’d ever drawn a carp. And what a location! Not only was the Schweriner See wide enough for the two of them, they could admire it, picnic in front of it, or swim in it to their heart’s content - and day after day, the lake simply continued to be there, ready to receive whatever romping the two of them had to offer. “It’s getting so hot nowadays.” Richard continued dreamily, rolling over to expose the back of his still-damp legs to the fan. (The fact the towel around his waist had begun to slip was of no concern to him.) His voice came out muffled against Till’s stomach as he stretched himself further, making the most of their physical contact. “You know, living here, I understand why you’d be a swimmer. How can you bear the summers otherwise?”

Till had given up on full sweeps, settling for combing from the bottom up, interspersed with long slow strokes of his fingers. This worked better. He took a cautious handful of Richard’s hair and palmed the wet strands gently, caressing them dry. “Poorly. I didn’t always live here, but I get you. Sometimes I wonder if my swimming career would’ve worked out, if I had - if I’d always had a corner of the lake entirely to myself, nobody but me and the birds.”

Richard’s breaths stilled for a moment.

“You really won’t mind if I stayed for the summer, right?”

“You’re always welcome at mine, Scholle. Forgive me. I’ve misspoken.” Then Till was there to kiss his worries away again, this time nuzzling the top of his head. Richard was briefly tense, but melted into his touch like a kitten, stealing whatever glances he could whilst pressed close to Till. “I meant if I’d gotten to choose my own company as a child, like I can now as an adult. If we’d known each other as boys...”

“...”

They both contemplated the what-ifs, though ultimately, Richard didn’t think it could’ve ended better than the friendship they had now. Whatever he thought of Till’s solitude, the truth was that he‘d been lonely too, and equally deprived of choice as a child; had he lived by the lake with the foxes as company, or a bosom friend like Till, he’d almost certainly have sorted out more of his life than he had now.

But these were possibilities past, long drifted away like mist over the waters. The important thing was now. He rolled over carefully, gazing up at Till; Till gazed back, the fan fluttering Richard’s golden locks over his lap; then something in his green eyes softened, and he patted his chest. “Sit up for me?”

Richard complied. The towel slid off his legs altogether. Till admired him with an open smile, then reached for the other’s hairband, which made Richard blush - well, after all, it wasn’t as if they’d done anything. With the fabric steady in his mouth Till gathered the younger man’s hair together, held it fast with one hand, then finally slid the band through. "There. Very pretty."

Cue the broad warmth of his hands, patting it into place. Richard felt for the band and was satisfied. “Thank you. Your turn now.”

[ncitygirls]

eternal - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, vampire!jaemin, 2.2k

he had yet to utter a word since his confession, and neither had you, though you had tried piecing together a worthy response. he simply watched you as you watched him, your eyes focusing on each delicate ridge in his skin, admiring his nonexistent pores; how the thin slithers of light that broke through the poorly drawn curtain, shone on a bend from the ends of his bangs down and around his chin. a kind reminder of what you swear you have always known, but regret to have never questioned.

“jaemin?”

“my love?”

“have you always been this beautiful?’

he had to admit he was taken back. those are the first words you have said in a long while. they are your first words since he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago - he was counting, not actively, but over time his mind has created room for his thinking to expand, to surpass humanity’s understanding of thought, and most times he welcomes it. but not at times such as these - where he knows he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, and your first words are in awe of him.

“i told you i am undead.. and that is what troubles you?”

“your beauty is far from troubling,” you retort, eyes still inspecting his face. jaemin’s mind wanders back to when he once pitied humans. how they thought what they saw was really seeing. victims of an already limited life, the human eye is only able to pick up a fraction of their sublime reality. yet the way your eyes traverse each of his features, as if to commit them to memory, he surely found a compelling reason to admit their eyes were not so lacking. “was it the bite that made you so handsome?”

“i wasn’t bitten,” he corrects, as the pads of your thumbs sweep over his cold knuckles, your touch casting a reverence over the scene. he lets out a pretty laugh at your assumption, the soft crease between your brows forming as he destroys your fictional understanding of his kind. “humans have always had a skewed understanding of our lore.”

“so your mother and father were vampires?”

“no.” it has been some time since he has had to explain vampiric lore to a human, but his mind retains his memory of it all the same. “it is not dissimilar to what humans call possession? or a spell? it is a combination of the two.”

“did it hurt?”

jaemin cannot help but melt at the notes of concern lacing your tone. it is his turn to pass his thumb along your knuckles before flipping your hand over, letting his finger trace a swirl in your palm, offering a soft shake of his head. “it makes one feel queasy, a consequence of the change in dietary needs.”

your hand stiffens beneath his touch as your eyes drop to examine them. he fears he has spoken out of turn, pushed the astonishingly pleasant conversation down a dark hole. jaemin once believed humans to be predictable, but you continue to challenge that. “is that why my invites to have you for dinner always go unanswered?”

“i knew that wounded you, angel.”

“it did no such thing!” his chin drops, eyes boring into you in a successful attempt to lure the truth out of you. he immediately softens when you exhale, in defeat of his gaze or distaste at your transparency, he does not know. jaemin would soften all the same. “i will admit, i did make assumptions to make sense of your refusal.”

“did you think i preferred not to visit?” you had never noticed the flecks of red in the perimeter of his irises until now. they glowed slightly, as if enraged, though you know not with you. “there are rules we must follow when entering a new space, silly, unchangable rules.” his frown deepens when you nod, always understanding even when you shouldn’t. “i apologise if I hurt you, angel.”

“hush now, you need not apologise.” you’re proven right when his eyes return to the perfect colour you remember them for: a golden swirl moving within the rich cocoa, shining only as the light hits it. relief floods him when he rests his forehead on your own. he grips your hips firmly, swaying you both as you call for him.

“jaemin, what is it you do eat?”

“pretty girls named y/n.” oh how he wished you would have laughed then, instead of him opening his eyes to find your horror stricken face. “i swear to you that was a joke. that was in poor taste, i am so sorry.” you find his apology hard to believe as his body shakes, shaking your whole frame along with him.

“do not,” you hit his arm once, “mock,” and a second time though ineffective, “me!”

he saves himself quickly, retreating to safety by putting an unrealistic amount of distance between you two in an inexplicable amount of time. when he abandoned you, you nearly collapse forward with the force you were using to hit him before catching yourself.

“come here.”

“i drink blood.” you did not particularly dislike his attempt to stay on topic, just the topic itself. you try to appear enlightened but you have always found it difficult to repress your repulsion. “i know you have no interest in the macabre.”

“blood is meant to be inside you.”

“i think it tastes great.” he quickly arrives in front of you, your open books and abandoned letters fluttering all over the room as his speed garners its own winds. his thumbs journey over the veins on your wrists, slowly trailing up your forearms. he only speaks again when he hooks his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head to allow his teeth to graze over the column of your neck. “it is reminiscent of fruit. some blood is like grapefruit and lemon. while some are akin to grape, strawberries.”

“oh,” you sigh, heart slowing as his lips drag along the base of your throat. he pulls back, gazing longingly at your wonderment as you feel his mood swing. bitterness seeps into his eyes in how his taste for blood ironically remains the only provision of some kind of memory of flavour, of normality. “do you enjoy it?”

“blood?”

“being a vampire.” no one has ever asked him such a thing. is there anything to enjoy about eternal life? about reliving his youth, being relocated, remade, renewed over and over and over, for an eternity.

as he gazes down at you, he remembers with all the bad must come some good.

“not always,” he smiles knowingly, thinking of his friends. the lives they built for themselves over a combined millennia. it almost makes him retract saying that. “i do regret some things. like allowing haechan to convince us to help real witches free the falsely accused during the witch trials. only to later discover he had a wager on being able to free more than their coven could.” he loved the way your eyes followed along, he loved knowing he could finally share his life in its entirety with you. “i have a thousand reasons why i should hate it, but I cannot bring myself to.”

“why?” he will find a way to forgive himself for giving you a reason to ask. he will ensure you needn’t ask again.

“because,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips slipping between your own, fingers clasped behind your neck. “if i had died in 1625, i would not have had the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“this is hardly an acquaintance,” you remind him, counting his years in your head as he pulls you flush against him utilising less than a speck of his strength. “careful grandsire,” it tumbles from your lips as he licks against your mouth. “i am not sure a man even three hundred years your junior could make it through what you are starting.”

“you needn’t worry about me,’ he sighs, his groin rolling against your own, his fingers clinging to your breakable frame. “though i must confess, my eating pretty girls named y/n was not said solely in jest.” his fingers toy with your knickers, ice cold digits moving freely along the waistband. “in fact, i fear my sanity depends on it. might you be of some aid?”

“who am i to deny a man nearing his fourth century?” he begs himself not to laugh, if only not to kill the mood but more so to avoid dignifying your mockery. his laughter morphs quickly into pants, your hand slotted wickedly between his own and his groin. “how might i be of assistance to you?”

“just as you are,” he whispers, his dulled teeth passing dangerously along the shell of your ear. as a man of his years, patience isn’t something which he is in short supply. but even then, one grows tired of waiting, for coitus, for love, for you. he is quick to remove your hand, finding his own pacing as he presses you against the wall, your heat pulsing beneath his cock, practically leaking. “i forgot how pliant humans are,” it is wicked how he watches you, his fingers rolling your hardened nub betwixt their pads. you shudder at the sight of him, his golden eyes darkening in the sunlit room, his tongue passing over his sharpened teeth. he smirks as you hiss, his fingers pinching your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue rolls in time with his hips, running his clothed cock along your clothed folds. he is quickly reminded of his strength as his palm collects dust as it meets the wall with a thud, steadying himself as you whine deliciously, his name bleeding from your raw lips. “yes, angel?”

“i need you,” you breathe, gazing up at him as his lips capture yours. your tongues move in tandem, wrapping around the other in a hypnotic frisk. he swallows your whimpers as he lures them out of you. he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands moving to your rear before lifting you from the ground. he makes little work of you, rendering you a quarter of your size. your ankles lock around his waist as he casts your knickers aside, hissing as the pad of his finger meets your folds.

“might i have a taste now?” he pleads, eyes burning a fiery amber, pure adoration hidden beneath. “please, angel?”

“take all of me, jaemin.” he holds you still, a metre from the ground as he kneels, his hands firm around your thighs before he lowers you over his mouth. his flat tongue licks long stripes up your cunt, tongue flicking along your hooded clit in his descent. he likens you to a spring, his soul knelt before you, preparing an offering to your fountain. he is ready to collect all you offer him, your essence pouring out onto his tongue, soaking his lips, slick down his chin. his eyes fall to a close at the sight of your dazed form, your eyes screwed shut in prayer, his lips puckering around the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue rolling against the nerve. “jaemin, right there, please.”

he hums in accordance, his tongue circling your clit as your thighs shake on either side of his head. he smirks as you still, his middle and ring finger entering your warm cavern, forcing your hips to roll against his digits. he curves them slowly, pressing against your pink walls, bulging up against your stomach. “you are so fragile,” he says, lips bitten as he watches your body succumb to his touch. he leans closer to you, steadying you on his shoulders to free his hand. he presses his palm to your abdomen, hypnotised by the feeling of his own fingers inside you. letting his thumb drift down, he pulls up the skin hiding your clit, allowing his lips to pucker against the nub before he offers a hard suck. his tongue joins the fold, drinking you in as you let out a sharp cry, the pressure inside and out joining forces to send you over the edge. “when you’re ready, love, come.”

he can feel your skin burning up, see the sheen of sweat coating your entire body. “jaemin,” you continue to chase your high, but cling to the moment. you feel like your convulsions might snap your body in two. that pleasure such as this cannot exist innately, that only he can bestow it on you. you are proven right as you grow more frantic, his fingers rub against the spot inside you that he found with great ease, as his lips suck on your clitoris. the final straw is his gaze, you feel it and fall victim to it. his irises a bright, angelic white, the rim speckled in gold. one cast of your eyes on your lover and you snap.

there is no doubting that as jaemin gazes up at you, he sees glory eternal. he sees life. he sees an angel.

“come angel.”

and you do. jaemin’s simple command breaks a dam, summoning a flood of pleasure you are unsure you will survive. hot iron passes through your veins, lighting you from the inside out. he continues without thought, his lips sucking the pleasure out of you, his fingers still pounding into your swollen pussy. only when your fingers find his hair, pulling him away with a sharp tug does he concede, lowering you into his lap.

“hi,” he says after some time, watching you pant against the wall. “are you still with me?” he jests, palms gliding up and down your aching thighs.

you hum, gazing up at the golden orbs that you decide you mustn’t live without. much like his life, and much like your love. eternal. “always.”

[ayanna-wild]

Broken Wings

Word Count: 2921

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt, comfort

A/N: Request from Wattpad, for the sake of this story Lucifer and the reader will not be related, set somewhere between s1 and s2, and I have nothing against Amenadiel, but he was kind of a dick during s1 lol

Requests and Tag List are open

Summary: It was a simple matter of loving the wrong man, but you couldn’t control your heart. How was it fair for you to be punished? But life was cruel that way.

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

You weren't an angel per-say. You had the wings, the immortality, yet you lacked the power that came with being a true angel. To be blunt you were a side project God had taken up before abandoning it to create humanity, more a helper to his children than anything.

The only of your kind.

With little other purpose you dutifully fulfilled your role as the aid, accompying the true angels to earth. A mundane existence, but one you tolerated.

Until Lucifer had taken an interest in you, life was so much better after that. So full of fun and laughter, he called for your help more than any of his brethren or sisters. Although he never really needed any assistance, it was all an excuse to steal you away for a while.

For centuries that was your life, and you were content with it if it meant spending more time with him. You two grew impossibly close and thought you'd be with him until the stars in the sky fizzled out.

But that was before, before the rebellion, before his banishment, before your existence dulled so drastically. Spending centuries, millenniums feeling as though you were missing out on something better.

Which is why you had so graciously agreed to accompany Amenadiel to earth. So he could once again fail at convincing his brother to return to hell. You masked your excitement surprisingly well, or Amenadiel was just incredibly oblivious. Either way you weren't complaining.

~

"You seem happy..."

Your wings fluttered a bit, unable to contain the smile on your face as you glanced at the dark skinned angel.

"Well it's nice to get out of heaven once and a while, you know?"

That was only partially a lie, you really did enjoy earth much more, but truthfully you were excited about seeing Lucifer after so long.

"No. Heaven is perfect. " Amenadiel stated bluntly.

You watched him walk inside from the balcony, hanging back a moment to mutter to yourself.

"For you maybe..."

Your wings folded into your back as you walked in, not the least bit surprised to see the brothers at each other's throats already.

"Such hostility from such divine beings."

Your sarcastic remark quickly drew the attention of the king of hell, who turned to you with a grin so wide you wondered if it hurt his face.

"Oh brother, you failed to mention you brought along this beautiful little creature. Y/N, it's an absolute pleasure to see you again."

Lucifer approached you with open arms, your smile matching his as he embraced you.

"It is her role to assist us." Amenadiel said as if that was the obvious answer.

Lucifer pulled away from you, noticing the way your shoulders sagged a bit at the elder angels words. The devil frowned a bit.

"Role? Are you still listening to such nonsense?" Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel rolled his shoulders, flexing his wings a little in irritation.

"It is our father's will. You should be following your role as well."

Lucifer clicked his tongue, strolling over to his bar.

"It became rather dull, so many years doing the same thing, a drab existence, isn't it angel?"

The ending was directed towards you, and you almost forgot yourself, almost allowed yourself to agree, in front of Amenadiel. It was a nickname he had given you centuries ago. His own way of telling you he saw you as his equal, unlike the others.

You were his angel.

"She's not a real angel Lucifer, don't try to fill her head with your rebellious nonsense."

His words stung a bit, but he wasn't entirely wrong, you weren't a true angel. That bit of fact didn't seem to lessen the blow to your pride though.

"With such exquisite wings as hers, who could tell the difference?" Lucifer winked at you.

You straightened your back, feeling proud of yourself, your wings always were your favorite feature. You took immaculate care of them. Just as quickly as Amenadiel tore you down Lucifer built you back, you supposed that was one of the things that had drawn you to him all those years ago.

"You're a disgrace."

You stepped between them, placing a hand on Lucifer's chest.

"Maybe I can talk to him? He was always at least willing to listen to me." You offered.

Amenadiel seemed to ponder this a moment before nodding.

"I'll return tomorrow, don't let him pull you into any of his schemes."

Lucifer scoffed at his brother's warning. You smiled softly.

"Of course."

With a flutter of wings he was gone, and you were left alone with the fallen angel. Without a moment to appreciate the silence, a cup of amber liquid was held in front of your face.

"Fancy a drink my dear? We have so much to catch up on."

~

You weren't sure how it happened, maybe it was the drinks, or the way he spoke to you, but you found yourself stumbling out of his bed the next morning. Panic surged through your veins as you hastily pulled your clothes back on, cursing softly. You regretted nothing, but there'd be hell to pay if any of the heavenly host caught you bedding the devil. Lucifer still slept soundly, and you tried your best not to wake him.

You rushed from his room, running straight into a broad chest causing you to stumble back a bit. Amenadiel stared at you with an uncomfortably blank expression, and your heart dropped.

"Amenadiel... I-"

Your world became a blur in the next second, and you fell forward as your feet unexpectedly hit the roof of a hotel.

"What were you thinking! Fornicating with Lucifer!"

You glanced up at him, snorting at his wording.

"Fornicating? For someone who comes to earth so frequently, your vocabulary is a little dated."

You couldn't help the poorly timed jab, humor your way if deflecting tense situations. Unfortunately for you that only seemed to make Amenadiel more angry.

"Have you no shame? You don't seem the least bit remorseful for the sin you just committed!" He shouted.

You flinched a little, sitting back on your ass as you stared up at him. Should you grovel? Beg for forgiveness?

That would be the logical thing to do, it was what he was expecting. But perhaps your short reunion with Lucifer had sparked something in you because you found yourself leaning back on your hands, staring up at the angel before you with no remorse.

"I regret nothing."

~

Blood soaked your once white shirt as you leaned against an alley wall, shifting most of your weight onto your side. Anything to avoid the crippling pain in your back. Tears stained your cheeks and burnt your eyes. Dry sobs shook your body, no tears left to cry.

He'd ripped your wings from your back, tore them from your body, taking your immortality with him. You barely registered the sound of footsteps, hardly heard the woman talking to you in concern. You just felt so tired, a feeling you weren't used to.

It'd be okay if you slept, just for a moment, right?

Chloe panicked as she saw your eyes close, waving frantically as the paramedics arrived just moments later. Her hands covered in your blood as she wondered who could have possibly done that to you.

~

You woke to steady beeping, and an uncomfortable feeling of something wrapped just a little too tight around you. Bright lights forced you to close your eyes almost as soon as you opened them. You took a moment to adjust as you sat up, looking around the unfamiliar room that you slowly realized was a hospital room.

It all seemed so... human.

The reality of your sudden mortality crashed down on you, and you carefully pulled the I.V. from your arm. You hissed as you quickly stood from the bed, the sudden movement causing pain to shot up your back.

You nearly collapsed.

But no, you had to leave, get out of this place before questions you couldn't possibly answer came. You gathered your ruined clothes, fleeing before anyone could notice.

You kept your head low as you left the building, the bandages on your back straining against your hasty movements.

"Hey!"

A voice called out, catching your attention and a blonde woman hurried over to you. You stared at her in confusion, and she looked you over with concern.

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't leave the hospital yet."

It suddenly clicked and your body tensed as you vaguely recognized her as the woman who found you.

"I'll be fine."

She looked ready to protest, and you grabbed her hands in desperation.

"Please... I just can't be there..."

She seemed to relent a little, and you breathed a sigh of relief until she told you her name. Then you found yourself begging her not to tell Lucifer anything, and she promised not to utter a word, if you told her what happened to you.

It had to have been the greatest lie you ever told, a fabricated story about a scorned lover. She believed it nonetheless, offering to help you get a change of clothes. Something less covered in blood, you went straight to Lucifer afterwards, carefully hiding what had happened.

Perhaps he trusted you too much, or maybe you were getting better at lying because he didn't question your claim to want to stay on Earth. He seemed thrilled, and you hid your pain with a smile when he embraced you, thankful your new jacket hid the bandages.

~

For months that was the routine, a difficult dance to move to, especially with how close you two were becoming once more. But you'd stop his hands before they could trail up your back in your more heated moments, directed his attention to something else. You were so careful not to let him see your back.

Careful to never let him follow you into the shower. Careful never to sleep on your side, or let him give you a back rub. Always avoiding Chloe, lest she bring up your injuries. You were so careful, for months.

So why had you forgotten to lock the door while you were getting dressed?

"Should we order out again darling? Perhaps from that little coffee shop you so like much? I heard they have a new..."

Lucifer had barged into the bathroom, clad in only his underwear and robe loosely tied as he questioned what you wanted for breakfast. Your whole body froze, mind shutting down as his words came to an abrupt stop. The atmosphere of the room suddenly felt thick, and you could have sworn it became harder to breath.

Lucifer said nothing, staring at your horribly scared back. You held your shirt to your chest, refusing to turn and meet his eye. Worried what emotion you might find. He had moved so quietly, and so quickly that you jumped when his fingers were suddenly grazing your back. Just below the rough skin where your beautiful wings had once been.

"Who did this to you..."

It was more of a soft demand then a question, but you hesitated.

"I... I cut them off..."

He chuckled a dry, humorless chuckle, and he draped his robe over your shoulders. Probably realizing you'd be more comfortable if you could cover your scars. You muttered a thank you and his hands rested on your arms, rubbing soothingly up and down as you grabbed the silk robe, holding it tighter around you.

"Those aren't the scars you get from cutting your wings, I would know. No, those are harsh, angry scars, something tearing wings off would cause. Don't lie to me angel, who did this?"

His grip tightened on your arms ever so slightly, but it wasn’t out of anger, at least not towards you.

"Amenadiel..." Your voice was so faint you barely heard yourself, but judging by the sharp intake of breath, he had heard you just fine.

"What?"

"A punishment... for being with you..."

You caught his reflection in the mirror, the flash of his eyes, his face shifted, just for a moment, but it was enough for you to realize just how angry he truly was.

"Lucifer-"

He turned on his heel, leaving the room and getting dressed in a fury. You approached him cautiously, closing the robe around you and tying it into place.

"What are you doing?"

He finished buttoning his shirt before turning back to you.

"I need you to do me a favor my dear."

A frown pulled at your lips, but you slowly nodded.

"Pray to my brother."

You jerked back as if someone had physically slapped you.

"What?"

"You trust me, don't you?" He smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something that unnerved you.

"Of course."

He seemed so calm, contrary to what he had been just moments ago.

"Then pray to my brother."

He guided you into the living room and stepped just out of sight. You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before finally doing as he asked. It only took moments before Amenadiel appeared in front of you.

He'd come so fast, probably expecting you to beg for forgiveness.

You had no idea how vastly unprepared you were to see him again. Your hands trembled, and you held the robe closer around you, taking an unsure step back.

You didn't have time to dwell on it and Amenadiel had no time to say anything before a sickening crack filled the room and the angel was sprawled out on the ground.

"Hello brother."

You blinked slowly, taking a second to catch up with the fact that Lucifer had just delivered a crippling blow to his brother's face and Amenadiel laid dazed on the ground. Blindsided by the unexpected blow. Lucifer gave him no time to recover, picking him up by his neck carelessly throwing him into a wall. You shielded your eyes from the debris flying by.

"I've just had the unpleasant surprise of discovering what you did to my darling little slice of heaven."

You wordlessly watched Amenadiel pull himself out of the now prominent hole in Lucifer's stone wall. He was unsteady on his feet, but that mattered very little to Lucifer who swiftly grabbed his brother's shirt, tossing him across the floor as if he weighed nothing.

"And they call me the devil." Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel managed to at least prop himself up with his arms, spitting out a bit of blood.

"You are the devil, Lucifer, and she betrayed heaven by being with you."

Lucifer took a step forward, clearly ready to continue the one-sided fight. But you quickly stepped in front of him, worried he might go to far, if his red eyes were anything to go off of.

"Just let him leave, you made your point. You're flogging a dead horse at this point." You uttered, refusing to glance at the angel pulling himself off the ground.

"She received a punishment fitting her sin and she still crawled back to you."

Your skin bristled at his comment, and you found your unease fading away to anger. You rounded on him so fast you surprised even yourself at the words spilling from your lips.

"My sin!? You think you're a saint, but you're no better than me! It wasn’t sin Amenadiel, it was free will, if humans can have it why can't I?"

Amenadiel narrowed his eyes as he stood, but you didn't back down.

"You sound just like Lucifer."

You found yourself laughing at that, and with a sudden burst of confidence you shoved his chest back a bit. His beating from Lucifer making it slightly easier to do so. Speaking of the devil, he watched you unleash your anger, gazing at you with amusement and satisfaction.

"Good! You know what, I should have sided with him during that rebellion! Because he seemed to have the right idea! Heaven might have been perfect for you, but it was hell to me! I was beneath all of you, an errand girl for you to degrade, treat like shit!"

Lucifer pulled you back a little when he saw the anger in his brother's eyes. You were mortal now after all. You let out a cruel laugh, though there were tears in your eyes.

"Do you want to know the best part it all?"

Your laughter died down, and you gave him a cynical smile.

"I don't owe the Silver City a goddamn thing anymore, you think you were punishing me? You freed me, you and all your kind can go to hell, because if anyone belongs there it certainly isn't Lucifer."

Amenadiel opened his mouth to say something, taking what he probably assumed was a menacing step towards. But Lucifer rested his hands on your shoulders, daring his kin to try something. You didn't seem fazed though.

"Run back home and lick your wounds like the obedient lapdog you are. I'm not wasting any more words on you."

Amenadiel clenched his fists in repressed rage, but said nothing, not in any condition to fight his brother. He was gone in a blink, and you felt all the energy drain out of you. Lucifer caught you as your legs gave out, and he smiled proudly at you.

"You were marvelous love, I'd nearly forgotten how sharp your tongue can be."

You laughed breathlessly, and he brushed your hair away from your eyes.

"How do you feel?"

You smiled up at him, the heavy feeling finally lifting from your shoulders.

"Free."

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

Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @kelly-n-russell @aiofheavenandhell @beththedemonhunter

[kpopxx]

Spy Games [Chapter 1] : More Than It Seems

Characters: Twice Momo, Male Reader

4579 words

Authors Note: This is literally the first fiction writing I have done since I was a little kid writing stories about a town full of hamburgers. I was inspired to try my hand at writing by the plethora of amazing kpop smut writers out there right now, but by @lockefanfic​, @nsfwtwicecatcher​, @nsfwflint​, and @ggidolsmuts​ in particular. If there are any similarities between my writing and theirs, please forgive me as I’ve spent more hours than I’d care to admit “researching” their work. 

One thing that amazes me is how the hell everyone cranks out thousands of words with such frequency, as this post isn’t even 5k and it took forever to write. I can’t begin to explain how much respect I have for all the authors out there who can write so much and maintain such high levels of quality.

As a new writer, I welcome any and all feedback! Feel free to drop me a line if you have any critiques, or if you just want to chat!

***

“Coming up on the target now.” 

“Roger that, remember the office is on the top floor. Let us know when you’re inside. And remember, no elevators...” teases your handler, Choa.

“Thanks for the reminder,” you reply sarcastically.

You survey the skyscraper against the night sky--it would be impressive if it weren’t one of a hundred just like it downtown Seoul--and wonder what you had done to deserve getting the short end of the stick. Of course, you knew there was a reason to avoid the elevators: they sat directly in front of the building’s concierge and the cameras in the lobby, while the stairwell lay in a remote part of the first floor. The logic behind your impending hike didn’t make the reality any less abhorrent.

“Meanwhile, Seolhyun gets to infiltrate an organization in the Caymans. Just my fucking luck.” you grumble to yourself.

“Oh, stop whining, you big baby,” says Choa, reminding you to keep your thoughts to yourself.

You sneak past the lobby and towards the back of the floor you find the entrance to the stairwell in a poorly lit area.

“Beginning my climb.” you report, shaking out your legs as you prepare to go up.

“Sir, I-I’m getting some interference over comms,” chimes in the timid voice of the girl you knew to be your newest team member, Yoo Jeongyeon. “It could just be local chatter, but I want to make sure it’s not someone trying to listen in.”

“Probably nothing to worry about, but we’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to worry about.” Choa assures you. 

As you climb up the stairs, you wonder why anyone would want to listen in on this particular mission. This was a run-of-the-mill operation to investigate money laundering at an accounting firm. You’d infiltrated foreign governments, broken into and bugged the offices of billionaire CEOs, and tailed enemy agents. You could understand people wanting to hear those comms, but this? Either someone wanted something to listen to as a sleep aid, or this mission was more interesting than it looked.

A tip had come in through one of the new girls at the Intel Desk reporting that there was some fishy activity related to organized crime going on at the accounting firm. This was routine and you’d gone on dozens of similar recon missions before: break in, find suspicious intel, get out. But if someone wanted so badly to hear what was going on, the new girl may have stumbled onto something worthy of a promotion. Hayoung, you think her name was. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair along with her well-endowed physique reminded you of a young mother, but her mature beauty belied her young age. You had caught yourself more than a few times fantasizing about her in your off hours…

You stop mid-way in the stairwell, scolding yourself for losing focus. Too often over the course of the last year you found yourself fantasizing about the women in your life. Sure, before the incident with Eunha you had sexual thoughts about your coworkers--you were surrounded by beautiful women, after all. But recently you noticed that your life was increasingly preoccupied with sex: both in your thoughts and the real-life exploits you carried out. 

Much longer than a few minutes later, you reach the 63rd floor out of breath and sweating, wishing more than ever that it was you and not Seolhyun lounging on the beach. You take a moment to compose yourself before peeking out into the office floor to see if the coast is clear.

“We may have a problem, boss. Jeongyeon looked into the comms disturbance and someone much more sophisticated than the average joe is definitely trying to tap in,” Choa says. “Jeongyeon’s kicking their ass right now blocking their access, but there’s only so much she can do alone. Eventually we’re going to lose control of this channel.”

“Dammit. I knew something was off with this op,” you grumble. “If they want to listen in to whatever I find, it must be important. We’ll go dark. Recon says this should be a quick in and out anyways. I’ll tag you once I’m out.”

“Be careful. Signal us if anything goes wrong. Just don’t do anything stupid.” replies Choa. 

“What do you think they pay me all this money for?” you tease, wanting to put her nerves at ease. “See you on the other side. Over and out.”

You could hear the concern in her voice. Even though keeping you safe was part of her job, you knew she cared about you. You also knew as well as she did that anything could go wrong even in the five minutes it would take you to break in, especially when it appeared that someone knew exactly what you were doing.

You switch off your comms link and head out the door and into the office.

It looked exactly as you expected--rows and rows of non-descript cubicles, with a princely office lined with glass walls occupying the far corner. Jeongyeon had retrieved the floor plan by hacking into the building’s security database earlier in the week, and you knew after her effort tonight in detecting and fending off the comms interference that Choa would want you to acknowledge the work the new girl had been putting in. She certainly was more skilled than the five previous team members you’d fired after Eunha, but you found it difficult to bring yourself to praise her. The Ops Officer position she occupied was a sore point for you, after all.

You deftly pick the lock on the corner office door and immediately sit down in front of the terminal on the desk, logging in with the security bypass Jeongyeon drew up. 

Again your thoughts drift to Eunha. Eunha was your longtime Ops Officer--highly skilled, you trusted her more than anyone. It also helped that she was your fiance. It made you sad to think about her; about what could have been, what should have been. Over the past year, you were constantly reminded of her absence by the utter incompetence of her replacements. You suppose it was nice that at the very least, Jeongyeon didn’t give you many opportunities to bemoan her performance in the same way--to remind you of Eunha.

You shake your head, compelling yourself to rise out of your funk and get on with the mission.

As you scroll through files, you stop on one with a familiar signature. Reading its contents, your eyes open wider--suddenly you understand why someone would be interested to listen in to your communications. You quickly save the file to your flash drive and stand up to leave, only to be startled by a figure in the doorway.

“Care to tell me what’s on that?” comes a familiar voice from the darkness that you knew to be Hirai Momo’s. Momo was an agent for a foreign espionage agency--you had as friendly a rivalry as you could have when working for different governments. 

“What was the point of trying to hack our comms if you were just going to show up and ask me that?”

“I had no intention of coming until you decided to ghost your girlfriends,” teases Momo. “Besides, I like showing you how much better I am at sneaking around.”

Momo flicks on the light and she comes into focus. The Japanese government made a good decision when they hired her, you think. She was built for the job of a seductive spy. Her perfectly toned legs had a lovely sheen all the way up to her short skirt, while her cleavage suggested that her tits were ready to burst out of her tight, patterned blouse. Where most of your attention was drawn, however, was her lustrous blue hair, which fell to her shoulders.

“I may actually need your help with this, once you see what’s on it,” you say, nodding your head at the flash drive.

“Oh, so you’re willing to give it to me? I thought I was going to have to fuck you for it,” she says sarcastically. You knew behind the humor was more than a nugget of truth, though. Sex had been the primary vehicle for information trading with Momo over the years. You decide to test your reading of the situation.

“Just because I need your help doesn’t mean I’m giving it for free…”

Momo brings her thumb to her mouth and bites gently as she ponders your not-so-subtle proposition. She takes her turn to look you up and down, making you feel more than a little self conscious in her gaze of judgment. After so many years in the dangerous world of espionage, there were only a handful women who could make you feel so small. Then again, Momo was no regular girl. 

Once she’s satisfied she has properly appraised your worth, Momo lets go of her thumb and straightens her blouse.

“Fine,” she says matter-of-factly, “let’s get to it,” unbuttoning her blouse as she walks towards you.

You are surprised by the lack of fight she put up, but you thought it best to keep that to yourself. Her tone reminds you of a business meeting--that is, if you hadn’t seen her pull her top off as she approached you. She sits in your lap on the chair, wrapping her arms around your neck as you meet her lips for a kiss. Momo’s mouth was familiar to you, introduced to you many times throughout your career. It seemed like every time you ran across her you had sex. One thing you adored about your relationship with her was that it was absolutely without strings attached. You fucked for work, but just because it was part of the job didn’t mean you both didn’t enjoy it. 

Momo, however, was loath to admit the pleasure she got out of her liaisons with you. Call it pride, call it being professional, whatever--Momo refused to act like sex with you was anything other than work, no different than working in a spreadsheet.

You feel her reach down to your pants, quickly unbuttoning them as she sinks to her knees in front of you. You smirk--her eagerness to please you betrayed her air of ambivalence.

Momo wastes no time getting down to business. You are certain the Japanese trained her very well in tender foreplay, but it seems she doesn’t care much for subtlety at the moment. Instead, she utilizes a more direct method to extract your pleasure--one that must have required its own fair share of training--as she spits on your cock before immediately forcing it as deeply in her mouth as she can take it. One, two, three bobs is all it takes for her to reach the base of your cock, her nose buried in your pelvis.

“Fuuuck me, that’s good,” you groan as you hold her head in place for several seconds, and Momo replies in turn with a cough that spits a healthy serving of saliva on to your cock. You release your grip on the back of her head to give her a chance to breathe, but she surprises you when she simply continues to work her mouth on your increasingly saliva-drenched cock, swirling her tongue around your base. Most of the other women you had slept with in recent months would be gasping for air by now, but Momo’s demeanor was cool, calm, and collected. Almost as if she was reading your mind, Momo paused her slurping and pulled her mouth off your shaft--but not forgetting to continue stroking it with achingly deft corkscrew motions.

“What’s the matter? Girls in your department not able to take care of your cock like a real woman?” Momo clicks her tongue and grins. “I’ve told you for years, you’d never be treated so poorly if you came to work for a professional outfit like ours.”

“Shut up and suck my cock.”

Momo shrugs, and gets back to the task at hand. Slobbering even more as she takes you into your mouth again, you pause to thank your lucky stars that you had a job that paid you in part to fuck women like Momo. You gaze upon her face, which has become just as messy as your cock. Momo’s sloppy blowjob has not only left liberal amounts of spit on your cock, but on her face as well--with strands of her blue hair plastered to her cheeks. Even though you thought it impossible, you feel your cock get harder at the sight of Momo’s messy face.

For several minutes, Momo continues inhaling your cock as you find yourself nearing the point of no return, you yank Momo’s head off your throbbing cock in order to prolong your session. A bit too forcefully, it seems, as Momo falls over onto her side.

“What the fuck!” yelps Momo as she picks herself back up, glaring at you. “I suck your cock and you thank me by throwing me on the ground?

“I didn’t mean to, I’m just not ready to cum yet. We both know you would’ve ignored me if I had asked you to stop.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” Momo replies sheepishly. You knew from previous run-ins with her that she loved nothing more than swallowing cum. Even though you had just denied her that favor, you were already thinking about how to make it up to her in a few minutes.

“How about I repay your kindness? Get up on the table and let me eat you.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I’ll get up on the table, but you’re going to fuck me.”

“Someone’s eager to see what’s in this thumb drive,” you tease, inadvertently reminding yourself that this was a transactional liaison. You suspected that Momo’s interest in you extended beyond her desire for the information at hand, and part of you yearned to take her outside of the confines of work. You’re skeptical such a day would ever come, however, given how ambitious Momo was. 

You knew her story--she applied for a job in the Japanese spy agency several years ago, making it all the way through the process before being cut at the very end. She ended up receiving an offer shortly after one of the other finalists died in a ‘training accident’, but Momo lived with a chip on her shoulder ever since. She lived and worked with a pathological drive to prove the agency wrong in their original decision to cut her. Already the youngest lead operative in her country’s history, she had an eye on the directorship and seemed destined for it. So, you supposed, it was nice to be able to fuck her before she became famous.

Momo hops on up on the desk, hiking up her skirt to reveal a delicious-looking blue thong that matches her hair. She looks behind towards you with lust heavy in her eyes as she pulls her thong to the side, revealing her glistening pussy--already dripping, you noted.

“I don’t have all night.”

More than happy to oblige, you line your painfully throbbing cock up with her pussy and you can feel the warmth radiating from it. You take a second to appreciate Momo’s incredible physique as your hands graze downward from her upper back, to her hips, and finally to her ass. As you rub it, you cannot help but appreciate how sublimely taut it is. 

“Jeeze, you act like this is the first time you’ve seen a woman naked,” Momo jabs, interrupting your reverie.

You are starting to get annoyed with Momo’s demeanor. It was nothing new, really--she always carried an air of superiority--but it nonetheless grates on your nerves to see her be so dismissive. You are mature enough to understand that at least a part of this aggravation had to do with the fact that you knew Momo slept with plenty of men for work. Not so mature, however, to be able to stifle the primal urge deep inside of you that wanted Momo to see you as the best of all her lovers. More than ever, it seemed that sexual vanity mattered a great deal to your self-confidence.

With a renewed sense of purpose and your cock in hand, you enter Momo slowly with a long stroke until you fill her to the hilt. In unison with your initial insertion, Momo lets out a whine that crescendos as you bottom out.

As you begin to thrust in and out Momo settles in and widens her stance ever so little, which has the added benefit of allowing you to go even deeper into her warm, wet pussy. Momo was not a girl of surprises. Her face was gorgeous, capable of angelic beauty and fiery lust. Her body reflected the many hours she spent in the gym with ample breasts, insanely tight abs, and a toned ass to match. Her pussy feels exactly as sublime as her beautiful face and incredible body suggested. The perfect combination for a woman who used her body to seduce and take advantage of brainless men. You decide to push out your mind the realization that at this very moment, you are in fact one of those men.

You wanted to make sure Momo felt each and every drive into her hot flesh. Momo continued to moan quietly, each breath punctuated with a new thrust and the sound of your skin meeting hers.

“Looks like someone’s gotten real quiet all of a sudden,” you say, noticing her haughty attitude had subsided as pleasure took you both over.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Momo says, looking back at you with rekindled determination in her eyes, “you’re no better than half the guys I’ve been with. I’m here for the file, not for whatever you call this.” She cooly turns her head to face front again, leaving you seething.

Your twinge of annoyance was now a bubbling boil.

You slow down before withdrawing your cock from her warmth--Momo lets out the faintest whine of disappointment, betraying her dissatisfied front.

Just as Momo turns her head again to complain, you quickly slam your cock deep inside her. Momo yelps, and you notice her eyes bulge as you move your hips in a circular motion with your cock filled to the hilt, scraping deep inside her pussy. After several seconds of this you grab a makeshift ponytail out of her hair and yank backwards, causing her to gasp and arch her back instinctively. As much as she bothered you with her air of indifference, you had to admit that the image in front of you was the stuff of dreams.

Taking advantage of the highly erotic sight before you and the increased leverage offered by your grasp of her hair, you began to truly fuck her with quick and powerful strokes.

“Take it, Momo,” you grunted, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead.

Momo said nothing, emitting only breathless gasps from her open mouth. You noticed that their intensity was gradually increasing, so you increased the speed of your shaft penetrating her young, sinful body. You knew she was enjoying this, but you wouldn’t be satisfied until you broke her facade. You wanted her to lose herself to you.

You speed up even more, and the volume of your skin slapping together increases as her pussy drips wetter and wetter, mixing with your leaking precum. You are slamming your cock into her now, and Momo has to grab on to the table to steady herself. Slowly but surely her pretense was crumbling.

“You want it, don’t you Momo? You want more?”

“Fuck yeah,” Momo gasps hoarsely, struggling to speak with her hair being pulled, “Give it to me...o-oh...fuck, give it to me!”

Satisfied that she had succumbed to her pleasure, you relax your grip on her hair slightly and lean over to growl in her ear.

“I’ll give it to you. I’m gonna make sure you remember this, make sure every time you’re with another man you wish it was me.”

Momo acknowledges your promise with a deep groan, giving you great pleasure as you resumed fucking her gorgeous body.

Your eyes drift downward to her glorious ass, now shining with sweat and jiggling violently with each crash of your cock inside her. Inspired by the sight, you release her hair and put one hand on her hip and begin striking her ass with your other. Momo shrieks in surprise, but quickly looks back at you with lidded eyes while biting her lip to tell you she wanted more.

Again you oblige, and it was quickly becoming clear that lust and pleasure were staging a coup of Momo’s senses. She’s making lots of noise, but nothing intelligible. Nothing but guttural moans interspersed with high-pitched squeals. You continue spanking her ass, alternating cheeks--noticing a deep pink beginning to form on both. She’d most likely be dealing with soreness for several days after this, you think.

“You wanna cum, Momo? Cum for me, I know you want to.”

“Mmmmm...Ah, ah, AH! Unggghh,” comes Momo’s response.

“Come on Momo, fucking cum baby...cum all over this cock,” you shout, sincerely hoping there was no one working in an adjacent floor to hear.

“FUUUUCK!” Momo screams eloquently, suddenly dropping her head as her body begins convulsing. You knew what to expect having slept with her before, but you are nonetheless surprised to see how completely overtaken her body was by pleasure. Her upper body jerks spastically as her legs tremble with your cock plunged deep inside her pussy, all the while letting out a high-pitched whine that turns into a soft whimper. Just a few minutes before she was defiant and happy to throw insults at you...now she was a mewling, writhing mess incapable of speaking. The dark, primal part of you is satisfied by her tacit recognition of your talent.

After a short while, Momo begins to compose herself and lifts her upper body from the table. You take it as a sign to slowly resume taking your cock in and out of her. You decide to give her now glowing pink ass a rest and caress her back, tracing long lines with your nails.

“Mmmmm, that feels good,” Momo says, her eyes still closed, “you fuck me so good.”

You slowly begin ramping up the pace, rolling your hips with each stroke. You want to make sure your cock pleases every inch of Momo’s pussy, and make sure it craves you when she’s alone at night. 

After several minutes of this tender, softer version of lovemaking, Momo comes back to her senses. She arches her back again and turns her head to gaze in your eyes as you continue to take her. She begins to move her ass back and forth on your cock in unison with your own strokes.

“Oh my god, you feel so good in my fucking pussy! Every...fucking...stroke!” Momo gasps, the final words punctuated by the force of her majestic ass crashing against your cock.

“You’re a bad girl, Momo,” you tease, “you like being taken and shown who’s boss, don’t you? You like me grabbing your hair and slapping your ass?”

“Yes!” she gasps, “Yes I love it! Mmmmm...I want you to fuck me until you cum. Fuck me until you cum!”

There was no command in the world easier to follow.

Satisfied that you had fulfilled your vain, immature desire to see her acknowledge your skill as a lover, you now focus yourself on extracting pleasure from the young woman beneath you. You settle into a pace with rough strokes, fiercely pounding her over and over. Your pleasure rises with each thrust, aided not only by the mindblowing caress of her pussy, but by the incredible sight of Momo on all fours before you moaning with each strike of your cock inside her.

“Fuck Momo...I don’t think I have much longer, I’m gonna fucking cum so hard!”

“Yes,” comes the response from Momo, “Yes, yes! Fucking cum baby, I want your cum so bad!”

A few more thrusts and you can feel the point of no return coming. For a brief moment you contemplate cumming inside Momo, to truly claim her. You quickly reconsider, wanting to give her what she truly wanted--to swallow your load.

And so, you quickly withdraw your cock from Momo’s now sopping wet pussy and she instinctively turns around and drops to her knees on the floor. Stroking your cock with great fervor, her mouth wide open begging for what was to come.

“Please give me your cum, please, please! I want it...I need it! Cum for me!”

Your head tilts backward as a long groan escapes your lips. Your cum explodes from your shaft, shooting long, thick ropes of semen into her mouth and onto her cheeks and nose. Over and over, your cum splashes on her beautiful face until you finally reach the end of your orgasm, panting and exhausted. Momo’s face is a pornographic picture of lust, her eyes rolled back in pleasure as she swallows the mass of cum you deposited in her mouth.

“I fucking love your cum,” Momo says as she wipes the remaining cum off her face with her finger and promptly brings it to her tongue before swallowing it down as well.

“I’m glad we were both able to get what we wanted,” you say, struggling to catch your breath.

“Speaking of getting what I wanted…” Momo says, nodding her head to the part of the floor where the USB drive now sits, evidently thrown from the table during the session that had just taken place.

“Right,” you say, suddenly remembering you’re here for work, “make a copy and let’s get out of here.”

“Great,” says Momo, still on the floor with a satisfied smile of content on her face, “Hey, I meant what I said about having you join our team. As much shit as I give you, we could really use someone with your talent.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m better off staying put. Don’t think the Korean government would let me live if I tried defecting.”

“Probably true,” says Momo as she begins picking up her clothes, “Never hurts to ask, though.”

***

A few minutes later, you and Momo had both gotten dressed and copied the file onto a drive for her. Momo disappeared into an adjoining hallway and you set off to traverse the stairwell again. As you prepare yourself for the descent, you also steel yourself for the repercussions of giving the intel to a foreign spy agency. With the information you saw in the file, you knew the Japanese would have to be looped in sooner or later. If it was going to happen eventually, you thought it made the most sense to entrust that intel to the agent on the other side you knew would make sure things got done correctly. As logical as it seemed to you, however, you knew it wouldn’t be taken well back at the office.

You click on your comms link, now knowing there’s nothing to fear. 

“Hey Choa, I’m on my way back to the rendezvous.”

“Oh thank god! That took forever, I was about to call for a tac team!” Choa sighs with audible relief, “I take it you got everything you needed?”

“Got more than I needed, actually,” you say, nervous about Choa’s reaction to what you say next, “Listen, there’s one small thing you should know...”

“You did WHAT?!”

[nctsjiho]

No Chance

warnings: none

era: 2020, MAW promotion era

❀ Protective Jaehyun just knows when someone is up to no good

“Could I maybe take you out on a date?” JiHo’s quirked her brow at the sudden question. She was flipping through the photobook of the album she had just received and wasn’t quite sure if what she just heard was real. “Hmm?” She hummed questioningly, urging for the person in front of her to repeat his words.

Noticing JiHo’s expecting gaze the boy lowered his head and raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I mean… It’s just that I really admire you, sunbaenim. So I wondered if maybe we could get something to eat sometime.” He stuttered through his words. “Oh! And I also think you’re very pretty…” The nervous boy added quickly.

Not once did JiHo expect a confession when a newly debuted boy group entered the dressing room of NCT U – JiHo was just visiting ‘Make A Wish’ team during their promotions – to introduce themselves and hand them their first album. Jaehyun had nudged her shoulder when he noticed the, what he called, ‘longing’ stares of some of the rookies when JiHo had complimented their outfits and cheered them on with a friendly – Jaehyun would say ‘too friendly’ – smile. The older boy had told her that even though the new group looked very tired, JiHo couldn’t just be super nice and inviting towards everyone to which JiHo retorted: “I never knew ‘You got this guys!’ was being too nice”.

Now, after hearing the new idol’s unexpected confession JiHo thought back to Jaehyun’s warning, but she still didn’t regret being nice towards the group. After all they did just debut in a pandemic and knowing they were from a very small company she wasn’t too sure about their future. She wished them the best, but the group even told her they weren’t sure if they were going to be able to perform on many other music shows. This time was their first and mayhap their last.

JiHo watched as the rookie idol shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, you seem like a cool guy, but that doesn’t sound like a good idea.” A sympathetic smile proceeded to form on JiHo’s face. What JiHo didn’t expect was for the boy to try his luck once more. “Maybe if we get to know each other better? We could exchange phone numbers.”

He had already grabbled at his back pocket for his phone but when he looked back at the girl he was met with a raised hand, palm facing him. “Listen, I don’t really want to date anyone either-“ “I’m sorry, we could just get to know each other as friends. You know, I’d also like that. Just friends-“ JiHo’s earlier sympathetic smile faded as she now felt bad for the guy and also slightly put off by him.

The guy stopped talking and JiHo took it as if he finally got the hint and decided to back off. He took a step back, distancing himself from the girl – which was when JiHo noticed how close he had gotten to her – and then bowed in apology. “I’m sorry sunbae, that was completely out off line. I hope you can forgive me.” JiHo shook her head. “It’s okay, let’s just forget about it.�� The boy nodded, his eyes seemed to twitch and he then excused himself out of the room.

A deep sigh left JiHo’s lips and she turned her head to her left. “You didn’t have to scare him away, I’m sure he would’ve left any second now.” JiHo explained and let herself fall on the couch, her eyes fell on the album next to her. “How did you know I was here?” Jaehyun asked confused and then joined JiHo on the couch. “That poor boy’s eyes filled with fear, I saw how his eyes were shaking.”

It was silent for a second before Jaehyun started talking. “He wasn’t going to leave by the way. He was so insistent on getting you to agree with him on, well, anything. So you should thank me.” A sarcastic chuckle left JiHo’s lips at the words. “And how would you know?” “Guys can be real creeps. You don’t know how many we have dealt with for you without you knowing. I can recognise them anywhere.”

JiHo sat up in her seat, eyes wider than Jaehyun had ever seen before as she now looked at him. “What? Why didn’t I know about this? When? Where did this happen? How many times? How-“ “Okay JiHo! Calm down first.” Jaehyun and JiHo both turn to the door where they see Taeyong walking in followed by Jaemin and Xiaojun, the other boys entering a few seconds afterwards.

“So it’s true?” Taeyong sighed and walked up to her. “Well, yeah. You’re a girl and have a lot of male fans, that stuff happens. And even though I think it would’ve been better if Jaehyun didn’t tell you about this.” He glared at the younger boy, who, rightfully so, looked a bit flustered. “You know now, but you don’t have to worry about it, the managers, the staff and if necessary, we, the boys, will make sure nothing happens to you and you won’t even know of the existents of those creeps.”

JiHo scoffed in disbelief. “Make sure nothing happens? What are you even talking about? Who’s trying to do what to me?” Jaehyun grabs JiHo by the shoulder. “Nothing. No one is doing anything to you. Just- Just trust me when I say that rookie idol is no good.” JiHo couldn’t wrap her mind around what had been said, but rather than asking more questions – she didn’t even know where to start if she did – she just accepted what her two friends said and let herself fall back on the couch.

“What’s this?” The newest Japanese member, Shotaro, held up a piece of paper he retrieved from the album he noticed placed on the couch. JiHo grabbed it and analysed what was written on it. On it she saw a phone number along with a name. “I hope we can get close in the future” Was scribbled on the other side of the paper.

Jaehyun snatched the piece of paper out of the girl’s hand when he caught sight of the poorly drawn heart on the note. He scoffed before ripping the paper apart. “If someone is going to even try dating you, he should at least be able to draw a simple heart.” JiHo watched the boy slack-jawed. Jaehyun reached his hand out, finger placed on the underside of the girl’s chin and he pushed it up to close her mouth. “And his handwriting sucks. This loser can’t actually think he even has a chance with you.”

---

Side note: I have no clue if there was a rookie group that promoted along side NCT U during MAW era, if so, that’s not the same group as the one mentioned in this writing. This group is completely made up (you might have noticed I also didn’t mention any names) and has absolutely no connection with a real kpop group. The same goes for the rookie idol, he’s completely made up and has no connection to any idol in the real world.