#it's so much longer than most of the ones i make

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 3

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, comfort and control, hurt/comfort (if you squint)

A/N: Reading all your comments and reblogs always makes me smile! This part is a bit longer than the rest. I wanted to focus on building her trust and relationship with the boys, so there will be much more interactions and intimacy than the previous parts. I hope you all enjoy!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 3:

If You Stay

You don’t remember falling asleep. But you remember waking up.

The guest room is dim, wrapped in soft shadows, the silk sheets pulled up to your chin. The faint scent of rain and cedar lingers in the air—Jinu, you think distantly. It clings to your skin like a memory. One you shouldn’t have.

You must’ve fallen asleep after your talk with the boys in the afternoon. You’d admit, that did take a toll on you, and you were still feeling quite unwell from yesterday’s events. Hangovers don't just go away in a few hours. One of the boys must’ve carried you in here.

You sit up slowly. Your headache from earlier is gone. But something inside still hums. A weight behind your ribs. A tugging sensation that pulses faintly… toward them.

You still had too many questions you needed answers to. They said they were demons, so why are they here? They didn’t look like demons. They were sinfully beautiful, so you assume that definitely plays a part in it. Why did they sell their souls to Gwi Ma? Who was this Gwi Ma? Who were you to each of them in your past life? Just how many past lives have you had exactly? 

And most importantly, if they were demons hundreds of years old, why in the flying fuck are they in a K-pop idol group?

There’s a knock at the door, ceasing your thoughts. You freeze. But it doesn’t open.

“Y/N?” It’s Romance’s voice, low and careful. “Dinner’s ready. If you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away.

Not because you don’t want to. But because you’re afraid of what it means that you do. Still—you follow the sound.

The dining room is too elegant for six people. The table could seat twelve, But only one side is set—six seats arranged close together. The lighting is warm, soft. As if they’d planned for comfort. For your nerves.

The boys are already seated. But they all rise the moment they see you. Romance is the first to move, pulling out your chair with a slow, exaggerated flourish. “Right here, angel.”

You meet his eyes and you feel the pull again. He’s looking at you with the most tender expression. Like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him. 

And you were.

Plates are filled before you can ask. Abby gently sets a bowl of soup in front of you—your favorite kind. You don’t remember telling them that. You’re not even sure you remember liking it until the smell hits you. Baby places a glass of water before you and you suck in a nervous breath as you feel a light kiss on the crown of your head. 

You’d never been treated like this before. Cherished. Not even by your own family. It was so foreign, you doubted it could be real. 

But as you gazed at each and every one of them, you could see it in their faces. The quiet relief. The tenderness. Their want to do these things for you. It was a feeling you had to get used to.

You didn’t touch the food right away. You just stared down at the dark wooden table, the linen napkin folded too neatly on your lap, and the spoon resting next to a bowl that smelled like home. If home had five soul-bound demons who watched you breathe.

Jinu watches carefully from across the table. He hasn’t touched his food.

“Eat,” he says quietly. “You’ll need your strength.”

You hesitate.

Romance spoke next. “If you’re waiting for poison, don’t worry. We only do that to each other.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. It was too much. All of it. You took a small sip. And then another. And the warmth spread to places in you that hadn’t been warm in months. You sighed, strangely feeling so much more at ease.

Romance leans closer. His voice is honey and hooks. “You’re still not feeling well during the day, right?”

You nod. Slowly. 

“That’s the bond,” Jinu says. “It’s active. But unstable.”

“The further you are from us,” Abby adds, “the worse it’ll get.”

“I’ve been alone for years,” you mutter, fingers tightening around your spoon. “I’ll be fine.”

“No,” Baby says from the end of the table. Quiet. Sharp. “You won’t.” You flinch at his tone. But it doesn’t feel cruel—just true.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Romance sets his fork down and places his chin in his palm, eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You’re not a prisoner, you know.”

Your brow furrows.

He smiles. “We’re not keeping you here. But…we did have this place built for you.”

Your eyes snapped to him. "What do you mean you had it built for me?"

Romance’s smile was soft. Too soft. "Darling, this whole place was bought and designed for you. For when we found you. We just live in it."

You blink.

Had they been waiting for you that long? You hadn’t really thought about it before. The logistics of their story hadn’t fully registered. 

“You’d have your own space,” Jinu says softly, ever the diplomat. “A guest room. With a lock, if that makes you feel safer.”

Abby immediately frowns. “Why can’t she just stay in her room-room?” he grumbles, arms crossed. “It’s closer to mine.”

Your brows knit together. “Wait. My room?”

Romance’s smile is slow and feline, like he’s been waiting for that moment. “Of course. We had it ready since… well. A while.”

You blink. That didn’t answer your question.

Jinu doesn’t flinch. “Because that room doesn’t have a lock.”

Abby scowls, muttering something under his breath. Romance hums beside you. “Wouldn’t want one anyway.”

You whirl on him. “What was that?”

He holds up both hands in mock surrender, grinning like the devil. “Just saying. But okay, okay—guest room with a lock. For now.”

There’s a silence. Then Mystery murmurs almost too quietly: “…We’d break it if we had to.”

Your stomach twists. They’re joking. You hope they’re joking.

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Mystery pipes again. He’s seated closest to you, his plate untouched. His eyes never leave your hands. He wanted to grasp them. Feel your warmth. Feel your hands massage his hair just as you used to in your past life. He swallowed.

You press your lips together. It’s not that you don’t believe them. It’s that you do. And that terrifies you.

Romance watches the doubt dance across your face. He leans forward, just enough that you’re forced to look at him.

“You don’t have to say yes forever,” he says, voice low and intimate. “Just… stay. For now. Let your body heal. Let the bond stabilize. You don’t even have to talk to us. We’ll keep our distance if that’s what you want.”

At least that’s what she’ll think. Romance thinks to himself. With these guys? Yeah right.

You don’t speak. His voice softens. “You’ve been carrying this alone for so long, haven’t you? You’re getting sick. Dizzy. Faint.”

Your throat tightens.

“You’re tired. You’re having headaches. And we’re the only ones who can ease it. You feel that. So why are you still punishing yourself?”

You try to deny it. To push the tears back. But his words hit something raw. And real.

“I’m not trying to punish myself,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll let you suffer for it.”

"You’ll be safe," Abby added gruffly. "No one touches you here. No one even gets close."

The silence that follows is thick. Your breathing is shallow. Their words registering. Was it really so bad? Letting them care for you? Being here with them. Having them treat you like you’ve never been treated before? 

Why were you still fighting it? There was so much you didn’t know, but as of this moment, you did know one thing. That they loved you in your past life. And love you still. Did that count? They yearn for you, and have been for lifetimes. And you knew deep in your heart you were starting to feel the same. Was that really so bad? 

To let them in? 

They were strangers, but they weren’t. They claim to be yours, so why do you keep questioning it? 

Then, slowly—almost in spite of yourself—you nod. “Just… a little while,” you say. “Until I feel better.”

You don’t see the look they share. The way Jinu’s shoulders finally lower. The flicker of possessive triumph behind Romance’s lashes. Or the way Mystery exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you left him last.

You don’t see any of it. But you feel it. The shift. The settling. Something ancient and invisible clicks into place behind your ribs. And you don’t fight it anymore.

The bond sighs.

They insist on collecting your things that night. “We’ll go,” Abby says immediately. “You stay. Rest.”

“No, I—” You start, but Jinu raises a hand. “You’re still weak. If the bond flares while you’re alone, it could be dangerous. Let us.”

You glance between them—five men who could tear the world apart for you—and for once, it feels less like a threat and more like a promise.

“…Okay,” you say quietly. “Just—don’t touch my underwear drawer.”

Romance smirks. “No promises.”

“Romance,” Jinu snaps.

Mystery growls.

You sigh. I guess you did need underwear. “Fine. Just… don’t be creepy.”

Abby winks. “We’ll be fast. Promise.”

As they move, as doors open and shoes slip on, you stay behind with Baby, the silent protector watching your every move. But for some reason, it doesn’t scare you now. 

He approaches you, eyes intense and never as wary as the others. Like he’d never be sorry for having you and taking what’s rightfully his. He was silent, but intentional. 

He walks you to your room and you shiver as you feel his large hand on your lower back. He holds the door open for you before briefly muttering a faint “Goodnight, sweetheart” and closing the door shut. And for the first time in weeks… You don’t feel sick.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You sit on the same dining table for breakfast. Jinu had made you some toast sandwiches. The boys looked chirpy. Looks like someone’s in a good mood…

It was still so surreal to them how you were here- having breakfast with them. The very thought of this domestic life with you, caring for you, providing for you like partners almost made them purr in ecstasy. 

You were still in Jinu’s hoodie despite all your clothes laying in messy duffle bags, sleeves swallowing your hands, hair slightly damp from a quick shower. It took much restraint from Jinu to not pull you in his arms the moment you walked out of your room.

His hoodie looked right on you. Like it had always belonged there—like you had always belonged there. You didn’t realize it, but every thread of that oversized fabric clung to you like a memory, like a claim. It smelled like him, and that alone made something feral claw beneath his skin.

His jaw tightened as you crossed the room, bare legs brushing against soft fabric. You moved so carelessly, so trusting, not realizing you were walking a tightrope over a thousand years of obsession. Of agony. Of aching need.

You didn’t know he used to dream about this. That centuries ago, he’d wake from nightmares of you slipping through his fingers only to whisper your name into the night. He had waited lifetimes to see you like this again.

And now? Now, you were right there—wrapped in his scent, in his clothes, in his world—but still unsure if you belonged.

He smiled softly as you reached for a mug, but his hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to cage you to his chest, press his lips to your neck, and whisper, “This time, I’ll never let you die.”

He would never let you go again.

They were all quiet around you, letting you eat in peace. It should’ve been normal. It wasn’t.

"Are you going to work today?" Mystery asked, tilting his head.

"...Yes?"

"We don’t think you should go," Jinu said plainly.

You nearly choked on your toast. Say what now? "I have bills."

"You could quit," Romance offered. "Stay here. Rest. Sketch. Paint. Sleep."

You looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Sure, the offer sounded nice—dreamy, even. But it was the kind of nice that belonged in fairytales. People didn’t just quit their jobs and live off vibes and good intentions. In this economy?

You waited for the punchline… but it never came. They were all staring at you—completely serious. Like quitting your job was the obvious solution. Like it was the answer to every problem you’d ever had.

"What would I even do? Just exist as your little house pet?"

Mystery looked hopeful. Abby smiled. You sighed. "No way. I’m not freeloading."

"You could be our assistant," Abby grinned. "Take notes. Carry snacks. Pet Mystery when he gets upset."

"Not happening."

They let it go.

But Romance’s eyes gleamed. Like he was already planning a way to make it so. 

After breakfast, you went to your room to change into your work clothes. Stepping out and closing the door firmly, you make your way to the kitchen where Jinu hands you another toast claiming you needed another ‘energy boost’ for the day. You take it in thanks and drown out his last ditch effort to convince you to quit, waving him off with a cute smile that shut him up. You make your way to the entrance and stop in your tracks. Abby, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for 8:30 in the morning. His sweatshirt hung loose over his frame, hood drawn up, but there was no hiding that build. Or that face. Or the smirk that crept up the moment he saw you in your work clothes.

"Hello there, sweetheart," he drawled.

You froze, mid-bite, a piece of toast tragically dangling from your mouth. "...If this is another attempt to get me to quit my job, you can turn right back around."

Abby grinned like the smug menace he was. “Sadly, no. I’ve accepted your tragic refusal of our generous sugar-demon lifestyle.”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his hoodie pocket like this was totally normal. “So instead, I’ll be escorting my darling little starshine to work today.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—your what now?”

“My darling. Little. Starshine,” he repeated, grinning wider with each word.

You deadpan, a blush of pink rising to your cheeks. “Try that again and I’ll call HR.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m walking you to work. Orders from the Bond Gods. Or Jinu. Same thing, really.”

“You all really expect me to be escorted to work?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You’re still weak. The bond’s healing you, but slowly. We won’t let you go alone again. Not when you’re like this.”

You hesitate. He steps closer, but not too close. “Let us keep you safe. Just for today.”

“…Fine,” you mutter.

“And tomorrow…”

“Really?”

“And the day after that…”

“Okay, I get it. Fine. But you have to hide.”

He blinks. “Hide?”

“I’m not walking next to Abby from the Saja boys. I’ll be the talk of the entire district. They’ll probably think I’m kidnapped.”

He snorts. “Technically…”

“Abby.”

“Fine, fine.” He pulls his hood lower. “But I draw the line at hiding my abs.”

You roll your eyes. “Just… be normal. Please.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Even in a hoodie and mask, he doesn’t look normal. He looks like a movie star trying not to be recognized—and failing. Your coworkers notice him immediately.

“Y/N…” one of the baristas whispers as you clock in. “Who. Is. That.” 

You pretend not to hear.

Another coworker giggles. “Is he your boyfriend? Oh my god, did you meet him at the club?”

“No!” you say too quickly.

“But he didn’t come inside with us… where did you meet him then?”

You force a laugh. “He’s just a friend. He’s helping me out since I’ve been sick.” 

They seem to buy it—until someone brings up the guy from the other night.

“Hey, what happened to Jae? He said he’d walk you home, but we never heard from him. Did he ghost or something?”

You freeze.

“I, um… ran into someone else before he could. Didn’t see him after that.”

You stare hard at the pastry tray, pretending to adjust the layout. But inside, your stomach twists. What did happen to him?

You’d ask the boys later. …If you wanted the truth. Though, you’re not quite sure if you really do. 

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Your shift drags on longer than usual. Not because of work.

Because of him.

Baby sits at the back corner, hoodie pulled low, sipping a black coffee he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches. Your coworkers whisper, asking if he was an idol or something because he looked too handsome to be just a normal customer. You cringed at that.

It hasn’t really registered until now just how insane it was, really. You were now co-living with one of the rising pop-groups in the country. You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

You try to focus. But you can feel his eyes. Not just looking—possessing. Guarding. Burning. Everytime you talked to a customer (particularly male) you could feel his eyes harden, glaring holes into whoever it was that talked to you. 

One of them tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention, asking with an “excuse me” if he could get some hot sauce with his order. Baby nearly jumped out of his seat if it weren’t for your warning glare. 

You approach the brooding demon, flipping open your notepad. “You’re not subtle, you know.”

He doesn’t smile. “They shouldn’t look at you.”

Your heart thumps. “It’s a customer’s job to look…and order…and ask...”

“They shouldn’t talk, either. Nor should they ever touch.”

You try not to smile. “You’re terrifying.”

His eyes flick up. Dark. Hungry. “Good.”

You bring him a refill anyway. “Behave.”

He doesn’t.

He waits outside when your shift ends, hands in pockets. Doesn’t say a word as you fall into step beside him. The air between you buzzes. You glance over. “Why do you look like someone kicked your favorite pet?”

He doesn’t answer. You poke him in the side. “Baby.”

His jaw flexes. Fighting his control to pull you in closer as people walked by. “I don’t like them talking to you.”

You sigh. “We’ve been over this. It’s my job.”

“You don’t need it.”

“I do.”

“You have us.”

“That’s not a job.”

“You could quit. Let us take care of you.”

“No.”

He frowns, lips twitching down.

“You’re pouting.”

He looks at you, expression unreadable. You reach out, amused, and gently press his cheek. Something shifts. He grabs your hand—fast but gentle—and kisses your knuckles. 

The world slows.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t remember. Even if you never say it.” His eyes hold you in place. Burning. Certain. There’s no hesitation in his voice. No tremble. Just absolute conviction—like he wasn’t stating a hope, but a law of the universe. 

Baby steps closer, the streetlights casting silver on his sharp features. His gaze drops to your lips like he’s already imagining how they’d feel crushed beneath his.

“You don’t have to love me back yet,” he says, voice low and velvet-dark. “But don’t ever think I’ll stop. Even if you don’t want us to take care of you. I’ll keep pushing.”

Your stomach flips. You hate how warm your skin feels. How part of you leans toward him without meaning to. How his scent—like storm-wet pine and danger—makes your fingers twitch with a need you can’t name. His hand lifts to your face, gentle despite the fire in his eyes, knuckles brushing your cheek like you might vanish if he touched too hard.

“If anyone else touches you again,” he adds softly, “I don’t care if they’re your customer. They won’t have hands left to touch with.”

You don’t answer.

But your heart races all the way home.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

After dinner, the boys were gathered on the second floor of the apartment. They had turned it into a studio to practice their choreo for performances. You could hear their music and their footsteps as they danced to the beat. 

You padded around the apartment to explore in the meantime. The apartment was massive. You didn’t realize how massive until you started walking. Every hallway turned into a gallery. Every room had windows tall enough to drown in. You passed a music room, a library, a room full of costumes and stage lights. You had no idea such penthouses existed in the city. But then again, they were demons who’d been in existence for hundreds of years. Who knows how much money they got.

On the kitchen counter, you found a sketchbook. Yours. But filled with things you didn’t remember drawing. Five faces. A moonlit shrine. A shattered sword. You still hadn’t gotten used to drawing what you figured were memories from your past lives. This was evidence in itself that they were telling the truth. You decide not to fight it anymore.

On the dresser, you find an earring. No pair. You picked it up and your chest twisted, it felt a bit familiar.

In the lounge, a scarf folded neatly on a velvet chair. You held it to your face and inhaled. A scent you couldn’t name, but the fabric felt soft. Again, familiar. 

You didn’t know whether to scream or cry. It was like finding single pieces of a gigantic puzzle. You were sure these things meant something to one of them. You’d ask, in time. 

After their practice was over, the boys found you sat in the livingroom. You were reading the book Romance had given you which made him smile. They greeted you one by one, some went off to shower, some to the kitchen for a snack. 

It was Jinu who sat next to you. 

“How’s the choreo going?” you ask, eyes never leaving the page. 

“Good. How’s the book?” He nodded. He knew how badly Romance had wanted to give that to you. 

“Good.” You looked up to softly smile at him. You were halfway through the story. The characters blurred together—tragic lovers separated by fate, drawn to one another through time. A story too close to your own.

Jinu looked at the book title with a gaze you couldn’t recognize. Like he was debating on something he wanted to say. 

“Did you want to hear another story?” 

That piqued your interest. You slowly shut the book, placing it down on the couch as a sign for him to continue. Jinu didn’t look at you. His gaze remained downcast. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. 

“I wasn’t always someone people bowed to.”

You looked up at him. The air around him seemed to change—heavier, stiller. Like his shadow was longer than it had been a second ago.

“I was born in a fishing village by the bay,” he said. “Back when the tides still carried salt and prayers.” 

“My mother was a seamstress. My sister was eight years younger. We were poor. Poor enough to boil weeds and pretend it was soup.”

Your breath caught. His eyes seemed distant. Far away as he recalled his life four hundred years ago. 

“The only thing we owned of value was a bipa. My mother’s. She taught me how to play it before her hands got too swollen to hold the strings.” His eyes went distant, haunted. “I played in the markets for coins. It was never enough.”

He paused, jaw tight. “Then one night, I heard a voice.”

“Gwi Ma offered me everything. Fame. Gold. Silk sheets and stages carved from jade. And I said yes.”

You stared at him. He finally met your eyes—and this time, the pain there was real.

“I left,” he whispered. “Without a word. My mother. My sister. I never even turned around. I don’t know if they lived another week.”

You released a breath as you felt your heart fracture at his words.

“I just… ran. Into the palace. Into adoration. And never looked back.”

He exhaled, eyes heavy with guilt. “The crowds worshipped me. I performed for kings and their consorts. They called me divine. The courtiers fought for my smile. And it still wasn’t enough.”

“I didn’t deserve peace,” he said, voice brittle. “But then I saw you.” His voice softened—fragile like old silk.

“You were a maid. You had ink on your fingers and a habit of humming while sweeping the floors. You didn’t bow. You didn’t flatter. You rolled your eyes at me.”

Your chest tightened. So that’s who you were in your past life when you first met him.

“And when I asked you why… you said I looked lonely.”

A pause.

“I fell in love with you the moment you looked at me like I was a boy. Not a god.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But I made you weak. I brought you too close. It was impossible for someone like you, so pure of heart, to exist in that palace. I should’ve known there would be vipers waiting to strike.”

You didn’t interrupt. You couldn’t.

“There was a concubine who used to love watching me play. She’d call upon me to her chambers for performances. Pay a hefty sum for an appearance in her parties. She saw you and I in one of the pavilions and she didn’t like it.” A look of anguish flashed on Jinu’s face. “I knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out. I wasn’t a fool. I knew the women of the palace liked me for more than just my voice.” His fists tightened on his lap. 

“She poisoned your tea. I found you in the gardens…you…you were still smiling.”

He blinked once. Just once. “You died in my arms. And I didn’t even know how to mourn.”

You stared at him, tears pricking your eyes. You wished so hard to remember. To recall who he was back then. Something, anything, so you could share a memory with him.

“I went back to Gwi Ma. I begged. I offered everything again.” He swallowed. “That’s when the pact began. He told me… if I could bind other demons to your soul, tether you tightly enough, you’d return.” His eyes flicked to yours. He was trembling.

“So I did. I found them. One by one. I gave up pieces of myself to forge the bond. Even if I had to share you, I- I was willing to do anything to have you back. I waited lifetimes. We all did.”

He reached out now, slowly, like you might disappear. “And now you’re here.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your body leaned toward his—drawn like a string was being pulled behind your ribs. He exhaled shakily. “I still don’t know what happened to them. My mother. My sister. I never went back.”

You reached for his hand. Fingers brushing his wrist. It was the gentlest thing you’d ever done. Jinu held onto your touch like a lifeline as the pain of his memories came rushing back.

“I think… they’d forgive you,” you whispered. He laughed softly. Bitter. Grateful. “I don’t.”

And somehow that made you want to forgive him more. You let him pull you closer. Let your head fall beneath his chin, chest pressed lightly to his side. He held you like you might break. Like he didn’t deserve to hold you at all. This was the closest he’s ever been to you since first seeing you in that square. His heart constricted. 

“I won’t make the same mistake again,” he murmured. You felt the words against your scalp. “I will never leave you. Even if it kills me.”

You tilted your head up—slow, searching. His lips hovered a breath away. The look in his eyes was agonizing: pure want, reverence, restraint. He was begging without words.

And maybe you wanted to say yes. Maybe you wanted to close that distance.

But something in you hesitated. The memory of danger still ghosting your ribs. The smell of blood. The crackle of old fire. You shouldn’t want this. He was a demon.

But then again—

He was yours.

Jinu didn’t move. Not really. But his eyes…God, his eyes were starving.

Like a man who hadn’t eaten in centuries and now sat trembling before the one thing he was never allowed to touch. His fingers flexed once on his thigh, like he was holding himself back from grabbing you. From yanking you into his arms and claiming what had always been his.

His lips parted—his breath shallow. “I shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Not yet.”

That almost did it.

Not yet.

Not no.

He wasn’t denying that he wanted to. Only that he was trying—failing—not to. You felt something pulse low in your spine. The bond again. Soft and hot, like a wire coiling tighter. Tighter.

You leaned closer. Not much. Just enough for your shoulder to brush his chest. His breath hitched.

“Y/N…” he warned. Or maybe it was a plea. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

But you did. You knew exactly.

Your hand grazed his chest—over fabric, over his heart. It beat like a war drum under your palm. And he—this ancient thing with a voice like honey and a soul soaked in sin—shook under your touch.

“You waited for me,” you said softly. “Across lifetimes.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “Every night. Every fucking century.”

“And now I’m here,” you whispered.

“And now you’re here.”

He reached up—finally—like a man about to touch something sacred. Fingers grazing your cheek so gently it made you ache. You didn’t flinch this time. You leaned into it. And when he cradled your face in his hands, it wasn’t just touch.

It was claim.

The bond lit up like a match to kerosene—searing, seeping through every crack in your soul like molten gold. You gasped. So did he. His forehead pressed against yours, and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to this.

Him. You. Breath tangled. Thread pulled tight. Two hearts beating like one. 

His voice broke against your mouth.

“I loved you. Before I even knew what love meant. I loved you in that garden. In that palace. In every life you bled through. I loved you while you died in my arms. And I love you now.”

Tears slowly gathered in the corner of your eyes at his confession. Your chest tightening with every word he uttered. Let all reason be damned. Nothing in the world could be more true right now, more real, than this.

Your lips brushed his when you exhaled. You didn’t mean to. You were just breathing—but it was enough.

It shattered him.

He kissed you like he was starving. Like this was his first meal in centuries. Like his immortality had meant nothing without this.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was ruinous. Possessive. His mouth moved against yours like he’d memorized it across time—hungry, reverent, desperate. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And you…

You kissed him back.

Because some part of you remembered. The garden. The incense. The ache of his name in your mouth before it was ever spoken.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand slid to your waist. He groaned low in his throat when you pressed into him, fire threading under your skin, a live wire finally connected.

The kiss slowed. Deepened.

When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes were wild.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You always were.”

And in that moment, you didn’t deny it.

Not this time.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The kiss hadn’t been loud.

Barely a sigh. A whisper of fabric. The faint rustle of limbs and emotion finally giving in.

But they felt it.

From different corners of the apartment, the bond trembled like a shared heartbeat. A hush fell over the rooms like snowfall. Every boy froze.

Abby paused in the hallway with his forehead pressed to the doorframe, eyes shut.

Romance stood motionless in the kitchen, hands tight around the edge of the marble counter, breath held like a confession.

Mystery curled beneath his bedsheets, face half-buried in the sleeve of your old hoodie, his claws twitching against the mattress.

Baby sat in the far window seat of the lounge, unmoving, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable—except for the slight twitch of his jaw.

They knew. They didn’t need to see it. They felt it through the bond—the hum, the spark, the slow unfurling of something sacred.

You kissed Jinu.

And something ancient and knotted in all of them unclenched. Not jealousy. Not really. It wasn’t rage or bitterness that stirred in their chests.

It was relief.

Because Jinu deserved this.

He had waited the longest. He had suffered the most. He had built the very foundation of the Crimson Pact with trembling hands and bloodied knees, driven by the memory of your lifeless body in his arms. He had found them. Bound them. Led them.

And now…He had finally been given a sliver of what he lost.

Abby exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. His hand closed into a fist against the doorframe. “Good for you, hyung,” he whispered.

Romance closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling, the corner of his mouth lifting into a quiet, almost reverent smile. “Took him fucking long enough.”

Mystery blinked slowly, purring low in his throat. “She’s starting to remember,” he murmured into the blankets. “She’s letting herself feel it.”

And Baby… Baby didn’t move. But in his eyes, a hunger lit up. Not the kind that devoured. The kind that waited. That watched from the shadows with claws pressed to his ribs.

It would be his turn soon. He could wait. He’d waited before. But not much longer.

Across the apartment, the bond shimmered—warmer now. Alive in a way it hadn’t been in lifetimes. Each of them felt it. Not just the connection, but the hope.

She’s letting us in. She’s starting to fall again. Their hands twitched. Hearts pounded. Mouths parted with breathless need. And beneath it all, one singular thought pulsed through the Crimson Pact:

Soon, it’ll be me.

Not out of competition. Not to steal the moment. But because you belonged to all of them. And in every life, one by one… you had.

Jinu had always kissed you first.

But he would not be the last. TO BE CONTINUED

───────── ༺🜃༻ ───────── A/N: Huaaah I died inside writing this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this one. The next chapter follows the same theme of relationship building and we'll get to see more intimate moments and backstories of the other boys! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and feel free to Reblog and Like this chapter if you enjoyed it! Till next time! Willa x.

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[twilightofthesandwiches]

Man, this is such an interesting exchange, cause, like… in most stories, when a character says they'd like things to go on forever, that they want something eternal, they're pretty much setting themselves up for a very rude awakening. You know, nothing lasts forever, sometimes you have to learn how to let go, sometimes you need to move on. I mean, that's one of the core themes of Undertale.

Flowey/Asriel's whole motivation in the Pacifist Route is to make the Game go on forever, to put the ending eternally out of reach, to trap Frisk in an infinite time loop because he just can't move on from Chara's death.

Part of the narrative is that if the Player RESETs a Pacifist Route then they are no better than he was, since now they are also yanking everyone away from their Happy Ending so that we can play with them again, because we can't accept the game has Ended. The Murder Route is less focused on that whole theme but you replay it over and over again Chara will basically call you a weirdo for your obsessive clinginess to this world.

Part of Undertale's themes is the importance of an Ending to a story. A True Pacifist Player's true and final act of selflessness is to let go of their desire have things keep going for forever, to give up on Eternity… for the sake of the happiness of every other character in this world, for the sake of their Happy Ending.

On the other hand, as a Wise Dog once said…

Both Undertale and Deltarune love exploring the ways in which the world of a game is different or similar to the real world, how the perspective of a Player is so different from the perspective of an actual character living in this world and... Real Life doesn't have a clear set ending.

The Player is the only one from whom the story just ended. Everyone else just kept living their stories of friendship together, although they probably never experienced something as high-stakes as the events of 'Undertale' ever again. And... when endings do seem to come, they're not going to be as clear-cut and satisfying and clearly communicated as the Game Ending is to the Player.

…But on the other other hand, it is still true that some things in life do end and we do have to accept that. Like… you know, the most famous Ending in life… is Death.

Gerson hears Susie talk about how she wants things to go on forever, but he already decided he has no interest in Eternity himself. He knows that the Three Heroes are here to seal the Fountains that revived him, he knows that when they succeed he'd go back to being a dust-covered hammer, probably never to be revived again and… he's perfectly at peace with that. He's an old man who died from natural causes, he had a long, full and satisfying life, he already had his ending. What's happening now is some weird glorified epilogue, but he knows it will end soon. And that's fine by him, because the time for his story has ended.

He does have one major regret in life, his failure to properly support his son's writing, and he spends all of the time the Dark has given him to try and make up for it. But it's really just a matter of asking Susie to deliver his message. He doesn't try to maintain or expand the Dark World so he could make up for his mistakes or try to pull Alvin in so he could meet him again or find a way to come back to life in the Light World somehow… I wonder if Someone was expecting him to do something like that and that's why they tried to give him that Shadow Crystal, but we all know that didn't work

In a way… we've already seen Susie's rude awakening for her desire for a 'forever'. She formed such a powerful bond with "the Old Man", she definitely would've wanted their time together to last longer, to last as long as it could, to last forever. But that's not possible.

And even his appearance in the Third Sanctuary was kind of a surprise stroke of luck that shouldn't be taken for granted.

The whole point of the Second Sanctuary is that Susie realized that Gerson was dead in the Light World, and trying to cope with this idea, went straight to a kind of denial.

Well, she can just pop over to the Dark World and, like, ask him what the Door Code is, right? No big deal! I mean, it's not exactly like Susie and Kris were really at a dead-end, there were plenty of areas in the Church they haven't checked thoroughly at all (not just the Fire Extinguisher)…

It wasn't because she HAD to do it for the Door Code, it's because she had to do it to reassure herself that her new friend isn't really gone, that maybe he'll be there waiting for her in his study if she just High-Key Stab Reality and Unleash the Flow of Pure Darkness Energy…

But it wasn't that simple. At best you can say his appearance in the Third Sanctuary means that he can manifest in any Church Dark World created by the Knight… but seeing how Susie's whole goal at the moment is to stop the Knight from making more Dark Fountains, that's not exactly increasing her chances to see the Old Man again.

When they go to seal the Fountain, Susie muses about her 'stupid dream' that things will just… stay the same. That she'll keep having fun Dark World adventures with her friends through eternity. But she knows that although Kris fully understands her, that's not what's going to happen. It's both about how the stakes and seriousness of the story have been so overtly raised for her, the Knight and the Titans aren't just an ominous background detail. She has fought them both. But it's also because she is already experiencing an Ending right now. She knows that when Kris seals this Fountain, she will probably never see Gerson again.

…But despite all of that, I don't think the narrative completely rebuke Susie's desire for Eternity. After all, Gerson heard her say that, fully knowing his own fate, and he mostly seemed intrigued? It doesn't seem to waver his belief that she's the one who should be writing the story, that he could count on her to defy fate in the name of Justice. Y'know, Susie wasn't really thinking of the Inevitability of Death at that moment, she was just thinking that… she would like to keep having fun adventures with her friends in perpetuity. And is that such a bad thing to wish for?

I mean, just because something was a theme in Undertale doesn't mean that Deltarune can't use Susie to drive home the point of 'well, yeah, you're not wrong, but it's a bit more nuanced than that", there's precedence, in fact.

I'm thinking about, like, the Tenna storyline in Chapter 3. That was also about someone who needs to move on, Tenna is clinging to his happier past in unhealthy way and wants the fun of his game show to last forever. He also wanted his own version of Eternity. But the game still draws a contrast between Ralsei, who just tells him to remember the happy times and accept that everything ends, including his use

And Susie, who is the one who rejects this mindset. Her solution still has some level of moving on and accepting that the Dreemurr-Holiday Family Unit has ended, but that doesn't mean he's just got to lay down and accept that his whole life is over. She comes up with a plan that ensures the continuation of his life and his dreams. It's an Ending of sorts, but an Ending that has a continuation attached to it. And it came specifically from Susie's distaste for endings, from her aggressive rejection of going gently into that good night.

There are certain things, certain endings, we all have to accept, but there is also so much that is worth rebelling against, that is worth fighting for. Susie's desire for an 'Eternity' might be a bit oversimplistic, but it is also the source of her rebellious spirit, out-of-the-box-thinking and the shining hope that Gerson sees in her. So I don't think the story will dismiss it outright, we really just have to wait and see just how much of that 'Eternity' Susie will manage to keep...

[1d1195]

Under Construction IV

Read Under Construction here | ~6.3k

From Me: a date, a party, and a bit of learning

Warning: like two more seconds of blood and then fluff and a bit of angst.

Summary: “Miss Bee, I think Mr. Harry needs help,” Niall said knowingly, teasingly, from his table where a little girl was helping Niall with the glitter that he wanted to add to his pumpkin. They both giggled conspiratorially. She snorted.

“I do not!” Harry glared at his friend then looked up at her with the most innocent, adorable face she had ever seen on a grown man. “Niall’s a tattle tale.”

“Miss Bee says there are no tattle tales in her class, Mr. Harry,” Tyler explained. “She said we have to think about if we need to tell her something first. There’s rules on the wall for it by the clock.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think Niall needed to tell on me,” Harry grumbled.

She was ready thirty-six minutes before Harry was supposed to show up. The anxiety she felt, even though he was there less than twenty-four hours prior, made her bouncy. Her knee was shaking as she sat on her sofa trying not to look at her phone for the twentieth time in the same minute to see that time was not moving any faster.

There was the thought to look in a mirror, but she feared she would ruin her hair for adjusting it too much. Or her makeup for thinking maybe one more swipe of eyeshadow would make her look better. Instead, she continued practically vibrating out of her seat in hopes that somehow Harry would get there faster.

She ignored her texts from Louis and Eleanor, both nearly giggling through their messages about being safe and using protection. She read over the itinerary her sister sent for wedding planning and when she got too overwhelmed, she switched gears to her weekly lesson plan. By then, only a mere nine minutes had passed. With how much she was tapping her foot, she thought that her floor was going to get a matching hole like her ceiling.

It felt like she had never been on a date before, and this was the first one. Maybe it was just the first one that actually mattered. Evan took her on dates of course, and in the early stages of their relationship, they were filled with excitement. But not like this. Everything moved so quickly with Evan. Dates, flowers, moving in, home repairs, and many events. By the end of their relationship, dates were extravagant, but almost always more of an event than spending time with one another.

Maybe it was worth waiting the agonizing twenty-four minutes that she still had to wait before Harry arrived.

Her phone pinged beside her. Harry’s name popped up and she felt her heart leap into her throat. Honestly, if he cancelled, she was going to be devastated. But she would of course understand.

I’m itching to come pick you up, Bird. Any chance you’re ready early? I’m only five minutes away from your place.

The wave of relief that flooded her made her feel two hundred times lighter. She laughed quietly to herself. Yes! I’m ready, I don’t want you to rush, but that would be great!

I’ve been sitting in my car for ten minutes and I just thought I couldn’t wait any longer. You’re sure you don’t mind?

Her heart did a somersault in her chest, and she thought she might explode from how cute he was. 🥰 No not at all. I’ve been a bit restless myself looking forward to our lunch.

😅 Good. I’ll see you in a minute, Bird.

Now she wished she had looked at her hair and makeup one more time. She paced her living room and fiddled with the pictures on the wall making sure they looked straight. Her eyes darted to the hole in her ceiling that Harry and Niall said they would fix next weekend once they were assured it was fully dried. They even went to her attic and set up a fan after breakfast yesterday to ensure the moisture wouldn’t accumulate mold. It made her heart skip a beat again to know he was willing to come help her in the middle of the night.

The knock on her door was expected but still surprised her anyway. She hurried over to the door trying not to sound like she was waiting right by the door. Harry stood on the step, a vase and accompanying flower arrangement in his hand. “Hi,” he grinned. “Y’look stunning,” he said scanning her up and down.

She thought she was going to melt right there in the doorway. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He held out the vase. “M’sister told me that getting your date flowers is nice, but s’a lot of work t’find a vase and take care of them right before y’supposed t’go out,” he smiled sheepishly.

She took the vase, inhaling the scent of the various flowers as she did. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

“I didn’t know what kind of flowers y’liked so I kinda got one of each,” he admitted shyly.

She grinned. “I love it,” she nodded.

“The ceiling’s okay?” He asked.

She nodded again. “But… let’s not worry about it. I want to enjoy our date,” she bit the inside of her lip as she settled the vase on the small table just inside the doorway.

Harry’s smile grew somehow. It was astonishing. She was pretty sure if a lighthouse failed, they could use him instead. He leaned forward, cupping the side of her face and kissing her on the opposite cheek. Just a quick gentle brush of his lips against her skin. It made her feel warm all over, and she knew her cheeks probably turned pinker than the blush she used. If they did, Harry didn’t comment. He released her quickly. “Let’s go then,” he said holding his hand out for her to take (which she did quickly and enjoyed the way he squeezed her hand once he held it). Harry was dressed in dark jeans, a soft blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked so good, smelled better than the flowers he gave her, and she seriously thought about asking him if they could just stay on her couch so she could stare at him.

Harry opened the passenger door for her, making her heart tumble over itself once more. He closed her in and headed to the driver’s side. “I thought we’d go a town or two over jus’ so y’don’t run into any kids… unless y’want that. More witnesses and whatnot,” he winked.

She smiled. “No, that’s okay. I’d rather… keep you to myself for now,” she looked at her lap.

He chuckled quietly. “Works for me.”

*

Harry was fucked. He was worried he was staring at her too much. But then he was worried he was trying to avoid looking at her too much and seemed disinterested. Which was not the case. Harry was almost certain no one could be more interested on a date than the pretty girl sitting across from him. She was looking over the menu, not a particularly fancy place, but there were cloth napkins. Gemma said that a cloth napkin always classed up the date a bit.

Her eyes roamed the menu, her lips pursed in concentration. Harry was enthralled. The way her lashes framed her eyes, the curve of her smile, the wrinkle of her nose when she saw something she didn’t like. “Have you been here before?” She asked.

He shook his head quickly, getting himself to stop staring. “I’ve ordered take out after a job not too far from here.”

She nodded. “It looks really good, thanks for picking. I promise I won’t talk about teaching the whole time, but sometimes I get decision fatigue. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it, but basically, I make a lot of decisions all day long—for a lot of people. Decisions I don’t even realize I’m making. Picking what to eat is so exhausting sometimes that I don’t even make dinner and just have snacks,” she admitted with a smile.

That worried Harry, of course. He wanted to make her dinner all the time and not let her worry about it. “What d’you like t’eat?” He asked.

She smiled. “Oh, I’m not too picky, really. The butternut squash ravioli sounds really good, and it comes with bread. I’ll probably get brussels sprouts too.”

Once more Harry forgot that he was supposed to uphold his end of the conversation. She made her lunch choice sound like an acceptance speech for an award. “Hey Bird?” He asked quietly.

“Hmm?” She looked up.

“Y’can talk ‘bout teaching as much as y’want. M’not gonna get sick of it,” he promised.

She ducked her gaze to the menu again and smiled sadly. “Oh,” she laughed softly. “Thank you,” appreciation dripping in her voice as she looked up at him with an almost confused gaze. “I’m afraid it’s a pretty big part of my life and conversation.”

“Good,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I like hearing about it,” he promised with a grin.

*

The conversation flowed very easily. They discussed favorites and movies. She offered some of her Brussels sprouts to Harry and he gave her a handful of his French fries when she said they looked really good. He chuckled when she dipped them into the cream sauce that surrounded her ravioli. “It’s good, you should try it.”

It was good. But he still found it funny.

They chatted about their families. Gemma and her baby, his mum, and her family, who were all thoroughly invested in planning this wedding for her sister. “She picked my other sister to be maid of honor, but I’m doing a lot of the work,” she sighed.

“How come?” He asked.

“Because I’m crafty,” she shrugged. “I get roped into making all the stuff for her bachelorette trip—that I’m not going on because it’s during the school year—and I don’t know. She has this vision for the wedding to have some elaborate archway and I stupidly volunteered to make it.”

He smiled. “Do y’have a picture of it?” He asked.

When she went on dates with Evan, phones were nearly a necessity. She didn’t mind, really. They helped keep the conversation going. She would look up things to talk about and show off pictures of her classroom. Not that Evan cared about her classroom. He used his phone to conduct business even while on their date. Check on the score of a game or the like. But it was a little astonishing that she realized she had nearly forgotten she owned a phone until Harry asked for a picture.

“Oh, yeah,” she pulled her phone from her purse and searched through the pictures of the wedding album she created for her sister. “She’s getting married in June, which is also kind of crazy with the end of the school year. But,” she sighed. “It is what it is.”

Harry looked at the archway. It was pretty. Didn’t seem particularly complicated. “What are y’worried about?” He asked.

“Well, building it.”

“Building it?” He repeated.

“Yes. Because purchasing it would be too easy,” she rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not that bad, I’m just busy a lot of time and it’s going to be difficult because I need to get the right tools and—” she stopped. “I sound like an awful sister, don’t I?”

“No, not at all,” he shook his head. “S’a big endeavor t’do on your own. But… I have plenty of tools,” he assured her. “And I’ll help you,” he promised. “It’ll go a lot faster and smoother with two people.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Really?” She asked.

What the hell was her ex like that she didn’t feel like she could ask for help? “Yes, really,” he smiled. “S’easy m’sure.”

“Thank you,” she said so graciously, Harry thought his heart was going to melt onto the floor of the restaurant.

“At y’service Miss Bird,” he winked.

Their waiter came back to take their dishes, offered dessert which they declined. “Kitten, put your money away. S’useless here,” he shook his head putting his card into the check presenter. She blushed.

“You don’t have—”

“M’not having this discussion,” he shook his head. “S’no bother. M’happy y’wanted t’come out with me. I know you’re busy and m’taking up precious time on your weekend.”

She hadn’t thought about anything that usually plagued her mind when she was doing something enjoyable. She didn’t think about her lesson plans, the wedding, nor Christmas gifts she wanted to start buying. The only thing she could think about was how nice her time with Harry was when he looked so handsome and couldn’t stop staring at her. “I’d rather be here,” she assured him.

He smiled. “Good.”

*

Before they went into the restaurant, she recognized her surroundings and offered her two cents. “There’s a really good ice cream place nearby if you want to get dessert after,” she said. “Since it’s fall, they have this apple sundae special that’s super yummy.”

Harry put a hand on the small of her back as he ushered her back to his car. “Y’have room for ice cream?”

She nodded. “I always have room for ice cream,” she grinned.

He chuckled. “Ice cream it is.” They sat inside the little shop eating their ice creams. Hers, the small apple sundae she spoke about, and his, a cup of mint chocolate chip with hot fudge. “This is really good ice cream,” he nodded taking another spoonful. She ginned to herself, watching a drip of hot fudge get stuck to the bottom of his chin.

She bit her lip and grabbed a napkin between them. “May I?” She asked reaching out to his face. He smirked and she dabbed his skin.

He grabbed her hand when she was finished, made her drop the napkin to the table and he scooped her hand into his and smirked. “You look like a whole bouquet, Bird,” he scanned her again.

A puddle. She was certain her insides turned to mush, and she was no longer solid but liquid on the floor of the ice cream shop. She felt so warm she thought the heat she was producing would melt her sundae into the puddle of her organs on the floor.

“A bouquet?” She questioned.

“Prettiest bouquet I’ve ever seen.”

“I think I’m going to melt,” she whispered.

“Y’can’t melt when I haven’t even kissed y’yet,” he didn’t move his eyes from hers. A small gasp escaped her lips. “M’going t’melt as well,” he squeezed her hand. “Thought ‘bout kissing you yesterday. Well, ‘ve actually been thinking ‘bout kissing you since I met you,” he admitted with a smirk. “But y’really gave me a scare on the roof,” he reminded her.

The sight of her up there in the rain, not knowing what to do, terrified him. When he yelled, he didn’t think about her reaction—didn’t think it would send her over the edge of her home and nearly fall. Cradling her, no matter how briefly, felt like heaven. Despite the circumstances. Regardless of if it was raining and at one in the morning. Even though his heart felt like it was in his throat and his stomach twisted with worry.

All Harry wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms, a blanket, anything, and hold her for as long as possible.

“Will you be kissing me when you drive me home?” She asked.

“Would that be okay?” He squeezed her hand.

Would it be okay if the hottest man she’d ever seen kissed her? Yeah. She’d be okay. She nodded. “Very okay.”

*

She felt her hands nearly shake as she opened the door. Harry stood a few feet away; his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around the front of her house. “The door sticks a little,” she warned.

“I could look at that,” he offered.

She gave it a little shove and pushed inside. Harry watched the skirt of her dress flutter with the movement, and she stepped into the doorway. Harry helped her get her coat off and hung up on her coat rack. “Do you want—”

Harry grabbed her by the hips, then turned her so her back was against the wall adjacent to the door that he kicked shut. He put his hand behind her head protectively as he pushed her. Once safely against the wall, he brought one hand to her face, the other on her waist. He gazed at her, his nose almost touching hers. His breath smelled like mint chocolate chip ice cream and hot fudge.

 She hoped she smelled like apples and not pasta or garlic. “M’pretty bouquet,” he hummed and brushed the back of his finger along her cheek. He wasn’t kidding about melting. And he still hadn’t kissed her yet. But was she breathing heavy? Panting? Like she had run a marathon? She thought she might lose her mind a little if he prolonged this. “This was the best date of m’life,” he brushed his thumb along her lower lip. “Can we have another?” He asked.

She nodded. “Please,” she breathed.

He grinned, nodded to himself happily. “M’gonna kiss you now, kitten. M’gonna make y’melt,” he promised.

“I’m sure,” her voice was hardly anything more than a whisper.

He smiled, leaned the final inch in, and covered her lips with his. She thought she was going to be embarrassed and moan but instead Harry beat her to it. And it was anything but embarrassing. She breathed out as he moved his mouth over hers, applying the most perfect amount of pressure.

An expert at fixing desks, a roof, and kissing. She should have known. His hand tangled in the back of her hair and brought her closer to him. His lips were soft and firm. A tantalizing, oxymoronic pressure that made her feel like her legs were going to give out. She grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt in each hand. He licked and nipped at her, deepening the kiss. The hand at her waist shifted south, rubbing her hip, her leg through the skirt of her dress.

Harry moaned again, pulled away and dropped his lips to her jaw and he kissed down toward her ear, moved to her throat and brushed his lips against her collarbone. “Mm,” he sighed. “So good, Bird. So, so good,” he whispered into her skin. “Can I?” He asked, his hands drifting further south.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly. “Anything you want.”

He chuckled quietly; the air tickled her skin as he did. Slowly, he dropped his hands to cup around the side of her thighs, still politely over her skirt. He groaned. “So pretty, m’pretty Bird,” he slowly lifted until she was off the floor, her legs wrapped around his waist. “Don’t want y’melting all over the floor,” he murmured into her neck.

She didn’t care that her skirt rode up her hips and her underwear was probably showing. She hoped she picked a cute pair; that Harry would like her even if she wore comfy underwear too. “Mmm,” her hands moved to his shoulders, the back of his neck pulling him closer and wishing he could sink deeper into his mouth, his body, everything. She pushed away from the wall, nearly grinding into him as she wrapped herself tightly around him. She moaned softly, Harry groaning again in response as he pushed her back against the wall, her leg hitting against the table inside the entry way. Immediately, her pretty flowers and vase toppled to the ground and shattered.

Harry pulled away and sighed. “S’what I get for trying t’make y’life easier,” he smirked, kissed her cheek. “I’ll clean it up.”

“I could give two fucks about that,” she told him, her lips only a breath away from his. “Keep kissing me,” she begged.

He laughed again, brushed his nose against hers, “M’at your service, Miss Bee,” he whispered before parting her lips with his again.

*

She felt like she was floating at work. The little ones were all very excited about Halloween, their sand-witch party and everything. She wasn’t on top of her game because all she could think about was the hot construction worker just a short walk away from her. Her eyes drifted to the window. She wouldn’t be able to see him of course, but just the thought of him got her melting all over again.

It was a miracle she could sleep after Harry left her. The smile on her sore lips—she hadn’t felt sore from kissing since… well… ever—her mind spun with hundreds of thoughts all about Harry. Not a single lesson nor a bridal shower game entered her brain last night. The only thing she could think about was Harry.

Good morning, Miss Bee

She woke up to the text as her alarm rang for six o’clock. The time stamp said that Harry had been up for at least an hour. Biting her lip, she texted back. Good morning ☀️

Sleep well? He asked almost instantly.

Her heart skipped a beat. Yes, you?

Hard falling asleep when yesterday was so nice 😍

Agreed 🥰 I gotta get ready. See you at recess, maybe? I’ll be wearing blue and a head or two taller than the little ones.

Can’t wait, bird.

However, now she couldn’t find him through the window, and she had a class to tend to. But her lips still felt sore, and she couldn’t help but smile as she focused on the kindergarteners in front of her. “Did we all have a good weekend?” She asked as they moved to the carpet for another installment of Charlotte’s Web.

“Miss Bee, I tolded my mom that I want to be a construction worker when I growed up.”

She giggled. “Told and grown, my love,” she reminded Kai sweetly. “Are you going to dress up like one on Wednesday for our party?”

He nodded. “Mr. Harry is bringing me a hat and a vest,” he explained.

“Is he now?” She smiled.

“Yes. I asked him at recess.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “That’s very nice of him. Maybe we’ll have to write him a thank you note, yeah?”

But she also thought she could thank him in other ways.

The kindergarteners didn’t need to know about that though.

*

Harry was sitting in a chair much too small for him. He happily cut up paper, glued, and drew with children that she loved so much.

Niall and he were eating sandwiches that were also much too small for them, and they still had a few hours of grueling work to do once they left the party.

But they didn’t bat an eye at the situation. They looked like they were enjoying themselves even. Every so often Niall would get up in his ketchup costume and inspect something amiss around her room, catching Harry’s eye. There was a nod from Harry, a silent conversation taking place about the problems in her room that he seemed to be keeping on a mental to-do list.

One thing that she noticed, it was really nice to have a few extra sets of hands in her room for the day. With twenty students using scissors and glue it was bound to get a little crazy.

“Miss Bee, Mr. Niall put four triangles on his pumpkin!” Janie said in excitement.

“No way!” She gasped.

Not that she didn’t believe Kai, but Harry did bring little hard hats and vests (with an Under Construction logo on the back) for the five students that said they wanted to be construction workers. He stopped by her classroom yesterday after school let out and he had a box in his hands and a sheepish smile on his lips. “I didn’t want t’be empty handed for the kids that aren’t planning t’be in the construction business.”

She blinked back tears as she inspected the package of vests and accessories of a variety of jobs. “Harry,” she said softly. “This is too much. It must have cos—”

“Probably a tenth of what y’spend on them in one year, bird. Don’t worry ‘bout it. ‘Ve spent m’money on a lot worse than the future,” he assured her.

She dropped the box between their feet and threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. He chuckled as he pushed the box out of the way with his foot and lifted her gently as he squeezed her back.

“Miss Bee, I think Mr. Harry needs help,” Niall said knowingly, teasingly, from his table where a little girl was helping Niall with the glitter that he wanted to add to his pumpkin. They both giggled conspiratorially. She snorted.

“I do not!” Harry glared at his friend then looked up at her with the most innocent, adorable face she had ever seen on a grown man. “Niall’s a tattle tale.”

“Miss Bee says there are no tattle tales in her class, Mr. Harry,” Tyler explained. “She said we have to think about if we need to tell her something first. There’s rules on the wall for it by the clock.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think Niall needed to tell on me,” Harry grumbled.

“Miss Bee says it’s only a need if it’s a matter of safety.”

“This is not a matter of safety,” Harry muttered bitterly.

She giggled, which made his whole body feel warm and he wondered how on earth he could be so obsessed with someone’s laugh after just a few short weeks. It felt like a bad day if he didn’t hear it. “Miss Bee, can I have the broom?” Amara asked. She tugged on Miss Bee’s costume, a tulle green skirt, a matching headband with two wire pieces that had big M&M’s bouncing from side to side, and a green M&M shirt. The class giggled at her when she changed into it (put it over top of her leggings and white sweater dress.

“Of course, thank you for being so thoughtful to keep your space clean, Amara,” she praised so the others could hear and hopefully help with clean up when the sand-witch party was over.

She went to the side of the room where she kept the cleaning supplies in a cabinet closet. However, when she pulled the door open it fell right off the old hinges. She yelped as it hit her foot and face at the same time. Her free hand went to her nose instinctively, and she lost her grip of it with her other hand but still tried to stop it as it toppled toward the tables.

The little ones screamed a bit dramatically, but Niall and Harry jumped right into action, grabbing it before it hit anyone else or caused any (more) damage.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked quickly, putting a hand on her hip innocently enough and scanning her from head to toe.

“Ah,” she shook her head and moved her hand to find that naturally she had given herself a nosebleed. “Fuck,” she whispered so no one could hear but Harry.

“We can fix it!” The little ones that had on their hard hats were ready to go to work with Niall and Harry even though they were dressed as ketchup and mustard.

“Oh Miss Bee! You’re bleeding!” DJ was dressed as a doctor, a stethoscope at the ready thanks to Harry’s kind gift.

She winced. It felt like defeat showing weakness. “I’m alright, my love. I just need to use the restroom to clean myself up.”

“I can help too!” Brayden said. He was dressed as a nurse, with a mask on his face ready to help out as well.

Harry crouched to the future medical professionals. “I think Miss Bee jus’ needs minute t’herself,” he whispered. “When she comes out, I bet she’ll let you look her over so y’can give her a clean bill of health,” he winked.

They both nodded with understanding and headed back to their tables. Harry grabbed a few tissues and ushered her back toward the bathroom. He wanted to close the door for the sake of her privacy and he really wanted to tend to her the way he wanted to, but he was sure that would look very bad in front of twenty, nosy kindergarteners who loved their adorable teacher.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly as she washed the blood off her hands and face while trying to maintain composure in front of the guy that she had a massive crush on while dressed like an M&M and a nose pouring blood like a faucet.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered.

He snorted. “For what? M’dressed as mustard,” he reminded her.

She smiled and winced at the pain it cause in her face. She shook her head. “The door landed on my foot,” she said. Harry crouched to the floor immediately. He took her ballet flat off like a reverse Cinderella and he still made her feel like princess. He brushed his fingers over her skin, and she hissed.

“S’a little scraped. We’ll have t’bandage y’up with your doctor and nurse,” he said from the ground while smiling up at her so cutely. A dumb, triangular cone on his head for his costume.

She already knew she was already falling hard for him, but she was almost certain she was going to tell a man dressed as a mustard bottle that she loved him in a kindergarten bathroom while she was wearing an M&M headband. She smiled again, holding a wad of tissues to her nose.

“Did it break y’nose?” He asked standing back up and skimming his fingertips along her cheek and tilting his head to get a better look to see if he missed some initial bruising.

She shook her head. “No… I just… I get nose bleeds very easily. I breathe too hard, and I start bleeding,” she sighed. “Sorry, that’s gross.”

“S’not gross, Bird,” he chuckled. “Jus’ making sure you’re alright.”

“I’m good. Thanks for getting me a minute to myself. We should probably go save Niall.”

“Niall’s fine, m’sure,” he promised. “If y’need another minute, I can go back out there with him.”

She wondered what the worst that could happen if she got caught kissing him during school hours.

“Mr. Harry,” fortunately they were interrupted by Milo before she could test any hypothesis. “Is Miss Bee going to die?”

He chuckled. “No, lad. M’thinking she’ll make it. We’re gonna check in with Dr. DJ and Nurse Brayden though,” he nodded and ushered the little one back toward the classroom. “Mr. Niall, y’think our little crew can help us repair the door?” He asked brightly. There was a chorus of cheers while she bit her lip.

“Miss Bee,” Zara whispered as she entered the classroom again. Zara was dressed as a baseball player which she loved more than most of the costumes she saw that day for a lot of different reasons. “Do you think you’re going to marry Mr. Harry?”

She smirked. “Are you trying to spread rumors about me, my love?” She asked with a giggle.

“No,” she giggled and put her hand on her mouth. “But I think you and Mr. Harry make a really cute couple. Like Lady and the Tramp or Delores and Mariano.”

She laughed. “Well, Mr. Harry and I are just friends,” she didn’t want the little ones knowing any of her private business when they were as involved with Harry as they currently were around the playground.

Niall returned from the outside entrance carrying a screw gun, a box of screws and few other items. “Guys and gals,” she moved over to where the group of five waited patiently with Harry and she crouched to their level. “Mr. Harry and Mr. Niall are being really nice to show you how to fix this. You have to listen to them very carefully. We’re not going to argue over who hands screws to them or ignore them if they say to let go or ask you to move out of the way, correct?” She eyed them seriously all in turn, all while keeping a tissue pressed to her nose.

“Yes, Miss Bee,” they sang in unison.

“They’re all yours, boys,” she gestured while standing up. “A good crew if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Thanks Miss Bee,” Niall pulled the trigger on the screw gun twice and Harry winked at her.

“Miss Bee can Brayden and me look you over now?”

“Brayden and I, my love,” she said gently with a nod. “Let’s go sit on the carpet, yeah?”

Harry smiled as she passed by him again brushing his hand along her back quickly and not even looking at her as he turned his attention back to Niall and his lesson of screw gun safety.

*

The sand-witch party was a huge success. She was already thinking of ways to make it better for the following year. Part of her was sad that Mr. Harry and Mr. Niall would likely be at a new job site. She wondered how that would change the dynamic of the party. Or if she was reading into it too much since it was a party for kindergarteners.

But once she got going it was hard to stop. There were so many learning targets she got to roll into one fun event. There were fine motor skills like gluing and using scissors, there was shapes, and prior to ketchup and mustard’s arrival, they wrote three sentences about the future career they had chosen and why they wanted it.

Harry and Niall said their goodbyes, took their pumpkins and some leftover sand-witches. “Who thinks the hexagon tasted best?” Niall asked as he bit into another one at the door. The class giggled at him, and they all shouted out their favorites and making a lot of noise while they waited expectantly for their departure. “Oops, sorry Miss Bee,” he said sheepishly.

She shrugged and smiled. “Zip it, lock it,” she said a little louder than normal.

“Put it in your pocket!” Then it was silent.

“That’s wicked,” Harry said almost dreamily. Niall snorted and hit his hand against Harry’s chest.

“Take it easy,” Niall muttered under his breath as he passed him to head back outside.

“All my friends love to thank Mr. Harry and Mr. Niall for coming to our party and hanging out with us!”

“Thank you!” The choir of six-year-olds cheered.

“See you later alligators,” Harry winked at them and waved as he and Niall stepped outside the room.

“In a while crocodile!” They all shouted back excitedly.

"Bye Miss Bird!" He practically cooed. He hoped the kids didn't notice but even if they did, he was having trouble caring.

“You’re an absolute goner,” Niall snickered as they headed back toward their job site. “Obsessed. In love,” he continued pulling the red ketchup hat cone off his head.

Harry smiled. “Mm, that obvious, hmm?”

Niall chuckled. “Think she’s a bit smitten too,” he said. “No one in their right mind would have sided with you about me being a tattle tale if they didn’t like you that much,” he reminded him and flicked his cheek before running ahead toward the jobsite again.

“You’re acting like a kindergartener!” Harry shouted.

“I know you are but what am I!?”

*

The remainder of the day was a little rowdy. Fun, learning got done, but she was very excited for the day to be over and very excited that there was a professional development day without her sugary students following Halloween night.

“See you all Friday!” She said cheerfully as her students scattered toward the busses and cars in the lot for pick up. She stood at her post outside where she always did, waving and grinning at former students, coworkers, and even a few parents as they tried to sneak out before the fleet of busses.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry at the fence, waving from afar, to those that knew who he was as well. “Miss Bee,” Milo tugged on her skirt as they all got ready for dismissal. She crouched next to him and smiled happily.

“Yes, my love? What can I do for you?”

“My uncle is picking me up today,” he smiled excitedly.

“Oh yeah? Is he taking you trick or treating?”

He nodded excitedly, his little construction hat bobbling back and forth. “Do you want to meet him?” He asked shyly.

“Of course, Milo,” she grinned. “I have to tell him what a great reader you’re becoming and how good you are at line leading,” she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He took her hand and pulled her toward the exit. As they approached the end of the bus port, she had a better view of Harry. His coworkers booking it out before they got stuck behind busses but not him. She felt a smile twinge on her lips as she waved goodbye to other little ones that wanted her attention.

“Well, hello there.”

She nearly froze in her tracks. Her gaze snapped forward at the sound of his voice. Milo’s hand released hers and he launched himself forward at the man before her. “Careful of your shoes on my clothes, buddy,” he chuckled. “Funny seeing you here,” he ruffled Milo’s hair and winked at her.

“This is Miss Bee,” Milo introduced.

“Miss Bird, I thought,” he continued smiling at her. But it felt like she was watching a documentary of a safari. She felt like a gazelle completely at the disadvantage.

“Miss Bee is a nickname,” Milo explained.

She must have looked like a goldfish, her mouth opening and closing trying to find the words. A deer in headlights if there ever was one. “So you’re the famous Miss Bee,” he chuckled. Like it was a private joke that only he knew the punchline too.

For a moment, she forgot she was a teacher. A member of the town community with a reputation she needed to uphold. She wanted to run away. Or slap him across the face. Yank Milo out of his arms and take him home with her instead. There was no way she could let sweet, little Milo out trick-or-treating with the likes of his uncle. But instead, she mustered as much strength as she did when she wasn’t feeling well, when she was exhausted, or when her life outside the classroom was falling apart and she was expected to continue smiling in front of her little group of young minds. She plastered a smile on her face and pretended everything was fine as she finally spoke, “Evan.”

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[gimmethatagustd]

the one that i adore | myg

When your boyfriend's subscribers get too comfortable, you can't help but be a little bratty.

Relationship: Camboy Yoongi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Sex Work, Dom Yoongi, Established Relationship, Crying, Cunnilingus, Edgeplay, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Overstimulation, Spit As Lube, Squirting, Sex Toys

Word Count: 2,117

A/N: I almost accidentally reposted this on my sims blog

“You wanna see my cock, Kitty? You’re all being so impatient tonight.” 

Kitty_kat420 spewed a few more flirtatious messages into the chat, interrupted a few times by other eager subscribers begging for Yoongi to get on with the show. 

He loved making them wait. By this point, Yoongi had amassed a pretty significant following. He probably could have quit his job and live off the money he made camming, if he wanted to. But he never saw this as a full-time job. It was a side hustle, something that came fairly easy to him. He had the personality for it, the cock for it, the hands for it, the voice for it. And he liked to think his face was pretty, too. 

You, on the other hand, had pretty much only your looks. More than once Yoongi scolded you about your on-camera personality. He claimed you needed to make yourself more eager and seductive. To be fair, you spent most of the time giving the camera a stubborn glare. There were certainly subscribers who enjoyed what they thought to be a love-hate relationship between you and your boyfriend. People loved hatefucking, apparently. But you didn’t hate him. 

You hated all his fucking “fans”. 

Like now, as you laid sprawled on the bed, completely naked and touching yourself for the camera the way Yoongi had so sweetly asked you to, you could look over and see the comments. 

She looks so bored 

I could give you such a better time, Yoongi :)

This bitch just needs a cock stuffed in her and maybe she’ll actually smile 

Your eyes shot up to catch Yoongi’s and you sent him a glare. To your chagrin, his eyes sparkled back at you despite the harsh feedback in the chat. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Something bothering you?” That cheshire gummy grin both irked your soul and had your pussy fluttering. 

“Your subscribers are dicks.” 

Not to your surprise, the chat blew up at your comment. You didn’t bother looking at what they said, your eyes staying on Yoongi. He tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head slowly. 

“Ahh, baby, what a mean thing to say. Not on your best behavior today, are you?” He turned to the camera with a small sigh that you knew was fake as hell. “What do you think I should do with her, guys?” 

You let your arm go slack and fall onto the bed beside you, no longer bringing your fingers to circle your clit. Your heartbeat spiked slightly as you watched Yoongi lift his hoodie over his head and ruffle his soft hair to the side. He’s shirtless underneath and you don’t need to see the chat to know that everyone is going crazy for finally seeing your boyfriend’s skin. His silver Cuban link chain thudded against his chest and your eyes skipped down the length of his torso to find the light brown hairs of his happy trail disappear into his joggers. 

“Hmmm… looks like everyone’s pretty annoyed with you, baby.” 

Yoongi rattled off the recommendations in the chat for your punishment. Slapping, choking, orgasm denial, anal - which was fucked up since you hated anal. Kitty-kat420 insisted that he not fuck you at all; no surprise there. You shivered, unsure if your response was out of anticipation or fear. You both knew how much Yoongi loved dishing out punishments for your bratty behavior. 

But when you saw Yoongi reach out of sight of the camera to pull open the drawer of his nightstand, you immediately felt your stomach drop. You shot up to a sitting position with one arm shielding your breasts from the camera. All this camming shit was much harder to get used to than you’d initially thought. 

“Yoongi,” you hissed with widened eyes when your boyfriend moved to rest on his knees on the bed beside you. In his hands were a pair of handcuffs and your bright purple vibrator.

Fuck. 

“Yes?” His eyes sparkled back at you and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he jingled the handcuffs in your face. “How about you be a good girl for me and lay down?” 

With a glare you scooted up to lie in the middle of the bed and obediently put your arms above your head without him needing to ask. Because you were his good girl, of course. 

After securing your wrists to the headboard frame, Yoongi adjusted the camera to capture a better image of your body sprawled out. The emphasis on having a clear shot of the lower half of your body had you wiggling in the metal restraints. You had an idea of what was about to come, and you were oh so close to begging him to spare you. He’d never punished you like this on camera. The idea of so many people watching… 

Your panicked train of thought was derailed by Yoongi forcing your legs apart. You felt his chain drag coldly across the inside of your thigh as he lowered himself onto the bed, legs further forced apart by his broad shoulders. A small whimper escaped your mouth before you could clamp your lips shut. 

“Nuh-uh, I’m gonna need you to keep that pretty mouth open for me tonight, baby,” Yoongi cooed, grabbing for the vibrator again. He placed it on your stomach while he talked to you, brown eyes flickering dark with mischievous lust. “You’re gonna stop me when you’re about to cum, okay?” 

“Yoongi, please-” 

“What did I say?” His voice cut through your plea with a sharpness that would have made you challenge him if you weren’t at his mercy, chaining to a bed. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay what?” 

“I’ll tell you when I’m about to cum.” 

Yoongi hummed and the feeling of his hot breath on your skin had your head reeling. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say so.” 

There was no time to respond to his demands before you felt Yoongi tilt back slightly to spit directly onto your pussy. You let out a small gasp that morphed into a moan when Yoongi’s tongue swiped through your lips, collecting his spit on his tongue and pushing it directly to your clit. Sucking and licking at your clit was already enough to dissolve your dignity until you were a mess beneath him, all bucked hips and guttural moans. The plunge of two long, ring-clad fingers inside of you was the icing on the cake. It didn’t matter how many times Yoongi pressed into your front wall or circled his tongue around your clit until it was swollen and throbbing - you were always left panting and crying his name. He ate pussy like it was all he was put on this earth to do. 

You yanked at the handcuffs knowing it wouldn’t do you any good, but it was impossible for you to sit still while he went to town on you. Even though you knew your wrists would be raw and possibly cut in a few places by the time he was done with you. 

“Yoongi, fuck,” you moaned, jerking against the cuffs again. “I’m-I’m gonna cum.” 

“Already?” Yoongi snickered. 

God, you wish you could have just not said anything at all. The moment his mouth and fingers disappeared, you genuinely felt like crying. The heat of your orgasm burning in your stomach quickly faded, leaving you with only an uncomfortable throbbing between your legs. 

“Shut up,” you choked out, attempting to pull your legs free from his hold, and failing. 

The vibrator had fallen off your stomach with all your wiggling. Yoongi reached for it again, choosing the lowest vibration to start off with. You felt your legs turn to jelly as you watched him press the tip against your clit. 

“Fuck,” You wrapped your fingers around the chain of the handcuffs and held on as tightly as you could, knowing it would leave marks into your skin. 

“Yeah? That feel good, baby?” Yoongi’s dark eyes flicked up to see your reaction, that gummy smile returning to haunt you. He brought his head back down between your legs, angling himself. Opening his mouth, he licked against your entrance with his tongue flat against your skin. 

You were growing hotter much faster than the first time. Unintelligible whines slipped past your lips dry from panting, but Yoongi didn’t bother to pay attention to you unless he clearly heard those sweet words from you. 

He switched to the next vibration setting and you felt sweat bead along your hairline. With a twisting stomach and shaking legs, you bucked into Yoongi’s face with a bit more force. 

“Gonna cum.” You let out a heavy exhale when Yoongi lifted the vibrator off of your clit. You felt raw and overstimulated now, and your legs continued to shake uncontrollably despite the vibrator being gone. “Yoongi, please, I promise I’ll take this more seriously, please baby just let me cum.” 

Yoongi tutted his tongue again before swiping it over his wet lips. “Not how this works,” he said off-handedly, his attention pivoting to read the chat comments while your legs continued to buzz against his shoulders. “It is sexy when she begs,” he mused in agreement with one subscriber. 

The next time, you were screaming almost immediately when Yoongi set the vibrator to the third setting. He pressed it against your clit so hard you felt like you were going to explode. He had you begging in record time, but still he backed off once you were right on the edge. The kiss he pressed against your clit sent a jolt through your entire body. 

You let your head fall back against your pillow and attempted to calm your breathing. You barely had the energy to look up when you heard your boyfriend chuckle. 

“Tired already?” 

All you could do was grunt. 

“Should I let her cum now?” 

You had no idea what the consensus was; there was no energy to look up for that, either. 

And then there was the vibrator again, slick with your arousal and Yoongi’s spit, turned up to the highest setting and pressed hard against your clit. You let out a small sob, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you willed Yoongi to end the torture. He only flashed you his sweet smile in response and dipped his head down to spit again into your pussy lips to help the vibrator circle your clit more easily. 

“Yoongi, I can’t take it anymore,” you choked out. Tears streamed down your cheeks, dragging your eye makeup along for the ride. Your chest heaved in and out and your legs continued to shake against Yoongi’s shoulders. 

Rather than pull away, he pressed the vibrator against your clit even harder. Another choked sob. Another buck of your hips. And then you felt three fingers slip inside of you. With the vibrator still against your clit, Yoongi began quickly pumping his fingers into you, hitting your front wall hard. 

“Gonna,” you sobbed and tried to blink away the tears lining your eyelashes. “Cum. Yoongi, I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you want, please.” 

“Whatever I want?” He pressed a kiss against the inside of your thigh, glistening with spit and arousal. 

“Yes, fuck, please please yes. Yoongi please.” 

“You’re so gorgeous crying for me.” Yoongi grinned, putting more force into the thrust of his fingers. “Now cum.” 

You felt your entire body snap. The force of your orgasm had so much pressure your walls pushed Yoongi’s fingers out of you. But even as you cried out his name and felt your body shudder under the weight of your climax, there was still more pressure. And more and more and more, until your legs, and the bed, and Yoongi’s face and chest were completely soaked with your cum. 

“Shit,” he groaned, turning off the vibrator and tossing it to the side. “Shit, babe. You fucking squirted.” 

You could hear the ping of payments popping up on the site in response, but all you wanted to do was hide your face. You had squirted in front of who knew how many strangers on the internet. 

“That was so hot. Fuck.” 

When Yoongi reached up to remove your handcuffs, you saw his erection impossibly hard and tight against his pants, to the point that there was a wet spot right where you knew the head of his cock laid against his thigh. 

He helped you sit up and took your hands in his own, rubbing gently at the raw skin around your wrists. “Are you going to behave now?” 

You let out a small whimper and nodded, makeup still streaking your cheeks. 

“Good, ‘cause I’m about to fucking destroy you, baby.”

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

@iadelicacy @likecrazy22 @jaemayy

@annyeongbitch7

[veraiku]

best friend!geto who listens to your rants about your cheating boyfriend while treating you better than him (in bed and outside) !!

╰ — cw ! fem! reader, riding, fluffy smut I think, loverboy geto hehe, reader’s bf cheats and she cheats back w geto ♡. / smut below.

best friend!geto . . . who has always had this odd animosity towards your boyfriend, because he just didn’t seem to click with him - and even so, he doesn’t have anything to prove that your boyfriend really wasn’t the one for you.

best friend!geto . . . that when he finally finds out that he’s a cheating prick, is more than willing to listen to your rants all while taking care of you to help you get through the harsh news that he’s been secretly hoping for so he can snatch you right up. ♡

“h-he’s just such a dick—”

best friend!geto was listening to your words carefully - alright. his ears were wide open, hands caressing your hips softly to comfort you through the devastating news of your boyfriend being a cheating asshole after all.

he offers you comfort late at night, despite the initial grogginess - he opens the door with arms wide open despite it being 2:44 in the morning, shutting the door with his feet as you stumble into his arms with tears streaked cheeks, arms rubbing your back gently as he coos sweet words into your ear to reassure you - taking a few whiffs of the perfume you were wearing while he was at it.

“Hah - h-he keeps forgetting our dates,” you managed to coherently mumble out, lifting your hips slowly, before slamming right back down on his cock, your ass hitting against his pelvis in the most delicious way, in a way you never got to experience with your boyfriend.

He was letting you take him at your own pace - hands on your hips to guide you through each drag, all while his violet eye lock onto yours so longinngly, like hes been waiting for this for ages.

“Ugh - tell me about it.” He grunts softly, brows scrunching together softly at the way your walls seemed to clench a little tighter when it reached with mushroom tip, making him have to bite back a groan and throw his head back whenever you drag your walls up, up, up against his twitching dick.

“A real prick, dont’cha think?”

His voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back - holding himself back from doing something he might regret end up doing later despite it seeming like the best decision in the heat of the moment.

And he was.

He loves you - truly, he does. And he wants to be there for you when you experience those rocky moments in your life, but having you talk to him about it with your walls wrapped around him was not making it easy, no - not the slightest. Honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s loving this decision or feeling somewhat guilty for using your current emotions over your boyfriend - now ex - to get what he wants. He was biting back the urge to move you a little faster, to buck his hips upwards to shove his dick a little bit deeper.

But he’s got to control his desires - he thinks. If he gives in so easily, give into his lustful, dirty desires too quick - will that really make him much of a batter person than your ex?

No, it wont.

“U-uh huh,” your hands were splayed onto his chest, using it as support as you continue to slowly ride him - trying to ease into the girth stretching you out, threatening to split you in half. In your defense, you’ve never really had seen someone with this big a dick before - not even your boyfriend could compare. Who knew your usually reserved best friend had such a monstrous cock hiding behind those pants?

“.. I wouldn’t do that,” he starts it off slowly, trying to coax you into going a little faster as soon as he sees the way the tension leaves your shoulders bit by bit the longer seconds pass.

“I’d be a damn fool to not treat a sweet girl like you right.” He sighs shakily, and his chest heaves - his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink which he was certain the night moonlight would’ve highlight if his windows weren’t blocked and shadowed with curtains right now. He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bopping as he guides your hips.

“Y’think so?” And he swears he’s doing something right either the way your walls clamp around him tighter. He couldn’t resist the soft grunt escaping his throat, lips parting open slightly in pleasure. Whatever that is that he’s doing right - he sure as hell is gonna continue it.

“‘Course i do,” his voice was breathy, slightly shaky - he practically had hearts in his eyes. You looked so beautiful like this - not that you weren’t beautiful in any other way, but seeing the way your lips were slightly parted, soft pants slipping past and your cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink?

Oh, he’s hooked.

“I’ve known y’longer than him.”

“know what kind of person you are,”

He bites the inside of his cheek at the way your nails dig into his chest slightly - like you were trying to give a small warning to not lie to you.

Not that he could ever lie to you. He could hardly ever resist you, there’s no way he’d be able to lie - to your face, especially.

“how - haa, sweet you are.” The pace he kept you going at was slow, but deep enough to hit the spots inside of you that had you weak. Slow and thoughtful, showing you that not everything has to be rough and quick - like what your ex had showed you. That love, too, can come slowly at its own pace.

“how your eyes light up when I mention the cafe just across my apartment,”

“the way you huff out a exasperated breath when you’re upset.”

His eyes were half lidded, both from pleasure and from the weight of the amount of love he feels for you right now. Sure, you came here with glassy eyes and tears prickling the corners of your eyes - but he can change that.

Turn that into you coming into his apartment with a smile, with him waiting for you - with a soft embrace before pressing a gentle peck onto your lips. Not tears, not the harsh truth your boyfriend had revealed to you - just pure adoration.

“..you recognize all that?” your hips stutter slightly, feeling his fingers dig a little deeper into the flesh - making your eyelashes flutter.

“how can I not?” he asks - as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to be fair, it was - everybody seemed to know about his little crush on you, except you. Everybody noticed the way he looked likes kicked puppy when you revealed you got a boyfriend.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip gently, heart beating against his rib cage as he practically confesses his love to you.

“recognizing your habits has got to be a bare minimum on what a man should do.”

He leans forward, keeping you still - his cock still inside of you, but he doesn’t want you to move - not yet. His eyes gaze into yours, leaning his face closer, just close enough to count the amount of eyelashes on your eyes.

“and clearly, your ex is no man.”

You swallow thickly at the proximity, the tension growing - but it wasn’t unpleasant. You could feel his body heat, feel the weight of his gaze on you. A small smile tugs the corners of your lips, your head tilting to the side slightly.

“then why don’t you show me what a real man can do?” you mumbled softly, the tip of your nose just barely grazing his, warm breaths mingling. He returns the smile, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a soft, genuine grin - his hand lifting to cup your jaw gently, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheek.

“well, I can’t exactly deny my lady, can I now?”

a/n ! not proofread oops .. but I enjoyed writing this smm, sorry if I haven’t been posting lolz idk what 2 post ^_^ .. reqs r open though, feel free 2 drop by !! (per usual, reblogs r very appreciated ♡)

I do not consent for plagiarism, copying, or translating in any form whatsoever. thank you!

[suigenerisisadiva]

Zombieboy - Jason Todd x Detective!Reader

Pairing: Jason Todd x Detective!GCPD!Reader + Dick Grayson x Platonic!Reader

Summary: When Jason's down in the dumps, brooding for longer than he normally is, you take it upon yourself to make him feel better with your favourite artist, after all justice doesn't wait! Inspired by Zombieboy by Lady Gaga!

CW: Making out, Lady Gaga, Swearing

A/N: Requested by my pookie @gothicbatgirl, a lil present for you ml 🫶

This is a part 2 to my Halfway Between You & Justice fic! Read it here!

"Hey do you think you could check on Jason for me?" Dick asked softly.

"Why what's wrong?" You asked.

"He's... something's getting to him, and I don't wanna pry, I think he's kind of sick of me, so... I thought you could try maybe?" Dick responded.

Huh, you thought.

Dick wasn't wrong

Jason's been moodier than normal. He wasn't snapping back at you as often, he was grinding arms more at the gym, with his sets being longer (I'm embracing my love for beefy arms in this one gang) his sassiness dwindled and his hair ironically got flatter.

Jason hadn’t said much for two days.

Which wasn’t unusual , especially when Gotham had him in a chokehold , but this was the full-blown Jason Todd Radio Silence Deluxe Edition - hoodie up, jaw tense, earbuds in but no music playing, staring at a wall like it owed him money.

You’d given him space. Then tried small talk. Then food (You were really surprised Big Belly Burger didn't work) Then left a Post-it on his helmet that said “emotionally constipated” with a little drawing of a zombie.

Nothing.

You figured, you needed to look at whatever you currently had going on with Jason from a lover perspective, and not a detective perspective.

So tonight, when you walked into his apartment and found him slouched on the couch with the same blank stare, you decided it was time for a different tactic.

Without a word, you pulled out your phone. Tapped your Bluetooth speaker.

The first few notes of Lady Gaga’s “Zombieboy” filled the apartment, dramatic, pulsing, unapologetically theatrical.

Jason didn't move.

You, however, launched straight into a performance.

"Oh, I can't see straight and my hands are tied I could be your type from your zombie bite No, I can't see straight but the feeling's right I could be your type from your zombie bitе"

You spun. Flung your jacket to the floor. Did a full-body sway in front of him like you were auditioning for Gotham’s Most Unhinged Cabaret. You even snatched a whisk from the kitchen counter as a microphone.

Still nothing.

But you saw it , the twitch in his lip. The smallest raise of one eyebrow.

Target acquired.

You climbed up onto the coffee table mid-chorus, arms wide, stomping to the beat like you were Lady Gaga herself in crime-scene heels.

Jason snorted. Loud. He tried to cover it with a cough. Failed miserably.

You dropped to your knees in front of him.

He finally looked at you, a real grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you done?” he asked, voice hoarse with laughter.

“Never,” you said proudly. “Not until my Zombieboy smiles.”

Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, expression soft in a way he only gave you when he forgot to be tough. “You’re such a menace.”

You booped his nose. “And you’re my favorite emotionally unavailable corpse.”

He rolled his eyes , but he pulled you into his lap anyway, arms around your waist, head buried in your shoulder.

You could feel him smiling against your hoodie.

Later that night, you changed his contact name in your phone to my Zombieboy 🖤

And when he noticed?

He didn’t change it back.

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources! -

Dividers - @enchanthings @anitalenia @sister-lucifer

Icon Header - @mieczyslawn

Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty

[andy-15-07]

Only you in the spotlight

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1249| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

request:I had one in mind where the reader and pedro are together 3 years (she's 33) and when he starts filming Materialist she begins to get a bit insecure cause he's doing the movie with Dakota and fans are speculating about them and how good they look together and the reader doesnt show she is bothered but she cant sleep cause of it and one night she is on the couch scrolling though she comments and when pedro wakes up she reveales to him about the insecurity and she knows dakota is engaged bur still and somehow they get into a small fight about it and they dont speak for a day and he takes her out to dinner to make up and they talk about it and eventually make up? You can decide the end :)) @kellyxo1

They’d been together for three years,longer than most people in their circles stuck with anything. You, at thirty-three, had grown used to Pedro’s long hours, his endless travel, the strain of fame. Still, nothing had prepared you for Materialist. The buzz started small: fan accounts noting the chemistry between Pedro and Dakota “on set.” It wasn’t like anyone thought anything was actually happening,you knew Dakota’s engaged. You knew Pedro adored you. But what if they saw something real? What if you weren’t enough?

That night, sleep slipped away. You lay in bed, listening to the hum of the apartment, Pedro’s even breathing beside you. You slid from the warmth of the sheets and padded into the living room, flicking on the soft lamp. Your phone lit up with fan art and speculative comments: “Pedro and Dakota look like they belong together!” “I’m calling it now: new Hollywood power couple.” Your stomach knotted.

You tapped out a sarcastic reply under one fan tweet,something benign, teasing,but it gave you a small jolt of satisfaction. You scrolled another minute, then set the phone aside, staring at the muted TV screen. It was almost four A.M. When and how had you become so… paranoid?

By the time Pedro padded out in one of his oversized T-shirts, you had tears in your eyes. He paused at the door, blinking at you on the couch.

“Hey,” he said sleep-hoarsely. “This set late?”

You bit your lip. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He dropped onto the cushion beside you, careful not to touch. “You okay?”

“I,” You took a shaking breath. “I saw some comments.”

He frowned. “Comments?”

“On social. About you and Dakota. Saying… things.” Your cheeks burned. “That you were,” God, you sounded insane. “That people think you’re together.”

He was silent a beat, then wrapped a hand around yours. Warm. Solid. “Those people are morons.”

You tried to smile. “Yeah, but it got to me.”

He squeezed your hand. “I’m working. It’s a job.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. “I know. But it’s different with her. There’s… chemistry.”

He loosened his grip, a shadow crossing his face. “Chemistry on camera doesn’t mean anything off camera.”

You closed your eyes. “You’re sure?”

“God, yes.” He brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “I’m with you. I love you.”

You opened your eyes. “Then why did it hurt so much?”

He hesitated, jaw working. “Because I don’t want you insecure.” His voice cracked. “I want you confident in us.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I just… fear that all those people will see something I can’t, or want you more than I do.”

He sat back, sighing. “Y/N, look at me.” You did. “You are the one I want. Always have been. Always will be. Dakota’s fantastic, but she’s not you.”

You sniffed, smiling through tears. “You say that now.”

He gave a half-grin. “Do I need to prove it?”

Your eyebrows arched. “How?”

He stood and offered you his hand. “Dinner.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He ducked his head. “Not here. Somewhere … more flattering.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Okay. Where?”

“In ten minutes.” He turned and padded back to the bedroom, slipping into jeans and a clean shirt.

You shook your head, a warmth spreading through your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe you just had to trust him. You splashed cold water on your face, brushed your hair into a loose bun, and met him in the hallway.

He led you to his vintage Jeep,windows down, breeze fluttering. You drove through empty streets, the city’s lights soft and blurry.

Finally, you pulled up outside a little late-night bistro, still open for staff. Lanterns glowed on the patio. He helped you out of the car and slid an arm around your waist.

“Thought we could use some real food,” he said. “And real conversation.”

You followed him inside. The hostess smiled, guiding you to a small table in the corner. He pulled your chair out, settled across from you.

The waiter came, and you ordered something comforting,pasta, garlic bread, red wine. Pedro chose a burger and fries, uncharacteristically casual.

When the waiter left, Pedro leaned forward. “Talk to me.”

You flicked a strand of hair behind your ear. “There’s nothing to say, really.”

“Bullshit.” He lifted his wine glass. “To us,fighting stupid insecurities.” He pressed the rim to yours. “And to how amazing you are.”

“Thank you.” You clinked glasses. The wine was warm, rich. You set the glass aside. “I hate that I felt like I needed proof.”

He reached across the table and captured your hand. “You don’t.”

“Then how do I stop it?” You studied his face, the flicker of lamplight in his eyes. “How do I keep this… irrational fear away?”

He squeezed. “You remind yourself I chose you. Every single day. And I remind you, too.”

Your heart fluttered. “I need more than words.”

He leaned close, his breath warm. “Okay. Then show me what you need.”

You swallowed. “Assurance.”

He smiled. “Good. ‘Cause I plan on giving you plenty.” He stood, pulling a few bills from his pocket and setting them on the table. “Come on.”

You left the money, just small bills. “Where are we going?”

He led you outside into the warm night. “Somewhere private.”

He drove you to a grassy overlook just outside the city. The skyline glowed behind you. He parked and climbed out, lifting you into his arms.

“Hey!” you laughed. “Careful, big guy.”

He set you down softly. “I’m always careful with you.”

He stepped close, unbuttoning your blouse with slow deliberation. You didn’t think, you just let him, your skin goosebumping. He kissed the column of your throat.

When your blouse fell open, he drew back and studied you. “So beautiful in this light.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

He shook his head. “Not crying. I want you hard.” His voice dropped. “Right now.”

You swallowed. “Out here?”

He shrugged, voice hoarse. “If that’s what you want.”

You bit your lip. “I do.”

He cupped your face, kissed you fiercely, then trailed his hands down to your waist, tugging you closer. Your lips moved together hungrily as his palm pressed between your legs, finding you wet, ready.

He groaned into your mouth. “Fuck.” His hand glided through your folds, warm and firm, teasing your clit. You moaned, fingers tangling in his hair.

He lifted you, guiding you back into the Jeep. The seats scratched your back through your skirt, but neither of you cared. He unzipped you, pushing inside with one deep thrust. You gasped, riding him as he collapsed the seat forward.

You found rhythm together,him filling you, you gripping him. Every movement made car doors slap, windows rattle. You pressed close, breathless, arms locked around his neck.

He grabbed your hips, lifting and lowering you until you both cried out, voices echoing against metal and glass. He came first, hollering your name. Then you followed, collapsing against him as your pulses thundered.

He held you close, forehead to yours, breath matching yours. “Love you,” he rasped.

You wrapped your arms around him. “Love you more.”

He kissed you soft, tender,no need for words now. The city slept beneath you, but you felt wide awake, held safe by the man you trusted to choose you, always.

He started the Jeep and drove you home under a sky full of stars, your insecurities tucked away behind you,for now, at least,buried in the warmth of his arms.

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 2.3k a/n: it's the end! It's been fun(?). It's definitely been fun gaining new friends from this series (if we talk one (1) time we are friends idc I don't make the rules). anywaaaay enjoy the ending chapter 💛 prev: testing

Stage seven: Acceptance

Jason spent most of his mornings in silence these days. He has a routine now. Wake up, bathroom, coffee, journal. But today is different. Today marks two years since you've been gone. And honestly? Jason isn't in the mood to write down what he's feeling. He isn't in the mood to make coffee or shower or do much of anything.

And the family, without even needing to hear from him, can sense it.

Jason hates how in tune they can be when he gets a call from Dick. Of course he picks up, Dick never calls unless there's an emergency

“Hey, let's grab coffee and breakfast at that shitty place downtown.”

“Why would I go if it's shitty?”

“Okay well, I know you're going to call it shitty. I think they have really good bagels. Let's go, I'll meet you there in fifteen.” Jason can hear Dick's sympathetic smile and he wants to punch his brother's perfect smile through the phone.

“Who says I even want to spend time with you?” Jason's question comes out sharper, meaner, than he wants it to. He winces to himself at Dick’s silence.

“That's clear across town.” He mumbles to make up for the quiet, "Won't make it in fifteen.” Jason grumbles but he's already digging through his closet for something clean to wear.

“Sure you will. See you then.” Dick hangs up and Jason sighs.

But Dick is right, of course. After breaking multiple traffic laws on his bike he makes it to the cafe in thirteen minutes. He's parking it on the street when he sees Dick walking over to him with a warm smile.

“Told you,”

“Shut it.”

The two walk down the street after getting their coffee and pastries in tense silence. Not a bad one, but one that Jason wants desperately to ignore.

“So,” Dick speaks up.

And then time stands still. Dick stiffens because surely there's no way. He's on guard immediately. Jason, on the other hand, drops everything he's holding. His heart stops. He feels sick to his stomach and his knees feel weak.

“Dick,” he rasps out in a whisper. His hand reaches for his brother in a way to ground himself.

“I know.” Dick whispers back. “It's not. It can't be.”

The flow of the crowded sidewalk parts around them as if they were just an obstacle in the way. Two grown men stopped dead center in the sidewalk

Staring at you.

“It's not-”

“It can't be-” They both speak at the same time.

“What the fuck?” Jason whispers.

It's you. You. Standing there at the end of the sidewalk, like a ghost, in the outfit you wore on the day you died. You just stood there, staring.

Jason knows, logically, that it's not you. They had found your body, had you cremated, you were in an urn on his dresser safe at home in his dresser. His breath catches and his eyes fill with tears. And before he can stop himself, before Dick can even stop him, he's jogging down the sidewalk towards you.

You turn the corner as he gets closer and Jason calls your name, desperately trying to get you to stop.

“Please don't-!” He turns the corner, the same one you rounded just a second prior and for a moment he loses you in the crowd. Dick is hot on his trails and with a pant he points.

“There. She crossed the street.”

“Shit,” Jason crosses over with Dick behind him. He's already sending over texts about what's happening.

You're fast, faster than Jason remembers. You were never able to outrun him, let alone Dick as well. Yet here you were, running down the sidewalk away from them. Jason feels like he's in a never ending nightmare, the kind where you're running down a hallway that gets longer and longer with each step.

The two aren't sure how far they run, their surroundings begin to blur together as their focus is on you. It's only when Dick sees the warehouse uphead that he begins to slow down, his hand on Jason's shoulder to stop him.

“Jay, wait-” he pants.

Jason watches desperately as you run to the warehouse.

“Let me go!” Jason shrugs his shoulder away from Dick who grabs hold again.

“No. No!” Dick is stern, he turns Jason around to face him. “We have to think about this. It's obviously a trap. Jay that's not-” his voice wavers.

Jason visibly swallows, “I- but what if it is? What if I can save her this time?”

Dick shakes his head, “You can't. Because that's not her.” Saying it out loud feels like swallowing glass. “You know it's not. I know it's not.” He continues on. “We have to think about this.” He repeats.

“But-” Jason whines. He needs it to be you, needs you to be here with him again.

“Bruce and Tim are on their way.” Dick tells him. “We can't just rush in there, okay?”

Jason feels some sort of relief knowing Dick isn't stopping him completely from barging into the warehouse. Jason nods. He tells himself he needs to be logical but his mind is at war with itself.

“Good. Give me just a second, I'm calling Babs.” Dick says before taking a few steps away, keeping Jason in his eyesight. Jason runs a hand through his hair and paces anxiously.

“Okay.” Dick comes back. “Babs has eyes on the warehouse. She's only picking up on one heat source which means they're likely alone. Bruce and Tim are five minutes out-"

“Motherfucker,” Jason growls out, “we can take him. Easy. He's a p-”

“Easy there,” Dick puts on a hand on Jason's shoulder again to reel him back in. “We can. I'll let Bruce know. But when we get in there don't… don't freeze up on me, okay?”

“I won't.” Jason grits through his teeth. He's pulling his pistol, tucked neatly in the back of his jeans. Dick scrunches his eyebrows together.

“You seriously have that on you? We went out for coffee.”

“Never leave home without it.”

“Yeah…that checks…” Dick sighs before pulling an escrima stick from his boot. Jason lets himself smirk before the two walk to the warehouse.

Jason and Dick stand on either side of the warehouse door before Dick nods an okay to Jason. He proceeds to aim his gun, cocked and ready, before kicking the warehouse door open.

And there you are. In the dark with only one singular light overhead. You're tied to a chair with ropes and you look so defensiveless and small and real.

Jason's taken back in time to the moment he first saw you on the screen in the Batcave. The room you were being held in was dark with only a single light above you. You were tied to a chair and blindfolded. Slowly Joker walks into frame from behind you, crowbar in hand.

Jason is visibly shaking, the entire family watched with bated breaths.

“Where is she?” Bruce demands in a quiet voice.

“I- I don't know. I don't know, I'm <I>trying</I>.” Babs is heard through the comms. Her voice shakes as she typed furiously at her computer. “I can't pinpoint them-”

“That's not good enough.” Bruce is having trouble keeping his anger in check. No one can blame him.

Jason feels like he's going to throw up. The decades old blood on the crowbar has iodized, turning into a deep dark color.

“Hello, chat!” Joker gets close to the camera he's using to livestream his little event. He laughs in amusement. “My special guest here today is none other than Red Hood’s soon to be wife. Isn't that something?”

He casually strolls toward you and Jason's hands ball into tight fists.

“Don't touch her, don't touch her-” he's repeating quietly through clenched teeth.

“I didn't even get a wedding invite! I was heartbroken,” Joker goes on dramatically. He trails a finger over your jaw and you jerk your head away from him, teeth bared.

“Baba, let me go after him. I will burn down every building until I find him-” Damian is cut off by Dick shaking his head, silently telling him to stay quiet, that his outburst wasn't helping.

“Feisty.” Joker laughs again at how quickly you jerk away from him, before bringing the crowbar up to your cheek. “Robin, sorry-” he cuts himself off with a smirk, “Red Hood acted the same way. You two are just simply made for each other. Adorable.”

“I'll fucking kill him.” Jason spits.

“I think I almost have him.” Babs tells the family.

Steph and Cass stand beside Tim at the Batcomputer, Steph crying as Cass holds onto her.

“Do you think you can come back to life too?” Joker whispers in your ear. You rear your head back enough to headbutt his temple.

“Ow!” Joker reels back, holding his head.

“Alright, enough of that.” He spits before he brings the crowbar down against your thigh with a sickening crunch.

“Fuck!” You wail, your tears stain the fabric covering your eyes.

“Mother fucker!” Jason erupts back at the cave as he watches the livestream. “I'm going to fucking kill him, B!” He's already reaching for his helmet.

“Hold on, we don't know where she is.” Dick interjects.

“I don't fucking care. I'm not going to sit around and watch this when I can be out looking for her.” Jason snaps back at Dick.

Jason turns to look at the screen in time to see Joker right up close, like he knows Jason is watching.

“Poll time.” He sing songs. “Who thinks the little birdy’s girlfriend should die?”

The room swells with an aggressive tension. Every single comment on the livestream that pours in is a flood of yeses. Jason's blood runs cold. He's on the verge of throwing up again.

“No…” he whispers.

“You heard the people!” Joker laughs maniacally and saunters back over to you. “Any last words for your love bird?”

“Please, please-” but you're not talking to Joker, you're not begging him. You know, that if he's out there watching, Jason is blaming himself. And even in your final moments the last thing you want is for Jason to be taking any sort of blame for what's about to happen.

Joker rolls his eyes and pulls your blindfold down and Jason's heart stops. This can't be happening, he refuses to believe it. He's questioning everything.

How did the Joker find you? How did he know you were with Jason? If only he had been more careful, protected you better-

“Tick tock.” Joker muses as he begins to pull out his revolver.

“I love you,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

BAM!

“No.” Jason takes a faltering step. “I found them!” Babs speaks at the same time. Steph lets out a surprised yelp. Bruce slams his hand against the desk. “What the-” Tim whispers. It all happens in slow motion.

“Jay?” Dick asks in anguish, turning in time to catch Jason who's falling to his knees.

“No, no, no-” Jason shakes his head. His voice is strangled and choked and no one's ever heard him sound so small before.

“Baba?” Damian’s voice quivers, his eyes are glued to the screen.

There you're sat, tied to that damn metal chair. Your head hangs forward as blood drips down your face.

Jason's hand slams against the concrete floor. Once. Twice. A third time. Dick stops him when he hears the all too familiar crunch of bones breaking.

“No-” Jason breathes.

“Shit,” Dick's own voice stammers.

Then they hear it. The all too familiar sound of Joker’s laughter.

“Oh, how delightful! Two birds with one stone today? This couldn't have gone any better if I tried.” Joker steps out from behind the shadows.

“She said only one heat signature..” Dick whispers to himself.

“I'm so glad you're here to see your beloved die in person this time ‘round. I'm still upset I wasn't invited to the wedding.”

Jason's mouth is dry, his head is spinning. Dick takes a step forward.

“Why are you doing this?” He demands.

Joker stands beside you, his gun pointed to your temple again and Jason is frozen in place. He can't breathe let alone move.

“Why?” Joker laughs. “For putting me back in Arkham. And for fun, I suppose. It's always a good time celebrating anniversaries!”

He's quick to pull the trigger again. Dick and Jason both lunge forward, crying out. But instead of dying, again. Instead of watching your skull and blood splatter against the concrete, you begin to turn to a sickly orange matter.

“You said you wouldn't shoot!” Clayface pouts at Joker. Jason and Dick stop in their tracks in shock.

“Oh calm down, not like it can kill you.” Joker rolls his eyes petulantly.

Jason is seeing red. His vision is focused on Joker and Joker alone. He doesn't see Dick next to him with his hands reaching for Jason's arm, he doesn't see Clayface making a move to get out of the way.

All he sees is Joker’s surprised smile, like he's excited, as Jason raises his gun and pulls the trigger. He feels like he's moving in slow motion.

A second later everything rushed into him like a tidal wave.

“What did you do?” Dick whispers as Joker's body hits the floor in a spine chilling thump.

“What I should have done the first time he killed her.” Is what Jason replies before dropping his gun to the cement floor.

All of Jason's progress, all of the hard work he put into getting through his process of grieving was gone in an instant. Shot dead, just like the love of his life.

But this? His progress, his hard work, the months he spent pushing to get better, for you, only to have it all taken away from him in the blink of an eye because of a deranged clown? He wasn't going to grieve any of it.

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[spookysanta]

Chapter 8: Morning Glory & Missed Messages

Ongoing tags: [Modern Romance] [Slow Burn] to [Fireworks [Black!Reader] [Younger!Reader] [Reader is That Girl] [Obsessed Michael™] [So Much Eye Contact] [Vacation Fling] turns into [Something Real]

Potential TW/CW: [Swearing] [Light Sexual Tension] to [Eventual Smut]

Read Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

yeaaaaah get into it! three-day work week this week + a shit ton of ideas + lots of drafts = a lot of shit coming your way! we're gonna keep on trucking with more of the checklist fics - "payback (with interest)." is next. v excited with the nastiness that'll ensue in that fic. make sure you got fresh draws on. or no draws. whatever you'd prefer.

You woke up slow. Still tangled in him. Still quite sore. But in that sweet, stretched-out way. Still drunk on the way he held you even after everything, like his arms were your address now.

His chest rose and fell against your cheek, his fingers tracing lazy shapes along the curve of your spine. There wasn’t any rush, no tension. Just the kind of morning that felt earned.

“You awake?” he murmured, breaking the morning’s quiet.

“Barely.”

“Wanna sleep more?”

You shook your head. “Don’t wanna miss this.”

He smiled, kissing your shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Us…The morning…You…Not letting me go yet.”

He hummed gently as a reply. The two of you laid there for a while – mumbles about everything that followed after today.

Upcoming flights, work schedules, and most importantly, what came next. “I want to see you soon,” he said with a knowing sigh. “Like next-week soon.”

“I want that too.”

“You fly home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come to you Sunday. That cool?”

You smiled. “That fast?”

He kissed your shoulder again, chuckling at your surprise, but also knowing you couldn’t say no to him. “Duh. I’ll have waited long enough already.”

The rest of the morning morphed into the two of you getting dressed, beginning with a shared shower – steam filling the bathroom in a warm haze, hands smoothing over soapy skin, slow kisses, wet fingers, and his voice in your ear like warm velvet.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, holding your face in his hands. “I swear I could wash you every day.”

You giggled, fingers wrapped around his waist, the steam not being the only heat against your cheeks. “You’re so dramatic.”

He couldn't help but chuckle, “You’re laughin’ but I was dead serious.”

He turned the water off, helping you out of the shower before wrapping you both in towels that could only be described as clouds against your skin. You stood side-by-side as you brushed your teeth, bumping his hip with yours when he tried to kiss your cheek with toothpaste foaming around his mouth.

The two of you climbed back into bed and he called downstairs to order room service – pancakes, bacon, fruit, eggs, tea, coffee, extra hash browns “just in case”. But the moment the room’s phone hit the receiver, your phone started buzzing.

You snorted as you scrolled through your notifications, fingers typing fast before anyone freaked out (even more than they already were, apparently).

You had barely hit send when the screen lit up again: 

tatiannaaaaaaaa rennaye wants to FaceTime you.

You groaned.

Michael looked over, brows furrowing in concern. “Everything okay?”

“My friends think I’m either kidnapped or dead.”

“Tell them I’m ordering eggs.”

You answered, instinctively rolling your eyes, but choosing to put a smile in your voice. “Hi.”

“Girl,” Tati snapped. “We almost sent a wellness check.”

“I’m fine. I slept in.”

“You slept with your whole soul,” she said. “Send proof of life.”

You flipped the camera, pointing it at Michael, who was shirtless and sitting cross-legged on the bed with his phone in one hand, his other hand brushing the small of your back.

Tati blinked. “Okay, I’ll allow it,” she responded in satisfaction. “You can stay a little longer.”

“Thanks, Mom.” you replied with a laugh, saying your goodbyes as a knock rapped against the suite’s door.

You both ate breakfast in bed, sharing bites, fruit from his fork, and soft silence broken only by tiny laughs and syrupy moans over the pancakes.

And after breakfast, he helped you gather your things while he gathered his own. He tied his your hoodie drawstring nice and tight, in the way that he’s come to know you loved. 

He pressed a kiss to your temple, holding your hand all the way down to the lobby for checkout.

—

The ride back to your hotel was quiet. Not sad. Just full. It was like both of you were already counting down to when you’d see each other again.

As he’d been doing, he walked you to your suite; and before you opened the door, he turned to you. “I can take y’all to the airport, if you want. Help y’all save a bit of money on Uber.” he mumbled.

You sighed, appreciating the gesture but not wanting to have to go to the airport at all. “Yeah… I think that’d be nice.”

He nodded, leaning in and kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him. “Sounds good.”

“Don’t let us oversleep.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be outside at eight.”

“Got it.”

Then, gently, like he couldn’t help it, he peppered kissed against your forehead. “Bye, baby.”

When you unlocked the suite’s door and shut it behind you, four women stared you down like you’d walked in wearing a wedding dress.

“You made it!” Nas cheered, secretly eyeing the hickey that bloomed against the collar of the hoodie you were wearing.

“Unkidnapped,” Lex added.

“You smell like sin,” Kris noted. “…and pancakes.”

You dropped your bag. “I need to lay down.”

“No,” Tati said. “Your ass needs to pack. We’re leaving in the morning.”

You groaned. “I just came back.”

“Girl,” Nas said, “you left.”

And once again, like clockwork, the suite was full of laughter, of voices, of rustling bags, of rolling suitcases and shared mirrors and the sound of the last day beginning.

The sun dipped low around seven. Golden light poured in through the windows as the suite buzzed with motion — curling irons back on the counters, open suitcases half-packed, outfit pieces flying across the couch like nobody was actually ready to go.

“We said casual,” Nas reminded as Tati tugged on a strapless jumpsuit and posed in the mirror like she was going to a red carpet.

“This is casual,” Tati replied. “For me.”

“I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt,” you said from the bathroom, one brow arched.

“That’s because you’re glowing,” Kris cut in, smirking from the edge of the bed. “You could show up in a paper bag and still outshine all of us.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because she was right. You were glowing. You still had a little bit of that warmth in your thighs, that softness in your chest.

—

The rooftop club was quiet this time of night. Not empty, just relaxed – groups scattered in corners, music playing low from someone’s phone speaker. You found a spot by the balcony, a perfect view of the city below, the skyline glittering in the distance.

And of course, drinks were ordered. Fries were set in the middle of the table. Phone cameras were flashing from every angle.

“Okay, everyone hold still,” Lex said, angling her camera in her selfie stick that she forgot she’d packed. “Golden hour is giving.”

Tati leaned in. Kris lifted her glass. Nas kissed Lex’s cheek. You smiled without trying.

Click.

Click.

Click.

And for a moment, it all felt suspended, like this could stretch out forever if you let it. No one brought up flights or suitcases or the fact that you’d be going to bed in a different city this time tomorrow.

Everyone just… existed. In the shimmer. In the sound. In the love.

—

Back in the suite, the noise of the night quieted as you crossed the threshold. People trudged to different parts of the suite – almost testing to see if time would move slower if they did. 

Lex was packing, softly humming. Nas was editing the night’s photos. Tati and Kris were debating whether or not to order room service dessert.

You slipped into your bedroom, your phone in hand, thumb hovering over the contact.

You didn’t even have to press anything before your phone lit up.

michael b. jordan (no seriously) is calling you…

You answered fast, like you’d been waiting. “Hey.”

His voice came through low and warm. “Hi, pretty girl.”

You exhaled.

“How was the night?” he asked.

“Perfect.” you sighed in contentment, slipping your clothes off to change into pajamas consisting of a shirt that you may or may not have borrowed from his duffel bag. You sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

“You eat?”

“Mhm.”

“What’d you have?”

“We shared a plate of fries and a bottle of wine and took, like, thirty pictures in front of string lights.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like heaven.”

“It kinda was.”

There was a pause after that. You weren’t sure why your throat felt tight, but it made you afraid to speak.

And of course, he noticed. “You okay?”

You blinked hard, feeling your eyes well up, wiping your cheeks as tears started to fall. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you. “I just…”

He heard the sadness in your voice clear as day. He didn’t miss a beat. “FaceTime me. Let me look at you.”

As much as you wanted to fight him on it, you knew it would be an uphill battle. So you caved, pulling the phone from your cheek and pressing the “FaceTime” button. It connected immediately. And you’d finally seen yourself, eyes shimmering and puffy with fresh tears, cheeks damp.

And then you saw him. His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he wanted to pull you through the phone to grab you. You could see the heartbreak splayed across his face.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whispered, voice broken. The honesty cracked open like glass – soft but deep. The tears flowed freely then, wet and hot against your cheeks in a way that made your heart ache in sadness and slight embarrassment.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t want you to either.”

You were quiet except for the occasional sniffle as he let the silence breathe.

“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” he added. “About seeing you off. About how fast this week flew.”

You swallowed thickly.

“And I keep wondering to myself… how in the hell did you get under my skin this quick?”

You let out a deep, shaky breath, rubbing the wetness on your cheeks away with your palm.

“Because I see you,” he continued. “I see the way you try to make space for everybody else before you make it for yourself. I see how scared you are to ask for something real. And I see how hard you fight to believe that someone could choose you first.”

More tears welled in your eyes.

“You deserve to be chosen, babygirl,” he said. “Every. Single. Time.”

You didn’t speak. Or rather, couldn’t. 

He softened his voice even more. “I’m gonna miss you like hell. But I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

You nodded simply. “Yes. I know,” you whispered.

“And I’ll call when you land…”

You nodded again.

“...I’ll come to you next. And after that, we’ll figure out what’s next.”

You breathed in, letting out another sigh, finally getting yourself together. “I want there to be a next.”

“There will be. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You laughed, the smile he was searching for finally appearing.

“You gonna be OK?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Good. Call me if you need me.” He said your name like a kiss. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight.”

The call ended. You wiped your eyes before stepping back out into the suite’s common area. To the girls, to the laughter, to the final night that still had a little magic left in it.

You stayed up a little longer after everything cleared out.

But it wasn’t because you weren’t tired – you absolutely were – but because the moment felt suspended. Like the room knew it would all end in the morning and wanted to stretch out every breath of it.

Lex had laid on the floor of the common area, having pulled her suitcase out from her room and leaving it half-opened in the middle of the room.

Nas had started braiding her hair while sitting on the couch, playing reruns of Jersey Shore.

Tati and Kris were finishing off the rest of the wine in the kitchenette, flipping through their camera rolls, arguing over whose angles were strongest.

You just sat on the kitchenette’s counter, Michael’s shirt hugging your frame, blanket laid across your lap, already feeling the ache rise up again.

“You okay, hun?” Tati asked, noticing the change in your face.

You nodded. “I just… don’t want this to be over.”

—

You fell asleep later than you meant to, but not too late. You’d made sure to set your alarm. Already laid out your clothes and packed everything except your toothbrush.

When the morning came, it arrived gently – grey skies, soft light, and the kind of stillness that made you breathe a little deeper.

Everyone moved like clockwork. No chaos this time, just quiet groans and zippers. Matching sweats and puffed-up neck pillows, final checks, last wipes of lip balm, sighs into coffee cups.

You looked at the clock just as your phone buzzed.

After gathering luggage downstairs, you met him in the hotel’s courtyard. He was standing by the car, back door open, trunk popped. Black sweats and a Bulls snapback on his head. His eyes were low, like he himself was overwhelmed with emotion but wouldn’t let it show. 

But he was still fine, and still one of the safest things you’d seen all week.

He looked up and smiled sadly as you stepped through the lobby doors, girls behind you with rolling suitcases and sunglasses, moving like a slow parade. “There y’all go.”

Tati gave him a once-over. “You’re lucky we didn’t oversleep.”

“Would’ve waited,” he said easily with a shrug. “Would’ve brought croissants.”

Nas rolled her eyes. “Charmer.”

“I mean it.” He loaded every bag into his truck, checked every headcount, and opened every door. By the time you climbed into the passenger seat next to him – seatbelt clicked, bag under your knees – you felt the air shift again.

Like it always did when it was just the two of you.

The ride to the airport was full of that last-day energy: a little slap-happy, a little sentimental, and a lot of shared glances across the car.

Lex played a playlist softly through her phone.

Kris whispered a prayer over everyone’s flights.

Tati was texting the girls' group chat from within the car, sending blurry pictures of Michael from behind his headrest with a string of flame emojis and the caption: “our driver is fine as hell.”

You leaned into the window and laughed.

He caught your reflection.

And at the terminal, the car idled in the drop-off lane. Of course, Michael got out first and unloaded the luggage, saying his goodbyes and giving short hugs to the girls.

Then it was your turn. You’d gotten out of the car last, stepping out slow, having needed an extra second to collect yourself. Your heart was in your throat as you walked to him and grabbed your luggage from his hold. “I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you said quietly, feeling the heat in your face rise again for what seemed like the hundredth time in 24 hours.

“You’re not.” He reached for you, palm cradling your jaw, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “You’re gonna go. You’re gonna land. You’re gonna text me.”

You nodded.

“And I’m gonna call – and text – and whatever else you need, as many times as we need to. And then, I’m gonna book a flight to come see you.”

“That doesn’t sound casual to me.” You joked with a short chuckle. 

“Because it ain’t – and if I gotta remind you every day, I will.” 

You kissed him first without any hesitation. Soft. Full. Like every second between now and next time had to be soaked in this moment.

When you pulled back, he didn’t let go. “I’m yours,” he said. “You hear me?”

Your voice cracked. “Yeah.”

He leaned in. “All yours, baby.”

You kissed him again before you turned to go, the girls already waiting at the airport’s entrance. There was so much ahead of you – the now what’s, the what if’s.

But right now, your heart was set right there in his hands.

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[cutestcouch]

Be quiet

A oneshot ❤︎

Loser!Stephen Glass x Head Girl!Reader

Warnings: library blowjob, whiny Stephen, kinda sub Stevie, he cries.

The gif is from @lacebird ! Dividers by @anitalenia as always ! Happy belated @alealuvshayden , this is your very.. very late bday present haha . This is proofread like always !

The shadows of dusk were pooling through the windows of the library. Not many people sat in, very few studying or staying longer for private tutoring lessons.. which is precisely what you were doing.

Stephen had been helping you with your calculus homework for nearly two hours. And it was no secret of how bored you were, hell it showed on your face. Stephen noticed it aswell, and frankly.. he didn’t care, he just liked to be around you.

It was common knowledge that Stephen liked the head girl, but apparently he didn’t know that you knew either. Stephen might be the most dense person you know, like.. he wasn’t being very discreet either. Shyly looking over at you from time to time, fiddling with the buttons of his uniform.

It’s not like it was one sided or anything, Stephen was much cuter than he gave himself credit for. Despite the things that are said the jocks get on your nerves, and the head boy? Don’t even mention him in your presence.. You weren’t picky, but when you wanted someone? You were gonna have them.

‘Hey Stephen?’ You quipped, leaning on your hand. Eyes roaming his face.. his glasses slid down from their perched spot on his nose, the curls on his forehead, the beauty marks littering his face, the blue of his eyes.. he was so pretty.

‘Uhm yeah..?’ He turned to look at you, fingers fiddling with the pages of the math textbook. ‘Don’t you wanna do something else?’ Smiling at him, ‘not to be honest.. I actually really like calculus.’ He lightly beamed back at you.

You rolled your eyes at his response ‘I’m so sure you do..’ trailing your gaze down to his hand in his lap and back to his face. ‘Aren’t you tired of.. studying?’ Smiling at him. ‘Im sure bored.. aren’t you?’

His face flushed slightly, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. ‘Well no.. I like studying, I’m good at it haha..’ he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. ‘I spend a lot of time reading and stuff, oh I like writing too.’

‘so what do you besides.. educating yourself all day??’ You hummed, finger trailing up his chest. Stephen’s breath hitched, your finger getting closer and closer to his throat. ‘I uhm..’ he swallowed nervously.

‘I like to read comics.. and I collect figurines.. oh! I really like legos too, I have some in my dorm on display. If you wanna um.. um.. come and see sometime..’ he shyly glanced up at your face before looking back down at his hands.

‘Are you inviting me to your dorm Stevie?’ You smirked at him, finger going up to tap at his nose. ‘Well uhm— yeah.. only if you want to though’ smiling at you softly.

‘yeah sure.. I’ll come to your dorm.’ You hummed, finger tracing his jawline now. Stephen tensed in his seat, shakily exhaling. ‘I wanna.. show you my comic collection n’stuff…’

‘Yeah yeah, hey don’t you wanna do something with me?’ Smiling slyly at his flushed expression, ‘oh yeah sure.. like what? Did you want to study history too?’ Tilting his chin up with your fingers. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind… no’

Stephen couldn’t believe what was happening, one minute he was helping the girl he’d been crushing on with calculus- now you were on your knees unbuckling his belt. Stephen was perplexed.

‘Wait wait— are you sure that this is a good idea..?’ He nervously looked around, the two of you were leaning against a bookshelf near the wall. One of the more secluded spots in the library by far. ‘Shhh nobody’s gonna find us out if you be quiet Stevie..’ you whispered, eyes meeting his nervous ones.

Pulling his belt loose and unzipping his fly, Stephen visibly shuddered. Event though he was nervous his cock certainly didn’t show it, straining against his khakis. But that’s what you’re here for, to make his wildest fantasies come true of course.

Shimmying down his pants and his boxers just enough to free his aching cock. And it was.. pretty..? Tip dusted a lovely pink color, creamy precum leaking out. A vein going up its underside.. and he was pretty clean shaven too, which was fairly surprising.

You smiled, wrapping your hand around him and eliciting a yelp. ‘Shhh Stevie, you don’t wanna get caught do you?’ Your hand stroked him languidly, smearing arousal on his shaft.

He bit his lip to stifle a whimper, hips involuntarily twitching. He needed this so bad. ‘No.. sorry..’ he looked down at you, blue eyes wide and needy. He was trying so hard to be quiet.

Stephen’s hands fisted at his sides, shuddering when you took your tongue and licked from the base to the tip. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, trying to muffle his moans- he really didn’t wanna ruin this for himself. This might not ever happen again.

Your tongue flicked out to lick at the precum beading at the head, going down so only the head pushed past your soft pillowy lips. ‘Holy-‘ he moaned, trying very hard to be quiet. His hands gripping at the shelves behind him, Stephen was gonna be very embarrassed if he came early.

You took note of his reaction and went down on him further, inch by thick inch. Tongue sliding down the underside of his cock, jaw slack and going down on him in his entirety. ‘Oh—‘ he whined, hands going to gently hold your head.

‘Oh wow that’s— wow..’ he stuttered out, voice trembling and incredibly small. ‘Wow you’re- really good at this..’ he fought against gripping your hair tightly, throwing his head back against the bookshelf. Torn by the pleasure but also his efforts to say silent.

You pulled back just enough, swirling your tongue around him before going back down again. Soon enough you were bobbing your head around him, cheeks hollowing and your eyes boring into his.

The intensity of your stare and the erotic things you were doing to him nearly unraveled Stephen on spot, he could feel the heat pooling in his abdomen. A feeling he’d only felt when he would jerk off in his dorm, but it wasn’t nearly this intense.

‘Oh I think— I think I’m gonna-‘ Stephen’s words died in his throat when your soft fingers began to massage his balls. His eyes fluttered, fingers tightening in your hair. His whole face felt hot, he never wanted this to end.

Your head moved faster, Stephen’s teeth dug into his bottom lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. Hips weakly bucking into your mouth, desperately chasing his release. Tears welled up into his eyes, he couldn’t hold it any longer.

You could feel how close he was, and that prompted you to suck harder. Squeezing his balls between your fingers, and his hips stuttered. ‘Oh no I think I’m gonna— nngh—‘ Stephen just barely got out, his voice a broken whisper.

His fists tightened in your hair, letting out a muffled whine. His cock twitched in your mouth and soon enough, warm spurts of his cum filled your mouth. Thick, and salty, and lots of it too.

Stephen slumped against the bookshelf, accidentally knocking a few books down. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving and tears streaming down his face. His glasses were on the end of his nose, steadily sliding down.

You tucked his spent cock back into his pants, zipping him back up and fastening his belt. Stephen’s eyes were lidded and red rimmed, looking at you as if you had just saved his life. Drool dribbling down the side of his mouth.

Stephen didn’t have anything to say, just looking at you. You smiled, licking your lips and pushing his glasses up. ‘Can I still come over to your dorm and look at your comics and stuff?’ Wiping his lip with your thumb and putting it in your mouth with a sly look.

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Sorry this took so long guys when I write smut I always hate it and have to ask people for feedback! This one was fun to write, I love writing for Stephen he’s awesome.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! I love you and thank you for reading, if you request PLEASE no more James Kelly. I can’t take anymore

[twilightofthesandwiches]

A lot of Deltarune… isn’t quite a refutation or counterargument to Undertale’s themes as much as it is going, like, “I mean, you’re not wrong… but it’s a bit more complicated than that sometimes”. Or, like, elaborating on nuances that were present in Undertale but weren’t given as much focus as Deltarune, as a much longer and more complex game building on Undertale’s themes, can give them.

And it happens most often with Ralsei. Ralsei’s worldview often seems to be an oversimplified and corrupted reflection of Undertale’s themes. Exaggerating them and stripping them of their nuances so that the other characters (mostly Susie) can respond to them and re-introduce nuances and complications back into them.

Most obviously this is done in Chapter 1 with his ultra-Pacifistic and ultra-nice attitude to conflict. His views at the start were a lot more simplified than Undertale, as even a True Pacifist Playthrough requires one to defeat Asgore and Flowey through violence at least once. Plus a bunch of times where Sparing an enemy required an acknowledgment that they can’t be appeased or convinced to back down from a fight. There was sometimes a bit of trickery involved, rather than just 'being nice'.

But these nuances weren’t really Undertale’s narrative focus, the focus was on selling the Player on the value of Pacifism in the first place. So Ralsei’s oversimplification of the idea is a good basis for Deltarune to start putting these nuances to the forefront of the story and really focusing on them, now that Undertale has already established the baseline of “even Random Encounters can be real people with feelings and you should always strive to non-violence.”

And I think a similar thing is kinda happening with his whole…

Which feels to me very reminiscent of…

Like, okay, it is very thematically important that Asriel can’t be ‘saved’ in Undertale. The Royal Siblings Tragedy is a traumatic shadow looming over so many characters in the game, and it’s not something that can be perfectly fixed by being nice or even with Unkillable Time God Powers. Toriel and Asgore and, yes, Flowey/Asriel himself all have character arcs centered around moving on from the tragedy and accepting the present, and would be weakened if a Player could just… magically fix things.

But that doesn’t mean that doesn’t hurt to hear Asriel be so resigned to his fate. Susie Deltarune’s reaction to hearing Ralsei speak so plainly about the idea that he’s just an illusion and that she should prioritize her ‘Real Friends’ very much echoes the emotional reactions of most Undertale Players seeing Asriel ask them to not worry about him and focus on their real friends because he’s already doomed. And in both cases it’s extremely understandable.

The fact that even with Unkillable Time God Powers, the past is the past and there is a value in acceptance and moving on is itself an important nuance in Undertale’s central theme of Determination. With enough Willpower and Defiance, the Player can defy the concept of a kill-or-be-killed world, and free the Monsters from their seemingly hopeless prison, and resist the laws of death and time… it’s a power that comes from a refusal to accept the inevitable. But if you deny everything that goes against your personal will, you’re gonna end up like Flowey, utterly consumed by grief and denial over Chara’s death.

Flowey has to accept that the game between him and the Player is going to end, Asriel has to accept Chara is dead, Asgore has to accept his family will never truly return to what it was before, the Player also has to accept the game is over and that replaying it will just tear away the characters from their happy ending, and that the Asriel they saw at the True Pacifist Ending is gone.

But even with all of that… that doesn’t lessen the emotional pain of watching a little goat boy asking you very kindly and very genuinely to abandon him. It doesn’t make it any less valid for one’s reaction to be “Well, who said I have to leave and forget you? I’m sure that with the pure strength of my heart and the Power of Friendship(TM) I could save you too!!”. It doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking, even frustrating, that this is the thing the game ask you to give up on.

Undertale already added some nuance to the situation, first things first, Asriel does honestly appreciate it if you go all the way back to the start of the game and talk with him. Although he still feels that he's doomed, at least he accepted that Frisk is going to remember him.

Secondly, with Flowey’s Post-Pacifist Dialogue

And especially that Winter Alarm Clock Dialogue…

…both showing that while there was nothing that could be done to stop Asriel from turning back into Flowey, that does not necessarily mean Flowey is doomed. Despite his claims both in his Flowey form and as Original Flavor Goatboy Asriel, Flowey does still show hints that he cares for other people, that he has been truly affected by the events of the True Pacifist Playthrough, that the heart he had as Asriel isn’t actually truly gone…

We’re still dealing with the fact that we can’t undo the trauma of the Royal Siblings Tragedy but… Just because Flowey can’t be magically turned back into the person he was before his Trauma, doesn’t mean he is doomed. What happened happened, but he is still capable of healing and self-improvement. And although he’s still kind of in the margins of the Post Pacifist Friend Group, it doesn’t seem like he’s just been abandoned or forgotten for the sake of the people who are more ‘real’.

So just like with Ralsei’s Pacifism, I think his fatalism and absolute lack of self-worth is an exaggerated and simplified reflection of Asriel's situation. It's kind of a Very Different Thing between Ralsei believing he's ontologically doomed to matter less than Lightners and Asriel believing he's ontologically doomed to be an asshole, but...

It still creates a basic foundation to add nuances and subversions to the point about the importance of moving on and acceptance. Not rejecting it outright, but demonstrating how seemingly clear-cut situations of acceptance can become more complicated.

Because in Susie we now have an actual character to voice the frustrations many players felt about being unable to 'save' Asriel and argue in favor of the desire to never abandon a friend, no matter how doomed or unimportant or lesser he claims he is.

Because now we can better demonstrate the more toxic and unhealthy manifestations of the idea of ‘moving on’. How it can be just as bad as clinging to the past relentlessly.

And allow more time on-screen to explore the nuanced alternatives that aren't either unhealthily clinging to the past or quietly accepting your own lousy fate.

And now we can create more situations where Susie’s instincts to reject acceptance and reject leaving anyone behind and reject ‘moving on’ are actually the unambiguously correct answers.

Not necessarily always, I do think she’ll have to accept that Gerson is dead. And obviously with this being DivorceRune the Divorce Game, the theme of needing to move on from clinging to a past that will never be restored just as you remember it is still very important.

But she has a point, and just like with Pacifism, I think she actually has an important lesson to teach Ralsei specifically.

[prettyiwa]

2:41

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x Reader Content Tags: Light Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, New Relationship, Casual Affection, Profanity, Nightmare of a little more than canon-typical violence Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: This got longer than I thought it would.

It’s 02:41 when you call Sakura, well aware that there’s a good chance he won’t answer.

The phone rings three times and you’re ready to hang up, still unsure whether “call me whenever, for whatever” includes almost three in the morning following a nightmare. But he answers halfway through the final ring, voice saturated with so much sleep that it leaks from the speakers of your phone.

“Mm ‘ello?”

Guilt hits you like a truck, climbing up your throat so quickly you’re afraid you might choke. You got it, your confirmation that he’s okay, but your voice hitches when you say, “Sorry, I didn’t— I just wanted…”

There’s rustling on the other end, a huff of breath. Then he says your name, the sound of it coming off his breath, spoken with a layer of tenderness that isn’t quite there in the day. “S’m’thin’ wrong? What fuckin’ time—?”

“It’s almost three.”

His sigh comes through so clearly you could almost believe he’s sitting with you. “You okay? Y’ never call.” He’s sounding more coherent, though sleep still drips from his tongue like molasses, reluctant and slow to release him.

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t I decide whether it’s stupid?” There’s more rustling and you imagine him sitting up now, blanket shucked to the side. What must he think of you right now? After a beat, he exhales, otherwise communicating that he’s not hanging up till he gets an answer.

You bite the inside of your cheek before saying, “I… had a nightmare. It’s—”

“If ya say it’s stupid again, I might come over there in the morning to—” His yawn interrupts his impending threat, the sound pulling out a yawn of your own. “I dunno. But ya won’t like it.” He waits a moment longer. “What happened?”

It lingers in the back of your mind, sticking to your psyche with the same persistence as a tick, poisoning you at the same time it bleeds you dry. Your fear, ever since you had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time during his last year at Furin.

“There was another brawl… Y’know… like the one from your first year?” The most he gives you is a grunt, a wordless confirmation of the memory. “And I… I guess I pissed off one of the main guys or something and so I started running. And then I finally reached you and I thought we were safe, but he found us with his friends. You should’ve been fine—you’d probably be fine if it happened in real life—but…”

“But I wasn’t.” There’s no judgment in the way he says it, no exasperation like you were expecting. Nothing to indicate that he, like you, thinks it’s stupid.

“But you weren’t. You just got… distracted, I guess. And I felt like I was frozen in place. You know, like those dreams where your limbs are too heavy to move and you’re stuck watching things unfold?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“There was just—” it grows hard to breathe all of a sudden, tears unexpectedly welling up behind your eyes until you blink, letting one go, “—so much blood.”

Your chest spasms with your inhale, making it shudder as you try to calm yourself. It’s fine. He’s alive and safe and talking to you on the phone. It’s not the first time he’s sat with you through an attack of yours, though certainly the first on the phone, and it takes you a bit to get out of your own head before you realize he’s doing something on the other line.

“Sakura?”

“‘M here.” Still, things rustle and it isn’t until you hear the familiar clinking of a belt buckle that you realize he’s getting dressed.

“What are you doing?”

The noises cease. “I… I’m comin’ over.” It sounds almost like he didn’t realize what he was doing, simply acting on impulse, but there’s the beginning of resolve to his voice that makes your skin tingle.

“Sakura, no. You don’t have—”

“I know I don’t have to. But you’re fuckin’ cryin’ over there and I—” He’s never been good at being idle while you cry, even when he knows the best thing he can do for you is to simply sit with you. “‘M coming over. It’s only gonna be ten minutes, so get… get ready for me, okay?”

“… Okay.” You can’t help the smile forms on your lips, a soft, delicate thing almost exclusively reserved for him, for the unintentionally tender moments he gives you.

“I-It’s… it’s fine if I come over, right?” And there he is, awake enough for his hesitation to rear its head and make him otherwise waver.

“You sounded so sure just a second ago.”

“Shut up. Just… It’s okay?”

“More than okay.” His relief is audible, broken up by more shuffling on the other line. “Can… Can we stay on the phone?”

Something muffles against the speaker, then there’s a shutting of a door. “Did ya think I was gonna hang up on you or somethin’?”

You laugh to yourself. “Maybe? I don’t know. You never tried coming over in the middle of the night before.”

“Yeah, and you never called before. It’s… whatever. Don’t hang up on me.”

Never could say no to him, but you suppose it’s a two-way street. Though the two of you don’t say anything else, your mind growing heavy now that you know he’s okay, the line remains open, the occasional breath telling you he’s still there. It isn’t even ten minutes later when he arrives, looking more awake than you feel.

Before guilt can begin to gnaw on your lungs again, his fist comes up, the side of it lightly bumping your forehead.

“Feel better?”

He lets you soak him in, studying him and comparing him to the image your mind conjured up. There are no bruises that decorate his knuckles, no cuts across his nose or above his brow, no swelling that distorts his face, blocking his eyes. You come forward and his arms lift before he flinches, freezing as he’s still prone to do. But he doesn’t push you away, nor does he complain when you wrap your arms around his center, fisting the fabric of his shirt.

He is warm and safe, the frantic beating of his heart beneath your touch reaffirming that he is very much alive.

“A lot better. Thank you.”

Sakura’s arms come down, his touch light at first, tightening as he grumbles, “Th-That’s what matters.”

It’s 3:23 when you two settle on your couch, talking about how quiet the world is at the hour, about the plans for the day, about nothing of importance. Sakura doesn’t react when you press into his side, sleep pulling at your tired mind, comfortable with him by your side. It’s about another hour before his heart calms enough that he’s able to join your slumber, arm wrapped around your shoulders, head coming to rest on yours.

[maimaily]

the lads boys as kittens. 🍐 ‧₊˚ zayne

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed the most adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time as a dog... right?

characters: kitty!zayne + mc as reader (other characters will be posted separately

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language).

xavier 🢒 rafayel 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb (coming soon)

Zayne — Maine Coon How did he get to live with you?

A precious cat café that you frequented was your favorite, it had a cozy atmosphere and the kitties were adorable. Most of them were young and lively, playing between the tables and napping on the window frames. You loved that place, but one day you received the unfortunate notice: they were going to close permanently soon.

The nostalgia of memories formed in that special place drove you to visit again before it shut down forever. There was no longer service, and just a couple of employees were cleaning up the place. They apologized and explained that maintaining the establishment was becoming impossible since the rent had become pricier and the cats needed more medical treatments. Upset, you were about to leave just when the owner stopped you at the door.

In his fragile arms he carried a pitch-black beauty, bigger than a regular cat. You recognized him as the cat you always found at the reception desk every day you visited, staring at the door in an upright sitting position or taking a nap from time to time.

The owner explained that it was his cat. He tried many times to introduce him to the rest of the cats in the café, but he never got along much, mostly because his big body intimidated the smaller ones, and apparently, he wasn't as playful. Because of this, he made it stay with him at the reception to keep him company, rarely getting any caress besides yours, who always showed him affection.

The gentleman explained the complicated state of his health. His business had become a chore for him, it made him stay away from home for long hours, and he couldn't bring himself to leave his precious cat alone that much. Since his goal was to provide the kittens with a better life, he got them new owners who were happy to adopt them before closing the shop. But for his boy… he needed the perfect caregiver. That's when you learned his name: Zayne.

"Even now that I'll be more at home, he deserves an owner who can take care of him as he deserves. My mobility is getting more limited with each passing day, and I'm worried he's starting to take care of me instead of me taking care of him… My wife and I adopted him some years ago, but I'm not selfish enough to make him stay with me now that she's gone… I know he will be happier living with you."

And that's how it happened. After a couple of days of proper procedures, your new angelic boy was home.

Gracious presence. Zayne has the unique talent of making looking through the windows a solemn sight, with his silky, daintily groomed black fur glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. His tall, long body stretches gracefully when he wakes up from his small naps, purring tenderly when you scratch his chin (he loves it). His existence is so full of grace that your gallery is now loaded with his photos.

Shy boy! During the first days of living together, it was hilarious to see such a big cat jumping in surprise each time Rafayel got closer to sniff him when he was napping, accidentally waking him up. But his reclusive demeanor was as endearing as it was concerning, you didn't want to cause him any discomfort or anxiety, so you did your research and got a few toys and treats ready, compromised to spend the day bonding with your cats. Rafayel was enthusiastic, Xavier liked being rewarded for his hard work, and Zayne... well, he played with the plush mouse toy along with Xavier! It was something, wasn't it? The next day when you returned home after work and saw them napping together, you knew it had been all worth it.

Quiet. Continuing with the previous trait, he's an even quieter cat than Xavier! Doesn't really let out meows and just occasionally chirps when he's hungry or expresses discomfort. He doesn't make any noise at night… someone could learn a thing or two from him.

Glutton in disguise. Zayne is a well-mannered cat, he is clean, polite, and mostly never causes trouble, but when food is involved… sigh. His usual wet food is fine, perfect even: nutritional, tasty, and prepared with love when you add the supplements recommended by the vet. There's nothing wrong until treats are involved. He likes them too much and will get pretty moody if he doesn't get at least one per day. The vet strictly restricted him from eating them so frequently after his last check-up. He doesn't like to talk about it.

His favorite place to make biscuits is your thighs. Soft, squishy even, he doesn't hurt you with his weight and you always reach out your hand to pet him as he commits to his duty. It occurs as you're lying down: he'll announce himself with a short meow and jump on top of your legs gently. After he's done, he lies on your lap quietly (nap time!)

Nuzzles, nuzzles, nuzzles. Against your legs, your hands, your face, anywhere you allow him to, really. Doesn't do it frequently, just when you've been gone for too long or when he's showing affection. Oh, he also likes to stretch his body up on you, so you must carry him and let him nuzzle against your neck when he's needy.

Grooming grump. No, don't get me wrong, I said it before: he's always neatly groomed. Not "most of the time", no. Always. He spends a good amount of time getting his fur clean and shiny, not even Rafayel is as meticulous as him, but... the grooming brush? Get that away from him. You have to prowl around while he basks, acting as if you're not looking for him, then reach down to pet him a couple of times, gaining his trust... and now! You take the brush from your pocket and start from his exposed belly. He'll surrender the first 5 minutes, gently smacking your hand when he's done with the sensation. And let me tell you he's still very polite about it.

No touch. Strangers can't touch him, he'll run off. You can, but that doesn't mean all the time. His ears are particularly sensitive so he'll move away if you scratch him for too long, and how open he feels that day to allow you to shower him in caresses or not relies on his mood. You've learned to respect his boundaries, giving him space when he needs it, and he knows for sure your arms are all open to receive him when he wants to be pampered.

It felt, at times, like the world was a heavy storm cloud perched on your shoulders—loud, weighty, and unwilling to lift. "Bright days and cloudy days" you merely called it, but deep inside, the truth was that exhaustion made you feel like you were running in circles.

“Hey, it's fine. We're all bummed about it, but it's already done. Take this. It'll help you sleep at night”, the forever-sweet Tara told you after seeing the guilt in your eyes, still heavy from today’s mission... including that disastrous report you submitted, which didn’t exactly win points with your boss. She handed over a small packet of herbal tea—the kind that promised to calm your nerves. Her usual remedy when things felt off.

With a sigh, you put it away in your bag and left the Hunters Association building. Your bike was under repair again since it had been damaged during your previous mission, so you had to take the bus—and yes, what your eyes saw was the bus, the only one that came every hour, pulling away as you arrived at the bus stop seven minutes late.

On the outside, you only sighed heavily and rubbed your temples. But inside, you felt like you were reaching your last straw for the day.

The door locked itself after you, matching your hundredth sigh of the day. Kicking your shoes off and not caring about picking them up to store them was the first sign. Dragging your feet in dim light and just pouring food on each of the bowls was the second one. Ignoring the mess of toys Rafayel created during the day, and Xavier asleep on your clean laundry was the third.

Finally, heading to your bedroom without taking a shower first was the fourth and last one he needed before jumping off the wall hammock and walking towards the dark room. The soft click of the door handle turning startled you. “Zayne?"

You were sitting on the bed, breaking your rule of no outside clothes on the freshly cleaned covers, but frankly, you were too tired to even bother. Your body was facing the open window, small tears blurring your eyes as you stared at the starry sky outside, counting the tiny sparkling dots to avoid any form of thought about your awful, lousy day coming to your head.

Evidence destroyed, a fugitive, and a terrible feeling of resentment toward yourself for failing.

It felt unfair to disturb the peace of your cats with the gloomy mood you were in, and it was late anyway, so you allowed them to sleep and rest at ease, dealing with your turbulent emotions alone. But tricking Zayne into believing everything was fine turned out to be a fruitless mission.

He walked around the bed, his shiny, peridot-like eyes staring back at you. “Meow,” he bumped against your leg, nuzzling for a second before placing his paws on your knees for support. “Oh, Zaynie. Go back to sleep, it's nothing." You scratched his chin and he purred, leaning against your touch and jumping on top of your lap, sitting there. Avoiding falls from the unstable sitting spot, you cradled him in your arms like the biiiig baby he was. “Sorry for waking you up…”

His paws gently touched your face, and it sounded ridiculous maybe, but you felt it like reassurance you so badly needed in that moment, and that made you tear up. His paws patted your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile. Your back rested on the mattress now, his body cuddled on top of you, purring slowly and tenderly, his soft breathing calming your own. He had nuzzled his face against yours as you cried and let out all the pent-up stress and frustration from the day.

His purring rumbled against your chest as your hands kindly petted his delicate fur, earning an affectionate lick on the cheek that coaxed a giggle out of you. You cupped his tiny face to pepper kisses all over it. "Thank you for coming to my emotional rescue, my loving gentleman," you teased, adoring every aspect of him. Zayne was observant, and after weeks of building your relationship, earning each other's trust, and caring for each other, it was clear as day how much of an emotional support he was for you.

Once your mind became clear of self-deprecating thoughts, you refreshed yourself with a warm bath, changed into your comfiest clothes, prepared the tea Tara gifted you, kissed Rafayel and Xavier goodnight —a well-deserved gesture after a whole day of absence—, and tucked yourself under the covers where Zayne waited patiently for you.

Your hands gently caressed him, waiting for the herbal infusion to take effect, and slowly you drifted into the land of dreams, your relaxed breathing bringing a sense of comfort to the cat beside your limp body. He stretched to reach the lamp on the nightstand, fumbling with his paws until he managed to press the switch and turn off the light.

You'd only notice until the next morning, but it wouldn't be the first time he surprised you with those actions. Were those small gestures the same as he did when he lived with the elderly couple that adopted him first? And if they were, was he tired of having to do it all over again for you?

A few words were enough to answer this: he would always look after you with pleasure, as you always took care of him.

© MAIMAILY. Please do not steal, copy or plagiarize this work.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

hi !! first of all: thank you SO much for the love the kitty series is receiving! I'm so happy y'all like it, these are really fun and relaxing to write for me, so I'm glad there is people who enjoy it too. For Zayne's part... I'm sorry Zayne girlies, I admit this isn't as fun as Xavier's or Rafayel's, but y'all are welcome to make me write something cuter if you want HAHAHA. Thank you again for reading, let's see each other again for Sylus's version! <3

thank you to all the people who started following me too! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

tag list ! @animegamerfox, @princessofenkanomiya, @aethercoreria

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato, @v6que and @haecunt

[monayen]

Hope ur having a good day/night ^-^ would love to see Nyon dating head cannons, you wrote him so sweet in ur last fic!! I feel like he’d lowkey be a yandere

Dating headcannons | Nyon

➷ paring - Nyon x Gn!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷cws - hes ur weed smoking girlfriend, kinda creepy behavior, pillow humping, oral

a/n - if you have been apart of the monayen nation for a while now then you know how long ive been putting this off. sorry again my dear love nyon, you do not deserve this,, okay enough roleplay but seriously sorry for the wait on this. sebastian is next for dating hcs

Incredibly reserved at first, you’d almost think he didn't really like you

Wouldn't hold your hand or look at you for longer than a couple seconds before turning beat red and walking away

He’s so used to being beneath someone in the pecking order that he kind of just… defaults to letting you take the lead. Probably functions best that way.

Expect to be the one to initiate most romantic things at first

Despite that, he doesn't like to take things slow. A bit contradictory… but he’ll genuinely get his feelings hurt if you give him too much space

So make him hold your hand and spend time with you. It's for the best

Does get more comfortable with time. Luther likes to say you cracked his shell :-)

You’re one of the only people he can fully relax around. You're able to bring him a kind of peace he never really knew he could have

He doesn’t outwardly seek affection, but he soaks it up when you give it. If you play with his hair, rub his back, or just hold onto him, he’ll turn into puddy in your hands. If you stop, he’ll look at you with the absolute saddest eyes until you continue

Listener boyfriend! Listener boyfriend! Could sit for hoursss and just listen to you

You might think that he isn’t, since he isn't the best for input, but he really is. He's shocked you with remembering little details that you’ve mentioned in passing ages ago

Even if you aren't a big talker, he’ll still listen. Nyon likes to lay his head on chest and listen to your breathing, your heartbeat, your inner workings

You're his favorite person (besides Master), so his entire existence centers around you in a way that’s both endearing and a little obsessively creepy

Not in a dangerous way — Nyon wouldn’t dream of hurting you, but in a way where you can tell that you mean everything and too much to him

Again, not very good at saying it outright, but it’s in the way he lingers near you, the way his long fingers wrap around your wrists, and the way he's constantly is staring at you every time you're around

You might wake up in the middle of the night to find him just sitting there, watching you sleep, completely silent

You’ve caught him doing this multiple times, even if you both fell asleep together. He’ll wake up way earlier than you just to see the way you stir and breathe.

More than willing to give up space in his (and Nyen’s) room just to have you around. The space is cramped, the air always smells faintly like smoke and vinegar but Nyon helps you get comfortable

The mattress is a tight fit for two people — three, if Nyen decides to come sit at the edge and wordlessly intimidate

But Nyon doesn’t mind, he wants to be cramped if it means being close to you. Legs tangled together, his face buried in your shoulder, breathing in your scent

HUGE pillow humper too 

Full on biting the sheets and rolling his hips, eyes shut tight as he fucks into the soft cotton, pretending it’s your skin he’s dragging himself against. Bonus points if it smells like you 

The kind of guy who would 100% steal your hairbrush and run his tongue along the bristles. Or hide away a neatly folded tissue you once used. He can get off to almost anything, as long as it reminds him of you

Nyon used to get painfully embarrassed whenever things got even remotely romantic in front of Nyen

One time, you kissed his cheek and Nyen muttered something mean under his breath. Nyon went scarlet, pulling back to stand in a corner as if he did something wrong

He cares less now because Luther has expressed that likes the relationship, and Nyen won't do anything to go against that. Nyon also finds a tiny bit of smug joy in having a partner to show off, not that he’d ever admit it.

Not very good at planning dates

The first few times he does try to take you out, it doesn’t even feel like one. He’ll invite you to go “look at this spot on the wall” or ask if you “want to come with him to the pharmacy.” 

Content enough to just be close to you, even if it's just sitting on a bench outside the gas station

If they do get planned properly, the movies are enjoyable! Would prefer to watch them at home with you, but doesn't mind to splurge on overpriced tickets and too-buttery popcorn for you 

He also likes to go on walks with you. His favorites are the cemetery and a hidden path behind the Ivory house. Likes the quietness of them, and not to be edgy… but a corpse or two around means spirits get to witness the absolute romance that is him staring at the ground while you hold his hand

Would prefer a partner who smokes weed since he's a frequent user. Absolutely willing to share his stash and waste hours laying about high with you

It's alright if you don't but you definitely have to be okay with him doing it. Might try to convince you to smoke every so often, but isn't super annoying about it 

50/50 chance of his behavior when he's stoned. Either somehow more nonverbal or a lot more open. Maybe it depends on the strain? Who knows

The latter is more likely if you both are high, and more open leads to more horny. He can get surprisingly a bit witty and daring when he's under the influence

Nyon’s voice gets a bit lower and smoother, his red, lidded eyes have their pupils blown out, and you can make out the ghost of a smile when he curls up closer to you, erection pressed against your side

Absolute fucking MUNCH. Doesn't even have to be high (as we all know) for him to get down between your legs. You might have to tear him away once he gets going

Who knew someone so quiet could whimper and whine so much?

His face gets so red and sweaty that you worry he might pass out, but don't worry, this guy can last a longgg time. At his absolute loudest when he's balls deep in you ;-)

The kind to bury his face in your shoulder, hips stuttering, breath hot against your skin as he whispers “please” over and over like a prayer

And again, while he would prefer a more dominant partner to take the lead, he doesn’t have much of an issue if you guys were more equal in the sense. Just probably doesn't have the heart to be demanding and controlling over anyone, let alone someone he loves

Tech savvy, so he’s managed to fill the family computer’s storage with things about you

Saved bookmarks about things you like, pirates of your favorite movies, an album filled with pictures of you, even had you pick out the screen saver 

Unintentionally romantic with things like that, maybe he doesn't realize when he's being off putting or creepy… but he's always thinking about you, and that's pretty sweet <3

[millersdarling]

even the nights are better. jackson!joel miller x reader

SUMMARY: in which joel miller falls for the nearly arrived woman in jackson... and her newborn daughter, sarah.

TAGS: hurt and comfort. fluff. mentions of toxic relationship. mentions of death. eventual feelings and smut. grief. age gap (reader is mid 20s / joel is 40s ). brief descriptions, but reader is bipoc and has curly hair. size gap mentioned.

WANT TO BE TAGGED? just reply to the masterlist post and you'll be automatically added to the tag list :)

masterlist | next chapter ( coming soon. )

prologue.

The wind still bites at your face with a sharp chill when Tommy Miller helps you down from the horse after passing through the gates. A doctor approaches from somewhere, and you only know this because you hear Tommy call him “Doctor.”

Several hands steady you on the ground, while your only focus is to hold on… to the child in your arms.

Sleeping as if the world were at peace again, eyes closed and lips puckered in a way that warms your heart. If you weren’t so, so weak… you’d hold her tight.

Your little girl.

Your baby.

“She’s going to faint,” Tommy warns, a little farther from you now.

Your vision is blurry, but you can still see the space around you. Two people hold you up while others around you have stopped to watch the scene. You can smell fresh bread baking from somewhere, more horses, and…

Children.

Tommy told you when he first spoke about Jackson that the place had children of all ages, and that it would be a safe place for your little girl.

Part of you believed it, but a much bigger part still thought it was too good to be true.

But it’s true. You see it now, hearing laughter and overlapping conversations that make this place really feel like a world apart.

A woman approaches with a kind smile, asking permission and reaching out her hands to take your daughter.

“No!” you cry, outraged. Who does she think she is, trying to take your baby from your arms?!

“Sweetheart, she’s one of our nurses. They’re going to take care of her,” Tommy assures you.

You haven’t known him long. Actually, the opposite. He found you the night before, about to give birth. He helped with the delivery. Stayed by your side. Even though you hated the idea of having a complete stranger near you, touching you in one of the hardest moments of your life, he stayed. He spoke words of encouragement when you felt like you were one breath from death. He wrapped your daughter in a blanket and balanced her in one arm while tending to you, like he’d held a newborn a million times before.

That’s why you trust him. You probably trust him even when you don’t want to—because you owe him.

He gives a reassuring smile when you relent, handing your baby—your most precious treasure—to the woman in white.

“What’s her name?” the nurse asks, adjusting the blanket around the tiny girl.

You need to moisten your dry lips and summon a strength that no longer seems to exist inside you to make the words come out.

But they don’t leave your mouth.

Then, everything goes dark.

And you faint.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

You wake up in the hospital. It’s warm, mostly thanks to the blankets covering your body.

Ah, damn. Your body. It hurts.

You’re not surprised to be in such rough shape. You hadn’t eaten in days and had just a little water when Tommy found you in an abandoned house, trying to escape the intense cold while your body gave every sign that your baby was coming at any moment.

He gave you food, yes. But it wasn’t enough to undo the damage of days starving.

You look to the side, seeing your little girl… in a crib. Sleeping.

“She’s quieter than most newborns.”

The male voice startles you, and you turn your head to see a man standing in the doorway. Dressed in winter clothes, arms crossed as if he still needed warmth. There’s snow on his shoes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Tommy sent me to check on you—he’s my brother.” He takes a step closer into the room. His eyes are fixed on your daughter, as if the sight of her is something beautiful to him too. “Are you both okay?”

“As much as we can be.”

“You don’t have to keep worrying about survival all the time here in Jackson. I imagine Tommy already told you that.”

He did.

And you still aren’t sure if you believe it.

Well, at this point, you don’t have much choice but to believe it.

“Thank you,” you say, unsure what else to say.

Joel comes closer, placing a package on the little table beside your bed.

“Tommy sent sandwiches. Don’t let the nurses see them or they’ll swap it for more soup.” He smiles. Or at least, it’s an attempt at a smile. Joel definitely doesn’t look like the smiling type.

You try to smile too. It must be the first time in a long while that a smile crosses your face.

The past few hours have been… far too tense for smiling.

“Thank you,” you say again.

“What’s her name?” Joel keeps his hands behind his back, as if trying to make you feel safer as he steps closer to the crib. “Tommy said you hadn’t decided yet.”

You shake your head.

That’s a lie. You’ve known what name you’d choose for your daughter since the moment you found out you were pregnant.

You told Tommy, and you can’t see a reason why he’d lie to anyone about it.

“Sarah,” you say, finally.

The faint smile on Miller’s face vanishes.

His brows furrow.

Joel steps back a few paces, his eyes fixed on Sarah like he physically can’t stop staring.

Suddenly, you’re not so sure you want him to stay in the room. Your protective mother instinct knows something is wrong.

“Is something wrong?” you ask anyways, suppressing the urge to get out of bed and stand between Joel and your daughter.

Joel doesn’t answer this time.

He looks at you, but you can’t decipher what’s in his eyes. Fear, anger, confusion? Impossible to tell.

Before you can say anything else… Joel leaves the room. In silence and with quick steps.

tags: @chewie-bars @namelesslosers @eviispunk @tonyysstank

[tsukimefuku]

It took me wayyyyy longer than I would’ve liked to properly sit down to COMMENT on this masterpiece, which I’ve read 7 times already 👀

First off: shapeshifting and sparring leading to sex is one of my kryptonites because it makes me weak WHO SAID THAT?

As always, you picked up on the most fundamental aspects to a character (in this case, daddy Halsin) and worked it into every word you wrote. It’s respectfully playful, poetic, wild, and so, so tender. It is NOT an exaggeration to say I’ve read this seven times — I literally counted it. LMAO

And…. DRUID READER. AAAAAAA *explodes* I was already in love with the concept and my HCs but you’ve now supplied me with more quality dope for my addiction. I bow to thee in gratitude 🙇‍♀️

Rahu, my friend, my dearest, one of my favorite people, one of two individuals in this entire fandom who have full access to my offline self, I have no idea on how to begin my sappy “thank you” note. Not only did I get a MASTERPIECE of a fic, it’s for one of my favorite characters, for my my current obsession and, to top it all off, it’s written by my favorite writer. I am going to die and you’re getting charged with emotional manslaughter. I love you so much 😭 I have no idea how to make things sound truly poetic (that is more of your shtick), but please know, that from the bottom of my heart, I loved this and will treasure it for years to come 🥹💜💜

Synopsis: A herb which gives you greater awareness of your animal forms leads to a memorable night with Halsin. [Fem Reader x Halsin Silverbough]

Contents: Romance, pre-relationship, explicit sexual content, consensual substance use, shape shifting, vaginal sex, unprotected sex.

WC: 7220

Written as a gift fic for the lovely @tsukimefuku for her birthday. Here's a little something from me!

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

"I crave you mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me,

all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the colour of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

~ Love Sonnet XI (Pablo Neruda)

In Faerûn, the winds are changeable. The shift of seasons is as delicate as the colour spreading from the bruised flesh of a summer fruit, marring beneath scrutiny that delves too deep, beneath fingers that probe too hard.

You had always been one who preferred to let nature bloom along its natural course. 

You'll always have one hand on the wheel of your destiny, but you'll also let the land take you where it needs you most.

You supposed that this was what drew you to him in the first place.

He was the first of your companions who didn't look directly at you to set the path, to plot the lines that would lead to the emancipation of the vale that had fallen beneath Ketheric's shadow.

In the denouement, he'd leaned on you in the way only he could, leaving you with the task of watching his broad back fade into a realm where you could not follow. He had gone to fetch Thaniel, and you had believed faithfully in his return, holding off your enemies until the dawn.

Afterwards, there had been signs.

Like the faint embroidery of green in winter-brown branches, he'd looked to you with greater frequency, and certainty. You no longer felt that your paths had merely coincided, more as if there was a great guardian that stalked the woods and hedges beside you, partaking of your kill.

Silverbough was his name, and you grew to fancy that his tongue was molded from a similar vein, because you could listen to him speak endlessly.

On days when journeying consumed the largest part of your time, he would stride along at your side, or just slightly ahead, nose raised to the wind. You'd find yourself watching the way the soft, brown braids would stir in the breeze, the way the faint crows' feet at the corners of his eyes would deepen in direct sunlight, the way shadow played across the bulge and dip of his bicep when he raised an arm to shield you from the worst of the midday heat.

You could brush off Shadowheart's knowing smile, or the way Gale's eyes seemed to follow you with greater intensity, even Astarion's snide quips about 'receiving the many gifts of nature.'

That was not your way, and, you were coming to learn, it was not Halsin's way either.

He was attractive as all Hells, that was for certain, but there was a different kind of dance that played out between you two that went beyond the call of man to woman, and vice versa.

He was a zephyr who led you gaily from one reckless spar on a cliff edge to another. He was a stone sentinel that stood bare-faced to each scoring wind of challenge. He was tooth and claw and sinew, encased in the rare flesh of the changeling. You could follow, and you could also lead, and the destination was never marked down on any map known to you or him.

To know Halsin was to let go of yourself, as you came to learn, soon enough.

"What are you looking for?"

Your curiosity leads you to the banks of the river you have camped beside, one summer evening.

Halsin is standing before you, feet braced on the riverbed, the water lapping midway up his thighs. He must have been submerged a short while before, and you pause to take in the sight of water dripping from the ends of his braids, across the scarred flesh of his brow, darkening the coarse hair that fans across his chest. Your hand comes up to your throat and you lower it again, hastily.

He regards you over his shoulder, eyes lambent in the dark, and you watch the slow curve of his mouth.

"These. Have you seen them before?"

He holds out one hand. Within the large cupping surface of his palm, you make out what seems to be an aquatic plant, the roots still clumped together with dark alluviual mud.

Hands braced on knees, you shake your head.

"Some kind of healing herb?"

"Something like that."

You catch his eye and cannot help the small twitch of your lips.

"Should I be concerned?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"Humour me. What does it do?"

He clambers up the bank with that easy, powerful stride, shaking off his body as he approaches you. Small flecks of damp speckle your jerkin and you straighten as he places the herbs carefully on a rack that he'd set up nearby.

"These will dry in the sun, but they need to be harvested at low light. The compounds within them are quite volatile."

"So once they're dry, I can put them in a pipe and smoke them?"

He pauses, shoulders shaking silently, before turning to you.

"A pipe isn't required, but that's the idea, yes. This is Fidoram, a herb we druids are fond of using when we want to ... gain greater affinity with our wild shapes."

Halsin picks up a pouch from beside the drying rack containing what you presume to be the same herb which he'd harvested and dried earlier. He crushes the roots slightly between his fingers, holding them out for you to sniff. Leaning forward, you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Some barrier has broken down, between his skin and the torn flesh of the root. What was herbal before now seems muddied in essence, a warm animal musk, the sweetness of new sweat on skin, the mingling of smoke and breath from between parted lips on an evening beneath the trees.

Your eyes slide open and he is watching you, a gleam of clouded grey beneath lowered lids.

Halsin's gaze is always a contradiction to you; on the one hand, clear and piercing, parting the veil between worlds, and on the other, misted over at times with a strange quality, as if human nature were optional, a skin he wore to pass time amongst beings such as yourself.

It intrigued you to no end. It made you wish to part that curtain with tentative fingers, to drink from that forbidden lake yourself.

"It smells ... "

"Intense?"

You nod, throat suddenly feeling a trifle tight, saliva thicker as you swallow. Halsin places the herb carefully back in the bag, and you feel his attention wander over you, from your bare feet on the grass, to your slightly bruised knees from the scuffle you'd had with bandits a few days prior, to the front of your jerkin, slightly unlaced.

He breathes out heavily and the air suddenly feels warmer, as if he's savouring your unique scent, the feather-light fingers of restraint dancing over his large form.

"Would you like to join me?"

You tilt your head, questioning.

"Join you?"

"I'm partaking of this joining ceremony. These Fidoram herbs are to replace the dried ones I'll be using presently. Would you like to be part of it?"

Your eager nodding causes him some evident amusement before you hesitate.

"You called it a joining ceremony?"

"When we druids transform our bodies, a deeper connection with the wild shape ensures a smoother transition."

"So you ... join your conscience with that of the beast?"

He stirs and straightens, holding out his hand.

"Here."

You place your hand within his, trying not to dwell too much on how the size of his palm dwarfs your own. His grasp is warm, roughened across the knuckles and the pads just below the fingers.

"Close your eyes again," he commands gently, and you comply, shifting a little closer to get comfortable.

"Now, follow the sensations on your arm."

Keeping your arm outstretched, he begins a slow exploration, digits tracing over skin. It begins with the feel of his touch radiating up, from the center of your palm to the soft area at the inside of your wrist. Halsin's voice rolls across your senses like muted thunder, close, humid, heated.

"You can feel me here. Now, you sense man, and now... "

Something shifts, and there is a charge in the air that causes the hair on your arms to stand upright. Halsin's tracing now feels ... different. There is a heaviness there that wasn't present before, coarse hair brushing over the inside of your arm, large, cushioned pads passing over you ... as if he'd switched to his bear form, which you'd witnessed many times before.

And then, another change, the heaviness giving way to something sharper; a living dagger being drawn down the centre of your arm ... not one, but two, three, four. The claws of a larger beast.

Hot breath blasts across your face, that scent of wet pelt in the rain stronger than ever. You keep your eyes firmly shut.

And as the raking reaches your wrist once more, there is another shift, much lighter, no less bestial. The swift shake and fluff of feathers, the click of a beak, sharp and staccato in the growing darkness.

A series of sharp prods, never breaking the skin, and suddenly Halsin's fingers are back, stroking to firm completion the motion he had started.

You still kept your eyes closed tight, a sharp exhale escaping you as you felt him raise your hand and place his lips against the juncture of thumb and finger. His mouth was hot, wide, lips slightly chapped and softer beneath in a way that defied all the sensations he'd just given you.

"Look at me."

It is no longer a command, yet you still obey. Maybe it was that you trusted him so completely, that you allowed him these ventures where no other had dared before.

He is smiling at you, soft and knowing, and the angle of the light through the trees plants a verdancy in that penetrating gaze that some part of your mind recognizes as both familiar and not.

His mouth doesn't leave your palm, and now he speaks against it.

"I've never changed my form, in all the time we were sitting here."

"But - "

You take the initiative, leaning forward and crawling toward him, inching by on your knees. He watches as the laces on your front fall further open, as you keep your eyes on him in a way that exposes your throat a little more, hair coming loose across your forehead.

" ... but, I felt it. I felt ... the bear, and the displacer beast, and a crow, and - "

"And I've never changed my form. You felt ... what I wanted you to feel. A great portion of our transformations are sensory, and the rest rely on our own awareness of our bodies. I can become a bear more easily because I spent the most time in that form. My body remembers it."

You're seated much closer to him now, where he seems to want you. Some physical boundary has been crossed, your space overlapping easily with his.

"So what would I experience in all this? Would I also contact some inner beast?"

He leans back on his palms, body stretching out to its full length, almost an invitation. Chin tilting, his glance passes from you to the stars that are now revealing themselves from behind pastel-painted clouds, dimming to the greater darkness of nightfall.

"Perhaps. Or possibly ... you'll just become better acquainted with mine."

Your laughter echoes between the trees, and somehow, this reminds you of the distance between your current position and the main camp. Beyond here, your companions may be milling around the fire, helping themselves to the pot roast Gale had prepared for supper.

It was your arrow that had stilled that boar's heart.

Emboldened, you nod, sitting upright.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do to prepare?"

Halsin is silent, and for a moment, you think he might deny you, that he might ask you in that warm, firm manner of his not to join him after all.

He doesn't do anything of the kind. It seems that he is aware of some willingness on your part, some desire to tear down the shifting, rustling wall between you two even further.

When he speaks, his voice is lower, but no less clear, the last thread of restraint stretching against the swell of long-present desire.

"Take off your clothes."

"And?"

"Allow me to perform a small cleansing ceremony. In the river."

"All right."

It isn't that you're more compliant. You're testing the limits of his control, in the way you feel you must.

Standing, you catch his gaze and hold it as you finally and fully unfasten the laces that are, at present, barely holding the leather garment together over your shirt. You peel it away from your body, arms stretching outward, a shadow like the wings of a larger bird spreading over his reclining form for a moment.

You take one step back, then another.

The hem of your shirt is lifted slightly, a teasing glimpse of the skin of your stomach visible. You turn away, keeping your profile facing over one shoulder, and lift the garment fully, chest and shoulders exposed to the mellow chill of the evening air.

You hands drop to your belt and you unfasten the buckle with a quick motion, tossing it aside. You're not quite bothered about finding it later.

Still facing away from him, your fingers hook into the top of your trousers, sliding them down to your ankles. You lift one leg, the sleek material still entangled and pull it free of your foot.

Underwear follows next, removed and discarded with swift movements.

Halsin has been watching patiently from somewhere behind you. You're fully aware that nakedness means little to him, that he is as comfortable in his own skin as he is with witnessing the reveal of yours.

Something about the act of standing nude before him now feels ... different, though. As if you've shed one skin for another, as if you're taking one step further into a closeness that breathes an stealthy, sensual vitality into your form.

When he stands and joins you, and you realise that he has also shed all of his clothes, it becomes even more evident.

Every hair on your body seems attuned to his, lifting, sensing, prickling with intent. A beast moves in the shadows of faint outer consciousness, one in the shadows you have yet to breach.

Halsin is looking at you as if you are a distant light on the water, focused, intent, the gleam of his eyes parting the gloom. He takes your hand, touch light and steady, and leads you to the river bank.

The temperature of the water is a slight shock at first. You didn't expect it to be quite so cold, but your body grows accustomed within minutes. Gooseflesh spreads from your extremities, across your upper chest, but you refrain from shivering outright.

Halsin wades into a position opposite you, before reaching down with cupped hands to collect water within. He steps forward and a light cascade runs down one shoulder, then the other. He takes his time, placing two fingers under your chin and tilting your head back.

River water dampens your hair, running in rivulets down your back and neck, tracing soft, cool lines down your breasts, the curve of your ribcage and down, down, to the slight dip above your buttocks.

"Prepare yourself."

You nod, the slick gravel beneath and between your toes digging into your flesh.

Halsin places a finger on your brow, tracing lightly down over the bridge of your nose, and suddenly the world shifts around you.

Inhaling sharply, you grasp his wrist.

"Easy. Easy. It's a sense enhancement. It will help you perceive ... everything a little better."

That was something of an understatement, perhaps because, unlike him, this was the first time you'd experienced such a phenomenon. It took a few minutes before you processed everything in a meaningful fashion again, his grip steady and warm at your waist, supporting you.

You realised now why he'd taken you into the water.

The cool pressure of the river against your thighs, the dampness on your skin, all grounded you, held your consciousness prisoner by a shifting tether. It was almost overwhelming, and then it wasn't.

Now, the world flitted against your senses in the way he'd intended, each sensation vibrant, fleeting, processed by the heightened awareness of your mind before another took its place.

There was a tug on your hand as Halsin indicated the grassy bank ahead. Nodding slowly, gearing your body for movement, you accompanied him as he led you back to the sheltered space between the trees.

He had you sit on a rolled out hide, covering you with a cloth that felt shockingly warm against your skin. You shivered as he dried the water off your arms, then your shoulders and back. He draped the rest of the fabric over your legs and squatted, opening up his pack.

"You don't have to take this journey with me, you know. I can always help you back to camp."

His voice is as gentle as the rustle of the leaves overhead. You shake your head and smile as your hair seems to sway around your ears with a similar sound, restless, tired of playing a soft cradle.

You want more.

Jerking your chin at the small brazier he'd produced from within the pack, you sniff and drop the blanket slightly. It pools around your shoulders, settling softly under your breasts.

Somehow, in Halsin's presence, nothing about the human form seemed shameful, or required concealment.

"Is that what you'll use to burn it?"

"Not directly on the flames, no."

Another small earthenware pot, blackened and singed, is pulled from the depths of the pack and Halsin is now packing the dried herb tightly within, until all the space within the vessel seems occupied.

"This is reinforced clay. Whatever's in here will heat up very slowly. That's what we're after."

He builds a small blaze, placing the brazier over and on top of that, the pot carefully balanced over a few well-placed river stones. He'd evidently had long practice with this.

You bring your knees down, sitting cross-legged. Before long, pale tendrils of smoke begin to emerge from the clay vessel, threading through the evening air. Halsin makes no move to direct the fumes, simply keeping his warm, watchful gaze fixed on you.

Tilting your head back, you inhale deeply. The scent is heady, fragrant, tinged with a low-lying heaviness that steals gradually across the back of the tongue.

Pleasant.

The world shifts around you again, but this time, your awareness holds firm. Something stirs within you, deep and primal, powerful. You can scent it on the wind, and now you can even discern Halsin's soft exhalation from across the small blaze.

Unconsciously, your breathing syncs with his. A tingling warmth spreads through your limbs, the kind that signals the start of a fever. You straighten, alert, eyelids fluttering open.

Halsin seems to have been waiting for this.

He stands, and you inhale softly as you take him in, the coil and release of muscle under tawny skin, the stretch and lift of old scars, the dark hair that spreads across his chest, tapers, then spreads again to form a dense thatch over the apex of his thighs.

He lets you look, arms spreading out slightly as he rolls one shoulder, then the other.

The air around him changes, as it does when he transforms. The transition is one you have seen many times now, so it comes as no surprise when you're confronted with the hulking form of the bear, towering over you, the flickering of the small fire still in between.

You rise slowly, the blanket falling away, and pace in a slow circle until you come to his side. Even on all fours, he is substantial, shoulder almost reaching yours.

His fur is thick, slightly coarse and you're suddenly struck with a desire to take handfuls of it, carding it in between your fingers. His flank is hot, pressed against your bare stomach, and he feels indescribably powerful, vital, present in a manner that you'd never quite understood the weight of before.

This is the bear, and this is Halsin.

Before you can think it over further, he turns, body lowering slightly and with a sharp gasp, you're being gently maneuvered onto his back.

You let out an incredulous laugh, echoed by a soft snort from his muzzle as it passes, breath hot and wet against your calf. The prickle of his fur sets off a dangerous dance of pain and pleasure along your sensitized breasts, your stomach and inner thighs.

And here you are, beneath the stars, your breath now steaming out of your lungs into the summer night, the shift of ancient strength beneath your body.

Halsin carries you through the woods on a throne of bone, flesh and fur, heading deeper into the embrace of the trees.

Above your head, the night fires wheel and the silent swooping shadow of an owl passes, cutting through the night sky with a deeper darkness. Something inside you purrs in answer, preens at the thought of seeing all.

Nothing escapes you, not even the flick of a here's ears as it traces your passage with wide, cold eyes.

Halsin takes you through the fruit trees, and you arch your back, ready to drink the sweet riot of their nectar, the rot of their fallen flesh trampled further into the soil as you pass. You can reach up and pluck them, rubies that echo with distant heat, and bite hard as their juice runs down your chin.

You feast, naked, on a bear's back, half queen, half animal.

When he reaches the larger clearing, the standing stones forming a ring in the grass-covered dip in the land, you slide from his back, wiping off your lips.

You have realized that the enchantment and, perhaps, some effect of the herb has made your vision in the dark clearer, less muddied around the edges. Shadows don't blend into each other as they do, a hard, jewel-like quality to stone, soil and the earth beneath, transposed over the softness of the living.

Turning in a slow circle, arms outstretched, you spin in exultation. The bear follows you, bellowing softly as his large head presses against your hip; an invitation.

Indeed, you feel like joining Halsin in a different form, as carefree as if you were on stage at the theater, discarding one costume for another.

Some part of your spine stretches, then contracts violently, your face elongating. Your shoulder blades are suddenly pressing outwards, against the skin of your back, two bulges writhing beneath the surface before breaking free in long, spear-tipped appendages. Your drop to all fours, the pain keen and exquisite, nails drawing scores across the ground, body wracked with the convulsions of sudden, shocking change, until ...

Sleek and black, your fur gleams in the darkness. Halsin is still beside you, and you see yourself, reflected in the large, placid eyes, amusement stealing into their depths.

Displacer beast it is then. Who knew that this would be your natural inclination?

The dark tendrils that sprout from your shoulders join your elongated tail in a soft, experimental movement, tracing along the bear's back, shifting between his legs, along his snout. You span the shape of him, as he snorts and nudges you.

You think you have some level of command of the whip-like extremities, and you test it now, tickling across his ribs and binding his jaws together playfully.

He gives a loud, indignant cough, twisting to free himself. You slap him across the backside with your tail and leap out of the reach of his paw, claws out, skittering across the ground.

Let it never be said that dignity had a part to play in this shift.

The bear's eyes narrow. He sways lightly from side to side, as if to deceive your eye as to which direction he'll approach from next. Your tail flicks in anticipation.

Halsin feints left and comes in from the right, aiming to push you over. Your innate ability comes to the fore, almost by instinct. Dodging away from him, you leave afterimages on the air, blue-black and humming with faint energy, taunting.

He lunges for you, head-on, and he's too slow and ... ah!

Mid-stride, his form changes to match your own, brown streaking away to sleek darkness. His momentum carries him forward, bounding off the pillar of stone that partially conceals your form, and he lands heavily on top of you, dragging you snarling into the dirt.

So he plays dirty, too.

The twin tendrils that snake from his shoulders twine with your own, tugging you closer. You squirm in his grasp, using your smaller size to slip beneath his body and tip him over. He lands on his back, tail lashing through the air to wrap around your hind leg, but now that you've had a taste of change, it coils around empty air, because you are -

A raven, darting and fleet of wing, claws curving to talons, fur extending to feathers, nose hardening to a snapping beak. Flesh warps in on itself, defying space, and your form shrinks rapidly as you streak between the trees.

Halsin is an old hand at this though, and he is always close behind. His transition between forms is far more seamless than yours, giving him more time to catch up.

Greater wings sweep close to yours, encroaching, feet tucked up close to his body to give him more speed.

You weave between tree trunks, branches and out of the occasional path of another nocturnal creature, leaves whipping past you with stinging exhilaration.

Where every shift for you is pure instinct, Halsin's grace is unmatched, each movement measured, powerful, weighted with intention. He knows each of his forms as well as he seems to know yours.

But you're not out of tricks yet.

In a final burst of speed, you break through the trees, each flap of your wings taking you further. You're about to turn sharply in mid-air, to dive for the low lying brush, when his talons slot between yours and you find yourself drawn into a dizzying spiral.

You change direction, pull at his grip, but you realise that you'd only destabilize the formation he has wrapped you in.

Giving in to his relentless, teasing pull, you allow yourself to be dragged down, down, as if a whirlpool of air is forcing you down its centre.

In this moment, you are weightless, free, abandonment of your human sensibilities dangerously close. You know only the stars that form streaks across the night sky, the warmth of Halsin's feathers, the slow blink of your inky eyes as you prepare for another shift.

Infiltrating all of these sensations is the overwhelming feeling of trust, that you can place yourself so easily in his hands (paws, talons, the minutiae don't really matter) and he'll always land, feet to the ground, bearing you with him.

And indeed, he does.

Right before the grass of the clearing comes rushing up to meet your falling forms, his wings expand to many times their regular size, dwarfing your body. The sudden air resistance gusts upward, catching in the feathers, and as he slows your landing, you realise that your temporary flight through the forest had not taken you as far as you'd thought.

You are back to being ... yourself, you suppose,  although that was now a transient term. Arms wrapping tight around Halsin, you feel when he returns to himself as well.

His torso elongates within your grasp, the coarse brush of hair against your chest, the bunch and slide of hard muscle pressing into your back as he holds you against him.

You both land in the grass with a heavy thump, Halsin cushioning your fall, and something inside you is not quite ready to relinquish victory rights for this unofficial battle. You roll, end over end, warm body over his, a breathless, endless laugh rising in your throat as Halsin seems equally determined to win.

You come to a stop, him on top of you, skin covered in grass and earth, lips still stained with overripe fruit and dark feathers tangled in your hair. He is looking at you as if the Oak Father himself had just spawned you from the wild, lightning-hewn trunk of an ancient tree, reverence, desire, an all-encompassing tenderness that seems to pervade all of his interactions with you.

When his lips come down on yours, it is as natural as leaves falling to earth, the weight of his body on yours as welcome as soft summer rain. His arms hold him slightly aloft, caging you in as his head angles first this way, then that, each wet press and slide of his mouth more hungry than the last.

You body comes apart for him, arms rising past his into the grass above your head, back curving, the angle between your legs widening as he dips down, the entirety of his skin on yours almost too much to bear in your current sensitized state.

You are aware of your hair sliding through the grass with every movement of your head, of scrape of short, coarse hair across your nipples, the shift of his tightening abdominal muscles against your stomach, the way those muscular thighs stretch your legs further apart. He is already at half mast, the tip of him stroking a slow, wet trail of fire upwards, along your inner thigh.

You gasp, arching a little further off the ground, evening dew moistening the skin of your buttocks as you raise your leg slightly, stroking against him. All this time, you've witnessed him in the nude and it was not until now that the urgency of your want became vital, a lust-filled haze that only grew as you took in the size and weight of him against you.

Halsin seems to have decided that he is not simply satisfied with winning the tussle of changing forms.

He pauses above you, eyes drinking in your damp, parted lips before he descends again, lower, lower, and lower still. Hot breath eases over your extended throat, followed by tongue, the heated promise of that single lapping stroke sending you into delirium.

Your head is tilted almost all the way back, the ripe curve of your breasts presented to him with as much generosity as the fruit trees that had lowered their harvest to you earlier.

An explosive moan exits you as he lavishes your nipple with soft, hot licks, suckling the flesh slowly to the left and then to the right, drawing it in with the tightening suction of his cheeks. He takes his time, only coming back to the white hot centre of your areola when he is satisfied that the entirety of the rounded expanse has been tasted.

You jerk under him, fingers scrabbling at his immovable arm as he applies the same attention to the other neglected breast, tugging you gently between his teeth until you're crying out at the gentle but thorough stimulation.

A soft, ticklish sensation alerts you to his next move, as the ends of the beaded braids fall forward over the pointed ends of his ears, painting your ribcage with the swirling ripples of an unseen image of growing lust.

You raise your head slightly, hooded eyes watching him, his breath passing over your mound like a hot wind that comes sailing down from the mountains to collect in the humid harbour of your widening thighs.

Your knees bend, anticipation drawing your abdomen taut as he bites down into the softness of one thigh, then the other. Halsin preserves symmetry, in all that he does.

When he tastes you, a hummingbird pushing slowly, exquisitely, into the sweet burst of a flower's trembling centre, you cannot help the low, desperate keening that escapes you. One hand slams into the grass beside you, fingers threading through and grasping at the cool foliage, trying to anchor your mind that seems to want to abandon all rational thought.

Halsin takes you, with surety, confidence, peeling you apart with large, roughened fingers, plundering your soft heat with the same assiduous attention he'd shown the rest of your body. He grows more intense, his own lust taking the reigns, thrusting his tongue as deep as it will go, pushing the edges apart, suckling the tiny, glistening pearl at the apex of your folds as if it is the finest delicacy he's ever feasted upon.

The slickness that coats his mouth, cheeks, hands and your thighs is a ceaseless font. You writhe beneath him, begging, gasping, shrinking away from and then surrendering to every blissful feeling he bestows.

Just when the taut string of heat that stretches all the way from down there to the base of your throat threatens to snap, he lifts off you, smiling at your outraged gasp, one hand holding down your hip as you furiously buck upward at the loss of sensation.

You slap at his arm, scowling as he laughs, soothing strokes sliding down your stomach and legs as he brings you reluctantly down from the peak you have been teetering on seconds before.

Oh, but he isn't done with you, not yet.

He has been saving the true banquet for this time, when your body has recovered some measure of equilibrium, but not quite. Now, when your sensitized skin burns with unquenched flame, when you moan so wantonly and reach for him, scratching lightly down his chest, when he raises himself once more, looming over you and crawls forward, every move lithe and sinuous as the displacer beast who's form he had borrowed a short while before, now you prepare yourself for what he truly has in store.

Your arms extend, almost looping around his neck, when he grasps your hip firmly and turns you over onto your front.

Oh.

So this was what he intended.

Not that you didn't adjust to the circumstances almost instantly. You were not without your wiles.

Stretching in a distinctly feline manner, you raise your hips, back curving in a perfect, quivering arc, letting out small sounds of encouragement as you feel the supple flesh of your buttocks brush the waving length of his erection. He hisses, but makes no move to stop you, allowing you to have your way with him, albeit, briefly.

And my, do you take advantage of the temporary freedom he's granted you.

Your spine undulates, the folds between your legs long since slicked and wet with his preparation. You enfold him from the sides, dragging your sweet nectar along his length, the heavy tip catching slightly and making you dig your fingers deeper into the soil.

There is some connection here, more expansive than just the two of you. The earth beneath your hands and knees hums with latent energy, the kind that remains undetected when you are not here, with him, in this sacred space that flowers between the sky, the trees, the stones and your body beneath his.

You open your mind to it, kindling some deep spark within that Halsin detects. He hums with approval, leaning further forward.

Like a dull clap of thunder, an electric hum on the air, he rolls his hips forward, taking the initiative. The rounded head breaches you, forcing a full-throated cry as you're rapidly reminded of the sheer size of him.

It's not just the silky iron length that presses forward, inch by inch, displacing the dewy arousal that coats him. It's the feel of his weight sinking further down into your back, an echo of stigma and stamen, the slow spread of your fingers as his lodge between them, the resumed stroke of his braids at the nape of your neck.

Your mouth opens in a silent continuation of your ecstasy, tendons standing out in your neck with the supreme effort of acceptance. The invasive stretch eases as he rocks back and forth, whispering soft praises, obeisances, worshipping the way you engulf him whole.

Lightning now follows the deepening roar in your veins, sweat coating your skin in a luminous sheen as you slowly back onto him, feeling the probe at the edges of your ability to take, jerking away with a hiss, moving back again with intent.

Halsin allows you to set the pace, low grunts of effort sounding against the shell of your ear, hot breath mingling with yours.

You drag your awareness away from the pleasure that builds steadily as you tilt forward, until only the tip remains, then repeat the slow reversal that impales you. You want this to take forever, to last until the final frayed threads of your control slip between your fingers and you surrender to the storm that threatens to crash over your senses with each fluid movement.

When you feel that you're ready, you raise your hips slightly, and he almost slips from your tight heat. His fingers sink into the flesh just above your hip, followed by a low exhale of agreement, a sign to ready yourself.

His forward thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and you cry out and sink down to your elbows almost immediately. The new angle allows him to penetrate even deeper, tearing hoarse cries of pleasure from your throat.

Halsin sets a steady, powerful rhythm, the impact of each slam of his hips rippling the flesh of your buttocks, the folds of your waist deepening as you drop further down. The blades of grass beneath you graze your nipples, snapping past with increasing intensity as he picks up his pace.

Hands fisting once again, you tear up clods of earth, howling, moaning, begging as the slaps of his body against yours matches the pace of his breathing, quickening like the blood in your veins, the heady sap that seeps into your mouth as you press your face into the grass and take it between your teeth.

Tears of pleasure gather at the corners of your eyes, roll down to your entwined fingers and he presses down on you further, lapping at them as they stream down the side of your face.

He is a veritable force of nature, sweeping you up into a maelstrom of unmatched, terrifying sensation. You turn your head to him slightly, sobbing breaths spelling out that you are close, so close, almost, to keep fucking you, to go harder, to -

The staccato encouragement only serves to slow his pace, and now, in spite of the protesting smack of your hand against his abdomen, your nails dragging on his flank, your cursing, he starts a new rhythm, one even more devastating in its undoing of you.

Two deep strokes, followed by a tender, shallower thrust that lodges somewhere different, somewhere that sparks a renewed series of deep, throaty moans, pitched higher and higher as a crescendo builds.

He fills you, stretches you, paints your inner thighs with the soaked traces of your joining, merciless in his assault on the tight ring of muscle at your entrance.

You're no longer aware of where the connection between your bodies ends, so immersed are you in each collision of your hips.

Halsin places a hand firmly in the small of your back, and you're now aware that he has also grown louder in his appreciation of you, almost incoherent in his litany of praises.

Under other circumstances (perhaps later, when you find the time to indulge in each other at a more leisurely pace) you would have taken the time to sling your leg over his, to twist until you managed to lever his body beneath yours, to ride him until that tell-tale ache in your lower back and thighs made itself known.

For now, you can only think of your immediate pleasure, the magnificent sweep of a cyclone that comes crashing across the coastline and catches you when you least expect it.

When it does eventually find you, when your back arches, your muscles convulsing, your body shuddering with an intensity that near rattles your teeth, you allow it to carry you away, hardly aware of your reactions in that moment.

Halsin's reaches beneath you, hand caressing your stomach with soft, grounding fervour, even as you become aware that he has not allowed himself the same abandonment of release. He is harder than ever inside you, the twitch that makes itself known now that he has stilled his pace causing you to gasp and stiffen.

There is still a certain tension coiled there, one that makes itself known as he slowly eases himself in and out, building to steady rocking against you. He throws back his head and growls, body now fully spread across yours, and you raise your legs, tucking your feet behind his knees to pull him further towards the newly set line of completion.

Your second orgasm is less intense, but reverberates through you in a manner that makes him pause again. The wringing contractions around his length seem to finally push him over the edge, and he lets out a gutteral roar as a searing warmth floods within you, the irregular spasmodic slide of him coming to a gradual stop.

You reach back, hand placed flat on his abdomen for some modicum of control as he eases out, the cool night air a shocking contrast to the overwhelming heat of him. Consciousness of your own breathing returns, ragged, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Something slips down your leg, pools on the ground behind you. You keep your rear raised, glancing back over your shoulder, a dazed smile spreading as you note the glazed, shattered stare that Halsin directs at you, at the banner of your union that drapes in a pearlescent string between your once-joined parts.

He sits back on his haunches and runs those large hands through his hair, attempting to bring himself back under control.

Under the circumstances, your expression should not be so self-satisfied, considering that he has all but taken you in the most base, animalistic manner possible. You are aware of how you must look, with your hair draped in sweaty tangles over your forehead, the gleam of perspiration that now covers you from head to toe, the marks of earth on your buttocks, knees and elbows.

Halsin catches your eye and strokes down your back before raising you with that delightfully easy strength, bringing you closer to him. 

You seat yourself on his lap, legs parted as if you've assumed your natural throne once again. The soft shake of his shoulders builds to a laugh that you feel all the way down to your bones.

"I take it you've made the acquaintance of your inner beast?"

"And a fine one at that."

"I wasn't expecting such a chase."

"Was it worth it?"

His fingers find their way beneath your chin, tilt your head until he is able to gaze upon your face once again.

There it is, that infinite tenderness, the kind he always reserves just for you. When he speaks, you shudder slightly at the weight of passionate promise there, the rumble that begins somewhere deep in his chest, that let's you lean against him in the lassitude of well-earned submission.

"Well worth it. I'd even go so far as to ask for a re-match."

"Oh? And which form will you choose for our next bout?"

His voice is muffled slightly, from where he presses his mouth to your shoulder, but you hear him nonetheless, and your teeth gleam in the faint light of the clearing.

"The bear. Definitely the bear."