#lo! the beast speaks!

[sunhaloscarab]

shoutout to characters in masks one of my favorite genders fr

[andtheyreonfire]

i don't wanna say "kingdom hearts has g/t potential" because there was the toy story world and the cinderella world and the wonderland world but what do you mean there's only one borrower fic. you mean no one's going around constantly thinking about what types of keys borrower kingdom hearts characters would use as weapons. borrower aus with the destiny island and sea salt and birth by sleep trio. not even borrowers what if the power of darkness made you grow. what if sora or someone connected to ventus returned to cinderella's world and found themselves five inches tall. honey i shrunk the kids is a disney ip. kingdom hearts g/t bottom text. is this thing on. can anyone hear me. hello

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

i am once again debating changing estrel's name and title

[sunhaloscarab]

SOOOO TRUE i love discord watch parties

How it feels to watch a movie with someone over discord

[heyimkana]

Pads & Conspiracies

AO3 Link

Set in the same AU as Pillow Talk and Come Home to Me, but can be read separately.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, Domestic Fluff, Slice of Life, Comedy

Summary: Sung Jinwoo isn’t so much an S-Rank Hunter as he is an S-Rank Husband. Today, he’s dealing with his wife’s period cramps, pad sizes, Beru’s cravings and a tiny domestic conspiracy.

Content Warnings: None—unless you count teeth-rotting fluff, adorable husband-wife moments, and Beru’s constant Shakespearean monologues.

Word Count: 10K (I wrote too many fluffy/silly moments—sorry 😔)

This one's for @satoruandjinwoobrainrot I'm sorry for taking so long to answer your ask, babe 😭 I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Your sweet, loving husband is in the middle of another dungeon raid. A dangerous one, at that—its mana levels place it just below an S-Rank gate. But Jinwoo, as always, enjoys the challenge. High-level dungeons offer greater experience, and he’s always hungry for more, isn’t he?

He steps into the boss room with his chin held high, the sleeves of his fitted black shirt rolled up to his elbows, veins prominent against fair skin.

“I’ll take care of this one myself,” he tells Igris, craving a good fight to keep his skills sharp. He can’t afford to get rusty just standing on the sidelines.

Jinwoo’s thin lips curl into a smirk as the beast looms before him—a colossal snake, three times the size of Kasaka, its fangs longer than his own towering height. The Demon King’s daggers materialize in his hands, gripped tightly between lean fingers as he taunts, “Quite a remarkable aura you’ve got there. Keep me entertained for a bit, will ya?”

The snake hisses, and Jinwoo lunges, aiming for its vitals—but suddenly—

MY LIEGE! MY LIEGE!

Beru’s frantic voice cuts through his mind, breaking his focus. The distraction costs him; he misses the strike.

Jinwoo’s chest tightens with dread. Beru is the shadow soldier assigned to protect you. The former Ant King could take on an S-Rank Hunter without breaking a sweat.

So why is he panicking? What could possibly shake him?

More importantly—are you okay?

If he weren’t mid-fight, he’d swap places with him or share his senses to see for himself. But since Beru can still speak calmly—well, frantically but coherently—Jinwoo knows he’s not in combat.

Still, the distraction nearly proves fatal. The snake whips its tail, and Jinwoo only barely dodges, his reflexes saving him by milliseconds. A direct hit would've pulverized his bones.

“Beru, talk to me!” he shouts, panic bubbling in his throat. “What happened?!”

Mine liege, lo, it hath been naught but an hour since thy wedded dame did informeth me—

“Speak normally!”

A-apologies, my liege! It is… that time of the month again. She told me she is in great pain. There is significant bleeding.

His dagger clashes against the snake’s fang. “She’s having her period?”

Yes, my liege.

Oh, thank God, Jinwoo breathes in relief, dodging yet another attack. It’s not that he’s glad to hear you’re simply suffering from your regular period cramps—but it’s much, much better than the dreadful thought that had emerged in his head a second ago.

Tell her to hang on, he instructs through the link, driving a dagger through the snake’s scales. Blood stains his shirt, but he barely notices. I’ll be there as soon as possible.

I will inform her, my liege. But I must stress—she is in tremendous pain. What if something worse occurs?

Jinwoo clenches his teeth, frustration surging through him. He would've asked his sister Jinah if she was in town, but she'd left on vacation with Jinho two days ago.

I need to get this over with fast, he thinks. Do what you can to help her, Beru. I’ll finish this and return immediately. Tell her to wait for me.

Yes, my liege, I shall assist her in any way I can in your absence. But your presence is sorely needed. I cannot soothe her the way you do.

That, Jinwoo knows—and he’s proud of it. But he still can’t abandon the fight just yet.

The snake is tougher than expected. Jinwoo could end it quickly if he focused, but his mind is elsewhere. You’re all he can think about.

What does my wife need?

She requested medicine and sanitary pads, my liege. But… we appear to be out. Shall I dispatch a high orc to the store?

No. The last thing he needs is to terrify the entire neighborhood. Again.

His tempo falters. For the last two minutes, he’s done nothing but dodge and parry. His chest tightens at the image of you, curled up in bed, hurting and alone. He considers calling Jinho or his sister—but they’re on vacation at the moment.

And then—things get worse.

Dozens of slithering snakes suddenly come into view. Smaller in size, but lethal nonetheless. They bare their fangs at him, hissing—probably fucking pissed off because he hasn’t been taking them seriously.

Jinwoo curses under his breath. Clearing this dungeon just got more complicated. Can she wait twenty… maybe thirty more minutes?

My liege… she is crying.

“IGRIS!” Jinwoo calls out in haste. Debate’s over. “Take my place. I need to leave—now.”

The powerful knight does not hesitate. With a dozen lower-ranked soldiers at his back, Igris rushes into battle, the Demon Monarch’s longsword held tightly in his hands, casting lightning bolts with every swing.

Jinwoo’s eyes flash from icy blue to violet, gleaming in the darkness of the cave. His daggers vanish into thin air as misty black tendrils envelop his frame like smoke.

“Exchange.”

***

Having swapped places with a patrolling shadow soldier, Jinwoo emerges onto the peaceful streets of Seoul. The stark contrast to the dark, suffocating dungeon is jarring. The sun blazes overhead, hot and merciless, causing beads of sweat to form at his temple as he sprints toward the nearest pharmacy.

“H-Hunter Sung Jinwoo!”

A female cashier gasps as he storms through the automatic doors, his combat boots—still slick with monster blood—leaving grotesque red smears across the pristine white marble floor. Her eyes widen in horror. Has a dungeon break occurred nearby? It’s not every day that an S-Rank Hunter bursts into a store with his chest heaving, his shirt soaked in blood, and his dark hair clinging to his forehead.

“A-Are you all right, sir? Is there a problem—?”

“Yes.” His voice is firm. Grave. The kind of tone people expect right before an evacuation order is issued.

The intensity of his gaze wipes the color from her face. Time seems to freeze.

“I need you to get me some pads.”

“…Pardon?”

***

“S-So, um…” the cashier begins awkwardly, spreading an overwhelming selection of pads across the counter. “We have reusable pads, regular pads, ultra-thin pads, maxi pads, overnight pads… These ones are scented, these are not. Oh, these are exceptionally soft, but they’re a bit expensive. And these ones—”

Jinwoo stares blankly at the display, her words blurring together. He’s trying to listen, but nothing is sinking in. The explanation seems endless and he's losing it.

“Why… why are there so many different types?” he asks, genuinely bewildered. “Don’t they all serve the same purpose?”

“Well, yes, sir, but every woman has her own preferences. Some might like scented pads to mask the, um, odor, while others prefer—”

She keeps going. His brain starts turning to mush.

“All right. Which one’s the best?”

“Like I said, sir… it depends.”

“Which one do you use?”

“Eh?!” Her cheeks flush crimson. She wasn’t prepared for that level of personal, and Jinwoo is so out of it right now to notice it. “T-This one, sir.” She gingerly pushes a pack forward, unable to meet his eyes. When she woke up this morning, she hadn’t expected to be discussing her menstrual product choices with Sung Jinwoo, of all people. “They’re cotton-based. Um. More breathable.”

“Okay. I’ll take that one.”

“Right. What size do you—uh, I mean, does your wife usually use?”

He stops and stares. Of course they have sizes.

Seeing his soul leave his body, she gently suggests, “You might want to give her a call?”

“Give me a sec.” He closes his eyes. Beru.

Yes, my liege.

What pad size does my wife usually use?

She prefers the overnight kind. The ones labeled for ‘heavy flow,’ my liege.

Jinwoo opens his eyes. “Overnight pads. Heavy flow.”

“With or without wings?”

He stops and stares. Again. “O-one moment.”

Beru. With or without wings?

She favors the ones with wings, my liege.

“With wings, please.”

“Scented or unscented?”

His head drops back. God, why are there so many choices?

Beru.

The scented ones have caused her skin irritation before, my liege, so I suggest—

“Unscented, thanks.” God, please, no more questions.

“Y-yes, sir.” The cashier quickly bags the selected pack. “Is there anything else?”

Beru?

She has said that her abdominal pains are severe, my liege.

Right. “Yes, some painkillers too, please—for cramps.”

A beat.

A-also, my liege… may I be so bold as to request… candy mints? This humble servant has long been curious about their taste. I-if it’s not too much trouble, of course.

Jinwoo sighs. “And some candy mints. Thank you.”

***

Stepping out of the pharmacy with a plastic bag dangling from one hand, Jinwoo’s mind spins in a dozen directions, each one trying to figure out how he can make you feel even a little bit better. He knows this pain visits you monthly, yet it never sits right with him—just watching you suffer while he does nothing.

Maybe some comfort food will help…

He makes a quick detour into a nearby convenience store, heading straight for the snack aisle. These days, he’s memorized all your favorites—the specific brand, the exact flavor. Unlike the nightmare that was navigating menstrual pads, this is familiar territory.

As he strolls down an aisle, he spots a familiar brand of potato chips—the exact flavor you always reach for first. He smiles. Without hesitation, he grabs a few bags, tossing three in for you and one for himself.

But just as they land in the cart, Beru’s voice buzzes into his mind like a pesky conscience.

My liege, I do not suggest giving these food items to her. They are not suitable for women during menstrual cramps.

Jinwoo freezes mid-step. “What?” he mutters, glancing at the chips. There’s food you’re not supposed to eat during your period? He genuinely didn’t know. He makes a mental note to be better next time.

What should I get for her, then?

Foods that are high in fat and sodium should be avoided, Beru explains smoothly, as if he’s been rehearsing this in the mirror. They can increase bloating and water retention. She needs easily digestible meals—foods that reduce inflammation. Fruits like bananas and berries are good choices. A light vegetable soup, especially with ginger, will ease her cramps. And dark chocolate, my liege. It helps with mood regulation.

Jinwoo blinks, frowning. That’s… oddly specific. How do you even know all this? You’re an ant.

Beru puffs up with pride—even through telepathy, Jinwoo can feel it. I have studied human biology extensively through your interactions and dialogue, my liege. While I am not human, I have amassed considerable knowledge to ensure the safety and comfort of your lady wife. In fact, I have also learned about human sexual reproduction by studying anatomical references and behavioral data. If you wish, I can provide suggestions to improve fertility—

Nope. No need.

But, my liege, it has been several months since you began your attempts to produce an heir, and the results have been less than rewarding. May I suggest altering your coital positioning to improve pelvic angle and sperm—

I will strangle you.

M-m-my apologies, my liege. Please have mercy!

Jinwoo exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was just trying to buy soup ingredients—how did this escalate so quickly?

Right. Soup. He returns to the task. I’ll just get what I need and cook it for her later.

An excellent decision, my liege. She will surely be pleased.

Jinwoo’s hand reaches for the chip bags to return them—only for Beru’s voice to chime in one last time, soft and trembling.

M-my liege… may I also have the potato chi—

No.

He doesn’t need to see him to know—Beru is weeping somewhere in the shadows.

***

The player screen flickers before his eyes:

Cooldown Time Remaining: 2:32:36

Jinwoo swears under his breath. Shadow Exchange won’t work for another two and a half hours. He has no time to waste.

Without hesitation, he leaps into the air and calls, “Kaisel.” The sky darkens instantly as the massive wyvern materializes, letting out a ferocious roar that echoes across the city skyline.

“Take me to my wife,” Jinwoo commands, his voice low, sharp with urgency. “As fast as you can.”

The air whips around him as Kaisel surges upward, wings slicing the clouds like blades, the landscape a blur beneath. He plants his feet on the creature’s back, wind tugging at his shirt, but his eyes are fixed on the horizon, his mind drifting back to you.

How is she now? he asks Beru.

The ant’s voice answers quickly, full of subdued concern. She is still in bed, my liege. Unable to sleep. It has been a very taxing pain—on both her body and her spirit. She has been fighting it for hours.

For hours? Jinwoo's heart tightens, stabbed by guilt. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

I wished to, my liege. But… she forbade me. Beru’s voice dips with guilt. She did not want to worry you, especially knowing you had a raid this morning.

Jinwoo exhales harshly, his eyes narrowing. Of course you did, he thinks of you—not in frustration, but in aching admiration. Always protecting me, even when you're the one in pain.

What about your healing magic?

I have tried it several times, my liege. It dulls the pain, but only slightly. I fear my abilities cannot counteract this form of suffering.

Keep at it, he orders. And heat a water bottle—press it against her lower stomach. It should ease the pain a little. He’s done it for you countless times. It always helps.

At once, my liege.

His heart aches at the thought of you lying curled up in bed, face pale, body trembling, fighting off the ache in silence. This isn’t like the others, he thinks. Isn’t this her sixth day? That’s past the worst of it, usually.

He presses two fingers to his chin, deep in thought. He’s memorized your cycle by now—he knows your usual pain, your patterns. Normally, your cramps hit hard on the first day, then fade within a couple more. Why is it still so bad? Did something change? Whatever the answer is, it doesn’t change the fact that you're still in pain.

And that he's not there to soothe you.

Damn it.

Had he known this would happen, he never would’ve left your side this morning. Just like earlier this week, when he spent the whole day holding you, warming you, stroking your back until sleep claimed you. No raid, no mission, no beast was worth more than your comfort.

Jinwoo clenches his jaw, wind howling around him as Kaisel surges faster. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to comfort you sooner, he thinks, his heart heavy with regret.

The shadows tremble beneath his feet as Kaisel speeds forward, a black streak across the blue sky.

I promise I’ll be there soon.

***

Jumping off Kaisel's back even before the beast sinks its talons into the ground, Jinwoo dashes toward the house, barely registering the startled high orcs tending the garden as he passes. The second he reaches the door, he slows, catching his breath. Carefully, he turns the knob—gentle, quiet—so he doesn’t startle you.

As expected, he finds you lying on the bed, curled up on your side. His heart squeezes at the sight of you, and he feels a mix of sympathy and helplessness for not being able to take the pain away.

He places the plastic bag on the bedside table and eases down beside you. “Hey…” His voice is low, velvety-soft as his fingers comb through your hair. “I’m here.”

Your eyes flutter open at the sound. “Hey… You’re here? I thought you were still on the raid…”

“I was, but Beru told me you were hurting.” His brows pull together as he gazes at you. “I couldn’t stay after that.”

“You shouldn’t have left. I’m fine.” You shift, trying to sit up and brush it off, pretending to be strong as always.

“Don’t,” Jinwoo says quickly, gently guiding you back down. “Lie down, honey. It’s all right.”

“I’m fine, Jin. Honestly.”

He smiles—tender but a little sad. “You always do this, don’t you? Always trying to be strong so I won’t worry. It’s cute when you do, and I love that about you, but...” His hand brushes along your temple. “It’s okay not to be so tough all the time, you know that, right? When you come to me and ask for my help, that makes me happy too. Maybe even the happiest. I love it when you’re being needy—didn’t I tell you that?”

You give him a tired smile. “Still… you didn’t have to leave the raid. I feel bad.”

“Don’t be. I wanted to see you. As soon as Beru told me you were crying in pain, I had to get out of there. I just couldn't stand it.”

“Beru was being dramatic…”

“I wish you’d be a bit dramatic,” he smirks, roguish and seductive. “Crying, whimpering my name, begging me to come home and soothe you.” His voice falls into that low, teasing register. “I’d love that.”

You groan. “I’m too weak to punch you right now, but please try and visualize it for me.”

He laughs quietly, his eyes softening again. How do you still manage to be this adorable while in pain?

He brushes his fingers down your cheek, cupping it tenderly. “I’m here, okay? You don’t have to pretend. It’s just me.”

His heart melts at the sight of you nuzzling your face further into his palm, your contented sigh mollifying his worry. “Okay.”

“Is there anything you need? I brought you some painkillers,” he says, reaching for the bag. “Got new pads too—overnight, unscented, with wings. Also… dark chocolate to help your mood. I wanted to grab your favorite chips, but Be—” He coughs once. “I mean, I read somewhere they’re not great for cramps. Something about water retention.”

“Wow,” you giggle faintly, impressed. “Look at you, doing your homework.”

“Of course,” he says proudly, kissing your forehead. “I care about my wife.” Watching you curl further into yourself, he frowns. “How bad is it?”

You answer with a pained moan, rolling to your side with one hand clutching your stomach. “Bad enough that I want to punch someone in the face.”

“Ah. One of those days.” He tears open the painkiller packet, pours you a glass of water, and helps you sit up. Your hands tremble as you take the meds, and Jinwoo runs a hand up and down your arm to steady you, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I’ll run a warm bath for you, okay? I can give you a back massage too, if you want. It might help relieve the pain a bit—at least until the medicine kicks in.”

You lean forward, your forehead resting on his shoulder as you mumble, “You’re just looking for an excuse to touch me.”

“Is that what you think of me?” He sighs, despite being a little amused, because… well, yeah, he’s probably going to, just for a tiny bit. He puts a small distance between you, gesturing for you to lie down. “Wait here, honey. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He stands, preparing to head to the bathroom, but you catch him by the sleeve, holding onto him tightly. “Don’t go…” Your voice echoes through his ears in a fragile whisper. “I don’t need you to do anything. I just want you to stay here. Just for a bit.”

Watching you act like this, a part of him dies and goes to heaven. You’re more adorable than you’ve ever been.

“Hey…” Jinwoo kneels right beside the bed, bringing himself to your level. He takes your hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze, his sweet smile dripping with affection. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just gonna run the bath, that’s all. Then I’ll come right back.”

He can tell you just want him to be there, to hold you and just breathe in the same air until the pain in your stomach recedes. But a warm bath would certainly help more than just lying around in bed. He decides that the cuddling can wait until you’re all warmed up and relaxed.

You hesitate, lips puckered in a soft pout. “Just five minutes. Please?”

“God, you’re so cute.” He physically has to fight the urge to wrap his arms around you, to hold you close, to kiss your lips and love you until you’re suffocated with it. “Can I be honest?” The sweetness in his smile morphs into something mischievous. “Is it bad that I want you to stay like this forever? So you’ll always be this clingy around me?”

The moment is shattered. “Never mind. Go.”

“No, wait, come on—” He laughs, dodging your half-hearted swat. “Beg me again, baby.”

You flick him on the nose. “Go.”

With a grin still perched on his lips, your husband heads to the bathroom and gets the water running, testing the warmth with his fingers until it’s perfect. When he returns, he doesn’t say a word—just slides his arms beneath you.

“I can walk,” you say, palm against his chest to stop him.

“I know,” he says, landing a small kiss on the tip of your nose. “But I want to. Let me spoil my wife a little. It’s not every day she clings to me like this. I wanna take the opportunity to be the husband she dreams of.”

“But you already are…”

He catches you murmuring under your breath. Your honesty brings a tinge of scarlet to his cheeks. He clears his throat, pretending not to hear.

“…All right,” Jinwoo says after a pause. “Bath first. Cuddles after. Deal?”

You nod, and he kisses your temple with a smile.

***

Hooking one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, Jinwoo carries you to the bathroom, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He takes pride in this—in taking care of you. Although he sympathizes with your pain, he can’t help but feel immense joy from being so needed, from being the person you lean on for support. It fills him with something warm and grounding. Purpose.

He sets you down gently, keeping an arm firm around your waist in case your legs give out. The warm scent of lavender bath salts fills the air.

“I’m going to undress you, okay?” he says, his voice soft, coaxing.

He waits until you give him a little nod before he proceeds.

He pulls your knitted sweater over your head with careful hands, leaning down to kiss the curve of your shoulder like it’s something sacred. “You’ll be all right, Sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Seeing you turn sheepish under his ministrations causes joy to swell further in his chest. You’re adorable when you’re shy. He lowers himself to his knees, fingers brushing the waistband of your jeans—and that’s when you stop him.

“I—I can do this part myself.”

Jinwoo glances up, a curious smile forming. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m your husband, remember? There’s no need to be shy.”

“No, it’s not that,” you stammer, hands fluttering awkwardly. “I’m wearing a pad, and… I’m bleeding.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “And? Honey, I’ve been waist-deep in dungeon filth and monster guts. A little period blood isn’t going to faze me.”

You shake your head stubbornly, cheeks burning. “No, it’s gross. I don’t want you to see it.”

“It’s not gross,” he insists gently, reaching for your hand. “It’s just you. There’s nothing about you that could ever be—”

“No. Go,” you say more firmly, cutting him off. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

That stops him.

He studies you for a beat, his smile softening into something more thoughtful. There’s a flicker in your expression—too quick for most to catch, but not for him. Jinwoo has seen every version of you. This one is… off.

You’re flustered, yes, but beneath that, there’s something else.

Guilt?

His brows draw together slightly, a faint furrow forming between them. Why would she feel guilty?

“Jinwoo, go.”

He exhales through his nose, standing up slowly. “Always so stubborn,” he mutters, giving your head one last pat. “All right. If you insist. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

As he turns to leave, he steals one last glance at you over his shoulder.

You’re biting your lip.

He closes the door behind him and leans his back against it, arms crossed. Something doesn’t add up.

He’s not mad—he never could be, not with you—but now his thoughts are running. You looked too tense. Too evasive. And he knows you. When the pain is real, you don’t hide it like that. You don’t push him away. Not like this.

So what are you hiding, Sweetheart?

***

Jinwoo returns to the bathroom a moment later, his head peeking inside. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

He slips past the door, tugging on his sleeves until they pool around his elbows. He’s pleased to see you sitting comfortably in the tub, back resting against the curved porcelain, your expression blissful as the steaming water cradles you up to the shoulders.

“Feels good?”

You hum in contentment, eyes closed, lips parting in a quiet sigh. The tension you held earlier seems to be melting away with the heat. Your shoulders have softened. Your breathing is even. It’s working.

“That’s good to know,” Jinwoo breathes in relief, setting a fresh towel on the bathroom counter. He closes more of the space between you, settling himself on the edge of the tub right next to you. “I’m glad you feel better,” he says, reaching forward to brush a damp strand of hair from your face. “The meds should kick in soon, too. You’ll feel even more comfortable then. Also, here.” He hands you a chocolate bar, your favorite brand plastered on the package. “For emotional support. And sugar. And serotonin. You know—the holy trinity.”

“Mm. The holy trinity to make me fat.”

He chuckles at your comment. “Just something to munch on as you drown in your own filth.”

“You should join me next time,” you titter, peeling the wrapper. “We can drown in our filth together.”

“Mm. Sexy,” he deadpans. “But I can’t say no to a pretty lady bathing in molten chocolate, so yeah—next time, when you’re not feeling like you’re being stabbed in the stomach.”

“That’s a pretty accurate depiction of period cramps, actually.” You bite into the chocolate, groaning in delight as it melts on your tongue. “God, I forgot how good this is. Want some?”

“Sure.”

Instead of taking a bite, Jinwoo cups your chin gently and leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, slow kiss that quickly deepens. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, savoring the blend of chocolate and you—and for a second, he forgets you’re supposed to be hurting. The taste alone threatens to undo him.

When he pulls away, he licks his lips, eyes still fixed on your mouth. “Mm. Not bad at all.”

You roll your eyes despite being flustered. “I knew you’d do something cheesy like that.”

“And yet, I can hear your heart racing.” He smirks, tapping his ear, referring to his acute hunter’s hearing. “Expecting more, Sweetheart?”

“No,” you scoff, though the heat rising in your face says otherwise. “That was so predictable. Step up your game, Husband. You’re at risk of becoming boring.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous. “Careful, love. I’m only behaving because you’re sick. Say that again when you’re better—I’ll prove you wrong.”

He gazes down at you, the curve of his mouth filthy with desire, making sure you understand he’ll keep his word—and all the dirty things he has in store for you. It delights him, seeing you turn so embarrassed, and he wishes you’d stay that way a little longer. But you quickly regain your composure.

“Thank you,” he hears you say. “For doing this for me. Seriously, Jin. You’re the best.”

Jinwoo blinks at the sincere gratitude shimmering in your eyes, not expecting to see it so soon—but it’s a pleasant surprise indeed.

“The best husband in the world?” he fishes, grinning boyishly.

“Oh, absolutely. No competition. Expect your World’s Number One Husband mug to arrive in three to five business days,” you jest, your tiny giggles pulling a laugh from him too—unguarded and warm.

“Just a mug?” He reaches for a nearby washcloth, soaking it in the water. “Surely I deserve something more than that, Angel.” Though his words are playful with a hint of impishness, his heart is filled with the desire to take care of you—to protect you—especially now, seeing how vulnerable you look, all naked and… wet.

“Like what?” you ask, but he misses it—his gaze transfixed on a single bead of water that trails from your chin, sliding down your neck to rest in the hollow of your collarbone.

“Jinwoo?”

“Yeah?” He blinks, breaking free from his stupor. “Sorry. Got a little… distracted.” He clears his throat. “Let me help you.”

Your husband dips the washcloth in the water again before carefully washing your body—starting with your shoulders, then moving down to your arms. His touch is reverent, filled with quiet devotion, mindful of your soreness. He dabs the cloth over your face, softly rubbing it against your skin. As he reaches down to your neck, his gaze lingers a moment too long on the part he usually marks with lips and teeth. It’s been over a week since he last saw a bruise bloom over your veins. The urge to repaint it rises.

“You’re distracted again, honey.”

“Right, yeah.” He gets to work again, moving his hand lower to your chest with painstaking care. It’s even harder than before—but this time, he’s prepared. Trying his best to be respectful, he avoids looking at your intimate parts for too long, keeping his thoughts focused on the task at hand, not the way your body feels under his touch.

Then something flickers in his thoughts.

Wait.

You said you were on your period. That you were in pain. But…

You’re holding yourself differently now. No winces. No tension in your abdomen. You’re relaxed. Too relaxed.

His eyes narrow slightly. Strange. You don’t fake pain—not with him.

He swallows the suspicion for now, smoothing the washcloth across your side in silence. But somewhere in the back of his mind, a theory begins to form.

“So, what is it that you want?” you ask, your voice soft, breath stirring the steam as his fingers trail down your spine. “You never answered my question earlier.”

“Can I ask for something sexual?”

You snort. “Sometimes I’m impressed by how shameless you are. No, like a gift, Jin. An actual gift.”

“An actual gift, huh? Hmm…” He reaches for the bottle of soap, squeezing a dollop into his hands before lathering it between his palms. “How about… you give me some coupons?”

“Coupons?” Your brows knit in confusion. “What, like grocery coupons?”

“No,” he laughs, the sound low and fond. God, you’re cute. “Like special coupons, you know? A set of blank vouchers you give to your partner.” He starts rubbing your shoulders, hands moving in circles, massaging the tension from your muscles. “I’ll write something down on the card—whatever it is I want you to do for me—and when I give it to you, you’ll have to do it. I can use the coupon anytime I want. No exceptions. No complaints. No backsies.”

“You just want an excuse to boss me around,” you murmur, though you’re already melting under his touch.

“Maybe. But mostly”—he leans in closer, his warm breath fanning your shoulder as he reduces his voice to a low, seductive whisper—“I want to see you be a good girl for me.”

You stiffen slightly, goosebumps breaking on your skin. He doesn’t miss it—and neither does he miss the sound of your heartbeat escalating. He wonders if it’s because you’re too shy to uphold the idea… or if you just really, really like being called a good girl.

You gather yourself quickly. “A-and what if I don’t want to?”

His caress, like his voice, turns seductive and teasing, fingers trailing languidly just below your breast. “You don’t want to be a good girl for me?”

“No, I mean—” You hug your knees to your chest, burying your face in them. Oh yeah, it’s definitely the good girl part that flusters you, but more because of the way he said it, not the line itself. “I meant the coupons, you dummy. W-what if I don’t want to do the things you write down?”

He chuckles darkly, sliding his hand up to the nape of your neck, fingers twitching with the urge to grip. “Then that’s an even better gift for me.”

You shiver when he applies a little pressure there. Maybe, just like him, you recall the way he possessively holds you by the back of your neck when he kisses you—or when he takes you from behind. Jinwoo can’t help but succumb to his desire, just for a bit—lean fingers twisting around your damp strands, pulling your head back until you have no choice but to meet his gaze. He smiles down at you, eyes hooded, voice dropping an octave lower.

“Because then, I get to punish you.”

He kisses you—slow and indulgent—letting you feel the shape of his tantalizing smile. When he releases you, he’s greeted by another pout.

“I feel like you’re just going to use those coupons to exploit me sexually.”

“That’s harsh,” he replies, grinning. But is it a denial? Of course not.

“Look, honey, if you don’t trust me, you can write them yourself.” He kneels beside the tub, his hand traveling down to your thigh, rinsing the soap from your skin with careful sweeps of the cloth. “Write down the things you want to do with me. To me,” he corrects, shamelessly. “I’m down for whatever you want to do. Focus on what makes you happy.”

“But this is supposed to be my gift to you. I want to make you happy.”

“Sweetheart,” he lands a soft kiss on your knee. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Jinwoo lifts your other leg, giving it the same amount of care and attention. Your skin is warm and soft, and it takes all his self-control not to touch you sensually. The warm water beads on your skin, and every soft gasp you let out as he works the sore muscles in your ankle tests his restraint. You’re completely naked. Vulnerable. Glowing.

And he’s trying very, very hard to be good.

“Just be creative with it,” he adds, trying to redirect his focus. “Write down something fun.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” His hand glides up your thigh, hovering dangerously close to the part he’s been dying to touch. He leans forward, bringing his lips close to your ear, his smirk grazing your shell. “Putting on a nurse costume and treating me like your patient—”

You splash water in his direction before the words even finish leaving his mouth, not caring if you’re drenching his hair and clothes. He flinches, laughing, water dripping down his face and hair.

“Hey!” Jinwoo grabs your wrist, his laughter bouncing off the bathroom walls. “It was just an example! Unless, y’know… you’re into it.”

You lift your hand again, ready for another splash. He raises both palms in surrender, grinning wide and cheeky.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not giving you blank coupons,” you mutter.

“Fair enough,” he simpers, rinsing off the last traces of soap. “All right, you’re all clean. Can you stand up for me, Angel?”

He snatches the towel from the rack, drying you off and wrapping it around your body as soon as you step down from the tub. The terrycloth doesn’t reveal much—but it doesn’t need to. It hugs your curves, clings to damp skin, and he looks away quickly, jaw tightening.

“So… do you need help with your clothes, or are you still shy?”

“I can do it myself. Thank you.”

He huffs in disappointment but tries not to argue. “All right. Well, I’m gonna go make you some soup, then. Just get back in bed when you’re done. I’ll bring it to you.”

“Can you stop being so perfect?” You sigh. “You’re gonna make me feel bad.”

Though he’s pleased with your praise, your last line leaves him confused. “Why would you feel bad?”

“N-nothing,” you promptly respond, which only tautens his brows even more. “I’m gonna… put on my clothes now, if you don’t mind.”

He narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “…Yeah. Okay.”

He lingers for a second longer than he should, then finally steps out, closing the door behind him and leaving you to your privacy as you requested.

***

You press your ear against the closed bathroom door, listening intently. His footsteps echo, then fade. He’s gone. 

Now that you’re alone, standing in silence, you summon the tiny conspirator lurking beneath your feet.

“Beru,” you whisper. “Come out. He’s gone.”

Your shadow trembles, twisting into a thick fog before forming the floating head of your overly dramatic general. Barely the size of your palm, Beru zips toward you, mirroring your agitation, his antennae twitching with anxiety.

“M-Mine queen…” he croaks, dread thick in his voice.

“Beru, I hate to say this, but…” You let out a breath. "We are so fucked.”

Beru nods gravely, wings vibrating with shared terror. “Hath mine liege discerned that we have been deceitful?”

“No, not yet.” You slump against the door. “But he’s definitely suspicious. I don't think I can lie to him anymore, Beru.” Your shoulder sag, the urge to just give up and come clean threatening to take over you. “I suck at lying.”

“Mine queen, thou hast performed most admirably! Pray, do not abandon the path now!”

“I don’t even know if I want to do this anymore,” you sound whiny, but you don’t care. “He’s been so sweet to me, Beru. So, so sweet. Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you. This is all your fault!”

His panic spikes.  “M-mine lady, why dost thou cast this grievous blame upon mine head?”

“You were the one who came up with the plan! I just wanted to see how he’d react, Beru—not create a soap opera! You told him I was crying during a raid, didn't you?! You know he can’t stand it when I cry!”

“I—I but sought to evoke the fullest display of his affection!” Beru stammers, wringing his claws together. “It was all for thy benefit!”

“Yeah, and now he’s gone all out just to comfort me! He’s doting on me like some perfect husband in a drama! He bathed me, Beru. Washed my feet!”

“Aye,” Beru breathes reverently. “tis cometh as no surprise. He ne'er doth cease to leave me in wondrous awe.” He nods to himself, admiring his king still even as his own terror slowly consumes him. “S-shall we then speak unto him the truth, mine queen? Will he findeth it in his heart to pardon us for our grievous sins?”

You chew your nail, pacing, spiraling. “He’s in a good mood right now, so maybe? But he’s done so much for me. If I were him, I’d be pissed.”

“Aye,” Beru nods solemnly. “Thy temper is most volcanic—”

You grab his floating head in your hand and squeeze. “What was that?”

“F-Forgive me! A slip of the tongue!” 

You release him with a heavy sigh. “He’s going to be so angry with me, isn't he?”

“Fret thee not, mine lady. Mine liege shall ne'er possess the heart to chastise thee. He loveth thee, beyond all else.”

“You’re right. He does love me. But what about you? Won’t he punish you? You lied to him too, you know. We’re in this together.”

At that, he pales. “Then, I deem it wise that we continue this charade!”

You seize his face again, your voice low, filled with threats. “If you betray me, Beru, I swear—”

“Nay! I shall carry thy secret unto mine grave!”

“You can’t die, you idiot.”

“...Ah.”

You groan, tossing your head back. “Ugh, fine. I’ll keep pretending to be sick. But it’s so exhausting. I have to act all weak, and I keep forgetting.” You drop your voice in embarrassment. “When I pushed him away so he wouldn’t see I wasn’t wearing a pad anymore, I felt awful. He looked so hurt, Beru.”

“Yea, I comprehend, mine lady. Yet… I do fear he shall be wrathful if he discovers thy deceit.”

“I need to figure out how to keep him from getting too mad…”

Beru taps his chin with a tiny claw. “Thou mayest ever wield thy feminine grace to beguile him, mine lady. The king is powerless before thy charms. Thou knowest well he hath no defense against thy tender touch.”

“…Are you telling me to seduce my husband?”

Beru nods gravely, as if he’s proposing a military strategy.

You stare at him, utterly deadpan. “I can’t believe an ant is telling me to use sex as a distraction.”

“I am loyal to victory, mine queen.”

You roll your eyes, pointing a stern finger. “Fine. But you. You keep your mouth shut.”

Beru salutes, vanishing back into your shadow with the gravity of a warrior going into battle.

You turn to the mirror, steeling yourself.

Lady charm. Lady charm.

You slap your cheeks lightly.

You’ve got this.

***

You have not got this.

Why? Because you’re shit at lying.

You’ve known it from the start—you’ve never been good at it. But this? This is embarrassing. The harder you try to act like you’re suffering through one of the most torturous pains of your life, the more tense and awkward you become.

You sit restlessly on the bed, arms folded on the small, foldable table in front of you. Dinner’s just ended. Jinwoo stands beside you, balancing a tray as he collects the empty plates and bowls.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing you closely, one brow raised. “You’ve been… fidgeting.”

“N-no, I’m fine,” you stammer. “Just a little uncomfortable.”

“Is the medicine working?”

“Yeah, perfectly.” Oh, a golden opportunity! An excuse to tone things down! “In fact, I don’t feel that much pain anymore. Got my spirits back, all thanks to you, lover.” You throw him a smile that’s far too wide to be natural.

“O... kay,” he says, still unconvinced but amused. “So—how was it?”

“How was what?”

“The food, my love.”

“Oh!” You perk up. “It's amazing!” You savor the last bite of the soup he made for you. The savory flavors of the broth, the warm, aromatic kick of the ginger he added—all mixed with the sweetness of the carrots and onions—made it a feast for both your eyes and tongue. “That was the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.” You polish off the last drop of watermelon juice he made for you and hand him the glass. “The juice too. Everything was perfection. My compliments to the handsome chef.”

“So dramatic,” he snorts, though the joy radiating from his face says the opposite.

“I thought you wanted me to be dramatic.”

“True,” he concedes. With a slight laugh, he stacks the chopsticks on the tray and sets everything aside on the nightstand. Your husband climbs into bed beside you and pulls out a pack of mints from his pocket.

“Care for one?”

You look at him, so utterly impressed that he’s prepared everything down to the last detail. You’d just thought how nice it would be to have a mint to freshen your breath, and here he is, offering you one like he read your mind.

You part your lips, letting him slip one past them. You roll it over your tongue, the cool, sweet burst of flavor coating your taste buds. “Marry me.”

“We’re already married,” he chuckles, popping one into his own mouth.

“Marry me again. You’re perfect.”

“I'd marry you a thousand times, you know that.” He sits up, his back against the headboard. “Come here, jagiya.”

His arm slithers around your waist, gently drawing you toward him until your spine is glued to his torso. His body wraps around yours, fitting so naturally it’s like your backs were carved for each other. He adjusts his legs so you’re cradled between them, his arms settled around your waist.

“This feels nice, doesn’t it?” Jinwoo sighs, nuzzling his face against your neck, basking in your scent. “You know what I love about us being married?”

You breathe out in bliss, resting your full weight on him. “Mm, what?”

“We share the same shampoo. So now you smell like me, and I smell like you.”

“Mm. And so do thousands of other people who use that shampoo.”

“You little—” He pinches your side, making you squirm and giggle. “I’m trying to be romantic.”

“Honey, you’re the most romantic when you’re not trying,” you assure him with a kiss on the cheek, giggling. “So, my sweet King of Shadows. Tell me about your day.”

“You already know what I did today. I was taking care of my queen.” Jinwoo, out of habit, slides his hand under your shirt, gliding over your skin in lazy, teasing strokes as he casually speaks. “A princess, actually. A spoiled, demanding one. Just the way I love her.” He catches your heart pounding when his palm skims your stomach, misinterpreting it as pain rather than guilt over your stupid prank.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks softly, worry clouding his voice. He runs his palm gently over your belly, slow and soothing. “Is there anything else I can do to ease the pain?”

God, you want to tell him so badly. He’s too precious for this.

“No, I’m fine now. The medicine helps. And please, you’ve done so much more than I needed you to. Thank you.” You lift his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles, letting your gratitude—and your secret apology—sink into his skin. Another kiss lands on his jaw as you guide his hand back to your belly. “You’re so sweet to me, Jin. You didn’t have to do all that, you know. Just having you here already made me feel better.”

“I know, but I wanted to.” He presses his lips lovingly to the side of your neck, his mouth moving slowly, leaving one featherlight kiss after another. “Making you happy makes me happy.”

You smile softly, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. “You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it.”

The need to cover your entire body in kisses is almost unbearable, but he holds back, knowing it might be too much when you’ve only just recovered. He settles for embracing you tightly, arms encircling your waist, lips softly pressed just below your ear.

The pleasant warmth of his body, his intoxicating scent, the huskiness in his voice, and the tenderness of his tone—everything is enough to lull you to sleep. But your nerves keep you awake, buzzing. The guilt clings to you like an anchor, dragging you deeper with every second.

Maybe… maybe it’d be easier to just tell him now?

“You seem distracted,” Jinwoo murmurs against your nape, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “Am I boring you, Angel?”

“N-no, I was just—” Your breath stutters, your body jerking in pleasure as he takes your earlobe between his lips, nibbling and sucking gently. His large palm slides upward, cupping your breast through your shirt, squeezing just enough to draw a moan from you. “Jin…”

“I won’t do anything,” he murmurs, promising innocence despite the desire dripping from every word. “I just want to feel you, baby. Just for a moment.”

Your eyes flutter shut, your head falling back against his shoulder again as his touch spreads warmth through your body. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, drowning in the sweet sensation. Your hand reaches backward, sliding across his undercut before fisting his strands and guiding him closer to your neck.

His kisses grow deeper, wetter, his teeth teasing your tender skin.

“So…” he breathes, too casual, as his tongue traces the line of your vein. “I heard something new today.”

You sigh, surrendering completely, tipping your head to the side to give him better access. Your mind fogs with heat, guilt evaporating under the burn of his affection.

“Yeah…? What did you—ah—hear?”

“Something silly.” He sucks the skin just below your jaw, hard enough to leave a mark. Then he licks over it, soothing the sting before moving back to your ear, capturing the lobe again with a smirk in his voice. “Something naughty.”

A soft moan escapes you, your stomach tightening. “Something naughty…?”

“Mm.” You feel the curve of his grin against your skin. “Something that Beru just told me.”

You freeze, your heart rate skyrocketing. Warmth drains from your chest, replaced by cold panic.

Did that bitch just betray me? you wonder, heart thrashing.

“W-what?” you stammer, voice thin and high. “What do you mean? What did he tell you?”

He senses your shift immediately, pulling back just enough to see your face.

“Are you all right?”

“No. I mean, yes.” You force a shaky breath. Calm down. Just breathe. “I just… I want to know what Beru told you.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrow slightly, reading between the lines. Still suspicious, but he lets it slide—for now.

“He said there are… certain positions that help conceive a baby faster.”

You choke, the words catching in your throat. “What?”

“Yeah,” he deadpans. “That was my exact reaction too.”

“Ah. And, umm—” You clear your throat, forcing a smile. “What advice did he give you?”

“I didn’t ask.” He shrugs with quiet confidence. “I don’t need advice from an ant to get my wife pregnant.”

“R-right…”

“But…” He leans in again, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, voice dark and smooth. His hand slips beneath your shirt, warm against your skin, hovering just over your bare breast. “I did some reading of my own today.”

He doesn’t knead or grope—just lets his thumb circle lazily over your peak, barely grazing, but it sets your nerves alight. It’s teasing. Intentional. Cruel in the best way.

“And while there’s no guaranteed method, apparently, positions that allow for deeper penetration might give better chances.”

You swallow hard. “A-and… what would that be?”

He reaches up, gently gathering your hair and draping it over one shoulder to bare the other. He tugs your collar down, just enough to reveal a stretch of skin—and then he’s there, kissing softly at first, then harder, until you feel the start of a bruise. His lips curve into a grin against your shoulder.

“You’d be on your hands and knees, Princess,” he murmurs, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “I’d be behind you. And you’d have your pretty little ass in the air…”

He takes your earlobe gently between his teeth, nipping, then whispering low.

“...and I’d be able to go really… really deep… until…”

His palm spreads over your stomach, warm and possessive.

“...you can feel me right…”

Two fingers press just below your navel.

“...here.”

A sharp jolt of heat courses through you as your imagination runs wild. The anticipation, the intimacy, the way his voice wraps around you like silk—it’s almost enough to smother your guilt.

Almost.

But no—Lady charm, you remind yourself. You’re supposed to distract him. Use what you’ve got. Own it.

You shift in his lap, turning just enough to catch his gaze. When you speak, your voice is honey-sweet, edged with daring, soaked in seduction.

“Why don’t we… try something right now?”

Jinwoo goes still, as if your words need time to sink in. Then you feel it—his breath stutters, his grip on your waist tightens, and his hand twitches against your skin like he's holding himself back by sheer force of will.

“…What?” he asks at last, his voice thick with caution and desire. “You mean—?”

“You know what I mean.”

“But… you said you were in pain earlier.”

You slide your legs around him, straddling him slowly, deliberately. Your hands trail up his chest, feeling the tension coiled just beneath his skin. “I told you, the medicine worked. I feel fine now.” You press your forehead to his, lips brushing his in a featherlight tease. “And you’ve been so good to me. Let me return the favor.”

His jaw tightens. You feel it beneath your fingertips—the restraint, the ache, the tenderness. “You don’t have to—”

“But I want to.”

You cut him off with a kiss—slow, deep, filled with longing. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just real.

You roll your hips in his lap, letting him feel your warmth, the shape of your desire, the silent promise wrapped in every movement.

“I need you, Jin.”

His breath escapes in a low groan, rough and needy. “You have no idea what you're doing to me.” Jinwoo buries his face in your neck, arms tightening around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll perish into thin air if he didn't hold you tightly enough. “You don’t even have to try, Sweetheart. You’re already driving me crazy.”

“Well…” you whisper, kissing along the line of his jaw, your breath hot against his skin, “What if I do try?”

You begin unbuttoning his shirt, slow and teasing. Each button undone reveals more of him—his sculpted chest, the heat of his skin, the steady thud of his heart under your palm. You push the fabric off his shoulders and trace your fingers down his body, memorizing the contours all over again.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breathe out.

His eyes soften at your words, but the tension in him doesn’t ease—it coils tighter. “And you’re fucking gorgeous,” he replies breathlessly, smashing your mouths together, his kisses ardent, full of hunger.

You reach behind you, tugging off your shirt. His hands rise to help—worshipful and gentle despite the fire inside. He cups your breasts with aching tenderness, his thumbs brushing across your nipples before his mouth follows—hot, slow, adoring.

“Jin,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue plays with you, just enough pressure, just enough tease to send a shiver down your spine.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin, gently suckling on your bud. “You always taste so good, Angel. So warm and sweet.”

You lean back slightly, guiding his hands down your sides, then rise off his lap. Slowly, deliberately, you turn and ease forward onto your hands and knees, sinking into the bed in front of him.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the stunned, ravenous look on his face. Desire burns in his eyes like an open flame—and you smirk, tipping your hips just enough to make him lose the last of his composure.

“Was this the position you were talking about?” you ask, your voice laced with honey and wickedness.

He’s behind you before the sentence ends. His hands find your hips, seizing them with veneration and need, like you're the only thing tethering him to this earth.

You push back, pressing yourself against him.

“God, baby…” His voice is hoarse, nearly a groan, breathless with restraint. He leans down, lips grazing along the line of your spine, his breath scalding as it fans over your skin. “You have no idea what you’ve just started.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you purr, rolling your hips back into him with intentional slowness. “Maybe Beru was right. Maybe we should try a few different positions. It’d be fun to get a little… experimental.”

That lights a fire in him. He smirks, lips grazing your shoulder. “Experimental, huh?” His hands travel up your sides, his voice dropping lower. “I’ve held back all this time, thinking my sweet girl liked things tender, gentle. I figured you preferred romance over ruin.”

He presses himself against your clothed core, his arousal throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his pants, grinding into you with intent. The pressure steals your breath, a moan escaping your lips before you can hold it back.

“Mmm,” you whimper, biting your lip to muffle the sound. Your hands fist into the sheets below as you push your hips back toward him again. “I wouldn’t mind something a little different. Something rougher. Maybe something that… hurts a bit.”

He stills behind you, his grip tightening, voice strained with control. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Maybe I should.”

The tension crackles between you like a live wire, aching to snap. You can feel his desire clawing just beneath the surface, threatening to break loose.

He wants to devour you, desperately. Wants to throw restraint to the wind and take you the way you’re begging to be taken.

But then—he stops. His hands fall still.

His voice, when it comes, is softer now, gentling like rain, hesitant. “We can’t. Not right now.” He brushes a thumb over your bare back, rediscovering control. “You’re still bleeding. What if the pain comes back? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You blink, stunned. A pang of guilt slices through you so suddenly it almost knocks the air out of your lungs.

Jinwoo is too sweet. Too good. And you’re just too damn evil if you keep this going.

Ah, screw it. I can’t take this anymore.

“Jinwoo.” You shift back around, pushing him down and straddling his lap. “I have... something to tell you.” There’s a different kind of vulnerability in your gaze now—not desire, but truth. The weight of it presses down on your chest.

He gazes at you with concern, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What is it?”

“I’m not in pain,” you whisper.

He blinks. “Honey?”

You take a shaky breath, heart hammering. “I haven’t been in pain. Not really. I’m not… I’m not even on my period right now.”

Jinwoo freezes. The change is immediate. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with disbelief. “What?”

A guilty laugh escapes you—small, shame-tinged. “I’m sorry,” you murmur nervously. “It was stupid. I missed you. I wanted to be close to you. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just… I wanted to see your reactions—”

“You lied to me?” His tone darkens—not with fury, but with something heavier. Something primal. His presence becomes thunderous, the air thick with power. You flinch.

“I-I didn’t mean to manipulate you,” you rush to say, heart kicking into overdrive. “I just wanted to know how far you’d go for me. I was curious. Stupidly curious.”

“This was a test?”

“No! God, no.” Your hands shoot up defensively. “I would never test you like that. It was just a prank. A stupid, awful prank. I’m so sorry.”

He leans back, sighing through gritted teeth—the kind that makes your skin prickle. His expression is tight with exasperation, but there’s a glint in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or something darker. Something deliciously vengeful.

“So,” he drawls, his tone deceptively casual, “I left the raid early. Nearly got swallowed by a giant snake because I was too distracted worrying about you crying.” He draws out that last word, twisting the knife. “Burned through half my mana because my shadows were getting overwhelmed without me there. And then I humiliated myself buying pads in a pharmacy stocked with more options than a potion shop. And that was all… for nothing?”

You nearly fold where you stand. “I didn’t mean to distract you during the raid! I would never want to put you in danger!”

“Then why did you tell Beru to say you were crying?”

“I didn’t! That was all his doing!”

Silence. Then—“What?”

“…Ah.” You wince. The irony hits hard. You thought Beru would be the one to betray you—yet here you are, throwing him under the bus.

“It was his idea?”

Well, it’s too late to retract your words now—not that you want to. “Y-yes, it was his idea. All of it. I—I didn’t even want to do it.”

His expression darkens, like storm clouds gathering over still water. “Put your shirt back on.”

Shit. Now he’s mad.

You scramble to dress yourself, hands shaking, heart pounding. As soon as you finish—hair tousled and skin flushed—Jinwoo’s eyes flash, his usual cobalt hue bleeding into a deep, dangerous violet.

“Beru,” he summons.

The shadow beneath your feet quivers violently. You feel it—a frantic fluttering within the dark. Beru is stalling, clearly panicking in the depths of the shadow realm, desperately finding ways to escape.

But an order is an order, and he knows better than to anger his Monarch further.

The shadow materializes midair, a floating head that trembles like a leaf. “M-mine liege, how art thou this day?” Beru greets with a forced, trembling grin. “Thou doth appear most divine—”

“Was it your plan?”

Beru quivers, flicks his gaze to you in betrayal, pleading for help—but you avert your eyes, lips sealed.

“Yes, it was all his plan,” you say flatly, sealing his fate.

“Mine queen!” Beru gasps in horror. “How couldst thou betrayeth me so—”

Jinwoo grabs his shadowy face with one hand, his fingers engulfing the ant’s skull entirely. His smile is sharp. Unforgiving.

“You lied to your king,” he says lowly through gritted teeth. “And had the audacity to ask me for mints and chips while doing it?”

Beru whimpers. “M-my liege, I doth beg thy forgiveness! Mine heart is heavy with remorse. But the queen is most persuasive! I was beguiled by her honeyed words! Who am I to deny her whims, when even thou—the King—yield to her will?!”

You gasp, jaw dropping. “Beru!”

“A-also… I doth yearn for ye crisps of potato.”

Jinwoo squeezes his hand around him, nearly bursting him into pulp.

“ACK—M-my liege!” Beru chokes. “Mercy! Mercy!”

“Outside. Head on the ground. Now.”

“Y-yes, my liege!” The shadow scrambles, zipping out like a bat fleeing hell. Fleeing death. Literally.

Jinwoo turns to you. “You.”

Your throat goes dry. “Y-yes?”

He unfastens his belt in one smooth, practiced motion. The leather hisses through the loops, loud in the silence. His smirk is ice and fire all at once. “Come here.”

You step toward him, heart hammering.

“Arms out.”

You obey, raising your trembling hands in the air. He seizes your wrists, binding them tight with the belt. The leather bites into your skin, and you flinch.

“Too tight, Sweetheart?”

“A-a little…”

He tightens it.

You hiss softly, and his smirk deepens—cruel and thrilled. He knows your limits. And he knows just how much pain you can take… and crave. You asked for this, didn't you?

“Eyes on me,” he commands.

You meet his gaze.

“What do you say?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Keep going.”

“I am… sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for pulling a childish prank on you.”

“And?”

You swallow thickly. “I promise I won’t ever make you worry like that again. I swear I won’t ever do something so stupid again.”

His voice rumbles deep and low. “And if you break your promise?”

“I’ll…” Your face twists in a grimace. “…accept whatever punishment you see fit?”

He smiles, slow and wicked. Jinwoo leans in, kissing you softly—tender, gentle, almost jarringly sweet. “Good girl.”

You shiver, your voice crumbling to a whisper. “A-are you going to punish me now?”

“Oh, no. Not tonight,” he purrs, dark and smooth. “Tonight… I’m going to play with you.”

He cups your chin, tilting your face up, his gaze molten. His lips press to yours—deeper this time, more demanding, his hand gripping your chin like you’re something precious and breakable… or something to be devoured. He leaves you breathless. Dazed.

“You said you wanted to be experimental, didn’t you?” he whispers against your lips, voice a silken threat.

Your lips part to answer—but before you can speak, he spins you around, one hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, dragging your head back.

His breath is fire in your ear.

“Then bend over.”

***

[birdyshewrote]

“Like an Animal”

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

written by birdy

Note- I’m tired of nobody playing into the mutant or animalistic side of him as much as I want them to. pls enjoy u freaks 😇

warnings/tags- 18+, Animal!Logan, he’s nasty, strong language, he eats you out like an animal okay? That’s the whole plot.

PLEASE SEND ME LOGAN IDEAS ! Mean!Logan, Soft!Logan, I like it all. give me ideas. also feedback appreciated !

——————————————————————————

Being a mutant leads to heightened senses. You’ve seen this first hand in Logan.

The second you start ovulating, he is all over you. Laying in bed on your phone, he’s watching you from the door way. He’s shirtless, wearing dark blue jeans. His dog tags lay across his broad chest, rising up and down as he breathes.

“Logan? You okay?” You ask, looking up from your phone. He says nothing, instead stepping towards you.. slowly. You frown, sitting up slightly.

“Lo?”

When close enough, he quickly jumps up on the bed, pouncing on you like a cat playing with a mouse.

You wheeze under the sudden weight of his body, all 300 pounds. He pins your arms to your sides using his muscular legs, sticking his face and nose into the deep crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, like he hasn’t been able to take a full breath in years.

“Can smell you..” He groans against your ear.

“Lo!” You exasperate, smiling at the sudden attention. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Could fuckin’ smell you from across the hall.” He smells you again, inhaling your pheromones. He starts smelling all of you in quick, jagged breaths. Your hair, your neck, your chest, your face.

You squirm, his breath tickling your skin. His stubble and facial hair gently scrapes against your soft neck. His own scent was intoxicating, that of leather and cigar smoke. A hint of alcohol lingered on his breath, along with his usual musk and light sweat. You knew there was no chance in getting him off of you unless he wanted to, but you try anyway. You grunt, shaking your shoulders in your best attempt to get the beast of a man off of your body.

He doesn’t budge.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, girl? Hm?” You feel him smile against your neck as he speaks. “Tryna run away from me?”

The sound of his voice trickles into your ears and sends vibrations to the back of your throat. The warmth and weight of his body mixed with the feeling of his breath and the roughness of his face on your neck makes you weak. You know the power he has over you, and so does he. The familiar throbbing that you know so well rises in your stomach and down into your shorts. You shut your legs and clench your thighs to try and relieve the building tension.

Logan’s head rises up from out of your hair and looks down at your face. He can smell your arousal, and you see it in his eyes. His brows furrow, his breath heavy now, panting. He looks at you hungrily. The look in his eyes is like nothing you’ve seen before, and it makes you nervous, like you’re a piece of meat and he’s a starved animal.

“Logan..” You say cautiously. He scans your face as if he’s trying to regain some control over his own mind, his own movements. “Logan.” You say again, this time more direct. He blinks, his pupils steady again. “What is happening right now with you?”

He looks at your eyes. Then your lips. Then your chest. Then back up to your eyes.

“Need to taste you. Right now.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden bluntness, but you’re quickly distracted by a rough hand gripping the side of your waist. You swallow, inches from his face. You feel his warm, shaky breath on your face as he stares down at you with large, pleading yet demanding eyes.

“Need it now.” He repeats, more frantic this time, like if he doesn’t make a move on you you’ll get away. “Gonna give ya what you need, don’ worry baby, I know what y’need.”

He closes that last inch of space and connects his mouth with yours, kissing you slowly. His breath gets heavier, his nose and face mashing into yours as the kiss gets sloppier and lazier. He indistinctively let’s out faint groans and whines from his chest and back out his throat into your mouth. He’s lapping at your tongue now, like your mouth is the fountain of youth.

He paws at your waist, bringing his huge, veiny hand up your side and under your loose top. He cups a breast in his hand, to which he grabs greedily. He couldn’t get enough of your body, and if you weren’t soaking before, you definitely are now. He bites your bottom lip with his sharp canine, gently at first, but once he starts he couldn’t stop. He bites your tongue a few times, kissing you and pushing his face farther into your space. He quickly pulls his face away from yours, looking down at you with half lidded, crazed eyes. He brushes some hair out of your face with his free hand, looking down at your puffy, wet lips.

“You’re so beautiful, y’know that? So beautiful.” His voice is low, you’re the only one he’s speaking too. The only one that needs to hear his voice. “So beautiful for me, all for me. Right sweetheart?”

You nod, quickly licking your raw lip and swallowing.

He kisses you again. Any politeness is gone now. He moves his mouth from your face to your cheek. He trails sloppy, hot kisses down your jaw to your neck. He bites and licks at the top of your ear, then back down to your collarbone. He moves his body down the bed, gently nipping at your collarbone, leaving red marks that will soon turn to hickeys. He brings his head up to look at his doing, clearly marking his territory. His warm face is back on your chest in a heart beat though, his other hand finding it’s way to your second breast. He focuses on perfecting the marks on your chest for a moment, then looks again. You writher under his touch, moving your legs together. Once he’s satisfied with his markings, he lifts your shirt up, letting it bunch at your neck before gently biting at your nipple, pinching the other with his hand. He licks and licks, tasting your skin and smelling you.

“Lo.” You whine.

You feel him smile against your skin before laying one more kiss on your tit, then sits up. He looks down at you once again. Your chest exposed to him. You’re all blushed and red, bruised, hot and bothered. He did this to you.

“I know, I know Bub. I cant wait either.”

He slides off the side of the furniture, ignoring his own painful erection and kneels on the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed. He grabs your closed thighs, hoists them up and effortlessly pulls you closer to him.

“Take these off for me, Baby.” He hooks a finger under your silk shorts.

You look at him, your face flushed, heart thumping.

He’s too impatient, he can’t wait any longer. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re already goin’ dumb for me. Haven’t even touched you yet.” He teases as he quickly pulls down your shorts to your ankles, tossing them out of sight.

He sighs through his mouth when he sees your leaking panties, all wet and glistening for him.

“Open up.” He sighs, putting his calloused hands on your knees. When you don’t move, he brings a hand to your thigh and pries you open with ease.

“God..” He groans under his breath. Feeling exposed, you try to shut your legs, but he sternly keeps you open for his access. He dips his head below your knees, and without warning inhales with his nose at the top of your clothed slit.

You gasp, embarrassed, and try to push his head away, but to absolutely no avail. Instead, he sticks out his tongue and gently presses it against your clit. Your embarrassment fades as it’s overwhelmed with sudden pleasure. It’s not nearly enough for anything, but at least it’s something. You let out a quick moan, which he pays no attention too. This wasn’t to make you feel good, this was because he needed to taste you.

He licks at you through the thin layer of fabric, holding your thighs down into the mattress with his large hands. He slowly rubs his fingers into your soft skin, soothing you, simply so you’d hopefully stop squirming. His breath is hot against your drenched panties. He grinds his own bulge against the foot of the bed while dragging a finger up your thigh. It travels to the top of your panties, then pulls them down your legs, around your ankles, and forgotten on the floor. He looks at you now, completely exposed to him. Again, you try to avoid his gaze by covering yourself with your hand, but he swats it away.

“Quit.” He snaps, like you’re preventing him from his work.

He brings his middle finger down from your thigh to your slit, just gently tracing it, trying to remember every curve and detail in your delicate space. You look away, shutting your eyes. He slowly slips his finger in, only to the second knuckle. You groan, your back arching to the little contact. He watches you tighten around his digit, your slick acting as natural lubricant. Your juices coating his finger.

“Mm, look at that baby. You’re already doing s’good. Already ready f’me, aren’t you? Such a dirty girl..”

He keeps himself inside of you for a moment, listening to you whine and watching you twitch around his knuckle. He slowly removes himself from your pussy and into his mouth, licking his finger clean, letting none of your arousal go to waste.

When he himself can’t take it anymore, he lowers his head once more in between your legs. He tries to be slow, but can’t stop himself from lapping and lapping at you like a thirsty dog. His licks are undirected, not aiming anywhere specific, just trying to taste as much as you as he possibly can. He moans against your cunt, sending vibrations through your core. He suckles at your pussy, his nose hitting your clit and his facial hair scraping against your folds perfectly. Lapping and lapping and licking and more licking, never once slowing down, never once coming up for air. Instead he breathes through it all, every inhale making him harder and harder in his denim jeans. He licks your entrance. He shoves his hot, wet tongue in and out of you, over and over again.

Once he calms himself down, he directs his licking to your clit, a little more concentrated but still wild. He slowly brings a hand up, holding a finger to your leaking entrance. Barely any pressure is used when his finger easily slips into your pussy, gripping and tightening once more. Once fully adjusted, he slowly pumps in and out of you while wildly lapping at your throbbing clit.

“Logan.” You moan uncontrollably. The noises coming from your mouth are not voluntary. You bring your arms up from your sides and latch onto the black tufts of hair on his head, pulling. He lets out a groan against your cunt when you pull his hair, and this almost sets you over the edge, but not yet.

He inserts a second finger, curling upwards, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly you begin to see stars. Your sweet mouth hangs open and your eyes water, huffing, trying to control your breathing.

“S’good f’me.” He mutters against you. “Doin’ s’good f’me. You gonna cum baby? Gonna make a mess on my face? Hm?”

Your toes begin to curl as Logan keeps your legs open for himself. When he looks up, he locks eyes with you. His eyebrows are furrowed as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, watching your face.

“So good sweetheart, jus’ like that. Justa little bit more baby.”

He shuts up when he notices your legs sputtering, and starts eating you again. He nips at your sensitive bud once or twice, making you jolt in response. His fingers quicken, in and out, in and out. Then, the knot grew tighter and tighter. You tap his head with your hand as a warning, letting out soft “Ah- Ah”s.

You throw your head back and curl your toes tightly. Your eyes roll to the back of you head. Logan continues licking and deeply fingering you through your orgasm, moaning “Mhm, mhm,” against you as light encouragement.

He keeps licking every drop of juices that you’d let out until you’re a twitchy, sputtering mess. He lifts his head from your clit to mutter sweet nothings, slowing his fingers around your sputtering hole.

“Fuck, so fucking beautiful. You know that, baby? Did so good f’me. God.”

He gently pulls his fingers out of you, and slowly closes your legs for you to give them a break from the unnatural pose. He licks his fingers as he climbs into bed. Logan hooks his hands under your arms and quickly pulls you up into his chest. He brushes your hair out of the way and lays gentle kisses on your forehead as he rubs his hand up and down your arm.

“Feel good Kid?” He asks you, to which you nod.

You completely relax into his body as the two of you lay in bed. He reaches over to the nightstand and lights a cigar, taking a quick puff before smiling. He sniffs the top of your head again, covering his nose with your messy hair.

“You smell really good.”

[mynameisjag]

Slightly Suggestive Poolverine Prompt: Good Boy

Logan could take pain, he was used to pain, pain was something he was too familiar with…

This though…this was something different...

Hands were gently stroking through his hair, slight little scratches here and there, it was soft and slow and something he hasn’t had in a long time.

There was a hiccuping purr vibrating through his chest, a feeling he had pushed down over and over again in fear of seeming less human.

“Good boy, my good boy.”

He wasn’t though, he wasn’t good.

“Oh, Lo-boo, I’ve told you're the best Wolverine, which means you’re automatically a good boy.”

The hands in his hair traveled, one scratches along his jawline while the other travels down his exposed chest to thumb through his chest hair. He rumbles deeply, falling more into the soothing motions.

Logan isn’t sure how he ended up being swayed by Wade’s honey covered words but he fell for it…maybe it was just the final collaboration of everything that has been happening crashing down on him. The excitement, the confusion, the adrenaline, everything tearing into him, wearing him down to a breaking point.

The animal within wanted to claw out and escape to somewhere, anywhere just to be able to process…everything…

He couldn’t let it…

Wade though, Wade coaxed it and him into a sense of safety…a moment to decompress…pulled into the mercs lap after a shower and borrowed downy feeling sleep pants. Head laying in the other man’s lap, body stretched out.

His mind felt like crashing waves finally settling after a storm, a mess but a mess that was slowly becoming more manageable.

There was a soft kiss on his forehead, another to the tip of his nose, he opened his eyes when the expected third to the lips never came.

Wade was hovering above him, eyes too gentle, smile too indulgent, “just needed a little love, huh, and you turn into a pussycat.”

Logan rumbled but was distracted by the hand on his chest slowly petting downward, teasing near the band of the pants, his rumbles turned into whines.

“Remember, keep your hands to yourself, I’ll keep petting you, can you do that, can you continue being a good boy?”

He whines again, pushing his head into the palm of the hand still caressing his face.

“Words honeybunch, need to hear a verbal yes.”

Logan huffs, his voice low as he finally speaks, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“…yes…please?”

The merc just lightly laughs, finally giving a quick peck to the lips before leaning back with a smug smirk, “See, the best boy,” his hand dragged back upward, getting the feel of the thick hair tickling his skin, “feels like fur.”

“Hmm.”, the Wolverine was practically melting, if this was some kind of alcohol induced dream, he was going to let it go as long as possible, he didn’t get gentle touches in both the waking and sleep induced worlds, and his body seemed unsure on how to process it.

Whatever beast that had pushed and pushed till it nearly consumed him, the force of his feral nature that had taken over in his need to survive no matter his wants of ceasing, the animal that always clawed at his mind…was silent…

It rumbles in a different unsure way then the usual anger.

He allows his eyes to close, losing more to the soothing petting.

“Holy shit, I have to be in the golden timeline, baby, you look so pretty stretched out like this,” Wade was grinning, eyes watching as his hand skimmed over the relaxing muscles, feeling the rumbles grow in intensity as the tip of his fingers slide under the pants band, “I think we’ve both been good boys and deserve a treat.”

[sunhaloscarab]

if college wasn't so expensive i would try to get soooooo many degrees smh

[cami040405]

hiii!!! I hope you’re doing well :D

Could u write a Brahms x reader where the reader is bilingual? Like sometimes the reader would slip into speaking another language after smth inconvenient or just to tease Brahms lol - could u mix it w/ sfw and nsfw?

Take your time and i hope have a cold pillow tonight 💗

NSFW/SFW: Susurros Prohibidos - Brahms Heelshire X Bilingual S/O 

Summary: In the eerie quiet of the Heelshire manor, you tease Brahms by slipping into Spanish—just to rile him up. He grows obsessed with your bilingual whispers, especially when they get filthier with each passing moment.

A/N: First of all, I apologize for the delay in posting this request, there are several that I still need to answer and I have a terrible flu. I hope you like this oneshot and thank you very much for sending the request.

The manor is too quiet again. The kind of silence that buzzes in your ears and makes your skin feel too tight. You can feel it—the stare. Brahms is somewhere near. Watching. Waiting.

You're reading in the parlor, curled on the faded velvet settee, when you feel it again: the prickle at the base of your neck.

“¿Vas a seguir mirándome o piensas hacer algo al respecto?” you murmur, not looking up from the page.

There’s a beat of silence. Then a low chuckle.

“You keep doing that,” Brahms says from the shadowed doorway. “Slipping into your other tongue. Are you teasing me?”

You glance over your book with a smile. “¿Y si lo estoy? ¿Qué harías?”

He steps forward, his voice rasping like worn silk. “I’d make you say it again. Louder. Until I can understand it.”

The book falls shut in your lap as he stops in front of you. His head tilts slightly, curls brushing his cheek. There’s something unhinged in the hunger in his eyes—but familiar. Safe, in the strangest way.

“Say something else,” he says, crouching before you.

“¿Algo bonito o algo sucio?” you whisper.

He grins. “Surprise me.”

You lean in, close enough to brush your lips against his ear.

“Me pones tan mal,” you murmur. “No tienes idea de lo que me haces.”

A groan escapes his throat—half pleasure, half frustration. “No. I don’t. Not unless you show me.”

In a blur, you’re lifted into his arms, your book forgotten on the rug. He carries you with practiced ease, up the grand staircase, past the gaze of dust-covered portraits. Into his room.

The door closes with a soft click.

Brahms sets you down on his bed and doesn’t speak—he watches as you peel your sweater slowly over your head, revealing bare skin underneath. His fingers twitch at his sides.

“Touch me,” you whisper, your voice slipping into something soft and sweet. “Tócame, Brahms.”

He kneels onto the mattress like a beast stalking prey and lets his calloused hands drag along your thighs, your waist, your ribs.

“Tell me what that means,” he breathes, tugging at your waistband.

You smirk. “Figure it out.”

When he slides your pants down, you feel his breath falter. You’re soaked. His eyes flash with something primal.

“I know what this means,” he mutters, running a finger along your inner thigh. “This means you’ve been thinking about it.”

You gasp as he dips down, mouth hot against your core, tongue swirling slow, reverent circles. Your hand tangles in his curls.

“¡Dios mío…!” you moan.

He growls into you. “That one I know.”

His mouth is relentless. Every gasp, every twitch he pulls from you only fuels him. You barely recognize the mix of Spanish and English you start babbling—just fragments.

“Más… por favor, Brahms… no te detengas, por favor—”

He pulls away just long enough to look up at you, his lips slick and glistening.

“I like it when you beg in Spanish,” he says, voice thick with arousal. “But I want to hear it when I’m inside you.”

You reach for him, dragging him up by the collar of his shirt. “Entonces hazlo.”

He fumbles with his belt—desperate, impatient—and you help, both of you tangled in each other now. When he finally pushes inside you, there’s nothing left to say. Just the loud, breathy moan you let out as your body stretches around him.

“Así,” you whimper. “Just like that.”

His hips move slow at first, but soon his rhythm grows rougher. He buries his face in your neck, biting, sucking.

“You’re so tight,” he groans. “Fuck. You feel—God, I can’t—”

You pull his hair. Hard. “Harder, Brahms. Más fuerte, ahora.”

He obeys. Slams into you like he was made for this, for you. Every time you whisper something filthy in his ear, he loses rhythm. You’re unraveling him—one moan, one word at a time.

When your climax hits, it takes you both. You cry out—Spanish curses tumbling past your lips—and he follows, spilling into you with a long, broken groan.

You lie tangled together afterward, sweat-slick and trembling. His hand traces patterns across your stomach.

“…You never did tell me what ‘carajo’ means,” he says hoarsely.

You smile against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll teach you tomorrow.”

.

[sunhaloscarab]

yes he is a certified doctor......as well as having a bunch of other degrees...

hi Maja...... what do you think of this silly guy...

(dr. mcninja from the adventures of dr. mcninja)

is he a certified doctor mcninja oh my gah

[avenomousflower]

Hector walked with light steps, careful to avoid making too much noise. He held a hand to the stone wall, recalling having been told that he should always do so if ever he was in such a situation. He had never expected this to happen to him, had never even considered the possibility.

It had been a hard life on the streets of Crete, begging for scraps and huddling for shelter when it was cold, or wet. It hardly seemed fair that he should be punished for trying to survive. He had taken a crust of bread, only enough to keep himself from starving, and had been thrown in front of the king to face judgement. He had been washed and oiled and perfumed, and thrown to his consequence.

Ever since the Bull had been born, punishment had become stricter and more common. Once he would have gotten a slap on the wrist, maybe a little compensatory labor, and then would be free to go. But the Bull of Minos demanded sacrifice, and criminals had been the obvious choice.

The labyrinth walls were rough on his fingertips. Each faint footstep echoed through the halls.

Hector steeled himself, willed himself to be brave.

But he was young, and alone, and each step brought him closer to the labyrinth’s end, and to his own.

On he walked for what felt like hours, turning corners and frustrating himself at dead ends, doubling back and trying new paths. There was an element of relief at each failed passage, but also a pang of disappointment; he would live for another moment, but was forced to prolong his own torment.

The deep and resonant sound of heavy breathing began to tug at him after some time. His journey neared its end.

The sound grew louder as he walked, laboured and consistent.

A final turn brought him to the Minotaur’s chamber.

The masculine smell of musk sat heavy on the air. The growling drone of weighty breaths reverberated in his bones.

It was seated at the far side of the room, head bowed. Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, its stomach swollen, completely naked save for a scrap of cloth covering its manhood. Its head was the furred black of a bull, two broken horns crowning it.

It looked up at Hector, black eyes twinkling in the dark, thoughtful.

The Bull of Minos rose from its rest, and took a deliberate step toward the young man. There was no aggression in its movement, but a curiosity and a gentleness.

Hector had sometimes heard the philosophers as they debated and deliberated, discussing their theories and concepts. A recent one was Fight or Flight; the idea that when threatened, mankind reacted like animals, with aggression or by fleeing.

Hector found that neither had applied to him now. He froze in place like a man petrified by a gorgon.

The Minotaur took Hector in its hands, calloused and broad, and inhaled his scent. It seemed to inspect him, sizing him up and taking his stock. He knew that criminals were sent to be sacrificed, but knew not the form that this sacrifice would take.

The Minotaur was gentle as it lowered him from his feet, bringing him to rest on his back on a pile of cloth. It seemed to have made a decision, had come to some conclusion about him. It came down to its knees, using a hand to part Hector’s oiled thighs, and the boy complied.

He could feel the swelling bulge beneath the thin fabric at the Minotaur’s crotch, and he found himself wanting.

The horror of the creature was eclipsed by how aggressively masculine it was; it looked like a man, it smelled like a man, and the rough hands on his thigh and waist asserted that it felt like a man, too.

Hector whimpered ever so slightly when two of the Bull’s slick fingers slipped inside him. It let out a huff as it did so, its breath hot on Hector’s face. Hesitantly, he reached out, taking the beast by its waist and pulling it toward him.

He did not know if it could speak, or how it thought, but it understood him. Its fingers gently slipped from within him, and it pressed the tip of its cock to the tight, oiled pucker of his hole.

The monster was a surprisingly gentle lover, carefully rocking back and forth, applying slightly more pressure each time it pressed against his entrance. An exhalation turned into a moan as the head entered him, his moan turning to a whine of pleasure as it pulled back and then pushed forward again, sinking a little deeper, stretching him a little wider.

Hector spread his thighs further apart, and the Minotaur pressed the weight of its stomach onto him, skin to skin.

It pressed its lips to his throat as it sunk the full length of itself inside the boy, throbbing inside him. It was still for a moment as though enjoying the tightness, the wetness, the warmth, and then it slowly and softly began to thrust.

Hector whimpered and whined, digging his fingernails into the skin of the beast’s back, pulling it closer, holding it tighter, inviting all of it inside him.

It pumped within him, breaths growing deeper and more erratic, nearing its climax.

“Finish within me,” Hector breathed, uncertain if the beast understood him, and uncaring. “Make me yours.”

The moment struck him like lightning from Olympus as it thrust roughly, burying itself within him, throbbing inside him, spilling itself into the hot, wet darkness.

The Bull breathed deeply, panting, and Hector panted below it.

They lay together for a time, breathing quietly, the Bull growing soft and slipping out of the young man.

After what felt like an age, it rose to look him in the eye, that thoughtful, inspecting gleam having returned. It watched him for a while before it leaned back down toward him.

It took the back of his head in one hand, a tender motion, and brought its lips toward him.

He thought for a moment that it meant to kiss him, before its mouth opened and he understood.

Its breath was hot, but not unpleasant. The cavern of its gullet opened to welcome him.

The Bull was gentle, tender, as it guided his head toward its mouth, teeth grazing along the skin of his face, tongue wet below his chin. He closed his eyes, embracing his punishment with a strange serenity.

Its throat was tight around his head, its lips now working down to his shoulders, arms pinned to his side. The flesh of the throat rippled around him, strong muscles guiding him deeper. The heat and wetness washed over him, lips moving down to his waist.

The muscles parted around him as his head entered the beast’s stomach, gravity doing most of the work now to pull him deeper. He naturally curled around himself, his feet wriggling as it took all of him inside it, the cool air outside pulled away as it closed its mouth around them.

All of him was inside the Bull’s stomach now, wrapped around himself foetally. He felt the impression of strong hands feeling about his form, taking his measurement from outside.

There came the deep and resonant sound of a belch that constricted the stomach walls around him and permeated through the flesh.

The beast’s hands stopped inspecting him now and rubbed at him instead, kneading him, enjoying the satisfaction of a filling meal. Hector considered now that this would end only in digestion, suspected that the rubbing might have been an effort to stimulate the process, but it was too late now to worry on such things.

This was his life now, his home, his purpose.

He had given the Minotaur permission to own him, and that was what it had done.

His fate was intimately tied to the beast’s digestive processes now, and he made his peace with that.

Hector raised a hand to press on the wet flesh of the beast’s stomach lining, and the beast met his hand with its own. He may have been foolish, or mad, but he couldn’t help but feel that there was a connection between them, a deep and personal intimacy. The Minotaur had taken his virginity, and he wondered if he had taken its own.

The breathing grew deeper, more steady, and he realised after a time that the beast had fallen asleep, hands still pressed lovingly to the bulge that he made in its stomach. Hector closed his eyes, allowing sleep to take him too, and he went to his final slumber amid gurgling and squelching, the walls of the stomach working over him, preparing him for digestion.

[hummingbird24220]

Ye Olde Bit That Went Too Far

One Piece x Reader

I had more fun than i should have writing this. Hope you enjoy and don't have a stroke reading it xx

'Twas a fair morn upon the Thousand Sunny, waves gently kissing the hull and seagulls crying yonder in the skies above. The crew lounged in mirth and merriment, unaware that thou hadst awoken with a singular goal: to speaketh like an absolute medieval maniac for the entirety of the day.

Lo, you bursteth forth from thy quarters with great aplomb, arms stretched to the heavens.

“Gooooood morrow, mine dearest crewmates!” thou didst declare, voice carrying upon the wind. “Verily, the sun doth shine like Sanji’s golden locks, and the day ringeth with promise!”

Luffy blinked thrice. “Huh?”

Zoro, polishing his sword, raised a brow. “Are you having a stroke?”

“Nay, good swordsman! I speaketh thus for mine own amusement,” thou saidst, striding across the deck like royalty. “Forsooth, I am possessed by the spirits of drama and olden days. Make peace with it, or begone!”

Usopp burst into laughter. “Oh no, they’ve gone full theater kid.”

“Naught but a knave would mock me so!” thou declared, pointing a dramatic finger. “Usopp, bearer of tales and slayer of beasts, dost thou dare insult thine most loyal companion?”

“I didn’t insult you!” he said between giggles. “That was a compliment!”

Then Sanji appeared from the galley, cigarette in mouth. “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Ah, Sanji the Golden! Thou hath stirred the morning gruel once more?” thou saidst, approaching him with a hand on thy chest. “Truly, thy culinary hands are kissed by the gods themselves.”

He paused. Blushed. Lit another cigarette out of pure confusion. “I… uh. Thanks?”

Zoro muttered, “If they say ‘hath’ one more time I’m jumping overboard.”

You whirled on him. “Speak not in jest, green-haired demon! I shall challenge thee to a duel of words and wit if thy disrespect continues!”

Zoro stood. “Fine. Dost thou even lift?”

A gasp. “How darest thou.”

Nami walked by, sipping tea. “If they start saying ‘milady’ I’m throwing them off the ship.”

“Alas!” you wailed, collapsing onto a deck chair. “Mine heart is sore wounded. Betray’d by mine own crew. But nay! Yonder babe—Luffy—did call thy name. I shall away!”

Luffy grinned. “I didn’t call your name, but I am a babe. Heh.”

And so the day continued, with you refusing to drop character. Robin found it “charming,” Franky tried to match your tone (“SUPER ETHEREAL, MY FAIR DAME!”), and Chopper was utterly bewildered.

You regretted nothing.

-

The sun didst rise higher o’er the glistening sea, and thou, devoted to thy bit with the resolve of a thousand stubborn goats, didst stride across the deck with flair unmatch’d. Yet fate—cruel and most foul—had other plans.

For as thou didst saunter yonder toward the foremast, thy pinky toe didst strike the corner of a crate most merciless.

"BY THE GODS!" thou howled, hopping on one foot like a harlot scorn’d. “A CURSE UPON THIS UNHOLY BOX! MAY IT BE SMOTE BY THE WRATH OF NEPTUNE HIMSELF!”

The crew turned, startled by thy lamentation. Chopper rushed forward.

“Are you okay?!”

Thou grabbed him by his little shoulders. “Sweet deer of medicine, listen well—I have suffered a most grievous affliction. Mine toe—mine precious, valiant toe—hath betrayed me!”

Robin, who had until then been reading beneath the shade, looked up with a gentle smile. “Thy lament is great, dear friend. Perchance, the crate was a foe in disguise.”

Thou gasped. “Robin! Dost mine ears deceive me, or hast thou joined me in this most noble tongue?”

She closed her book with elegant grace. “Why, yes. 'Tis a language most poetic. I find it rather... soothing.”

Sanji, holding a tray of fresh orange slices, looked between the two of you. “Wait… are we all doing this now?”

Brook twirled his cane. “Indeed! For what is life, if not a stage for such melodious speech? Yohohoho!”

Usopp grinned and puffed out his chest. “Aye! I, Usopp the Brave, have always spoketh with valor and drama!”

Franky struck a pose. “SUPER YE OLDE STYLE, BABY!”

Luffy started repeating random words he thought sounded cool: “Bequeath! Thou! Henceforth! Rubber-rubber sword!”

Zoro groaned, rubbing his temples as if smiteth with a headache from the gods.

He turned to Robin, narrowing his eye. “Why ist thou so damn good at speaketh in such tongue?”

Robin gave a coy smile. “Mayhaps I read too many ancient texts. Or mayhaps I was born with dramatic flair in mine soul.”

Thou clutched thy chest, tears of pride welling. “Mine crew… mine beautiful, chaotic, theatrical crew!”

Zoro sighed, pointing his sword at thee. “Just know, if this keeps up, I shall challenge thee to a duel… and speaketh not a single word the whole time.”

“Then thou shalt lose, for I wield both blade and bard!” thou declared.

And lo, the play did continue, for none among them couldst bear to stop. Forsooth—it was the dumbest day ever, and one of the most glorious.

-

As twilight painteth the skies in hues of gold and wine, the Straw Hats did gather 'round the galley’s table, where Sanji the Golden-Chef had laid a spread worthy of kings and fools alike. The scent of roasted meats and buttery loaves did waft and swirl, dancing betwixt the hungry crew.

Thou did siteth at the head, goblet raised high.

“Hark!” thou proclaimed. “Let us feast upon this bounty as though ‘twere our last repast! For who knoweth when the sea shall claim our bones!”

Nami arched a brow. “It’s literally just dinner.”

Robin, sipping wine with grace, did reply, “And yet our dear orator speaketh true. One must never take for granted the bliss of warm bread and salted flesh.”

Sanji, who had changed into a frilly cravat just for the bit, bowed deeply. “T’was cooked with love most pure. May it fill thy bellies and ignite thy spirits!”

Luffy had already stuffed half a turkey leg into his face. “Verily, this bird… slaps.”

Franky clanked two tankards together. “SUPER SLAPS, BROTHER!”

Brook raised his goblet as well. “To Sanji! The culinary knight of this fine vessel!”

“TO SANJI!” all but one did shout.

Zoro sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, eye twitching.

Thou turned to him. “Why doth thy tongue lie still, oh grumpy blade-wielder?”

Zoro sighed, then picked up a fork. “Because I speaketh only when mine stomach is full, and not before.”

A pause.

Thou smirked. “Thy sass is palpable.”

Sanji slammed his goblet down with flourish. “Then let there be a toast! To our battles won, to the tides yet to turn, and to the finest lady aboard—”

Thou leaned forward. “Ah, sweet flattery. Continue.”

He blinked. “I meant Robin.”

Thou: “A curse upon thee.”

Usopp, already wearing a napkin as a cape, stood on his chair. “Let it be known across the Grand Line! That this feast was had, and that it was awesome!”

Chopper clapped his hooves. “I declare! Never hath my tastebuds known such joy!”

Robin turned to thee, raising an elegant brow. “Dost thou ever plan to speak normally again?”

Thou took a bite of bread, chewed slowly, and answered with solemn dignity:

“When pigs taketh flight, and the sea runneth dry.”

Zoro groaned. “We’re doomed.”

Luffy flung mashed potatoes into his own mouth and cheered, “THEN LET US DINE UNTIL THE MOON DOTH CRASH UPON THE EARTH!”

And thus, the feast did continue, full of clamor and jest, with tankards raised and crumbs everywhere, like a tavern out of time. Twas a dinner to remember—not for the food, but for the sheer nonsense of it all.

-

The Thousand Sunny did dock upon the shores of Beldoria, a lively isle filled with merchants, hawkers, and wares aplenty. The crew stepped off the ship eager for adventure—or at the very least, a snack and some new socks.

And thou?

Thou did descend the ramp with the grandeur of a royal exile.

“Behold! A town of riches and revelry lies before us!” thou declared, spreading thine arms wide. “Mayhaps I shall acquire a cloak of velvet, or a vial of perfume forged from moonlight!”

Zoro was already rubbing his forehead. “You promised—PROMISED—you’d stop when we made land.”

“Nay, swordsman. I made no such vow. Perhaps in thy dreams, but in truth? I remain ever thus.”

A few townspeople nearby turned, eyebrows raised.

One elderly vendor leaned toward another. “Oh! A noble, by the sound of it. Didst thou hear their diction?”

“Aye,” the other replied, eyes wide. “Surely royalty—perhaps a minor lady, or a wandering bard princess!”

Thou turned and bowed deeply. “Fair citizens of Beldoria, thy humble traveler greets thee. I seeketh wares most wondrous, treasures most sparkly, and snacks—preferably fried.”

The old merchant clapped his hands. “Of course, my lady! Right this way!”

Zoro stared in horror. “No. No. Don’t—don’t feed into this.”

Usopp whispered, “Dude, they think they’re an actual noble.”

“THEY’RE NOT!” Zoro barked. “They’re just an idiot with too much free time!”

The merchant frowned. “Is… is this your servant, my lady?”

Thou placed a dramatic hand upon Zoro’s shoulder. “Aye, he is mine protector. Stoic and loyal, though cursed with the tongue of a foul-mouthed goat.”

Zoro looked like he might actually commit homicide. “I’m gonna cutteth offeth youreth toungeth.”

Luffy, already riding in a cart pulled by goats, shouted, “Yonder! There be candy apples!”

Chopper scampered after him. “Wait for me!”

Sanji was flirting with three flower girls, all of whom had asked him if he was also “of noble descent.”

Robin, ever amused, strolled beside thee with a small smile. “So. Thou art famous now.”

“Aye,” thou said, inspecting a jeweled brooch offered by a starstruck merchant. “Fame is a heavy crown, dear Robin. Yet I wear it like a dramatic hat.”

Zoro lagged behind, arms crossed, scowling at every person who looked at you like you were the second coming of King Arthur. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“You did,” Robin replied. “When you agreed to join this crew.”

“This is why I drink,” Zoro muttered.

Meanwhile, a crowd had begun to form around thee. Children asked for blessings. A bard asked for a duet. A noblewoman batted her eyes and asked if thou required a consort.

“Alas, I must decline, fair lady,” thou said, flourishing your coat. “Mine heart belongeth to the sea… and possibly snacks.”

-

What began as a quiet shopping trip didst quickly descend into utter madness, as a gang of rogue mercenaries attempted to rob the village square. The Straw Hats, ever the champions of chaos and justice alike, sprang into action.

Steel clashed, dust billowed, and in the midst of it all—thou.

Thou stood upon a toppled produce cart, brandishing a blade not thine own (liberated from some fool mid-combat), cape billowing as if thou had summoned wind itself.

“FIE!” thou cried, slashing through an unlucky attacker’s sword and pride in one swing. “HAVE AT THEE, VILLAINS! I BRINGETH UNTO THEE—RUIN!”

Zoro, elbow-deep in his own pile of unconscious enemies, didn’t even look up. “They’re still doing it.”

Sanji lit a cigarette with a shaky hand. “God, just let ‘em tire out.”

Usopp ducked behind a barrel. “They just kicked a guy while quoting Hamlet! Hamlet, man!”

Robin, meanwhile, fought beside thee like a shadow with a smile, her clone arms assisting thy dramatic poses. “Your form is quite... theatrical.”

“Only the finest for my audience!” thou shouted, flipping dramatically over a fallen crate and landing in a three-point stance atop a flour barrel.

The last few mercenaries, dazed and bleeding, tried to regroup.

One squinted at thee as thou wiped the sweat from thy brow, foot upon a smoldering cart, saber held aloft to the heavens.

“Hear me now!” thou proclaimed. “Let it be known across land and sea—on this day, in this place, we didst layeth the smacketh down! For we are VICTORS!”

The mercenaries exchanged glances. One whispered, “...are they possessed?”

Another shook his head, dropping his weapon. “Naw, man. This one’s got too much crazy in their eyes. I ain’t dying for this.”

And lo—thine enemies fled! Broken in body, confused in soul, and wholly uninterested in whatever fourth-wall-defying monologue thou had prepared.

Silence fell upon the square.

Until—

Thunk!

A wooden ladle struck thee squarely upon the temple.

“OW!” you shouted, immediately dropping the saber and stumbling. “ZORO, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Zoro, halfway across the square and still very much grumpy, shouted, “You’re done now, right?! You done?!”

The entire tone of the world shifted. The dramatic shading vanished. The wind died. The music stopped. You blinked, now just a normal person in a ruined fruit stand with dramatic sweat and a nosebleed.

“Oh my god, I was doing that voice for like… three days straight.”

Chopper held up a hoof. “Three and a half.”

You rubbed your head. “I think I blacked out a little.”

Robin, smiling sweetly, offered you a napkin. “You had a good run. I was impressed.”

Luffy was already looting candy from a fallen vendor. “Are you gonna do it again tomorrow?”

You looked up at the sky, exhausted.

“...Maybe just weekends.”

-

The sun had dipped low, casting molten gold across the sea as the Sunny gently rocked beneath the fading day. The crew had returned victorious, full of snacks, coin, and mild emotional damage.

You lay sprawled on a deck chair, a bag of ice pressed to the growing bump on your forehead. Your legs were limp, your spirit hollow, and your tongue?

Still.

For the first time in days.

Zoro sat nearby, whetting Wado Ichimonji, finally at peace. “So. You done?”

You gave a raspy sigh. “I’ve… old timey’d myself out. I’ve got nothing left.”

Sanji peeked out from the galley. “Thank God.”

Usopp flopped next to you, arms wide. “I was one more ‘hark’ away from jumping into the sea.”

Chopper passed by and held up a tiny flashlight. “Your pupils are normal now. But I’m keeping this ice bag on just in case you slip back into… you know. The persona.”

You groaned. “Don’t let me. No matter what I say. If I start again, someone hit me with a frying pan.”

“Gladly,” Zoro muttered.

Robin appeared beside you, handing you a cup of tea. “You were very committed.”

“I was in too deep,” you whispered, eyes hollow. “I became the character.”

She smiled. “You had the entire town convinced you were a lost royal.”

Luffy dangled upside down from the mast. “Can we make that your new bounty poster? ‘Dramatic Pirate!’”

“No.”

He pouted. “But it was so funny!”

“NO.”

Silence.

A breeze passed.

Nami strolled by, casually setting a second bag of ice next to you. “Just in case. For the emotional damage.”

You took it without protest.

And then… peace.

The waves lapped gently. The sun dipped low. No one was shouting “hark” or “hast” or “fie.” The deck was quiet. Your lump throbbed, but your soul was calm.

Until Luffy grinned.

“Next island, we all speak pirate, right? Like full ‘ARRR’ and ‘shiver me timbers’?”

You didn’t move. “If anyone does a single pirate voice, I will leap overboard.”

Zoro gave a satisfied nod. “Now that’s the most normal thing you’ve said all week.”

And for now—only for now—the theatre was closed.

[thefadecodex]

Our first real exposure actually beings with the Grand Oak tree in DAO! (Thank you @meganooooooooooooooo for pointing this out!)

Players began to notice a distinct cadence in Solas's speech during interactions in DAI. Notably, when he recounts moments from the Fade, his voice occasionally takes on a rhythm and tone reminiscent of a hymn or chant, evoking the cadence of "Hallelujah," specifically the K.D. Lang cover.

(note: @the-northern-continent does a great breakdown of the Hallelujah cadence vs iambic pentameter in this post. And @liaragaming does a good breakdown of Solas speaking in that cadence in this post.)

This has led The Fade Codex to theorize that this cadence reflects a dialect used by spirits—an ancient, rhythmic way of communication that blends emotion and intent through a deliberate structure. The 6/8 musical framework of the K.D. Lang Hallelujah cover. This framework prioritizes reflective pacing, 1-2-3 / 4-5-6 measures, and allows secondary stresses to create an emotional cadence.

This concept is further explored in Dragon Age: The Veilguard through various encounters with spirits. Below are examples that demonstrate this rhythmic, almost lyrical, pattern in their speech:

The Anxious Spirit (A Spirit of Comfort) - Arlathan Forest

"Trapped. Can't get out. It hurts. It's dark. Please. They didn't know what to do. They didn't want to die."

TRAPPED. CAN'T get OUT. It HURTS. It's DARK. PLEASE. They DIDN'T know what to DO. They DIDN'T want to DIE.

"Stop the thoughts. Stop the fears. Quiet, please. Make it quiet."

STOP the THOUGHTS. STOP the FEARS. QUI-et, PLEASE. MAKE it QUI-et.

Eulogy (Originally a Spirit of Compassion) - Minrathous

"Something larger stirs. Calling the desperate. I cannot see what."

SOME-thing LARG-er STIRS. CALL-ing the DES-per-ATE. I CAN-not SEE what.

"Know the hope you bring Dock Town thwarts it. And may you continue."

KNOW the HOPE you BRING. DOCK TOWN THWARTS it. AND may YOU con-TIN-ue.

"As you found their names, I felt them whisper through the Fade."

As YOU found their NAMES, I FELT them WHIS-per THROUGH the FADE.

"My own name changed. I am now Eulogy."

My OWN name CHANGED. I AM now EU-lo-GY.

Hope Unyielding - Hossberg Wetlands

"Light glimmers the surface. Flowers break through snow. Hope unexpected. I am such."

LIGHT glim-MERS the SUR-face. FLOW-ers BREAK through SNOW. HOPE un-EXPECT-ed. I AM SUCH.

"No. But nor was I forever."

NO. But NOR was I for-EV-er.

Pluck - Hall of Valor

"What foul-hearted spirit tugs at the corners of your lips to turn them down so?"

What FOUL-heart-ed SPIR-it tugs at the COR-ners of your LIPS to TURN them DOWN so?

"Greetings, Mourn Watcher. You are a long ways from Nevarra."

GREET-ings, MOURN Watch-er. YOU are a LONG ways from Ne-VAR-ra.

Emmrich (to Pluck)

"Hail to you, child of Valor. As voice of our lightless shores, I pray your blade may never sunder."

HAIL to YOU, child of VAL-or. As VOICE of our LIGHT-less SHORES, I PRAY your BLADE may NEV-er SUN-der.

Pluck

"You honor me. Few remember the old ways."

You HON-or ME. Few re-MEM-ber the OLD WAYS.

The phrase "the old ways," as used by Pluck, is believed to reference this rhythmic, cadenced speech. It’s a pattern steeped in intent, echoing the emotional resonance of the Fade itself.

Grand Oak - West Brecilian Forest

(image source)

What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?

What MAN-ner of BEAST be THEE that COMES be-FORE this EL-der TREE?

Ahhhh, yes, I remember thy kind. So brief of life and all but blind to the peril you cause, the lives you take, such chaos is down within thy wake.

AHHH, yes, I re-MEM-ber THY kind. SO brief of LIFE and ALL but BLIND. To the PER-il you CAUSE, the LIVES you TAKE. Such CHA-os is DOWN with-IN thy WAKE.

This dialect may serve as both a form of communication and an expression of a spirit's essence, allowing them to convey ideas, emotions, and purpose in a way that transcends mere words.

This theory deepens our understanding of how spirits interact with mortals and each other, highlighting the unique and poetic nature of their existence.

[sunhaloscarab]

if they really wanted to piss off the anti woke weirdos they should've made peter latino too smh

'i didnt see anyone complain about harry n norman osborn being black in the new spiderman series!' i said with joys

i then found a yt video saying 'the woke agenda strikes again' about the new spiderman series

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ʟᴜᴄᴇʀʏ'ꜱ Qᴜᴀʀʀᴇʟ ᴀᴛ ᴅʀɪꜰᴛᴍᴀʀᴋ. ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴀꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴛᴀᴍᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴀꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ.

Warnings: Aegon being Aegon, Canon events surrounding Aemond's 13th birthday, and the Madame (no explicit details.)

129 AC

The ocean water is warm today. It foams up as it crashes onto the shore where she stands barefooted. Today is a day full of uncertainties and untameable nerves. Today is the day she wil claim a dragon. 

“You will become sick standing in the sea like that.” Jace says

"The ocean is warmer here on Dragonstone than on Driftmark." Rhaella says, dismissing his concerns.

"Are you excited?" He asks, standing beside her, letting the ocean wash over his boots.

"I am nervous. Sona has never been claimed before." She sighs

"I am sure you will be able to do it," Jace assures her

"That is easy for you to say, Vermax hatched while you were still a babe." She sighs

"All true Targrayens are dragon riders. I will not see one of my children remain dragonless."

Rhaella whips around to see Daemon approaching. He is relentless in his father-daughter bonding attempts.

"Jacaerys, your mother wishes to see you." Daemon says

Rhaella ignores how he stands next to her after her cousin has left the beach. Waves crash against rocks as her eyes remain fixed on the horizon.

"This silent treatment is becoming old. You are ten and four, you're no longer a child." He reminds her

"What does Rhaena think of me doing this?" She asks, ignoring his comment, "Of me trying to claim a dragon before her?"

"Her thoughts are not important....Sona has rejected her attempts before." Daemon says, "This dragon is for you, Rhaella, no one else."

Daemon's words are touching. Their relationship is still a rocky one though. The past three years have been spent with him flying between Dragonstone and Driftmark. After his marriage to Rhaenrya she had expected that he'd abandon her, Baela and Rhaena. And yet, every few weeks he'd show up on the shore with Caraxes at his side. He'd spend time with her younger sisters and then come barging into her room as though he owned the entire castle. It had taken many moons for them to have a fully civil conversation devoid of yelling and rude comments but eventually, they formed a sort of friendship. That of course did not mean they got along, just that she had come to tolerate him since he seemed intent on not leaving her life.

"The Dragonkeepers say that it is best to approach Sōna now. She enjoys afternoon naps and will become angry if we disturb her later in the day." Daemon says

Sōna's lair is darker than any night sky Rhaella has ever seen. Water drips from somewhere as she points the torch in front of her, trying to see where the dragon might be. Gods, she hoped she was not about to be eaten.

Another 50 paces into the cave and Rhaella is beginning to think the Dragonkeepers have lied about this dragon existing at all. The dampness of the cave is beginning to seep into her bones, she swears every hair on her body has stood up on alert.

And then there is a glitter of white meeting her eyes, the fire that barely illuminates a few steps in front of her has reached something magnificent.

Sōna's brilliant blue eyes are staring at her. Rhaella is looking into the eyes of a dragon. A shiver snakes through her body as she maintains eye contact and slowly drops the torch.

"Zaldrīzes rȳbus, lo mērī udrirzi Valyrio eglio ȳdrassua"

Daemon's last words before she had entered this lair echo in her mind.

A dragon only listens if you speak in High Valyrian.

She finds herself unsure of what to do now, so she speaks and prays to every god there is that this beast does not open her mouth to burn her alive.

"Iksā gevie." She says slowly, "Eman dreamed hen ao syt ñuha giez ābrar.

You are beautiful. I have dreamed of you for my whole life.

Sōna lets out a deep rumble and Rhaella is unsure about the dragon's thoughts on her compliment.

She slowly begins to move towards the side of Sōna's head. The dragon lets out another grumble as she draws close.

"lykirī. Iksan daor kesīr naejot ōdrikagon ao."

Calm down. I am not here to hurt you.

Rhaella's heartbeat pounds in her ears as her hand touches Sona's rough skin.

"Kesi sagon rōvēgrie raqirossa, Sōna. Mazeminna care hen ao lo ao ivestragī nyke claim ao"

We will be great friends, Sōna. I will take care of you if you let me claim you.

Rhaella gently runs her bare hand along Sōna's jawline. The dragon lets out a sharp sound, almost like a trill of sorts. Rhaella smiles as Sōna lets her continue. Has she truly done it? Has she truly claimed a dragon of her own?

Sōna lets out another gurgle before pushing her head further into Rhaella's waiting arms.

"Sir iksi hēnkirī ēva morghon ñuha riña. Nyke kivio naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha"

Now we are together until death, my girl. I promise to keep you safe.

Her voice is no more than a whisper into the cave but the dragon hears it all the same. Rhaella cannot help the wide smile that stretches across her face when her dragon lets out a noise of agreement.

"The winter snow reaches out and claims a woman. Black banners rise behind them. Green rises to meet the snow."

Aemond is unsure what to make of his sister's words. He had come to her room to play with his little niece and nephew who are learning how to stand on their own. They babble with happiness when he shakes a wooden dragon in their faces.

"The snow will meet green over fields of fire and blood," Heleana says, not bothering to look up from her needlework.

"They are growing quickly." Aemond says, hoping to turn the conversation to something more lucid and interesting for him

"They eat often. The boy more than the girl." Heleana says to him

"You will sit the Iron Throne one day, Jaehaerys," Aemond says to the baby who grabs at his hand and attempts to place it in his mouth

Aemond smiles down at his nephew and niece, they are two of the few living beings in this castle that do not fear him.

The castle is bustling with life, as it often does during the day. Maids scurry about, cleaning, and rat catchers lead their dogs about the halls. The feel of his practice sword in its sheath is a familiar one as he makes his way toward where Cole awaits him in the training grounds. Normally he'd try to rouse Aegon from his sleep but it had been weeks since he had successfully dragged his older brother from bed to train.

The clashing of steel is better than any music he's heard as Cole points out how to hold his arms in a way that keeps the sword from being knocked from his hands.

Aemond takes note of how he is rapidly approaching his teacher's height. The top of his head is finally in line with Cole's eyes, just a few more years and he is sure he will outgrow him, after all, he is already a bit taller than Aegon.

"Have you heard the news?" Cole asks in between sips of water from a large flagon that sits nearby.

"What news?" Aemond asks, not recalling anything his mother might have told him this morning at breakfast.

"Word from Dragonstone to the king. Rhaella Targaryen has claimed a dragon." Cole says, "Queen Alicent read it this morning to his grace."

Rhaella had a dragon? Aemond wondered what dragon she might've claimed. He knew there were many unclaimed ones on Dragonstone. He tried to imagine the delicate Rhaella on the back of a beast like Vermithor. It was rather humorous in his mind.

"What dragon has she taken?" Aemond asked

"Your uncle conveniently left that out, my prince," Cole said

Of course, Daemon would leave that out. Aemond had wondered what changed between Rhaella and Daemon. The last time he had spoken to Rhaella she had been deadset on pretending he didn't exist and now he was helping her claim some unnamed dragon. Maybe he ought to write her again. Things had been tense when he hugged her goodbye on Driftmark's shores. Her nose had still been swollen from his punch, which he regrettably had yet to apologize for.

For the first year, they had exchanged many letters, talking of mundane things such as Rhaella's struggle with holding swords upright during her training with the Master of Arms at Driftmark. And how he had discovered that growing up also meant being forced to stand still for measurements to be taken regularly as he was outgrowing all his favorite clothes. Eventually, though, the letters became less frequent and one day stopped entirely. His mother said it was part of growing up and that it was all for the best since she was "separate" from their family. Aemond tried to believe her, he truly did, but at night when he lay in his bed he found himself missing Rhaella's companionship.

"Shall we continue?" Cole asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

Aegon could not believe he left his chamber for this. Surely his bed and cups of wine were better than all of this.

"It is your brother's name day, try to look presentable." His mother had hissed in his ears when she pulled him down the many steps of the Red Keep.

Aegon did not care about Aemond's name day. Why should he care if his brother was ten and three? Aemond was going to have a thousand name days, Aegon didn't see why he should bother himself to be at all of them.

He still could barely believe his Lord Father had been able to plan and attend this family dinner. Viserys had sent the invitations himself, apparently wishing for his family to gather for Aemond's name day. Aegon still thought it was a dull idea.

His eyes scan the dinner table and they land on Princess Rhaenys, or more specifically who was next to her. His Uncle Daemon's three daughters, loud-mouthed as they were, had grown, Aemond's friend most of all. That blue silk dress of hers was doing nothing to hide the curves Aeggon could practically taste from across the table.

"Stop your staring." His...dear Grandsire said, sending a kick to Aegon's shin under the table

Aegon knows he is dense, but even he does not miss they way Aemond's eyes...or well eye...remain fixed on Rhaella through the night. Perhaps he has underestimated his little brother, maybe there is more to him than books and sword training with Cole. Perhaps this was finally a chance for Aegon to introduce Aemond to true fun.

He can feel the smirk stretch across his face as he plans their evening in his mind. Yes, it was finally time to bring Aemond into his world, to show him what other fun there was to be had.

Rhaella has never felt more awkward. When Rhaenys had announced that they would attend a dinner for Aemond's name day at the request of King Viserys, she wished she could be like Lord Corlys, and simply declare she would not go. It was not that she did not want to see Aemond, she just felt distant from him.Perhaps it was the lack of apology for her face or maybe it was the three years that passed since she had chosen Driftmark over him. She swore he was still upset about all of that.

Aemond's eye had been on her the whole night, Rhaella couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing.

When they had first arrived, Rhaella had sought him out, perhaps it was just a force of habit but she had found herself at his door. When she peered in, she had expected Aemond to look the way he did when she said goodbye to him on the shore of Driftmark, a snot-nosed, one-eyed boy who was begging her to get on the ship or climb aboard his new dragon with him. Instead, she saw an entirely different person. He was sat with a large book. His newly broken voice had filled her ears, he was practicing his Valyrian. His hair was just past his shoulders and Rhaella could tell he had grown significantly in their time apart, surely he was taller than her now. What stuck out to her the most though was his face, it had sharpened and become rather handsome, most of all though, a gleaming sapphire sat where his missing eye used to be.

She wasn't sure why but she slipped away, not bothering to alert him of her presence. Maybe his new appearance had startled her, or hypnotized her, she truly was unsure of it all.

After dinner had concluded, Rhaella tried slipping away, perhaps she'd visit the library, the castle's library had always been far superior to Driftmark's.

"Are you scared of me?"

A foreign voice fills her ears just as she reaches the doors to the library.

"Aemond." She breathes when she turns to face him, his sapphire eye is now covered with a dark leather eyepatch, "Were you following me?"

She did not hear any footsteps but that did not mean it was impossible.

"You did not look at me once during dinner. Nor did you visit when you arrived yesterday. You are avoiding me." He said, his voice had a twinge in it, like his feelings were hurt.

When did he get so observant and bold?

"I was not avoiding you, Aemond." Rhaella said, looking at him.

"Then why leave dinner so quickly, you ran as tough your hair was on fire." He jests

"You..." She decides it is best to be honest with him, "You are making me nervous."

Aemond lets out a snort of laughter.

"Why? Does my appearance frighten you?" He asks, stepping closer to her so they were only an arms length away

"No! No. It is just...different. I was expecting the same boy who cried after I told him that I'd remain in Driftmark. You have grown up, that is all." She explained honestly

"As have you. You are ten and four now, yes?" He asked

"Yes." She said

It was uncanny how he was taller than her now, truly unfair considering he was still younger than her.

"Aemond!"

What did she do to the gods that they were cursing her with Aegon's presence?

"Aemond! Come, the festivities are not over." Aegon declared, wrapping an arm around Aemond's shoulders.

"Hello, Aegon." She greeted

"Yes, hello." Aegon greeted, his eyes briefly scanning her up and down.

"Where are we going? Mother and father have both gone to bed." Aemond asked, confused.

"I am going to show you the world, little brother," Aegon said

Rhaella thought that was a stupid sentence. It sounded like something out of a bad romance story.

"Might we bring Rhaella? I want to speak to her more." Aemond asked

"No." Aegon said immediately

Rhaella glared at him, how dare he say where she could and could not go?

"It is for men only. You are a man now, little brother, or well you will be by the end of the night." Aegon laughed "Come, we're going now."

Rhaella watched as Aegon walked off.

"I am sure he is just taking me to some tavern he likes. It isn't for noble ladies though." Aemond said

"How long will you be gone?" Rhaella asked, suddenly sad that he wasn't going to stay with her.

"Not long. Wait in the library, I'll come to you when we're done." Aemond said before turning, "I want you to tell me about the dragon you have claimed."

Rhaella smiled as she watched Aemond race after his brother, perhaps appearances had changed but he was still the boy she knew, even though years had passed.

Aemond has never felt more unsure of himself. He has spent the last three years creating a person that is untouchable, devoid of weaknesses, and yet his hands are shaking and his mind is racing. Despite the late hour, he sits in a bath that he ordered a maid to draw for him. The soap and soft rag are rubbing his skin raw as he tries to rid himself of the whore's sickly sweet perfume.

Aegon's laughter was ringing in his ears. The way his elder brother had laughed and pointed as her hands had run down his body. She had been soft and warm yet Aemond had not enjoyed any of it. His skin felt like it was crawling when it had ended. Why did Aegon enjoy doing that regularly? Surely acts like that were not worth dedicating entire establishments to.

His hair is sticking to his neck as he sits in the water. Perhaps if he sits here long enough he will be washed away and the memories of tonight will fall away as well. His eye squeezes shut when he recalls the way her voice had sounded in his ears, loud and wonton, almost like the sound of a dying animal.

Fuck. He wished he could take it all back, he should've ignored his brother and just gone to bed, then all would be right and he wouldn't wish to peel his skin from his bones. His skin is red by the time he is done with it all. Surely he has removed the layer that her hands were all over.

He feels dizzy as he forces himself out of the comfort of the bath. He thinks of Rhaella, surely she is not waiting for him still.

Once he is dressed though, his legs lead him to the library anyway. Maybe he is just seeking comfort in familiarity but all he knows is for once in his life, he is not alright with being alone. The library is silent, and very dark when he enters. He nearly turns back to return to his own chamber when a pale flicker of light catches his eye.

A stump of a candle is all that illuminates the scene he finds her in. Her head is resting in her arms as half her body is resting on the table. Her nose is whistling ever so slightly as she sleeps. He quietly sits down next to her, just her presence is enough to calm his racing mind. Her long hair is free from its usual braids and tumbles down her shoulders. It is softer than it looks as he wraps a strand around his finger. His eye examines her face that is just barely illuminated by the candle. Her features had sharpened, just like his had the past three years and Aemond cannot deny that it suits her. Her familiar scent invades his nose as he rests his head on the table to stare at her, he smiles as he thinks of her waking to find him next to her.

"Gevī"

Beautiful

And so we dig into the romance of the story...

Sorry if the Valyrian is wrong, obviously I'm not fluent in it and I used an online translator for this story.

By the way, Sōna means snow in Valyrian. ;)

Next Part

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[the-offside-rule]

Pablo Gavi (FCBarcelona) - Coffee Date

Requested: yep

Prompt: Coffee date with Gavi

Warnings: none

Y/N sighed as she stacked her books on her dorm room desk, exhausted from a morning of back-to-back classes. College was a different beast from what she remembered, but she was determined to stay focused this semester. The knock at her door broke her thoughts. "Quién es?" She called, trying not to sound too distracted. "Gavi. I’ve got a surprise!" Pablo’s voice filtered through the door. Her heart leaped. It had been a while since she’d seen her friend, with him recovering from his injury and training to get back on the field. She quickly opened the door to find him standing there with a smile, holding two takeaway coffee cups.

"Gavito!" Y/N beamed, pulling him in for a hug. "What are you doing here?" She asked. "Te dije que te sorprendería. Thought you could use a coffee break." He winked, handing her one of the cups. "Perfect timing. I swear these exams are killing me," she groaned, grabbing the coffee eagerly. Pablo laughed. "Let’s go sit outside, you need some air." They walked to a nearby park bench, the sun casting a warm glow over the campus. "So, tell me-" She started as they sat down. "How’s it feel to be back playing?"

He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. "Es lo mejor. No te das cuenta cuánto lo extrañas hasta que estás fuera for so lonv. But now that I’m back, I feel stronger, ready to prove myself otra vez. The team’s been really supportive too." He smiled. They started speaking Spanglish a while ago since Y/n spoke English fluently after moving to Barcelona when she was younger and Pablo needed to learn english, so their compromise? Spanglish.

"I’m sure they missed you. Everyone did. I saw your name trending so many times on Twitter." Gavi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, pero you know how it is. Fans can be... intense sometimes." They continued talking for a while, catching up on everything from football to Y/N's exams. The ease of conversation made it feel like no time had passed. But soon, she noticed some people nearby whispering and glancing their way. "Is it just me, or are we being stared at?" Y/N asked, lowering her voice. Pablo looked around, his brow furrowing slightly. "Eh, puede ser. Or maybe they recognize me." Y/N rolled her eyes. "Of course. Mr. Famous."

Just as she said it, a group of teenage fans walked by, snapping a quick photo of them. Pablo didn't seem to mind, but Y/N felt her stomach twist. She wasn’t used to this level of attention. "Qué pasa?" Pablo asked, noticing her expression. "I don’t know, I guess I'm just not comfortable with all the attention." She admitted. "I like being normal."

"Don’t worry, no es gran cosa." He said, trying to reassure her.

But within hours, the picture was all over social media. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—you name it. The photo of them sipping coffee and chatting was everywhere. Fans were speculating about their relationship, and the reactions were mixed.

They’re cute together!

Omg she's so pretty!

Ew wtf??

Gorgeous!!!

Love her style ❤️

Who even is she?

Others weren’t as kind:

Who is she? Gavi could do better....

Y/N tried to ignore it, but when she walked into campus the next day, it was clear the photo had done its damage. People whispered as she passed by, and a few even pointed her out. Some smiled, others looked jealous. It was overwhelming. Later that day, her phone buzzed with a text from Pablo.

Pablo: I’m picking you up in 10. We need to talk.

She frowned, wondering what he wanted to talk about now. True to his word, Pablo pulled up in front of her dorm ten minutes later, leaning out of his car window. "Vamos, get in." Y/N slid into the passenger seat, crossing her arms. "This isn’t helping, you know. People already think we’re together." Pablo laughed as he pulled away from the curb. "Ah, come on. Don’t be dramatic. They think we look good together." She glared at him. "I’m serious. This has ruined my chances with Pedri." At that, Pablo nearly choked on his laugh. "Qué dices? You with Pedri? That’s not happening." Y/N frowned, feeling defensive. "And why not? Pedri’s sweet, plus you introduced us." Pablo shook his head, still chuckling. "No way. I wouldn’t let you near him. He’s too... no sé, it would just be weird."

"Well, weirder than this?" She gestured between them, frustrated. Pablo didn’t answer right away, focusing on the road as they drove through the city. After a beat, he shrugged. "I like it when people think we’re together. It doesn’t bother me." Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, cómo que te gusta? Why?" He shifted uncomfortably, his playful demeanor fading. "No sé. I just... think we look good together. That’s all." She pressed further, her voice softening. "Do you... like me, Pablo?" The question hung in the air, tension filling the space between them. Pablo glanced at her quickly, then back at the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Yo... no." He said, almost too quickly. "No, I don’t. I mean, not like that." Y/N’s heart sank. She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was hard to miss the change in her mood. "Right." She murmured. "I get it." Pablo glanced at her, seeing the hurt in her eyes. He wanted to say more, but he was terrified of ruining things. What if she didn’t feel the same? They pulled up to his apartment, and the rest of the car ride was filled with awkward silence. Once inside, Pablo grabbed them both a drink, sitting down on the couch beside her. "Look." He said quietly. "I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just... I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you. You’re one of my best friends, and..."

"And?" Y/N prompted, her voice barely a whisper. Pablo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And maybe I like you more than I should, pero I don’t want to mess this up." She looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "So... you do like me." He hesitated, but then nodded, the weight of his confession finally sinking in. "Sí. Pero...I was scared you didn’t feel the same." Y/N blinked, the tension in her chest releasing as she smiled softly. "Idiot. Of course I like you too." Pablo let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a grin spreading across his face. "Well... that’s a relief."

"Yeah." She teased, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You'rean idiot for not telling me this sooned." He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're a scary girl."He joked. "I'm not that scary." He scoffed. "Jeep telling yourself that, cariño."