#now i need to find a bit of time and make this happen

[idyllwave]

30 MILLION TO 1

yandere!phainon x fem!reader | part ii. ∄

you promised phainon you could handle things, and he let you go against his better judgement. next time though, he refuses to let you go alone. however, next time may never happen.

word count | ~2k

cw | angst , death , blood, yandere!phainon , low key stalker phainon , 30 million cycles , grammatical errors , etc.

taglist

@hoonobono

Unlike most people, Phainon starts his day a bit differently. The moment he wakes up he is already pulling you close to his chest so he could hug you as tight as he could. His actions always jostle you awake as you yawn and wrap your own arms around his waist and stuff your face into his chest. He knew that if you didn’t hug him back in the morning then something was obviously wrong.

“Morning, Phainon,” you mumbled, your voice being muffled by his chest as he hugged you impossibly closer. He didn’t know why, but he very much enjoyed squeezing you. Now that he thinks about it … he believes Hyacine calls it cuteness aggression.

And like always since you both started living together, you would be up first. Somehow managed to wrestle out of his grip and get out of bed, and he would, of course, be hot on your heels. He honestly couldn’t stand not being close to you and you never said anything about his clinginess. In fact, you enabled him more often than not.

“What do you have planned for today?”

That was another thing. After he gets done training and makes some random excuse to the other Chrysos Heirs, he would quickly find himself tailing you throughout the day. His eyes soaking up any detail that he has failed to notice before while also hoping you would slip about something you’ve been keeping secret (like where you really come from). But he couldn’t say that to you, he didn’t want to see you react negatively towards anything he does. Which is why he hides the fact that he threatens any man or woman who comes your way, why he hides his tailing habits, why he hides how he is utterly obsessed with everything about you.

“Just some training,” he said simply as he started to brush his teeth right next to you in front of the mirror, his elbow sometimes knocking into yours.

You hummed as you spit out your toothpaste, “well, I have my own business to attend to today.”

He spit out his own toothpaste, “like what?”

You turned on the sink and cleaned off any toothpaste residue from your mouth before gently doing the same for Phainon which he happily leaned into your touch for.

“Professor Anaxagoras has some info for me that I had asked him about awhile ago, and asked me to meet him this afternoon.”

Phainon huffed, “I should-“

“Stay here just in case an emergency pops up,” you finished.

“But what if you run into some trouble?”

“I can assure you that I am a capable fighter Phainon.”

He gave you that look that screamed ‘I’m not too sure about that’ as you lightly pushed him with a roll of your eyes, “you were too much Phainon, I swear that I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Against his better judgement, he did let you go alone. And later on through the day, he did get busy, so he didn’t even get the chance to see you off. Much to his dismay.

Meanwhile, when you had finally reached the Grove in the afternoon, Anaxa was already waiting for you. His eye already picking you out as he gestured for you to follow him.

“Leaving Amphoreus isn’t possible right now.”

You didn’t even have to ask as he already decided to hit you hard with the truth.

“I understand… so I’m stuck here.”

Anaxa looked at you as you closed the door to his office, and leaned against it as you hung your head – he never seen you look so defeated.

“Have you told Phainon?”

You shook your head, “no… I haven’t. I thought that if we could find a way to break through this place, then I could call for help, and then tell him everything, and maybe… ask him to come with me. However, it seems I will need to find a way out of this place before I tell him everything.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to tell the truth now?”

“He has the prophecy to worry about,” you said after a moment, “I don’t want to burden him with my own problems.”

“Then why bother getting close to him?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but ended up closing it. Why? You know you aren’t apart of this world, but you ended up getting close to Phainon anyway. It wasn’t like you planned to get trapped here and fall in love with him. In fact, this place wasn’t even where you were planning to go because someone or something pulled you here. Not to mention that Phainon didn’t make it easy. He was definitely persistent.

“Because I fell in love with him.”

“Foolish,” Anaxa muttered, “utterly foolish.”

You smiled a bit sheepishly. Anaxa reminded you a lot of Dr. Ratio, but luckily Anaxa was a bit more tolerable. (Especially when you were wrong about something he didn’t throw chalk at your head…)

“Anyway, Professor-“

You jumped as there was a knock on the door. And panicked voices were yelling from the outside.

You were quick to open it as a few people bursted in causing Anaxa to step forward as well, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s the black tide! It’s here!”

“Already,” you asked, “without any warning?”

You heard about the black tide, had your reservations about it, but decided to leave the problem to the chyrsos heirs while also offering your help here and there. You didn’t think that this would happen.

“We need to evacuate,” Anaxa said, “where-“

One of the students clutched her hands to her chest, “this is everyone, Professor. The others-,” she cut herself off with a choked sob. So another student spoke up, “the escape routes were blocked off. We’re basically stuck here!”

“Why weren’t the alarms set off?”

“Someone disabled them.”

You huffed, not really understanding why everything was falling apart so quickly, but it was fine. If this was all that was left, then you would just blaze a path for the survivors. As a nameless. It was your job to trailblaze a new path.

Phainon was the first to get the emergency. His footfalls were light even as he raced through Okhema. The other Chyrsos Heirs could only try to keep up, even Mydei couldn’t catch up to the Deliverer because the moment that it was said that the Grove was attacked he was already gone. And the sight that was left for him was –

His feet felt like lead as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. His eyes refusing to look down at the bodies he had to step over or move around.

“Phainon-“

He didn’t wait to listen to what his fellow Chyrsos Heirs had to say, and he didn’t want to ask Castorice if she could sense your soul. He had to find you for himself. Wherever you are.

Like a mantra, he chanted inside his head that you were fine. Probably fighting off the last remaining enemies.

And you were, you had been at least… but a sword had plunged into the upper left side of your chest, the jagged blade splitting your heart in two. Your weapon dropped to the floor as you raised your hands to grip the blade. Your eyes staring up at a figure dressed in black, his face masked behind metal plating.

“Not part of the cycle.”

In broken words, the masked figure spoke to you, his sword plunging in just a bit deeper as the students behind you huddled close together while also protecting a knocked out Anaxa.

“Cycle? What cycle?”

You coughed as blood dribbled from your mouth and seeped from your wound. Your vision was already darkening and your body started to feel cold where the wound was as a numbness started to form around your toes and fingertips which wanted to seep and spread into your very limbs. The cloaked figure raised it’s other hand, grabbed your neck for stability, before pulling the blade from your chest and dropping you to the floor.

“Core .. not here.”

You couldn’t manage to say anything as you lied there. You could feel everything going dark as you closed your eyes.

Is this where the trailblaze ends for you?

By the time Phainon and the others make it to where the survivors were, the cloaked figure was already gone. And even as the survivors cheered for their arrival, Phainon was only focused on you and your still body being cradled in one of the girl’s arms. His steps were slow as he walked over and knelt in front of the student who was holding you.

“What happened,” he managed to ask, his hand shakily reached out to touch your face, but you were already so cold. He moved his fingers to your neck. No pulse.

“A cloaked figure attacked us, but she stood in his way. They fought for a long time before that monster got the upper hand and stabbed her through the chest… We- we think she would have won if she didn’t get injured by protecting us from the black tide.”

He hated hearing the words “would have won” because that means these students were in the way of her victory. If she didn’t protect these selfish, ignorant, undeserving people then she would still be alive. Though, he also has the cloaked figure to blame as well… like a nightmare that monster seems to fester.

“Deliverer. You’re scaring them.”

He snapped out of his thoughts and noticed that he had ripped your body from the girl’s grasp and pulled you close to his chest. And the look on his face… just looking at the students he could tell that he had struck fear into them. And truthfully, he didn’t care.

He stood up and picked up your body as well. One arm was hooked under your knees while the other supported your back so that your head was resting against his chest.

“Good.”

After your death, the cycle continued as it always had and ended just like before with him resetting and starting the cycle anew.

When he walked through Okhema’s gates for the first time, he had immediately set out to find you. Though, throughout the years that he had lived there, day in and day out, you were never in sight. Even when he had become a Chyrsos Heir you had made no appearance. Before too long, he had went through one hundred different cycles but you hadn’t appeared again.

It was like you had never existed in the first place.

Meanwhile, you were resting a palm over your chest as you sat in the Astral Express infirmary. Your memories on what had happened being lost on your as Himeko told you that they found floating around in space with a massive wound in your chest. And you couldn’t even tell them nor remember how you got there. The last thing you remember was leaving to check a stellaron reading.

“Mannn, well, I guess it’s better than losing all my memories.”

“No kidding,” March said as she, Dan Heng, Welt, and a person you never met before entered the room.

And you learned that this person was named Stelle. A new member of the Astral Express. Also a person who currently housed a stellaron in their body…

“I feel like I missed so much.”

“You did. Thankfully, since we’re going to Penacony next, you can finally have some time to rest and relax.”

That was another thing you learned, you have been missing for about one to two years now. But that was alright, you were sure that you would get back into the swing of things eventually. And hey, maybe they were right. Penacony, as you had heard, was a lot like a fancy resort of some kind. So some fun and relaxation was definitely what you needed.

[razbrry]

I LOVE. your blog. If you've watched Squid game, could you write some headcanons for Cho Hyun-Ju (player 120) with her S/O (can be GN) but in an AU where they all know each other but the games never happened? This can be SFW or NSFW, whatever you think is best. Thanks!

note— love this little AU! yes, have seen squid game and adored hyun-ju, i’m more than glad to write for her 🤍 also, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! it’s cute anons like you that motivate me to keep writing! —☆💋💄 (P.S to my grell lovers that roam around my blog, i’m super back! requests are open and we’re dunking on the GRIND)——————————— rated: half smut! + SFW (p3gging, oral s3x, dirty talk, hair tugging) || x gender neutral reader

SFW+NSFW relationship headcanons— ft. cho hyun-ju (player 120)

⋆˚࿔ ౨ৎSFW

hyun-ju is such a devoted lover.

so many dates!! she loves going out with you— she doesn’t quite care where.

she takes you to humble little spots like cafés.

you two would sit at a table and stare into each others eyes like a smitten cliche couple.

that’s really how it is with hyun-ju. she loves peaceful environments where she could spend time with you.

a stark contrast form what she’s been through, really.

you’re her rock. you keep her together and make her feel true. it’s all she ever strived for; an ounce of support.

you went beyond that and now she could never let go.

hoooooly acts of service.

she's the kind of partner who worries if you've eaten, who fixes your collar or brushes lint off your shirt. if you're tired, she'll guide you to rest with such tender insistence.

hyun-ju acts like she doesn't need help, but the idea of anything happening to you terrifies her. if you're ever sick or hurt, she stays up all night making sure you're okay, going out of her way to give you anything you need.

now, whenever she's sick or hurting, she isn't stubborn, but she doesn't exactly come to you for help immediately. she'll tend to herself, whether it's alone time or first aid.

she likes to brush it off as selflessness. which is quite true, yes, but

you like to take care of her, and once you open up to her about that, she’ll surely let you in.

she really is so in love with you.

she's open to standard pda like hand holding or quickly kissing your cheek

just a teensy bit shy. not that she's ashamed of you, not one bit.

hyun-ju isn't very open to anyone; she's been that way from a young age, always keeping to herself, hiding who she truly is from others out of instinct.

you softened this barrier within her. nevertheless, she isn't the most flamboyant person ever... but she's open about your relationship!

honestly, she’s not the hugest on pet names. you’ll find her most of the time addressing you by your first name

but she says it with such trust— it’s almost as if she turned it into a pet name.

she loves when you style or run your hands through her hair.

her favorite part of you is your hands— how supportive, unwavering they are when they reach her.

oh, how she loves kissing them.

not only your hands, but she loves to drown your face in kisses when you're alone. not very aggressively, but at a pace: one to your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose, your lips…

NSFW⋆˚࿔ ౨ৎ

however you want it.

this woman just wants to please you.

she's definitely more on the dominant side but doesn’t stay on it, she enjoys switching!!

our hyun-ju is a munch. giving you head can be all she does for a round. she really does take her time with you.

she doesn't do it all just to please you— she genuinely enjoys giving you oral... she gains a hefty amount watching you squirm above her.

again, please run your hands through her hair. goodness, she loves it.

whenever she goes down on you and you grab a fistful of her hair into a makeshift ponytail, slightly tugging it..

ughhh, you can feel that delicious groan of hers rumble against your skin.

as for the main course, she does occasionally use her trusty strap

she loves watching your expressions as she fucks you deep and slow, gripping your legs for support as she speeds up.

easily gets relentless when pounding into you. wouldn't expect less from our favorite sergeant ♡

a little more noisy than a talker, but still definitely murmurs into your ear.

“is this okay?” “yeah, you like that?” “that’s it… just like that…” “don’t be like that… i know you can take it.”

but she usually prefers to work with what she's got, grinding against you with a firm grip on your hips.

hyun-ju loves to hear you make noise for her, no matter how outrageous it may be. sometimes she'll even giggle through her flushed face when you get really loud.

she isn't all that loud herself, but she isn't quiet either. you'll hear more than a peep from her:

a series of shaky sighs, moans, hisses, and occasionally even quiet yelps when you get a little unpredictable.

her face tends to get pink and warm— she likes to keep it buried at the crook of your neck while rocking into you.

when she gets riled up, a shaky hand may go to rest on the other side of your neck.

her thumb traces the edge of your jaw to your ear in concentration.

hyun-ju's biggest kink might just be you asking.

||“honey, can i sit on your face before we go to bed?"

• a stammering mess. you'll give her a heart attack, stop that.

||"oh! uhm— ah….. i'll— i'll turn off the stove right now."

i think that’s a yes!

[suiana]

#minetolose

(yan! fwb stalks you and can't believe you talk to other guys?! gets super jealous and lowkey wants to keep you all for himself?!) (tw: erm kinda crazy man, possessiveness, i hate him) (2200 words max) (wc: 2.1k)

Aidan isn't a romantic guy. Not really.

He's never grown up like that, how can you expect him to be romantic when his parents were too busy fighting? It's just not his style. Imagine being vulnerable with someone? No thanks.

Which is why he doesn't do relationships either. They’re too sappy and too much effort. And for what? A half-assed 2-year relationship that ends with his partner cheating because 'he didn't give them enough attention' or some other excuse?

He's seen it more times than he can count and he's not going to be a victim.

So when he first met you at a work party, he thought it would end up like all of his other flings, used once and trashed later. Or maybe a few extra times if he liked the way they looked under him.

What? He's still a man with needs, okay? 

But there was just something about you that made him want to stay. Weird, huh? Mister Aidan Gunther here always thought he had his feelings separated from his dick but apparently, he was wrong.

He had never outright suggested being friends with benefits that act like a couple but he supposes that's what you two are.

Everything all happened so naturally that Aidan never really had any time to reject it. It was supposed to be just one night. Then came the coffee date, then two, then suddenly he was sleeping over at your place more often than his own. 

Your scent on his shirt, his scent on your bed.

It felt right.

Maybe that's why he never told you to fuck off and never find him again. Because somewhere in that cold heart of his yearned for this domesticity.

This closeness that only you had been able to provide.

Also, the sex? Incredible. It’s almost like you were made for him. So how can you blame him for wanting to keep you a little bit closer?

"What the fuck is this?"

Aidan doesn't even let you get a word out before he traps you in your apartment, kicking the door shut. So aggressive, but it’s not out of character. He did insist on having your schedule a few weeks back, and that time when he asked you to block an ex for good. Just a normal ‘friends with benefits’ thing, right?

Like any ‘friend’ would do, your green eyed freak decided it would be appropriate to stalk you- sorry, I mean watch you through the office security cams at work. 

'It's not stalking if I'm trying to keep you safe,' he claims. 'I just want to make sure you’re alright.'

Sure buddy, tell that to the feds. Anyway, your fuck buddy decided to 'watch' you through the security cams to 'keep you safe’ and guess what?

"I saw you talking to another guy."

That's right folks! He saw you talking to a coworker! Shocking, yeah? Bet you didn't expect that. 

You could only blink in confusion, racking your brain for any memory of talking to a guy before it finally clicks in that beautiful head of yours. Gosh, he loves the way you look when you're focused. Eyebrows furrowed and that small downturn of your lips. Man, he just wants to kiss you until that furrow turns into one of pleasure… Ugh, focus Aidan!

"You mean Joe?"

"Joe? That's what he’s called? Stupid name."

Huh? You were utterly flabbergasted, annoyed, all of the above. You've never seen him this worked up before. Not since you accidentally stepped on his good shirt and he screamed about how he hasn't done laundry in two weeks. 

"What's wrong with you? He's just my coworker dude."

You merely narrow your eyes at him before lamenting your cozy weekend. So much for looking forward to relaxing. You might’ve liked him enough to be friends with benefits but this? Living in your home rent-free and acting like a helicopter boyfriend? You’re on the verge of just telling him to get out. 

Also, the fact that you two work in different departments but now you’re seeing him everywhere in the office and at home? He’s like a parasite who’s attached himself to you permanently. Who cares if he’s a sex god? You don’t like him enough to see him 24/7!

But it doesn't look like Angry Aidan is letting up anytime soon.

"Just a coworker? You're telling me this loser is just a coworker?!"

He's losing it right now. Over what? Over the fact that you were talking to your male coworker! 

"Yeah, why are you so mad that I have a good relationship with my coworker?"

Wrong answer.

Aidan grabs both of your arms, eyes a dark green as his jaw clenches. Fuck, Aidan stay calm. You wouldn’t want to scare them off, would you?

"Because I saw the way he fucking touched you. His hand on your shoulder like he owned you, like he could own you."

His voice turns bitter and Aidan lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Fuck, just thinking about it gets me mad. Are you mad? I'm pissed as hell."

He feels his veins twitch at the memory of how Joe laughed way too happily with you. How could you not see that Joe obviously liked you? He’s doing all the stuff that Aidan does with you!

"How dare he touch you, you're-"

Mine.

Aidan's breath hitches and he momentarily stops whatever the hell he's doing. No, no, no. He couldn’t possibly be...

In love with you, could he?

Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, irritation rising at every second he had you pinned against the wall. Actually, this reminds you of that one time he freaked out because you didn’t answer his texts for three days straight. 

He was sobbing on your doorstep in the middle of the night, throwing accusations around like confetti. You pitied him, that’s all. How could you ask him to leave? It’s not like he was completely crazy yet. 

That was a mistake. 

Because him staying that night turned into a week, into a week, into him never leaving and you’re sick of it. Leaving dirty laundry on the floor, lounging on your couch, acting like an overly possessive boyfriend that you definitely didn’t sign up for. And what? Now that pity might get you killed?

All that recollection and he still has you pinned against the wall. Did he seriously forget that he was throwing another one of his tantrums and go off into some anime daydream?

"Hello? Earth to Aidan? Are you there or should I slap you?"

Silence.

"Dude, are you seriously asking for a slap?"

But Aidan still wasn't coming back. 

Not after your threat to slap him, not after you displayed annoyance. 

Nothing.

"Aidan, I will slap you."

You slap him. Hard.

He doesn't come back.

Why? Because everything clicks in his head.

So that ugly feeling that spread through his stomach before settling deep in his chest wasn't heartburn but jealousy? The way it twisted and threatened to gut him inside out wasn't anger at the stuffy room, but disgust at the fact that someone else touched you? 

It’s you.

It’s always been you. 

Aidan freezes in place, mouth parting slightly as he stares right at you like he’s seeing something for the first time. Or maybe something he’s failed to see. 

“Can’t you just like, not talk to him anymore?”

You blink at him. 

"Bro are you serious right now?"

His grip tightens around your arms, almost painfully so. You wince, he doesn't notice.

"Fuck- Uh, yeah just…"

Staring into those green depths of his, something feels off. His pupils are blown wide, more black than green. But honestly you don’t even care anymore. You shove at his chest but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he leans closer.

“You shouldn’t have let him touch you like that. It’s fucking… Wrong.” 

Wrong? You raise an eyebrow at his words, confused. Aidan lets out an annoyed groan, the tips of his ears burning red. 

"Why does it matter so much?"

Under your gaze, he feels something in him snap. The flush spreads, bleeding into his cheeks as he fights back the urge to just kiss you senseless. 

"Because I fucking care about you, alright? Way more than I should and it’s driving me insane."

For a second, neither of you speak. The air feels too still, too sharp. And suddenly, it all clicks in your head like the final piece of a puzzle.

Is Aidan in love with you?

"But Aidan, you said-"

"I know what I fucking said. I was wrong, I don't want to be just friends."

A trembling hand comes up to cup your cheek, calloused thumb rubbing your skin. Desperate. Like he’s holding onto something precious. Something so valuable that he will not lose.

"Aidan," You try to stay calm. "I don't like you like that."

"You don't mean that."

Yeah no. Your ‘calm’ is slipping.

“Aidan, listen. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I told you that when we decided to start sleeping together."

What happened to no strings attached? You both agreed! Your cheeks flush in irritation, fists curling. You should’ve stopped this before it started. Should’ve told him to leave the second his gaze lingered a second too long or when his gaze softened when it wasn’t supposed to.

"Sweetheart.” You flinch at his reverent tone. “Don't you see? We're meant to be."

His words slap you in the face. It’s like Aidan’s already decided how this all ends, like he’s already decided you’ll be a character in his fairytale without asking if you wanted to be in.

"Aidan we don't have any romance."

"We have plenty of romance."

And just like that, he stops hearing you.

His mouth attacks your neck, leaving dark bruises in its wake while his hands wander beneath your shirt like they have a hundred times before this. 

But this is different. His touch, presence, everything feels wrong. You shove at his chest, not wanting anymore to do with him. 

“Get off me-”

"We fuck at night, then kiss in the morning. I take you out, pay for what you want and watch your shows. We do everything couples do."

He lets out a low chuckle, hair falling messily over those green eyes. What is that look? Obsession? Insanity? You don't even want to know. All you can think about is how his once-pleasant kisses now feel like hot iron on your skin. 

"I know it's a lot to take in all at once, but trust me, sweetheart, it’ll be worth it."

You try pushing him away, desperate to escape from his clutches. But Aidan is nothing if not persistent, caging you in like it’s his job.

"I can’t go back to life before meeting you, sweetheart.” He whispers, and just for a second you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. But then his tone hardens. Icy, final. “And I won’t. Because you’re mine, damnit. Mine, mine, mine.”

Suddenly, his hand is in the back pocket of your jeans, taking your phone away.

"Give that back! I didn’t give you permission!"

But he’s not listening, of course not. You watch as his thumb scrolls leisurely, deleting contacts one by one. Friends, family, everyone. Until all that’s left is him. 

"You don’t need them, no one else gets you like I do, love you like I do."

Your chest burns.

"Touch my phone again and I swear to god, Aidan, I’m calling the cops!"

That earns a reaction. His jaw tenses and you think he might start screaming. But he doesn’t. He just… Smiles. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. 

Aidan slips the phone back into your pocket with mock affection, like he’s giving you a gift. 

"Don't worry, things will be amazing. Just us. no one else."

Is he serious right now? Ah…

You know what?

“Aidan.” 

No, you will not stand for this. This is your apartment! Your safe space! Who the hell does he think he is, claiming this is his apartment too? He doesn’t even pay rent! 

“Get out of my apartment.”

You try to push him away once more but he doesn’t relent. Rolling your eyes, you simply reach out for your phone into your back pocket. No hesitation, no trembling, just a clear message.

You’re serious.

Green eyes follow your hands as you call emergency services, your phone screen flashing bright and loud. Loud enough to show him that you mean business. His eyes snap to yours, a low growl escaping his lips.

“You’re actually going to do this?” Despite his growl, there’s a small flash of uncertainty in his voice and you use that gap to escape.

“Yeah, and I’m not joking.”

He misses you by just a hair’s breadth, the door slamming shut on his face as you quickly run out. You think you hear him curse under his breath but you don’t look back. Not this time, not ever again.

“Finally.”

The fresh air outside hits like a wave. The silence, the space, the absence of him. For once, your heart isn’t clawing at your ribs and you feel light. 

Freedom.

[thatonegrimm]

Do you write for the girls? If so can you do a girls day out shopping trip drabble with huntrix?

Thank you so much for your request! 💖

Sorry this one took a bit—I may have gotten a little carried away 😅 Your idea actually inspired me to turn it into a full shopping trip series, so while this drabble sat in the drafts, I was busy running wild with the larger concept!

Here’s your original request—and thank you again for the spark of inspiration! 🛍️✨

“Spoiled by Demon Hunters”

 Summary: You didn’t mean to be the center of attention. But when the girls of Huntrix take you shopping? You end up walking out with their affection in the form of accessories, eyeliner, and one aggressively heartfelt hoodie.

-----------------------------------------

The mall was supposed to be for them.

You tagged along for moral support. Maybe to hold a few bags, offer an opinion in the fitting room, stop Zoey from impulse-buying another sequined bucket hat that she’d swear was “iconic” but would absolutely never wear in public.

You weren’t here to shop.

Not for yourself, anyway.

You were the background character today— the designated water bottle holder, the emergency lip balm lender, the one who stood outside dressing rooms and offered thumbs-ups through the curtain.

And for a while, that was exactly how it went.

You offered nods of approval when Mira stepped out in a perfectly tailored jacket. Hyped Zoey’s crop top like a supportive bestie. Helped Rumi decide which eyeliner shade screamed “battle ready, but polite.”

You were just here.

But somewhere between the first boutique and the third iced drink of the afternoon, things start shifting.

You’re flipping through a rack, not really looking, when Rumi gently drapes a scarf over your shoulders.

Mira passes you a ring without comment, like she already knew your size.

Zoey, without ceremony, tosses a hoodie into your arms with a grin and a “This is so you it’s criminal.”

And it keeps happening.

They keep handing you things.

Not with the casual “hold this while I try on shoes” energy.

But with purpose.

With care.

With intent.

They’re picking things for you.

And you don’t know when that started—but by the time your drink is half empty, your hands are full of affection in the form of fabric, metal, and soft cotton ghosts.

You blink down at it all.

It wasn’t supposed to be your shopping day.

But apparently, none of them got the memo.

-----------------------------------------

🪽 Rumi finds you a scarf.

You don’t even realize it at first.

One second, she’s flipping through a rack of longline cardigans with the same expression she wears while strategizing battle formations—eyebrows slightly furrowed, calculating fit and function.

The next, she’s standing in front of you, holding up a scarf.

Soft. Lightweight. Just the right shade to pull color from your jacket without matching too perfectly. She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t hold it up like a suggestion.

She just gently loops it around your neck.

Smooth, practiced. Like she’s done it a thousand times before.

“Goes with your jacket,” she murmurs, adjusting the knot slightly with a featherlight touch. “And you’ll need it when it gets cold later.”

You blink. “I’m not cold now—”

But she’s already walked off.

Checking Zoey’s basket for impulse earrings and Mira’s distance from the checkout counter like she’s running a team op, not a casual shopping trip.

She doesn’t wait for thanks. Doesn’t make it a big deal.

But later—when the air conditioning hits just right and a chill sneaks down the back of your neck—you instinctively tug the scarf closer.

It’s warmer than you expected.

You press your face into the soft fabric and breathe in the faint scent of Rumi’s perfume—something floral and clean, like sakura petals and old rain—and realize…

You kind of get it now.

-----------------------------------------

🗡️ Mira finds you a ring.

You’re trailing behind the others in a little accessory alcove—Zoey’s squealing over mood nail polish and Rumi’s already scanning the next display for “non-cursed” jewelry—when Mira peels off from the group without a word.

She doesn’t say anything for a long while.

You think she’s just bored until she suddenly appears beside you, silent as ever, and presses something cool into your hand.

A ring.

Simple. Clean. Silver with a flat top and a slightly rough edge like it’s been worn before. Not polished. Not flashy. Not trendy. It looks more like something someone passed down on accident—a piece that lived in someone’s drawer long after they stopped wearing it.

You glance at her. “...You picked this?”

She gives the smallest nod. “Good shape. Doesn’t snag. Won’t bend.”

You try it on, unsure. It fits snug around your finger. Doesn’t slide. Doesn’t spin. Just sits there. Solid. Unmoving.

You glance up again, and Mira’s already looking somewhere else, like the moment never happened.

But then she adds—quiet, blunt:

“You were fidgeting earlier. Tapping your thumb on your phone case. Thought you’d like something solid to mess with.”

She doesn’t say it like she was paying close attention.

But she was.

You stare down at the ring, running your thumb along the edge.

She was right.

It does feel grounding. Like an anchor. Like something to hold onto when everything else slips.

You don’t take it off.

Not for the rest of the trip.

Not even after.

Not even once.

-----------------------------------------

 🦋 Zoey finds you a hoodie.

Well. “Finds” is a strong word.

Ambushes you with a hoodie might be more accurate.

One minute she’s gone—vanished into the tangled jungle of a 50% off rack labeled “Final Sale: No Returns”—and the next, she bursts back into view with wild eyes, winded breath, and an aura that says “I fought three spirits in there but I have returned with treasure.”

She shoves the hoodie into your arms like she’s discovered a divine relic.

“Put this on immediately.”

You blink down at it. It’s soft—stupidly soft. Slightly oversized. A warm gray color with little embroidered ghosts across the front, each one doing finger guns or wearing tiny sunglasses.

“You think I’m haunted?” you ask, already laughing.

Zoey gives you a look.

The look of someone who has very strong internal lore about you as a person.

“I think you’re soft but scary,” she says. “And this gives ‘poltergeist with a good playlist.’”

You snort, but you’re already sliding it over your head.

It fits too well. Like it already knew your shape.

The inside lining is plush enough to make you reconsider your entire relationship with warmth.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror—hood up, little ghosts dancing across your chest—and you realize you do look kind of like a problem.

But like, a huggable one.

Zoey claps like you just graduated from haunting school with honors.

“SEE?!” she crows. “You match my chaos aura now!”

She fist bumps one of the ghosts.

You wear it the rest of the day. Through three more stores. Into the café. Even while trying on earrings.

And somewhere between fitting rooms and boba refills, you realize you never took the tag off.

You just… kept it on.

Like you already belonged in it.

-----------------------------------------

You didn’t expect anything.

You weren’t even the focus.

This was supposed to be their day. Their break. Their turn to be soft and silly and stress-free for once.

You came to help.

To tag along. Carry bags. Take mirror pics. Be the background support that made things easier.

But somewhere along the way, you ended up with your arms full.

A scarf—warm, light, chosen with intention. A ring—simple, grounding, picked in silence. A hoodie—chaotic, comforting, shoved at you with absolute conviction.

And that’s when it hits you.

They didn’t just let you come.

They brought you in.

They chose you. Quietly. Softly. Consistently.

Over and over.

In every color. In every size. In every, “This made me think of you.”

You look down at your hands.

And you wouldn’t trade a single thing you’re holding.

Not for the world.

-----------------------------------------

M-List

[thelov3lybookworm]

Alone (part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The morning is bleak, business as usual. Nothing new. Nothing fun. Until someone decides to make it fun.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1568 

Warnings: just yn being depresso espresso and done with life and az lol, some vague descriptions of the previous part i think, and kidnapping teehee 🤭 ig you could also say angst? idk tho lol you decide

A/n: GUESS WHOS BACK MY GUYSSSSSSSS 🥹🥹🥹 ive been SO DESPERATE TO WRITE SOMETHING THE PAST FEW MONTHS but couldnt cus of exams and stuff and then had a bit of writers block lol but OMG IM SO HAPPY RN

this is like. a sequel to Alone, a ficlet id written for starfall week hehe. ALTHOUGH THIS IS A SEQUEL, IT CAN STILL BE READ AS A STANDALONE!! so go ahead and pls comment hehehehe i love reading comments <3

this purely exists because of the amazing people who commented on the previous part, and also people who asked to be tagged in part 2 hehe: @blessthepizzaman @vanserrasimp @sophieliz and @saltedcoffeescotch

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Brows furrowed, Y/n pushed her face into the pillow, her annoyance slowly rising.

Why did every morning have to start with sunrise? Why couldn’t she wake up and it be night outside for once?

This had become a routine, almost. Her, lying in bed, then glaring out the window at the sun that didn’t seem to care, and then rolling as far away from the rays as she could without tumbling over. Nothing was fun anymore. Nothing to be excited about, nothing new. Only fatigued nothingness remained.

The only time she left her bed was when the rumbling in her stomach became too loud to ignore.

Which, as was evident by the slow but steady feeling of her stomach starting to cramp up, Y/n figured would be happening sooner rather than later.

Lungs expanding, air filling them, Y/n shoved the covers off of her body, scowling at the soft material, then swung her legs over the side of the bed, huffing. A small moment passed, and then two, as she stared down at the grainy planks of wood.

Somewhere outside the small apartment she had rented out a week after starfall, children played amongst themselves. The sounds of loud, free and innocent laughter that would have made her smile once now only served to grate against her nerves.

Eyes closed, breathe in, breathe out.

A flick of her wrist, and the house was covered in a sound barrier, suddenly silencing any and all sounds that before penetrated the walls. Quietly, Y/n stood, pushing strands of hair away from her face and then tying it up in a bun with the small strip of leather lying on her bedside table.

Feet bare, Y/n traipsed down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to remember if there were any leftovers she could have as she splashed her face with cold water from the tap. But the clean, empty counters told her that no, there were no leftovers.

Checking the cabinets, Y/n realised that the two slices of bread she had stored away to eat someday when there was nothing to eat had caught mold and now looked like the sadistic announcement of doom.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, trying desperately to find something, anything to satiate her needs for the day, she looked around. But alas, not even a dust particle dared to show face.

Having had her mental health on a downward tumble the past few weeks, Y/n disliked doing anything, much less cook for herself the first thing in the morning, and so, caving, she walked back out and towards the main door of the apartment, pulling off her thick coat from the corner where a lone shoe cabinet stood haphazardly.

It had been one of the things the homeowner had left for her in the partially furnished house. Granted, it looked older than the mother herself, much like everything else in the building, but it held up, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t that Y/n couldn’t afford to rent better living quarters. She could probably buy around three of the buildings in the area and still live out her life comfortably from what she had acquired. It was just that she didn’t want to get anything fancy.

What was the point in pretty things, anyway?

After all, she had lived her whole life bathed in riches and jewels and luxury, and yet, the thing that mattered most in life stayed just out of reach. All the warmth she craved, the comfort, the feeling of belonging, remained contained in books and soft bedding.

All the love she craved right in front of her eyes. Always there, never hers.

Glancing in the small mirror covered in questionable stains that for some reason refused to budge when taken to with a rag and soap, Y/n deemed her hair to be… fine, for an errand that was meant to be quick. She just had to walk a few blocks down, grab a few necessities, bread, and maybe a cup of coffee from the shop across the street that always tasted way more watered down than it should, and then it was just her and the comfort of the apartment against the world.

Preparing herself mentally, Y/n quickly pushed her feet into the boots set in the corner, tugging up the hood of her jacket, and pulled open the door. As she stepped outside and began to lock the door, a stale breeze from the cracked window in the far end tickled her nose, making her scrunch her face in distaste.

She always wished they would repair the thing, because not only did it make her cold sometimes, it often brought in smells of alcohol and everything else that disgusted her, and she hated it with every fibre in her being.

Not to mention, the stench also reminded her of cold nights alone on a high peak, surrounded by lights and glitter and stars, bottles and tears and liquid that made her throw up in the Sidra when walking all by herself in the snow while a party raged in her wake.

Y/n shook her head, shoving the icicles on her hands into her pockets as she walked down the steps, glad no neighbour of her seemed to be out and about.

Going unnoticed in the streets was almost too easy, considering she blended well in with the crowds of people going to work. All of them wearing dark coats, so bleak and ordinary. It would be a lie to claim she did not prefer this over the fur and jewels her friends decked themselves in.

Well, most of them anyways.

The tiny little building of the bakery was easy to spot, not because of the peeling colours and cracked steps, but because of the scented smoke billowing out of the chimney first thing in the morning, announcing the making of new, fresh bread.

The door creaked open under Y/n’s stiff fingers, blasting her in the face with the warm whiff of freshly produced goods, and she sighed, letting the door fall shut behind her. Instantly, the air warmed up her skin.

The bakery was fairly crowded, mostly filled with some buying smaller packages of cakes and muffins to eat on the go, and others bringing bigger packs of bread, likely to feed their families. Ignoring all that, Y/n walked over to the small old lady behind the counter, calling out orders at the younger female running about in the back visible through a small window, likely baking more.

"Good morning, darling. What can I get for you today?"

Y/n tried her best to offer her a smile, she really did, but she was ready to bet her small toe that it looked more like a grimace than anything else. "Just a roll of white bread, please."

The lady quickly put the bread in a brown paper bag, then paused, before adding in a small muffin. Y/n began to protest, but one wink from the lady and a secretive smile later, Y/n once more stood in the bustling streets of Velaris’ almost forgotten square.

Its on the house. You look like you could use a bit of sweetness, child.

The words were so simple, yet they swirled around Y/n’s mind like a whirlpool.

Maybe I do need some sweetness.

With the thoughts in her mind, Y/n began trekking back to the ramshackle apartment. One foot in front of the other, an occasional sidestep, and repeat. Until a pit opened up in her stomach, making her pause.

Y/n looked up, scanning her surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet…

Am I just hungry?

She continued on, shaking off the concerns. But with each step, the pit deepened, spreading, and encompassed all her insides with unshakable dread.

Maybe… this isn’t hunger.

But just as she had the world breaking intervention from the mother, there was a crunch behind her. A whoosh, and then a bag was thrown over her head.

The first thing she noticed, even in her panic- aside from the sudden darkness, of course- was the stench coming from the threadbare bag.

A stench she, as part of the inner circle and one of the more skilled chemical researchers of Prythian, was quite familiar with.

Faebane.

Faebane, mixed with something more…acrid, something she recognised but couldn’t quite put a finger on, but knew it was meant to put someone in a deep, uninterruptible slumber for the very least of a day, or something similar to that.

Way to go down, I guess.

Y/n decided, then and there, as the bag tightened on her head and she was pulled back and to the side towards her captor- and what she assumed was into the small, dark alleyway, away from sight- that she wouldn’t fight back. What was the point in trying to overthrow someone who undeniably had you in captivity?

At least I can say I went with dignity. No kicking feet and screaming.

The bag tightened, and tightened, and tightened, and gradually, her head became lighter, and whatever limited vision she had began fading, her limbs loosening, falling limp. With barely any consciousness left in her, she felt her body being jostled, thrown over someone’s shoulder, maybe, before the person started walking off.

Into an adventure, I hope.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

ACOTAR taglist <3

@bubybubsters @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@hijabi-desi-bookworm @dnfhascorruptedme @littlest-w01f

@eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @riddlesb1tch

@buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@dnfhascorruptedme @fuckingsimp4azriel @moonchildlv @12358

[meiguicha]

Another Dawn Rises Once More

Phainon x Reader - Modern AU

The morning of a nightmare, there's nothing more he needs than to reaffirm his reality

note: mild 3.4 spoilers and also basically his entire character trailer, mention of character deaths

//listen to toodles' wiege cover right neow that is all i beg of you. listen to it now and hold the sweet child in your arms

Through the haze of dreams and muddiness of slumber, your humming drums at his nascent senses.

Phainon doesn't feel the familiar weight besides him, some strange fire creeps up his limbs and stalls his nerves, and as the machinations of the unconscious brings only torment, a tear squeezes through.

Seas of rising flames engulf his perception as the voices, the wishes of his friends ring in his ears. One by one, over and over again, each time the same as the last, their memories, their wills and wishes weigh heavy on his shoulders and yet it continues.

It never ends. His body cracks beneath the weight of it all, of his world, and his mind more so. But he has to keep going, he has to prevent—

You aren't here.

Faraway and distant, the soft lilt of your voice, gentle hitch of your breath feels unreachable to him.

Song echoes through your small abode, singing past walls and amidst rooms, though each step brings him closer, you still remain just out of his grasp.

He finds you in the kitchen, hovering in front of an open fridge, soft light illuminating the features of your visage. You still sing, absentminded but soothing nevertheless. You don't seem to notice his presence, he doesn't expect you to, and honestly all he needed was to see you again, to confirm with his own perceptions that his reality is true.

Though, he supposes it would be unlike you to let such a matter escape your notice.

"Did I wake you?" He can hear your pout even with your head ducked into the shelves. "I got hungry, I'll be back in bit."

You close the fridge door, yet instead of continuing your late-night snacking, your face shifts to an expression too sorrowful, too shocked to properly place as wonted.

In a few quick steps, you bring yourself into his presence, reach for his hand as he averts from your searching gaze. "Hey, what happened?"

"'s nothing much, I just had a bad dream." Shaking his head, he feels you only squeeze his hand tighter.

"Your bad dreams are usually Professor Anaxagoras making you write a thesis on dromases, and you usually don't look so lost after those."

He still can't bear to look at you. How can he? How can he face you knowing that it was you who still held onto him so dearly, that even in such brutality and senselessness, you—everyone— could still believe in him?

With no response, you take him into your embrace, bring the weight of his body onto yours. And just like the dream, you hold him, your hand rests on his skin and he can feel your heartbeat, thrumming against your ribs in that gentle hum.

"....I bore the blood of everyone I ever loved, over and over again just to save the world, only to find out that it was futile in the end." Phainon's voice dies in his throat, the words crawling from his lips in a last stupor, "They begged me to stop, but if I did, they would have all died."

"It didn't matter what I did different, we were just pawns in the gods' games and there was nothing I could do." Against your skin, his breath feels too warm, too scorching. Should any more words fall, he only fears it would melt your bones and sear your tendons, just like—

"Would you hate me? If I killed you?"

"I would," You respond all too quick. No shift in lilt or tone, merely objective affirmation. Yet your hold tightens, and how gently he can feel you nuzzle against him. "You know I'm not kind enough to say otherwise."

"But more so, I think I would be sad." Something wet tinges his skin and he hears it. Phainon hears the dregs of thought, how suddenly the thought of his own suffering would be just as painful to you.

"What being would be so cruel to put you through so much suffering?"

"How can anyone look at you and believe you deserving of such a life?"

You loosen your hold, just enough to urge his gaze, to rest your brow against his. Here, he can feel how your breaths start to mingle, could count each dewy lash upon your eyes. Your heart drums in that familiar rhythm, even as your very breath cracks. Once wild in his chest, burning in his throat, as though opening his ribs to let you in, he can feel his very blood mellow in his veins.

Unlike the dream, you do not crumble beneath his gaze.

A hand reaches to cradle his face, and once more you hum, "If I had your life in my hands, I would place you in a quiet village of golden wheat and azure skies, I would let you live in paradise and lead a life of travel and companionship."

You speak as if to create, that your words could reshape reality and form worlds with just a command. And perhaps, somewhere in his bones, he would wish for it to be so.

A loving god, a kinder god, one who only wishes to see mortals live. If it truly were you, if it were you who raised the sun and held the dead, not that of golden wounds and ruinous gaze, he would have met his friends once more, would have been able to bring them to the seas of golden wheat and clear skies.

You continue, "I would watch upon you until your final moments, and when you want to experience all it again, I would let you be reborn to live again."

But you aren't, and neither is Destruction.

And though maybe the world you would birth would be kind, gentle, it would be a world without you.

Even in suffering torment, even if boiling hatred burned away everything that made him, he wouldn't want to live in a world without you.

"And if I wanted to be with you? What would you do?" He whispers.

"Then I would become human to spend eternity with you," You hum. "No matter what life you want, I would give it to you."

The noise that leaves his lips is choked, strangled with an odd joy and emotion. He would never ask for anything so much from you, to be able to love, to see you and hold you, that is enough.

Phainon smiles and just that pulls one from you as well. "If that's so, I want to go back to bed with you."

"I want to wake up to you in the morning, and I want to brush my teeth next to you."

And tonight, in this place he calls home, you'll let him hold onto you a little tighter, and he'll let you take his hands into yours to litter fleeting kisses upon. He'll hum that familiar melody as you fall to slumber, as he watches your lashes flutter and your nonsensical muttering fall from your lips.

A life he wants, when he thinks of it, it's simple.

He wants to hear you and Mydei bickering in the kitchen over five or ten cloves of garlic. He wants to laugh while you struggle to pick up Little Ica as you chide Hyacine for spoiling him. He wants to see Castorice light up when you bring up the newest chapter for your favourite series.

He wants to go out for a meal again, watching futilely as Aglaea and Professor Anaxa argue over this and that, as Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon show off their latest invention, papers scrawled in colourful doodles and exact measurements. He wants to hear you join in with Cipher hot on your heels, how your laughter from her teasing would sound.

When he thinks of it, Phainon does live in paradise, for it is a world outside of the gods' touch, for it is a world that contains everything he loves.

[edwardslvrr]

WHY NOT BOTH? ☆ rafe cameron and sofia

𝜗𝜚 rafe cameron x reader x sofia

✦　　　.　　reader and sofia had been dating for 2 years now, when reader meets rafe cameron during a night out with the pogues and falls for him too and sofia meets him at the bar she works and he leaves a lingering feeling in her chest.

WARNING -> polyamory, drugs, alcohol, swearing, addiction, talks of rehab

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new instagram post

liked by sofiaism, jjmaybank and 162 others

yourname i love my girlfriend

view all comments

sofiaism i love you more

⤿ yourname come smooch

⤿ sofiaism 🏃🏼‍♀���👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

johnbooker gay

⤿ yourname go make out w jj

kielovesturtles i love you gorgeous girlss!!

⤿ yourname you you you ily☹️

sofiasm you’re too beautiful might cry and kiss you

⤿ yourname don’t cry but do kiss me

jjmaybank ally!!

⤿ yourname my fav ally

✦　　　.　　YN was leaning against the wall, pouting, she had been smoking with JJ for most of the night until he decided to go hang out with Kiara since she looked ‘smoking hot’ according to him, well he wasn’t wrong, but now YN was sat all alone on the floor.

“Hey, YN right?” A tall dude went to sit next to her, a bit too close for her liking. He pushed himself a bit further from her as he noticed her uncomfortable expression. “Sorry, bit too close.” He chuckles.

“You’re good.” She mumbled, her eyes shutting a bit as the tiredness overcame her. “Yeh, M’YN.” The girl looked at the man next to her. “Oh famous Rafe Cameron.” YN smiled.

“S’me.” The kook smirked. “Y’good?”

“Yeh, just wish my girlfriend was here.” The pogue pouts, and groans as she saw the text from Sofia.

‘Sorry, baby, it’s insanely busy here. Will be a bit later’

Rafe admired her for a bit as she looked focused on messaging her girlfriend back. “Need help?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

‘sonzy bbsy liss you go’

“I don’t think you’re good.” Rafe chuckles, suddenly getting up from his spot next to her, making her pout. “Y’gonna leave me alone too?”

“Nah, pretty, just getting ya some water.” He kindly smiles at her, to which she nods dropping her phone next to her on the floor.

𓂃⋆.˚ sofiaism’s new instagram post

liked by yourname, kielovesturtles and 118 others

sofiaism can’t believe i met my soulmate at 18, life is good

view all comments

jjmaybank ugh i love you guys

⤿ johnbooker he’s actually tearing up

⤿ jjmaybank they’re so happy in love

⤿ sofiaism love you jay

yourname i love you more than words can describe, thank you for loving me. 2,5 years down, a lifetime to go☹️💕

⤿ sofiaism me & you for life baby

sarahcameron play 18 by one direction on your wedding

⤿ sofiaism on it!

sarahcameron ily guys, couldn’t have imagined two people better for each other than you two

⤿ yourname i’m in tears!!?? ily

kielovesturtles wish my man would post me like this

⤿ sofiaism men r useless xx

⤿ jjmaybank y am i catching strays

✦　　　.　　“I’ve got this costant fucking feeling I wanna get high, like I can’t. I’ve given away all my joints, but I just wanna call up Barry and ask for more. I’m losing it, bro.” Yn rambles on and on, groaning as she put her face in her hands.

Rafe gives her a sympathetic smile. “I know it fucking sucks, how many times I’ve driven to Barry to ask for more and just stood there like ‘is it even worth it?’ and I’ll tell ya it’s fucking not, okay.” He nudges his shoulder with hers.

“Find something else to distract you.”

With that she turns to face him, eyes locked for a moment, before she looks down at his lips, and finds herself leans forward until she inches away from his lips.

“YN, don’t.” Rafe whispers, snapping her out of whatever was happening.

“Fuck, no, what am I fucking doing.” She hurriedly stands up, brushing the sand off of her shorts. “I- I need to talk to Sofia, uh, I’ll see you later.” YN says as she walks off leaving Rafe sitting there confused, because whatever she felt he felt it too.

✦　　　.　　Sofia looks worried as YN stumbles through the door, with tearful eyes. “What happened? I thought you were going for a walk?”

“I- I don’t know what happened.” YN pants out.

“Hey, baby, sit down for a second. I’ll get you some water.” Sofia calmly says, guiding her girlfriend to the couch.

Coming back to the living room with a glass of water, handing it to her girlfriend, she takes a seat next to her.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“I’ve been meeting up with Rafe Cameron.” YN says, setting the glass of water on the table to hold Sofia’s hands in hers. “He’s been helping me to stop getting high, because I want to be a better girlfriend for you.”

“Baby- you could’ve talk to me.” Sofia gasps, squeezing her girlfriend’s hands. “I know it’s been hard lately, but I’m here.” She kindly smiles.

“I- I think I’m falling for him.” YN whispers under her breath, avoiding eye contact with Sofia.

“Wh-what?”

“I almost kissed him just now.” She admits. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, I love you so much it’s hurts Sofe.” YN tears up, as Sofia lets go off her hands.

“Why him?”

“He gets it, I guess. It’s been so nice talking to him, and he is so respectful and I just feel so comfortable with him.” Sofia’s breath hitched, and the explanation.

“I need some time.”

✦　　　.　　Sofia had requested a double shift at the bar, because she couldn’t stand being at home alone with her thoughts. After everything YN confessed, she had absolutely no idea what to think. What is the answer to your girlfriend admitting she is so in love with you but also likes some guy who’s been helping her with an addiction.

“Could I get a whiskey, neat.” A man asked at the bar, snapping Sofia out of her thoughts. She mumbled a quiet ‘Yes’ as she made the drink.

Pouring the whiskey in the glass, completely in her own world, not knowing who even ordered this.

“Here you go, is eight dollars please.” She kindly says, before meeting the customers eyes. And there he was the cause of her recent problems. Rafe hands her ten dollars while telling her to keep the change, with a kind smile.

“Take your drink and leave.” Sofia tells him, as she rolls her eyes.

“The fuck did I do to you?” Rafe looked at her confused, taken back by her sudden change of tone.

Sofia chuckles dryly. “What you did? Rafe Cameron, what haven’t you done! I don’t know let me think, maybe the fact my girlfriend admitted to liking you this morning and I’ve been losing my mind over it and she’s also been meeting with you behind my back to talk about her addiction, so I’ve got this slight feeling I’m about to be single and replaced by you.” She explains, ignoring the rest of the customers at the bar.

He looked at her shocked, he knew whatever happened this morning was not planned and was very confusing but this confession had him absolutely losing his mind.

“Sofia.. nothing happened, she told me how she felt bad about you having to take care of her everytime she’s high out of her mind and she kept telling herself you deserved better. All she wanted was to get better for you, and that’s what I was helping her with.” He started explaining with a sigh, taking a sip from his whiskey.

“She was scared, and she knew I’ve gone through this. All I did was try and help, and then I fell for her.” He rubs his face with his hand. “I’m sorry, but fuck the way she loves you, Sofia. Fuck.” He chuckles as he shakes his head.

“She talks about you as if you put the stars in the sky, you’re all she wants. She wants to be perfect for you.” Rafe smiled, looking down at his whiskey. “Sofia, you’re the one for her.”

“So why does she like you!” Sofia yells frustrated, making everyone in the bar look at her.

Rafe was about to answer when his phone buzzed on the bar. “Can y’all mind your own business!” He shouts out as he noticed people still staring at Sofia.

‘il sorry arge i relapshzd she elft em’

“Fuck, Sofia. Come now, she’s high.” Rafe panicks as he read the message, immediately forcing Sofia to come with him to find YN.

“Wh-what?” Sofia shockingly asks, but following him to his car not caring about her job at the moment. “I left her alone.” She tells herself.

✦　　　.　　The three were sat on the couch at YN and Sofia’s place, when the two arrived at the house they found YN in tears on the floor with drugs all around her, making Sofia break down in sobs, repeatedly telling her she’s sorry.

It’s now hours later and YN has somewhat sobered up. “I’m sorry.” She mumbles, as her head was laying in Sofia’s lap while she stroked the blonde’s hair.

“Don’t apologise, baby. Everything’s okay.” Sofia whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

“R-rafe?” YN calls out to get his attention, which she gets when he finally turned to look at her the tension leaving his body immediately at the sight of her. “I- uh”

“Tell him.” Sofia encourages her. “We’ve talked while you took a nap.” She smiles down at her girlfriend.

YN looks up shocked. “He knows?” She asks Sofia, who nods.

“I like you too.” Rafe interrups the moment between the two girls. “We talked, and we’d like to try this, the three of us.” He smiles, putting his hand on her thigh to which she answers by putting her hand on his.

“We know you’re going through so much right now, it’s why we’ve decided to take this slow and first get you the help you need.” Rafe starts explaining. “But know, we’re here.”

The three sat in silence for a while, comfortably. “I- uh, I think I need to go to rehab, I know it’s expensive but I need it.” YN admits.

“I’ll pay for it, sweetheart.” Rafe calls out, squeezing her thigh. “No arguments allowed.”

6 MONTHS LATER

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new instagram post

liked by rafecameron, sofiaism and 293 others

yourname hello, it’s me 6 months later. I’m happy, sober and absolutely in love with these two. thank you for loving me and each other. it’s us in every lifetime.

view all comments

jjmaybank i love happy yn, she makes me happy!!

⤿ yourname ily jayj!!💕

sofiaism so proud of you my girl!! i love you so much (rafe too sometimes)

⤿ yourname thank you for everything

rafecameron my girl!! look at you shining😍

⤿ yourname look at us healing, i love you

⤿ rafecameron we’re in this together, i love you too

sarahcameron (ignoring my brother) ughh you are just perfect, feeling like a proud momma. i love yaa

⤿ yourname my fav girl!!☹️💕

kielovesturtles ahh she’s back, movie night soon!!

⤿ yourname ughh yes plss

popethesmartie yay yn back!!

⤿ yourname missed you popee <3

johnbooker lunch tomorrow??

⤿ yourname YESS

AUTHORS TALKING -> wanted to try something new so here it is hope you like it :)

MAIN MASTERLIST -> click here to see more

[witherby]

Punchline and JJ: Understimulated

Commissioned by @theprinceofthieveshermes !

I was asked to make a fluffy prompt, and given the circumstances of the universe the siblings occupy, I think I did okay! It's much lighter than the rest of the fics I've written for them, that's for sure!

You're not adjusting well in the cave.

JJ would have busted you both out already but Popsy's still locked up in the nuthouse, which means none of the henchmen will take orders from his kids. Also, now that the Bat and Birds know JJ isn't dead, they're gonna be all over his ass the second he leaves with you to go back into hiding. They won't stop at anything to "rescue" their precious brother, despite the fact that he buried that identity years ago.

Not that you and JJ can't slip under the radar. He's done it for years, after all. It would just be annoying, playing Keep Away for the foreseeable future.

He needs to do something, though. You're scratching patterns and drawings into the walls with the handle of your toothbrush, which you've whittled into a point, but you're running out of space that you can reach in the cell. At night, you're sleeping poorly and your feet keep anxiously knocking together in an attempt to self-soothe. You've even started two separate fires with the bed sheets just to get dragged out of there and given a new space to wander around for a little while.

You're bored. Boredom is bad under Popsy's roof, and you don't know how to handle the under-stimulation in a safe way. The usual games you and your brother play aren't helping anymore. JJ is genuinely concerned you're gonna start hurting yourself at this rate, which is absolutely not an option.

JJ can fix this. He's just gotta start playing a little nicer with his batty babysitters. He wonders if the sudden switch-up from threatening bodily harm to compliance will raise any red flags amongst them...

--

Okay, so. Getting Dick to soften up to him is actually hilariously easy. So much so that he has to play off his sudden giggle fit as a side-effect of prolonged exposure to Popsy's laughing gas. With an averted gaze, finally allowing them to perform a full medical exam, and a carefully timed "I want Di — I mean Nightwing to do it..." JJ has the man wrapped around his finger. Emotional regulation has never been this family's strong suit, a fact he is more than happy to exploit for his own gain.

"Aaaand...all done!" Dick chirps, drawing the last vial of blood needed for testing and carefully placing a bandage in the crook of JJ's elbow. "Thanks, kid. I'll grab you a juice box, one second —"

JJ hops off the table and feigns a dizzy spell. He lets Dick reach out and steady him, brushing off his concern and urging to sit back down.

"Gotta get back to Punchline..." He mutters, only half-pretending to be stressed out. "She can't be alone...I have to keep her entertained or she'll get hurt. There's nothing to do down here, I have to go to her..."

JJ can see the gears turning in Dick's head. The worried purse of his lips tells him he's about to get everything he wants. He's just gotta push a bit more.

"I-I can grab something for you two," Dick offers. "Just...just keep it hidden under the bed, okay? B doesn't want you guys to have anything you could fashion into a weapon, but if she's really a danger to herself —"

"She will be soon," JJ insists. Time to deploy the emotional trump card. "Anything will help. There's nothing to do in that cage, Dick. I mean, I mean Nightwing! I meant to say —"

"Hey." Dick places a hand on JJ's shoulder and gives him a huge, genuine smile. His eyes are wet. Ew. "I've got it. You don't need to beg, okay? I won't let anything happen to you or your sister. Let's get you back to her while I see about finding stuff to keep you both busy."

JJ nods. Just to add icing to the manipulation cake, he leans into Dick a little as they walk back together.

That's how he ends up getting a box of Legos, nail polish, a bunch of hair accessories, paper and pencils, and two decks of cards stashed under the bed in the span of a day. Unfortunately, Dick is now taking up way more shifts and trying to cozy up to you and him, but it's a necessary headache in exchange for your happiness. The nail polish brightened your mood considerably, decorating both yours and your brother's hands and feet, but afterwards you grabbed the hair tools and haven't left the little mirror above the sink in the corner for hours. You keep brushing your hair and putting it into different styles with the bows and scrunchies Dick brought, admiring yourself with the biggest smile JJ has seen from you in two weeks.

"Do you like this one, JJ?" You ask your brother, twirling around to face your big brother. You've swept the bright green locks to one side and tied it in a low ponytail, then applied two small bows to either side of your head to keep the stray hairs neatly out of the way.

JJ watches you bounce on the balls of your feet, looking at him like he's hung the moon in the sky. He didn't, but he'd figure out how to put a second one up there if you asked.

"Beautiful, P," he says, soft and genuine. "You look like a princess."

Your grin widens. You press your hands to your cheeks and spin back around to admire your reflection some more.

"Okay, I'm gonna try something else!" You chirp. "I saw a picture in a book once! It looked like...um...oh, I remember! I gotta pull this section into a twist..."

JJ sits on the bed, one leg bent and the other dangling over the edge, and idly shuffles the deck of cards between his hands as he watches you. His smile gets bigger the happier you become.

He's already thinking of ways to manipulate the rest of the bats into getting more things for you. If he swings it right, acts like he can be de-conditioned from Popsy's years of treatment and programming, they might even give you and him access to the manor upstairs. The larger space would do wonders for staving off the boredom while he waits for Popsy to break out of Arkham again.

"Oh, yeah..." He whispers. He glides the cards between his hands for a few seconds more, shuffling and shifting and flipping them around, until he turns the top card over to reveal the Joker. "This'll be way too easy."

He puts the deck on the bed and stands, approaching you at the sink and popping his knuckles.

"Need help, sis? I can show you how to make a dragon braid."

You gasp, facing your brother with wide eyes and mouth agape, and quickly hand over the hair brush.

"Show me show me show me!!"

"Course," he easily agrees, pinching your nose fondly. "Anything for you."

[naffeclipse]

Hey Naff! I hope you’ve been doing well! I’ve been thinking of the sleuth boys lately and wanted to see if you had any fun facts or anything else! I’ve been also loving your O’medusa story and can’t wait for the next chapter! <3

Heya, babe! I've been doing good, thank you <3 Ah, it's been a hot minute since I've chatted about the sleuth boys!

Detective Moon will occasionally find the vigilante in a deep sleep on their couch after he returns from his shift. He'll quietly think that they look like a cat curled upon the cushions, and he'll gently touch them to let them know he's here. The vigilante's hand will tighten around the handle of a gun stuck close to their side before an easy smile jumps on their face. They're so glad to greet one of their favorite detectives. Moon will let them rest. It's about time they actually crashed somewhere that he knows is safe. The vigilante will open their arms in an unspoken beckon before yawning, and persuading Detective Moon do his civil duty or something to that effect and hold them.

It's not often Detective Sun needs a pick-me-up, but when he does, the vigilante seems to know before he does. Whether it's a particularly frustrating encounter with a person who couldn't be bothered to give a statement to an animatronic or none of the pieces are aligning on his latest case, Detective Sun will take a stroll out to a local park just to get air that isn't filled with cigarette smoke and the clatter of typewriters. It's not long before the vigilante is leaning over his shoulder, one arm wrapped around him with a purring "hello, detective" to clear away those dark clouds from his day. They'll ask him what's got him hot and bothered—and why isn't it them? He'll miss a beat, servos swirling, being he relays the misfortunes of the day. It's funny. The vigilante can listen, when they so choose, and it takes a little bit of pressure off of Sun's back when he's through venting his frustrations.

There were whispers of the vigilante, and then there were the news articles about the vigilante. The mysterious force that seems to tackle illegal gang activity better than the police, though worded kindly as to not offend those in power. The scant and far in between blurbs never failed to land in Eclipse's waiting hands. He enjoys all the speculation, the rising folklore of the city's precious vigilante, like they're the savior they so desperately needed. How ironic. Little do they know, but Eclipse knows everything about his sweetheart.

The vigilante likes to tease the detectives about how difficult it must be to control themselves when they see the vigilante with their hair down. It doesn't happen often. Maybe on the rare occasion the vigilante steps out of their shower with hair in wet tangles or they're fighting a headache after a particularly gruesome night of crime-fighting. The ribbon and bells stay close, tied around their wrist with the softest ringing, but it is never far from them. The vigilante says yes when Sun offers to brush their hair and has never refused Moon when he asks if he can tie it up for them. Their fingertips move gently along their scalp and the long strands of their hair, and they are terribly reverent, which makes the vigilante even less so. Don't they know that they're going to ruin all of the detectives' hard work once they get back to dealing with goons and henchmen? Maybe the boys don't mind. Maybe they'd like the excuse to touch the vigilante's hair all over again.

Eclipse can be romantic. Not that the vigilante would agree. Not when they're returning to a safe house to find a dozen blood-red roses resting neatly where they usually set their gun down to clean. Not when they prick their fingers on the thorny stems before they toss it away and rush out of the safehouse (far from being safe now) and disappear out into the darkness with the chilling sensation of eyes watching them go and the lingering scent of cigar smoke.

[spookysanta]

Payback (with Interest). (MBJ)

Summary: Buying a toy while Michael's away leads to a secret that has you walking on eggshells. When you come clean, you've got a lot of debt to pay.

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x reader

Warnings: INTENSE smut. lots of squirting, hair-pulling, oral (both!receiving), handcuffs, choking, feral!michael, OVERSTIMULATION to the max.

hellooooo i told y'all it's finna get real rowdy innis hoe. i literally couldn't stop being nasty so we've got smut for DAYS. and i officially turn 24 in two weeks. woah.

You’d been stalling for two whole days.

Tati told you to stop being a punk and just tell him. Said it with her hand on her hip and her eyes narrowed through FaceTime while you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, chewing your nails and praying he wouldn’t pick up on the nerves radiating off you like heat.

“You are literally making it worse the longer you wait. He’s not gonna kill you,” she said. “But if he finds out without you telling him, he might yell.”

And now here you were. In your favorite t-shirt, your knees bouncing while he sat next to you on the couch, phone in hand, thumb paused mid-scroll as he noticed your shift in energy.

He was dressed for the day. Fitted tee, sweats, chain still warm from the shower. He looked relaxed. Happy. Peaceful.

And you were about to ruin it.

Michael arched his brow, picking up on your discomfort. “What’s up with you?”

“I gotta tell you something. And I need you to let me finish before you say anything.”

His head tilted, expression dipping into something more serious. “Aight.”

You took a deep breath. “So… while you were filming in London,” you began, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I may have… bought a toy.”

He blinked. “Okay.”

“Like, a strong toy. One of those ones that’s like, dangerous if you turn it all the way up.”

He snorted a little. “You bought a damn jackhammer?”

“Michael.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Go ahead.”

You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, eyes finding solace in the couch’s cushions. “So I used it. And… something happened. Like, something new happened.”

His brows crept up. “New how?”

You avoided his eyes, finally telling the truth with a bit of a wince. “I squirted.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Your eyes peeked up to find him locked on you, his mouth parted slightly. But he didn’t speak.

“And it was a lot,” you added quickly. “Like I panicked a little. I had to strip the sheets and mop the damn floor. It was insane. And I didn’t know what to say so I just didn’t… tell you.”

You paused. Inhaled.

“And since you’ve been back… I’ve been kinda… faking it. When we – y’know. Because I was scared that if it happened again you’d freak out or think I was broken o-or do that thing where you get all intense about it and then I get embarrassed and then it just… spirals.”

More silence. 

Michael leaned back slowly, setting his phone on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary.

You bit your lip. “Please say something.”

“You been faking it?” he asked, voice low and too calm.

You nodded slowly. “Just since you got back.”

“So… five days.”

You nodded again.

He stared at you for a long beat. It didn’t pick up as anger exactly, but quiet. Still. Processing.

And that was so much worse. “Michael…”

He stood up, snatching his phone off the table, thumbs padding against the screen.

You shot to your feet too, immediately anxious. “Wait, are you mad?”

“I’m canceling my plans.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Why?”

He turned toward you, voice like velvet stretched over coiled steel. “Because you lied to me.” He replied simply, “You faked it five damn times, and you tried to keep that kind of discovery to your damn self.”

“I didn’t try to–”

“No, you did. And now you owe me.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not harsh, pulling you close until your breath hitched. “That’s five times I didn’t get to see you fall apart for real. That’s five full-body confessions you owe me.”

You swallowed hard.

His other hand reached for the hem of your shirt, already tugging it up. “You thought I was gonna let that slide? Thought I was just gon’ nod and say ‘thanks for the info’? Nah. you know that’s not how shit goes around here.”

He stepped in close, chest against yours, and whispered right into your ear. “I’m gonna make you squirt five times tonight. That's the minimum. And we’re starting now.”

The back of your knees hit the couch before you fully processed how you got there.

Michael was all heat and muscle, hands already dragging your shorts down before your legs even caught up. His eyes were dark, focused, like he was reading lines off your skin instead of a script. No teasing. No build-up. Just straight to business. “Pillow.” he muttered simply.

“What?”

“Get it. Under your hips.”

You scrambled to obey, thighs trembling with anticipation as you tucked the throw pillow beneath you. He pushed your legs apart slowly, like he wanted you to feel the weight of the moment. Like he wanted you to understand that he hadn’t even started making you regret keeping this from him.

“I should’ve felt it when I got back,” He thought out loud, sinking to his knees on the rug in front of you. “Should’ve tasted it. Watched it soak through your thighs. Heard the way you whimper when it happens.”

You squirmed against the cushion, nerves and heat colliding under your skin. “Michael–”

“Be quiet.”

His tongue was on you. No warning. No warm-up. Just a deep, slow stroke from his mouth that had your back bowing before your brain could even catch up. He moaned softly like he’d been starving for this, fingers digging into your hips to keep you attached his face as he worked you open with skilled, patient cruelty.

You gasped his name, reaching for his arms, his shoulders, something, but he pinned your wrists to your abdomen with one hand, never breaking rhythm. His tongue flattened, curling and dipping inside, every motion calculated and deliberate.

When you started trembling – really trembling – you felt him smile against you.

“You close already?” He teased knowingly, licking his lips, beard wet with your slick. “It ain’t even been five minutes. That’s what happens when you hold out on me, huh?”

“I wasn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

“I know what you meant.” His voice dropped to a growl, thick with hunger as his eyes locked on yours like he was hunting. “But you still lied. So now I’m not stoppin’ until this whole fuckin’ couch needs a towel.”

Your eyes rolled back when he ducked his head again, doubling down, tongue relentless. He added two fingers without warning, and the stretch – fuck, the stretch – nearly pushed you over the edge. “Michael, please, I-I feel it–”

Before you could muster another word, your body convulsed around his fingers, wetness gushing beneath you with a sudden, overwhelming rush. You cried out, legs shaking aimlessly against the cushions as he rode you through it, mouth still dragging against your folds and fingers pumping like you hadn’t just soaked him.

“That’s one.”

You were panting. Boneless. And if you could think, you would think that there was no way you’d make it to five. That you’d literally collapse into a puddle before you’d gotten to two, at the rate he was going.

“Uh uh,” he muttered, standing up, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. “That was for the first lie. You got four more to go.”

Your body twitched involuntarily.

He leaned down, picked you up bridal-style, and started carrying you down the hall.

“W-where are we going?” you asked, still breathless.

His grip tightened around you. “Somewhere with more floor space.”

The walk to the bedroom felt longer than usual. Your heart was still racing, thighs still sticky and trembling, nerves fraying at the edges. He carried you like nothing – like his arms were molded for it (because let’s be honest, they were) – and nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside without a word. The room was warm, the lights low, and the covers already turned down like he’d planned this.

He laid you on the bed with care but no hesitation. Like you were breakable, but he wanted to break you. “Up.” His voice was calm but commanding. “Head on the pillows.”

You moved on instinct, settling back, eyes wide as he stripped out of his sweats. He climbed in over you, body caging yours in shadow and heat as his palms rested on either side of your head, and looked down like he’d never wanted anything more than to ruin you.

“I didn’t wanna make a mess,” you confessed, small and soft, not even sure if he heard you.

But he did.

“So instead of telling me what you needed, you faked it?” He stared at you for a long, quiet moment – lips twitching into something dark. Not a smile. A warning. “You lied to me. Repeatedly. You know how that makes me feel?”

You swallowed hard. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“Don’t matter.” He leaned down, brushing his mouth against yours without kissing you. “You did. And now I’m gonna make sure you never fake a single sound for the rest of your life.”

You whimpered, but he was already moving. Already settling between your thighs again, but slower now. Measured. He pressed his palm flat against your lower belly like he was daring your body to try and hide from him.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice low and thick. “That little twitch when I touch you? That’s not nerves, baby. That’s guilt. That’s that pussy beggin’ me to teach her some fuckin’ manners.”

You gasped as he slid a finger in again, deep – slowly – and crooked them just enough to have your hips stuttering upward. His other hand pinned you by the thigh, holding you in place.

“You’re gonna come on my fingers again,” he demanded. “You’re gonna soak these sheets. You’re gonna show me what the fuck you should’ve been showing me the moment I got back in this house.”

You whimpered, but he wasn’t done.

“And when you do… you better make a mess. I want it everywhere. I want proof. I want puddles. I want to feel it when I fuck you later, every time I move. You understand?”

“Yes,” You breathed, already barely hanging on.

“You scared to make a mess?” His voice dipped into something colder, adding another finger. “Then you should’ve thought about that before you spent five nights lying to the man that fuckin’ worships you.”

“I’m sorry…” It came out as a plea, a whine.

“No, you’re not. But you will be.” And then he kissed you. Hard and deep, almost cruel – his tongue sliding past your lips while his fingers curved and pumped perfectly inside you, pulling wave after wave until your thighs started shaking and your eyes rolled back.

“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he murmured against your mouth. “Go ahead and cum for me. You don’t get to hold it this time.”

You tried to resist it, really. Tried to hold back like you could will yourself into control. But he knew better. Knew your body better. His fingers angled just right to hit that spot and his voice dropped to that gravel-drenched tone that always broke you open. “Come on, baby. Ruin the sheets for me.”

You cried out, arching off the bed as heat and wetness flooded beneath you again, soaking everything. He groaned disgustingly at the feel of it, leaning down to kiss you through it while his fingers didn’t stop. “That’s two.”

You blinked through tears, thighs trembling, whole body on fire.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Three’s gonna be with my tongue again.”

You whimpered.

He smiled. “Don’t be shy now. You’re the one that started this.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again – his hands firm, touch certain. He shifted down the bed, dragging your legs wide once more, pushing the backs of your knees toward your chest, wetness already glistening between your thighs. The air hit your skin like a spark and had you flinching, already overstimulated, already aching.

Michael glanced up at you, eyes heavy with promise, voice low like a sermon. “Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your slick, taking a finger and spreading it slow and deliberate. “And you were scared to tell me this? You really thought I’d be mad you gave me something else to ruin?”

You whimpered, reaching weakly for him. He shook his head, smacking your hand away.

“Nope. Hands to yourself.”

You whined, the tension coiling so tightly inside you it felt like your bones were vibrating. He ducked his head and gave you a single, devastating lick – flat tongue, slow drag, ending with his lips around your clit, sucking just enough to make your hips jump. “Michael–”

“Say you’re sorry.”

Your voice cracked. “Please. I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean–”

Another flick of his tongue washed over your clit, this one rougher, more pointed. “Say you were wrong.”

“I-I was – I was w-wrong,” you gasped, toes curling into the sheets. “S-should’ve told y-you. D-Didn’t wanna keep it f-from you—”

“But you did,” He grumbled between licks. “You fucked up. And now, your job is to lay there and take what you earned.”

His hands gripped your thighs, locking them over his shoulders, his mouth settling against you like it was supposed to be etched there, devouring you with no restraint.

His tongue circled your clit with punishing precision, alternating between sucking and flicking until your breath was caught in your throat, your fingers tangled in the sheets like lifelines. He didn’t slow when you bucked, didn’t pause when you cried out, just kept going – like he was trying to memorize how you tasted every time you fell apart.

“F-Fuck–Michael, I can’t–!”

“You can.” His voice was muffled but firm, tongue never leaving you. “And you’re gonna.”

After a single moment, as if his mouth commanded you to without uttering a word, you shattered like glass again. Your back arched, mouth open in that perfect O as a broken moan clawed its way up your throat. Your orgasm crashed down, hard and wild and soaking. Your whole body convulsed with it, eyes squeezing shut as the wave dragged you under again. 

When you finally sagged back against the mattress, shaking and gasping, he kissed your inner thigh sweetly – like he hadn’t just ruined you for the third time in under an hour.

“That’s three,” he said, licking his lips and dragging the back of his hand over his chin. “We’re almost there.”

You whined helplessly, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at his head. “Michael, please.”

He laughed, catching it midair and tossing it to the floor, then climbed back over you and kissed your neck.

“You had plenty of chances to come clean, y’know,” he murmured into your skin. “Now I’m cleaning out every last lie you moaned into my mouth.”

Your thighs twitched. 

He noticed.

And grinned. “Round four’s gonna have you speakin’ in tongues.”

Your skin was still trembling, your limbs too jelly to move – but Michael didn’t need you to.

He hovered above you, hands braced on either side of your head, gaze dragging down your body like he was cataloging the damage. His lips were parted, chest rising slow and thick with control, but his voice was pure sin wrapped in silk.

“Three down,” He murmured, leaning in to press a hot kiss to your jaw. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your body twitched again, your core pulsing in anticipation. You managed to whimper something unintelligible, half his name, half a prayer.

He kissed lower – your neck, your collarbone, the curve where your shoulder met your chest. “You know what I always think about when I’m away?” He whispered against your skin, hips grinding low enough to make your breath catch. “How good this pussy feels wrapped around me … How warm you are … How tight.”

You gasped as he lined himself up and pushed in slow – agonizingly slow – until he was fully sheathed inside you, thick and deep and stretching you like it was the first time all over again.

Your mouth fell open. Eyes wide. A single, shattered moan teared from your throat.

“Shit,” He drew out in a groan, jaw clenched, his hands finding yours on either side of the pillow and interlocking them tight. “You feel that? That little squeeze? That’s your body remembering who the fuck you belong to.”

“Y-you,” you gasped, barely able to breathe.

“Fuck, you’re damn right.”

He rocked his hips once. Deep, smooth, deliberate. Then again. And again. No rush. No frenzy. Just long, soul-stealing strokes that scraped along every nerve in your body and made your toes curl.

And he watched you the whole time. Every flutter of your lashes, every time your mouth opened in soundless desperation. He drank it in like it was sacred. Like you were made to cum beneath him. “You gonna fake it now?” He whispered, dipping down to kiss you feverishly. “You gonna lie to me again?”

“N-No,” you cried out, wrapping your legs around his waist as your nails dragged down his back. “N-Never, I s-swear–”

“That’s what I thought.” His lips brushed your ear. “Now come on, baby. Look at me. Let me see you when I make you cum on this dick.”

Your eyes met his – glassy, desperate, aching… and that’s all it took for you to break again.

A scream bubbled from your chest, your head thrown back, thighs clenching as you clenched around him – slick, hot, and overwhelmed by the force of it. You didn’t just cum again – you flooded, soaking him, soaking the sheets, your entire body spasming like he’d reached inside your soul and wrung it out.

Michael cursed, hands tightening against yours as he fucked you through it, his own rhythm faltering as he chased the high with you. “That’s four,” he groaned, voice ragged. “Goddamn, you’re perfect. Made for me. Only me.”

You were barely coherent – shaking, crying, muttering nonsense as he kissed your cheeks, your lips, your temple. His hands still locked with yours, keeping you grounded as he moved again, slower this time, like he knew your body was edging into delirium.

“Just one more,” he whispered, nuzzling against your jaw. “You got one more in you, baby. Let me take it.”

Your body was limp under him, flushed and trembling, tears clinging to your lashes. But he didn’t stop.

Michael kissed your throat, voice husky and soft against your skin. “You still with me?”

You nodded, or maybe you tried to – it barely registered. Your body was floating, boneless, barely yours.

His hands shifted, sliding under your thighs to tilt your hips higher, deeper. “One more, baby. Just one more. You can give me that, right?”

You whimpered, “I-I d-don’t … M-Michael, I c-can’t –”

“Yes, you can.” His voice sharpened with want, laced with heat and promise. “And you will. You owe me. One more, remember?”

He slid back in slow, thick, and devastating, and you sobbed – loud, high-pitched, the kind of sound you couldn’t fake even if you wanted to. He cursed low in your ear. “And it’s still so fucking tight. Still clenching like your pussy knows who owns it.”

Your body arched, mind blank.

He started to move. Deeper this time. Harder. Every stroke was brutal, angled perfectly, claiming everything. His name poured out of you like a prayer, like a cry for help – and he answered it with his whole body.

“You remember when you faked it?” He grunted, fucking into you so hard your vision blurred. “Was I fucking you like this when you lied to me? Huh? Could that little toy fuck you like this?”

“N-No – oh my god – n-no,” you gasped, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“Did it fill you up like I can?” His voice was thick and laced with anger, grinding into you so deep you felt it in your spine. “Did it break you like I do? Did it kiss your soul like this dick does?”

You were crying now. Real, full tears, trailing back into your hairline as your body shook with each thrust. He slowed just enough to kiss them from your cheeks.

“Shh,” He whispered, anger only slightly dissipating, still moving inside you. “I got you. I know it’s too much, I know. But you need this. You need to feel me. Deep. Everywhere.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist without thinking, pulling him closer, tighter, even as your thighs burned and your muscles begged for rest.

“I’m right here,” He murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Give it to me, baby. Give me that last one. Let me watch you fall apart.”

He angled his hips, and the sound you made wasn’t human. The pressure built so fast you couldn’t brace yourself. Your hands scrabbled at the sheets, your mouth opened on a silent cry, and he just kept fucking you through it – holding your face, kissing your mouth, commanding your body to let go. “Come on. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You shattered harder than before, wetter than before. Your body arched clear off the bed, another scream catching in your throat as wave after wave of pleasure detonated inside you – so strong it hurt, so deep it felt like something inside you split open and bloomed.

You soaked him. The sheets. The fucking mattress.

He groaned your name like a curse, burying his face in your neck as he finally, finally gave in – cumming hard, deep, and with a possessive grunt that sounded more animal than man.

You didn’t – or rather, couldn’t – stop shaking.

He held you the whole time. Pressed his palm to your belly like he could soothe the quake. Kissed your sweat-damp temple. Murmured low, reverent filth into your hair. “That’s five,” He whispered, voice wrecked. “Debt paid.”

The room was silent, save for the sound of your breathing – still shallow, still shaky. Michael hadn’t moved far. One arm stayed draped over you, the other tucked beneath your neck, fingers stroking lazily over your damp skin like he was still trying to coax the tremors out of your limbs.

You were wrecked. Absolutely wrecked.

Muscles jelly, throat sore, vision fogged around the edges like the air had gone soft. The sheets were a mess: soaked, tangled, falling off the corners of the mattress. There was a slick puddle cooling beneath you, and the scent of sex hung thick in the air.

You shifted weakly and whimpered, body flinching from even the idea of movement.

Michael kissed your shoulder and held you tighter. “Don’t even try to get up. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

“Did we… did I…” You blinked slowly, your mind still piecing itself together. “The couch…”

He chuckled low, the sound warm against your skin. “That couch’s on borrowed time, baby. It had a good run.”

“I liked that couch.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he said easily. “Shit, I’ll buy three and have ‘em rotate. One for fuckin’, one for lookin’ at, one for guests.”

You huffed a laugh, burying your face in his chest. “You’re insane.”

“You the one who bought a damn power tool and didn’t tell me,” He teased. “Now look at you. Couldn’t spell your own name right now even if I paid you.”

“You broke me,” you groaned, nuzzling into his skin. “You were supposed to be mad, not… whatever that was.”

“Oh, I was mad,” He murmured, rubbing your back with the kind of slow, soothing touch that made you melt all over again. “Still am, a little. But mostly I’m proud.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Proud?”

“Baby… you squirted five times.” He grinned, brushing a damp curl from your face. “You’re a damn superhero.”

You buried your face again with a groan. “Shut up.”

“Nope. Not when I own the rights to your orgasms now. Copyright and everything.” He let you whimper and laugh into his chest for another minute before shifting carefully to sit up, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing.

“Where are we going?” you mumbled, blinking blearily as he carried you out of the bedroom.

“Guest room. These sheets need a full resuscitation.”

You let him tuck you into the clean bed across the hall, fresh sheets cool against your skin, body still humming as he wiped you down with a warm cloth and slid in beside you. He wrapped himself around you again, skin still bare, and kissed your forehead like it was sacred. “You okay?” He asked softly.

You nodded, eyes already drifting shut. “Mhm. Better than okay.”

“Good.” He kissed you once more. “Debt’s paid.”

You smiled.

And then: “But you know,” He added casually, voice already sinking into sleep, “that was just the principal.”

Your eyes cracked open, barely a sliver. “What?”

“Interest hits tomorrow.” His smile curved against your skin. “And that payment plan’s real long. Real thorough.”

You choked on a gasp.

He chuckled. “Sleep, baby. You gon’ need your strength.”

The morning light spilled soft across your face, warm and golden through the guest room curtains. Your muscles ached. Not sharp pain, but just a tender hum that pulsed from your thighs up to your shoulders, a whisper of everything he’d taken from you and everything you’d given him willingly.

You stretched, slow and small, wincing as your back cracked and your hips gave a protesting twitch. And then there was a smell – Bacon. Butter. Coffee. And something sweet. Cinnamon maybe?

The door cracked open.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Michael’s voice was thick with warmth, eyes crinkled in that smug, satisfied way that said he knew what he’d done to you and wasn’t sorry for a second. “You alive?”

You groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “Barely.”

He laughed and nudged the door open fully with his foot, balancing a tray with one hand. On it, eggs, turkey bacon, pancakes, strawberries, coffee, and a little glass of juice.

“You made breakfast?”

“I owed you breakfast after all that cardio,” He teased, setting the tray across your lap. “Plus, I needed to make sure you could eat solid food before I do what I’m planning later.”

You squinted at him. “What–what the fuck does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed your forehead and disappeared back down the hall.

You took your time with breakfast, savoring every bite. And when you were done – sore, clean, and lazily content – you wandered into the master suite to find him standing near the dresser, shirtless, grinning.

“What now?” You asked suspiciously, sipping your coffee.

“I got you something.”

You blinked. “Like… a present?”

His head tilted a bit in amusement. “Technically, more of a tool.” He turned and held out a small, flat box, matte black, with a velvet-lined inside.

You opened it slowly and choked.

Chrome-plated handcuffs. They were sleek, elegant. Not bulky like standard ones – these were slim, weighty, custom. And on the inside of one of the bands… your name. Engraved in small, beautiful script, right beside his.

You looked up at him with wide, excited, horrified eyes. “You didn’t–”

“I did.”

“You customized–”

“I told you,” He said, stepping into your space, voice dropping. “You lied to me. You hid shit from me. That was the debt.”

His hand tilted your chin up.

“But this is the insurance policy.”

You swallowed hard, breath catching when he pulled the cuffs from the box and let the cool metal dangle between you.

“No more hiding,” he murmured, brushing your lips with his. “No more faking. And if I think you’re holding back again, I’m cuffing you to the headboard until I get every damn sound out of you. Understand?”

You nodded, trembling. “Yes.”

“Good.” His smile curved slowly. Dangerously. “Now finish that coffee.”

“Why?”

“Because in about an hour…” He clicked the cuffs shut with a soft, metallic snap. “You’re gonna be gagging on my dick, eyes watery, legs shaking. And I wanna make sure you’re adequately hydrated first.”

You spent the next forty-five minutes in a haze.

Breakfast sat warm in your belly, your body was freshly showered and draped in one of his tees, and your legs still ached with that satisfying throb that only came from being thoroughly ruined. You could’ve crawled right back into bed and stayed there until sunset.

But instead, you were standing at the kitchen sink. 

Washing dishes. Scrubbing the counters. Not because there was a mess – he’d already cleaned up after breakfast. The kitchen was spotless, actually.

You were just… killing time. Delaying the inevitable. You kept glancing at the clock above the stove.

You were at fifty-three minutes and counting.

He hadn’t called for you, hadn’t come looking. But your skin prickled with awareness. Your heartbeat ticked up with every passing second, like your body knew you were in trouble even before your brain caught up.

You rinsed the last plate with trembling hands, drying it off slowly, too slowly, and tried not to flinch when you heard his footsteps in the hallway.

You felt him before you saw him. The way the energy shifted in the room – how the temperature seemed to drop and spike all at once. You turned slowly, towel still clutched in your hand.

He stood in the doorway, bare-chested, sweatpants hanging low, the box from earlier now open on the kitchen island.

The handcuffs gleamed in the morning light. “I said an hour.”

You swallowed. “I know, I was just–”

“Cleaning?” His voice was soft. That dangerous soft. The kind that came right before consequences. “You think that’s more important than me?”

“No, I just – I lost track of time.”

He nodded slowly with a hum. Stepped closer. “Come here.”

Your legs moved on instinct.

“Hands behind your back.”

Your breath caught. But you obeyed.

The metal was cold against your wrists, the click of each cuff echoing in your ears like thunder. He adjusted them gently, thumb brushing your pulse point as he locked you in.

“See, you know what this tells me?” He murmured, stepping close until your front was flush with his chest. “That you didn’t take me seriously. That you thought if you looked innocent enough, I’d go easy on you.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes locked on his mouth. “I just – I got nervous.”

“I told you not to hide anything from me again.” His lips brushed your ear. “But you did. You hid time.”

You whimpered, already feeling your core clench, already helpless.

Michael stepped back. “Kneel.”

The command hit you like gravity. You sank immediately, the tile cool against your bare knees, your bound hands tightening behind you.

He watched you for a long, quiet beat. Then ran a hand over his abs, dragging the waistband of his sweats down just enough to free himself – hard, heavy, already slick at the tip. “I gave you grace,” He said, stroking himself slowly as he watched your eyes track every movement. “I let you sleep in. Made you breakfast. Let you breathe. And what do I get?”

You licked your lips, desperate. “I’m sorry–”

“Oh, you will be.” He stepped closer, pressing the head of his cock against your lips. “This ain’t about the principal anymore. This is interest.”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted your chin up with his thumb. “Open that pretty mouth. Let me teach you what it costs to be late.”

His thumb slid along your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open, and you followed like muscle memory. “Good girl,” He murmured, letting his cock glide across your tongue, slow, heavy, warm. “There she is. Knew you’d remember how to be good.”

He didn’t thrust. Not yet.

Just let you take him little by little, the weight of him dragging across your taste buds as he gripped the back of your head – not tight, just enough to remind you who was in control. His other hand stroked your jaw as you took him deeper, inch by inch, until your lips met the base and your throat clenched around him.

He groaned. Low. Deep. Pleased. “God, look at you. Fuckin’ beautiful like this. All soft, all quiet. Just my girl and her mouth and a lesson long overdue.”

Your throat flexed, your breath caught, and still he didn’t move. Not yet.

“You think I don’t know when you’re trying to distract yourself? You standing at the sink like I wasn’t watching you the whole time, counting down.”

You moaned around him, cheeks hollowed, drool already slipping past your lips.

He let you sit there like that for a moment, his cock snug in your throat, your eyes glazing over, tears brimming in the corners. The gentle, coaxing rhythm of his praise lulling you into submission.

And then: “Lesson’s over.”

His hand tightened in your hair and he fucked forward. One smooth, brutal thrust that had your nose buried in the heat of his skin and your body flinching from the depth.

You gagged around him, spit bubbling, eyes wide.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t give you a second to adjust, just kept thrusting into your mouth, grip firm, voice thick with heat and dominance. “You wanna be late?” He grunted condescendingly. “This is what late gets you. You earn your time with me now. You work for it.”

You moaned again, a broken, garbled, wet sound that had him hissing through his teeth.

“You hear that? That’s the truth. That sound, that mess, these fuckin’ tears – that’s what I wanted from you the first night I got back.”

You coughed, choked, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth as he thrust faster, deeper, his control fraying.

“Look at this face. Goddamn. So fuckin’ pretty when you struggle. Bet you feel it in your pussy, huh? Bet you’re soaked just from choking on me.”

You were absolutely drenched. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, and he knew.

“And don’t even think about rubbing those legs together, baby. This mouth is busy but that pussy’s on hold until I say otherwise.”

You whimpered, gagging again as he drove deeper. 

And he praised every flinch, every tear, every convulsion. “Yeah, cry for me. I want it all. Show me how sorry you are for makin’ me wait.”

Your body rocked with every thrust now, the cuffs digging into your wrists behind your back, the tile cold and hard under your knees and his voice the only thing anchoring you.

“You’re mine,” He growled, cock twitching between your lips. “Every sound, every squirt, every fuckin’ drop – you belong to me. You don’t lie. You don’t stall. You obey.”

Your body shook. Your lungs burned. And just before you thought you might collapse, he yanked back with a wet, gasping pop! – your mouth empty, chin dripping with drool, lips swollen, eyes glassy.

He crouched to your level, breathing hard, thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks.

“There’s my good girl,” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your wet, swollen mouth. “Still got a few more payments due… but we’ll call this interest accruing.”

Michael rose slowly, towering over you with sweat glistening along his chest, breath still tight from the way you’d just choked for him like it was worship.

You blinked up at him, lips parted, spit painting your chin. Your wrists ached slightly in the cuffs behind your back. Your thighs were trembling.

And your cunt was just throbbing.

“Get up,” He said, voice sharp enough to cut. “On your feet.”

You tried and failed the first time. Your legs shook too hard. Your breath was still catching in your chest.

He waited. And watched. “You wanna be defiant,” He muttered, circling you like a wolf, “You better have the stamina to back it up.”

With a little whimper, you finally stood, swaying slightly as your knees locked. His hand gripped your waist before you could stumble again.

Then he turned you around and pushed you forward. He bent you over the edge of the kitchen counter like you were weightless, like you were made to be folded right here: nipples hard under his tee, your mouth still tingling from the stretch of his cock.

“Michael–”

He leaned in, pressed his chest against your back, and spoke right into your ear. “You wanna know what your problem is?”

You whimpered as a reply.

“You think I won’t keep going. You think just because you’re shaking, I’ll stop. But baby…” His hands slid down your hips, thumbs dragging between your legs, “...I live to see you come apart.”

His fingers teased through your folds, wet, swollen, soaked from the mess he’d made in your mouth. He groaned, low and dark, as he spread you open with both thumbs.

“Still so fuckin’ pretty,” He muttered. “Still leaking for me.”

You gasped when he dragged his cock along your slit, letting it rest there, heavy and hot, the tip nudging your clit just enough to make your hips jerk.

He didn’t push in. Not yet. “Beg for it.”

You whined, already pushing back against him instinctively.

“C’mon… Say it.”

“Please,” you whispered, legs trembling, “Please, Michael – fuck me. I need it, I need you inside me, I wanna be yours –”

 He snapped, thrusting into you with a stroke that knocked air out of your lungs. “You are mine.”

You cried out, face pressing into the counter as he sank into you all at once, no warm-up, no softness. Just his full length filling every inch, forcing you open with nowhere to run.

He set a rhythm that wasn’t rushed but wasn’t kind either. Every stroke was deep, calculated, and punishing. His hips slapped against your ass, his hand curling around your throat to lift you slightly, forcing you to arch, and feel everything.

“You don’t get to fake anything with me,” He growled, fucking into you so hard the counter could’ve scraped forward. “You don’t get to lie. You feel this? This stretch? This ache? That’s real.”

You moaned, incoherent, throat tight around his grip.

“This mess between your legs? That’s real too.” He dragged his cock out just to feel your slick drip down the length of him before slamming back in. “This body is mine. Not a toy’s. Not yours to keep secrets from.”

You were crying again.

He curled around you to lick a tear off your cheek.

“You’ll never fake shit again,” He promised, voice breaking from how deep he was. “Not when I can fuck the truth out of you every damn time.”

You came without warning, a sudden, overwhelming rush that pulled a scream from your lungs and sent slick pouring down your thighs.

But he didn’t stop. “That’s good, baby.” He grunted, wringing your orgasm out of you. “There it is. That’s six. Go ahead, give me seven.”

You didn’t know how you were still standing. Every muscle in your legs burned, your back was arched in submission, tears streaking your face while your mouth hung open around a soundless scream. Your skin was damp with sweat, your cunt dripping (literally), twitching around his cock that never stopped pounding into you.

Michael’s hand stayed firmly wrapped around your throat, keeping you lifted, his other hand braced hard on your hip to hold you still. “You thought five was a lot?” He snarled into your ear. “You didn’t even hit the fuckin’ warm-up.”

Your body seized again, clenching again without your permission. Another orgasm ripped through you, hard and fast, a full-body quake that had your knees giving out.

He caught you. Because of course he did. 

He didn’t even flinch. “Seven,” He muttered, almost to himself, cock still buried in you to the hilt. “And still greedy.”

He pulled out slowly, both hands catching you around the waist when you sagged forward, spent and gasping, your body shaking uncontrollably. But he didn’t give you a second to breathe.

He turned you around in his arms and lifted you – lifted you – like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the nearest chair and dropping into it with you already straddling his lap.

You blinked at him, dazed, head shaking frantically. “I can’t–I can’t–”

“Oh, you will,” He dragged you into position, the cuffs still clinking behind you. “You’re gonna ride me, baby. Gonna show me how much you love being ruined. C’mon.”

He guided you down onto him again, slow, achingly deep.

You sobbed. The stretch was unbearable. Slick. Raw. Like your body couldn’t possibly take more, but it did – sinking down inch by inch until he was seated all the way inside you again.

He groaned, deep and wrecked. “Look at you. Cryin’ on my dick but still takin’ it. Still tryna prove something.”

Your hips trembled as you tried to move, tried to ride, but it was useless. You were way too far gone.

“Aw, what happened?” He teased, voice a low taunt against your ear. “You were so full of fight a minute ago. All that talk. All that mouth. Now look at you.”

He sat back in the chair and let his hands fall to your hips, lazy. “You wanna ride?” he asked. “Then fuckin’ ride. Show me how you earned those cuffs.”

You whimpered, trying, rocking your hips once, twice. But it was sloppy, erratic, too much. Your thighs gave out and you collapsed forward, forehead against his shoulder.

“I can’t,” You whispered shakily.

You felt him grin in satisfaction. “Good,” He growled, grabbing your ass in both hands and slamming you down onto him. “Then let me take it from here.”

He fucked up into you, relentless, using your body like a prize he’d earned. Making you bounce, making you scream, his mouth hot and filthy against your throat as you cried through another orgasm.

“You wanted to play with me?” He breathed, slapping your ass. “You wanted to test me? Baby, we’re not even done.”

And honestly, you might’ve blacked out a bit as your body convulsed around him, your vision blurring around the edges as you sobbed his name, your voice cracking. Your body trembled like a leaf in the wind.

When you finally realized that you were cumming again, you heard him count. 

“Ten.” He bit down gently on your shoulder.

You’d already cum again twice, and you didn’t even register it. You’d officially turned into mush. Your body slumped against his chest like a ragdoll, breath stuttering, throat sore from screaming his name into every corner of the house. 

His arms wrapped around you instantly – tight, grounding, warmrocking your trembling frame as you whimpered into the crook of his neck. “I got you,” He murmured, lips brushing your hairline. “You did so good, baby. So, so good.”

You could barely form words. Barely lift your head. Your muscles had turned to water. Your skin was still buzzing.

But his voice cut through it all. “Let’s get these off, yeah?”

You nodded weakly. 

He reached behind you and clicked open the cuffs, gentle fingers easing your wrists forward. You winced at the stiffness in your joints, the ache in your forearms from being bound so long.

Michael caught that, bringing your wrists to his lips, kissing the inside of each one so softly it made your eyes sting.

“Hold still,” He said, guiding your hands between his own. He massaged them slowly, thumbs working tender circles into your skin, soothing the soreness. His touch was warm. Intentional. Loving. 

“You’re not in trouble anymore,” He whispered after a moment, kissing your temple. “You paid what you owed.”

You let out a broken sound that might’ve been a laugh. Or a cry. Or both.

Then he scooped you up again, carrying you to the bathroom, setting you gently on the edge of the tub. You didn’t even have to ask before he turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, poured in a few drops of the eucalyptus soak he knew you liked, and helped you in like he was tucking you into bed.

You sank into the warmth with a sigh so deep it rattled your ribs. Michael sat on the edge behind you, rubbing your shoulders while the steam kissed your skin, his hands always moving. Always caring. “You feelin’ okay?” He asked quietly, brushing your damp hair out of your face.

You nodded weakly. “Floatin’.”

“Good.”

He stayed with you through the whole bath, whispering praise, washing you gently, even bringing a bottle of water to your lips to make sure you stayed hydrated.

And when he lifted you out, dried you off, lotioned your skin, and tucked you into the freshly remade guest bed, you didn’t even protest.

Not when he kissed your forehead and whispered, “Nap.”

Not when he pulled the blanket up to your chin and slid in behind you, spooning you close.

Not when he pressed one last kiss to your shoulder and added,  “We’ll pick this back up later.”

You were already drifting.

—

You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep. All you knew was warmth.

The bed was soft, your body was still tender, and your mind floated somewhere between dream and reality, limbs heavy, skin humming with the aftershock of everything he’d done to you. The window was cracked open just enough to let the fading afternoon light spill across the bed, amber and slow, a perfect golden hour haze.

And then, you felt a touch that started as a whisper. Fingers, soft and careful, sliding along your inner thigh.

You stirred with a soft inhale, eyelashes fluttering. But you didn’t open your eyes. Not yet. Not when his touch stayed feather-light, coaxing you awake, drawing lazy lines up the slick heat between your legs.

Still wet. Still aching. Still his.

You whined quietly, hips shifting toward the pressure, and only then did he speak, right behind your ear, his voice low, warm, filthy.

“There she is,” Michael murmured, lips brushing the edge of your jaw. “Didn’t forget me, did you?”

Your breath hitched, still not fully awake. “Michael–”

“Shhh,” He hushed you, sliding one thick finger inside you slowly, like he knew your walls would clench tight from how stretched you’d been earlier. “No need to talk. Just feel it.”

You moaned, soft and broken, as he started to move.

“You needed a nap,” He whispered, kissing along your shoulder as he worked his hand between your thighs. “Needed rest. Hydration. Care. I gave you all that.”

Another finger slid in beside the first, making your whole body twitch under the covers.

“But now?” His voice dropped, his fingers twisted, and you cried out. “Now it’s time for collection again.”

He kept going. Slow. Intentional. Torturous. Every curl of his fingers pulled another moan from your lips, your hips rolling instinctively, sleep falling away like your self-control.

And then he laughed. A low, satisfied rumble. “You’re leaking already. Didn’t even open your eyes and this pussy’s soaking my hand.”

You whimpered.

“Still that sensitive?” he teased, licking behind your ear. “Still desperate?”

You finally turned your head, dazed and glassy-eyed, lips parted around the shape of his name.

He kissed you before you could say it. Deep. Wet. His tongue slipping past your lips like a reward and a warning. His fingers never stopped moving. Slower now, almost cruel, just enough to keep you on the edge without letting you go.

And then, he pulled his hand out. You whined at the loss, thighs snapping shut around nothing.

Michael sat up beside you, sucking your slick fingers into his mouth, eyes locked on yours. “I told you this morning,” He said, voice full of that dark promise, “we were starting fresh.”

He pushed the covers down. Spread your legs again. And lowered himself between them like he’d been starving for this nap to end.

“I’m gonna eat first,” He murmured. “Then we’re fucking. And then we’ll talk about interest.”

The covers were gone, sprawled out around the bed’s perimeter. Your body was bare and sprawled in the golden light, legs spread open by his hands, your skin flushed and still twitching from sleep. Michael’s head was already buried between your thighs, his mouth devouring you like he hadn’t spent the entire last day (and some change) breaking you down.

You cried out, back arching, hands flying to his head, pushing. But it wasn’t resistance. Not really. It was instinct. Desperation. “Wait–Michael, I can’t–please–”

He looked up, just for a second. His chin was slick. Lips red and swollen. His eyes dark, gleaming, hungry. “You calling your safeword?” He asked, voice low and calm like he wasn’t two seconds from shattering you again.

You blinked, breath catching. “…No.”

He smirked. “Then open your legs wider.”

You froze. “M-Michael–”

“Now.”

The tone of his voice dropped, steel wrapped in silk, and your body obeyed before your mind caught up, thighs parting again, wide and shaking, every inch of you buzzing with the sharp edge of need and surrender.

He grabbed a pillow and slid it under your hips, lifting you just enough, then licked his lips like you were his favorite meal and he wasn’t finished feasting.

“Good girl.”

And then he was on you again, mouth hot and wet, tongue sliding through your folds with maddening precision. He sucked your clit slow, deep, the kind of pull that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. 

Your hands gripped the sheets, your eyes screwed shut. Every part of you begged for mercy…and he gave you none.

“Thought you were done?” He growled between licks. “Thought a nap meant you could escape this shit?”

You sobbed, legs kicking. “It’s too much–”

“It’s not enough,” He snapped, fucking you with his mouth like he had something to prove. “You faked five. You came ten. We just broke even.”

You tried to reply, tried to tell him you needed a second – but all that came out was a moan so broken it didn’t sound human.

His tongue flattened. Pressed. Flicked. Sucked.

You cried out.

“Go ahead,” He muttered against you. “Make a fuckin’ mess. Soak my face. Make me regret lettin’ you rest.”

Your body locked up in that now-familiar feeling that’s been bubbling up all day. The orgasm slammed through you like lightning, shocking you out of sleep, out of thought, out of reason. You squirted again, hard, soaking his chin, your thighs, the sheets beneath you.

He groaned but didn’t flinch. He kept going. “You better call that word, baby,” He said, voice thick, beard dripping. “Otherwise, I’m not stoppin’ till the sun goes down.”

Your orgasm hadn’t even finished crashing through you before he was on top of you. Michael came up from between your thighs with his mouth shiny and his eyes wild, grabbing your legs and flipping you effortlessly, your face pressed into the mattress before you could even blink. His hands yanked your hips up, and your arms gave out, body too spent to hold yourself.

But that was fine. He didn’t need your help.

He gripped your waist and dragged you back into place, kneeling behind you, hard and slick with your mess, rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. “You still with me?” He asked, voice hoarse but steady.

You nodded weakly into the sheets. “Y-Yes–please–Michael–p-please–”

He eased into you in one deep stroke to the hilt, his cock finding its home in your walls.

Your body seized again, back arching off the bed as he bottomed out with a growl, no hesitation, no gentleness left. Your cunt clenched so tight around him he cursed, holding himself still just to feel the grip of you, the heat, the way your body welcomed the stretch even while it trembled beneath him.

Then he moved, thrusts ragged. Ruthless. Relentless. He fucked into you with the kind of precision that bordered on cruel: his hand wrapped in your hair, the other gripping your hip tight enough to leave bruises.

“You think you can lie to me?” He panted, each thrust a promise. “You think you can fake what’s mine?”

You were incoherent now. No words. Just sounds. Babbles. Sobs. Choked moans. Your face dragged along the sheets, drool pooling beneath you, body going slack as he used it, took it like it was his right.

And it was. Oh, it was.

“You feel this?” He growled, pulling you back into every thrust, his shaft brushing against your G-spot in a way that made you see stars. “This is ownership. This is what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

You came again without warning. No build-up. No control. Just your body breaking apart, walls spasming, slick gushing around him as you wailed into the mattress, voice gone and tears streaking your cheeks.

“Fuck, yes,” He snapped, pulling out just enough to slam back in deeper, rougher. “That’s all mine. Every fuckin’ drop.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. All you could do was take it.

He bent over your back, chest against your spine, a hand gripping your wrists and pulling them behind you, pressing your shoulders into the mattress as he drove in again.

“This what you needed, huh?” He growled into your ear. “To be ruined? Bent? Used?”

“Yesyesyes–” you cried, sobbing through another climax that hit so fast you screamed like it was pain. Like it was bliss.

“That’s twelve,” He said, his voice trembling now, chasing his own high.

You were shaking under him, legs gone, heart pounding in your ears.

“Thirteen if you can give me one more.”

You whimpered, wrecked. “I-I can’t, Michael, I-I–”

He pulled out roughly, your cunt squeezing and pulsing at the loss. He flipped you again, cradling you like you were porcelain, even as his arms manhandled your body into his lap.

You were limp. Soaked. Ruined. But he lined up against your entrance anyway, pressing inside.

He kissed you so soft you nearly cried again. “You can,” He whispered gently, knowing you were on the brink of combustion. “Because I’m gonna take you there.”

And then he fucked into you, slow, deep, intimate, while holding your broken body against his chest like he could keep you tethered while he ripped you apart one final time.

It didn’t take much for you to cum again, your brain and body shattering on the fourth thrust. It tore you apart – a convulsion that left you sobbing his name, your arms barely able to cling to him as he came too. He grunted into your mouth, spilling inside you with a shudder so deep it left him gasping, forehead against yours.

You both collapsed, sweating, panting. Your body slack in his arms, your soul somewhere hovering above the bed.

He held you there, kissing your forehead, rubbing circles into your back, murmuring against your temple, “Fourteen. That’s the new record.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. But he smiled anyway, already tucking you under the covers, already pressing a warm cloth to your thighs, already planning the water, the cuddles, the toast you’d need after this.

You were his. And he took very good care of his things.

You didn’t remember how he cleaned you up, only that there was warm water, soft cloths.

His voice, low and constant, like a lullaby just for you. “Shhh… that’s it, baby. You did so good.”

The bath was already run by the time he carried you in. Your head lolled back against his shoulder, your lips parted, chest rising slow and shallow as he lowered both of you into the water.

He held you there, his chest to your back, strong arms circling your waist while he whispered into your temple and rubbed gentle circles into your thighs. You were trembling. Silent. But not afraid.

Never afraid.

He kissed your jaw and said, “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

You nearly cried again.

He washed you carefully, dried you off even slower. Massaged your calves with lotion and dressed you in one of his shirts. He tucked you into bed like you were glass.

And when he crawled in behind you and curled around you like a second skin, you whispered just loud enough for him to hear:

“I can’t feel my knees.”

He smiled. “I know.”

You both fell asleep that way – his hand resting over your heart, your body still shivering through the aftershocks.

—

The next morning’s sun was already creeping in through the curtains when you opened your eyes. Barely.

You squinted. Your limbs wouldn’t move.

Your brain was absolute mush. Your throat was dry. Your hips ached. You were warm and soft and buried in the scent of Michael’s shirt. And also… “Baby?”

You croaked it more than said it.

He appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, bare-chested, towel around his waist, brushing his teeth and looking entirely too normal.

You frowned. “What… what time is it?”

“Little after nine,” He said, spitting toothpaste foam into the sink. “You slept through two alarms. Not that I’m surprised.”

You groaned. “What… What was the number?”

Michael turned, leaned against the doorframe, and smirked. “Oh, now you wanna count?”

Your face crumpled into the pillow. “I lost track. Everything started vibrating.”

He laughed, walked over, and kissed the top of your head. “You made it to fourteen, sweetheart.”

You blinked. “What the fuck, Kari.”

He grinned. “I know.”

You flopped back dramatically. “I don’t even remember most of them.”

“Oh, I do.” He kissed your temple again. “And don’t worry. I’ve got the whole list.”

“…There’s a list?”

“Of course,” He said, casually walking back into the bathroom. “I mentally date-stamped it, too. Just in case we wanna break the record.”

You groaned into the mattress. “I’m never moving again.”

“We’ll see about that,” He called back over his shoulder. “We got a long weekend, baby. We’ve got plenty of time.”

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. You blinked at it slowly, barely able to turn your head. You were flat on your stomach, one leg half-hanging off the bed, the comforter wrapped around you like a cocoon. Your lips were dry. Your brain had just enough power to register the name lighting up the screen.

Tati.

You whimpered.

Michael walked out of the closet, now dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, just in time to see your hand feebly slap at the screen like you could stop her with sheer will.

“Just let it ring,” You croaked, face half-smashed into the pillow.

“Nah,” He said, strolling over and picking it up. “She’s been texting since 8am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you couldn’t spell your name last night.”

You let out a weak groan as he answered. “Yo.”

“Michael?” Tati sounded way too alert for this hour. “I was calling her.”

“She’s here,” he said casually, propping the phone up on the nightstand like this was a regularly scheduled call.

Tati paused. “So… how’d the convo go? She finally tell you?”

Michael smirked down at your sprawled, limp body, and rubbed your thigh gently. “Yeah. She told me.”

“And?” She asked, already suspicious.

“And we’re good now.”

Another pause. A long one, actually.

“…Wait. Good as in it went well or good as in–” Her voice cut off suddenly, then came back sharper, “Put her on the phone.”

You made a tiny dying sound. A breathy “nooo…”

“C’mon, baby,” he teased, holding the phone near your ear. “Your bestie wants to hear from you.”

You cracked your eyes open. Barely. Lips slightly parted.

Tati’s voice came through loud and clear. “Bitch. Speak. Blink twice if you’re alive.”

You exhaled a little mumble, not quite a word.

“…Ohhh,” Tati muttered. “Damn.”

Michael was full-on grinning now. “She’s alright,” He said on your behalf, picking up the phone again. “Just resting. Hydrated. Very, very thoroughly dealt with.”

“I told her to come clean,” Tati replied, not even trying to hide the laugh in her voice. “Didn’t think you were gon’ put her in a coma.”

Michael chuckled. “She’s upright. Sort of.”

You gave a weak thumbs up from the bed.

“She’ll bounce back,” He added. “Eventually.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t book us a nail appointment this morning,” Tati muttered. “She’d have left the house on a damn stretcher.”

Michael leaned down and kissed your shoulder, phone still in hand.

“Tell your girl how good you did,” He said into the mic, like you weren’t right there dying of residual orgasm. 

You groaned again.

Tati snorted. “Tell her to drink some Pedialyte and never lie to you again.”

He laughed. “Will do.”

You groaned into the pillow. “I hate everyone.”

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[branchclangen]

BRANCHCLAN WRITINGS #3- OWLSHADE

After all of these moons, the SpottedClan border still made Owlshade anxious. 

Normally, when a patrol was headed in that direction he would split off from the group and slink off, always coming up with some excuse about finding a prey scent nearby or thinking he heard pawsteps. For some reason, he was always believed.

Or perhaps no-one wanted to question Owlshade’s authority.

But this was different.

Owlshade sat, curling his tail around his paws politely, and he waited.

And waited.

Owlshade was beginning to fall asleep.

Finally, a soft mrrp caught the tom’s attention and he perked up, standing when he caught sight of the cat he had been waiting for.

Waspfoot.

Oh, how handsome he was, even now. 

The tom’s gray fur was patchier, now, and speckled with the same silver that was beginning to tinge his muzzle. His green eyes, which Owlshade so clearly remembered being bright and youthful, were growing cloudy, and carried a slight sadness that Owlshade hadn’t noticed before. Did something happen? 

He hoped not.

Waspfoot padded closer, bumping his forehead to Owlshade’s with a low purr. He began to nuzzle the other tom’s neck, making him shiver a bit.

“Oh, Owly…” He murmured. “I missed you.”

“And I missed you,” Owlshade replied, smiling as he took a few pawsteps back. He looked Waspfoot up and down. “Did something happen?”

Waspfoot hesitated, before letting out a heavy sigh and looking down at his paws. “It’s Rosewhisker.”

The mention of his son, Violetsong’s littermate, made Owlshade stiffen. 

“...Is he alright?” He asked, but he almost wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

Waspfoot shook his head. He didn’t meet Owlshade’s gaze. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Owlshade’s eyes widened, a tightness filling his chest. This couldn’t be real- Surely Waspfoot was joking? “No…”

“Yes,” Waspfoot muttered sadly. “Rogues. Those star-damned brutes…I’m happy you didn’t see his body.”

Owlshade’s ears pinned back. “We already lost Lilacnose…”

“Yes, I know,” Waspfoot muttered. “Bluebellpool is beside herself.”

Owlshade fell silent for a long time. He felt a strange feeling engulfing him, and wondered for a moment if it was the same grief Aspenfall had felt when he found out about Spiderstep’s death. 

Owlshade had never witnessed any of his kits' deaths before. He had been sad when he left Lilacnose, Rosewhisker, and Bluebellpool with their father many moons ago, yes, but he was still able to see them when he wanted to. 

The thought that he wouldn’t see Rosewhisker or Lilacnose again for a long time broke his heart. And poor Bluebellpool…Owlshade had already heard of her daughter’s passing a few moons back. Flurrykit had been the only one in the litter, and Bluebellpool’s second kit after Mossyfall. She passed of kittencough just a moon before her apprentice ceremony. Owlshade never got to meet his granddaughter. And just a few moons prior to that Owlshade and Waspfoot’s son Lilacnose had succumbed to a snake bite.

Owlshade let his mind wander. Had Rosewhisker been scared when he died? Was he hurt?

Did he call for him in his final moments?

Shaking his head, Owlshade looked back up at Waspfoot. “I need to tell you something.”

Waspfoot glanced up with a small nod. “I’’m listening, Owly.”

“I’m…Expecting kits.” Owlshade meowed, forcing a smile. “They’ll be here next moon. Possibly sooner.”

Waspfoot’s ear flicked. “I assume they’re mine.”

“Yes.” Owlshade chose not to mention Squirrel. The loner, of course- Not Squirreltail. Though the tom had sired Maplepool and Aspenfall, Owlshade continued to meet him, and the two grew close…

If Owlshade was being honest, he didn’t know which tom had fathered this litter. It didn’t matter, he told himself, because neither of them were in the clan anyway.

“You look like you’re barely showing at all!” Waspfoot looked Owlshade up and down. “Are you sure you didn’t just eat a lot or something?”

Owlshade chuckled, despite his mildly dampened mood. “I’m sure.”

Waspfoot looked into Owlshade’s eyes, and for a moment both toms were silent. Owlshade could tell that they both had questions.

He figured he would speak first. “How do you…”

“Feel? I don’t know,” Waspfoot replied, shuffling his paws. “Owly, we’re old. We’re not the same cats we were before, the first time this happened. We know better now.”

Owlshade looked away. “Yes…I know.”

“How many kits are there?”

“I don’t know. Our healers said no more than two.”

Waspfoot was silent for a few seconds. “Will they be staying with you?”

“Yes, they will be,” Owlshade meowed in reply. “I don’t have a reason to give them up anymore.”

Again, another stretch of silence.

Again, Owlshade waited.

“...We could leave.” Waspfoot suggested. “I take Bluebellpool and her kin, you take Violetsong and whatever kin you have in BranchClan, and we leave. We make our own clan. We could call it SplinterClan-”

“I feel like someone’s already done that.” Owlshade murmured.

“...We’ll come up with something.” Waspfoot waved a paw. “But we shouldn’t have to do this. We could be together, the way we want to be-”

“Or you could join BranchClan.” Owlshade stated. 

Waspfoot looked at him as if he had grown another tail and three more legs. “Owlshade, no, I can’t. You know this.”

“It would be easier than starting over.”

“I don’t want to see the faces of my former clanmates if I left.” Waspfoot meowed. “Seeing them at gatherings, on patrols, it would be awful.”

“I feel the same,” Owlshade said, his voice soft, “when I have to encounter you or one of our kits on patrol.”

“...I’m not joining BranchClan.” Waspfoot murmured. “I just can’t. I’m sorry, Owly.”

“It’s…Fine.” Owlshade replied.

Waspfoot looked up at the sky. Suddenly, his ears pricked. “Ah- I think someone’s calling me. I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm,” Owlshade hummed in acknowledgement. 

Waspfoot turned and ran away surprisingly fast for a tom his age. The last thing Owlshade saw was his fluffy tail vanishing into some bushes.

And again…Owlshade sat.

And once again, he waited.

And he waited. He waited until his paws were numb and the sky had turned a dark blue. Owlshade looked up. The stars were out, and one was glowing brighter than the rest.

“Hello, Rosewhisker…” Owlshade whispered. “I’m waiting on your father.”

But Waspfoot never came back.

Violetsong appeared, her black fur blending into the dark sky and the shadows of the forest.

“Papa…” She murmured, her tone scolding. “What are you doing all the way out here? And pregnant, no less…”

She nudged Owlshade to his paws and began to pad alongside him, so close their pelts were touching. 

“Come on,” She said, “We should be getting you home. Everyone is asking about you.”

Owlshade’s whiskers twitched. He wanted to protest- he was waiting for someone, Stars damn it! 

But in the back of his mind, he knew Waspfoot wasn’t coming back, and he didn’t know if he would ever see him again.

And that was okay. Owlshade didn’t need him anymore.

He had his family right here, within BranchClan territory. His kits…Or kit, if he were blessed with only one…Would grow up loved and safe, surrounded by cats who cherished them.

And that was enough for Owlshade. More than enough.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

What if in the PPBB universe where Stan is resurrected by Ford. Stan can only start to become more ‘human’ and fix his own soul by eating the emotions of others, and in some cases their whole souls.

Stan is only acting with self preservation right now cause he has nothing else, so after the shock of being alive wears off the kinda Erdrich horror part of him wakes up and he kinda just leaves the Ford’s and goes hunting for very emotional souls. So now the Ford’s have to hunt down Stan across the country in Fiddleford’s old car, like the OG road-trip, except more high stakes because they have to stop Stan from sucking out souls like they’re smoothies from random people.

Maybe Bills also along for the ride as well(he wants the portal built and is gonna pester Ford about it till he stops goofing off) and he makes everything so much more complicated as he eggs on Stan to eat more people.

Wait, wait, wait what if Bill is the Winged Lion/demon and Stan mirrors Laios and eats his soul, aka Bills hat and last dimensional speck. Which gives Stan enough energy to fix the rest of his soul and give him emotions back.

Lets just make this a three way au lol, GF into PPBB into DM.

This got long, but here it is!

Hmm. If we're following along a loose Dungeon Meshi story line (which, let me tell you, ever since i got that first ask I've been rotating the idea of a Dungeon Meshi au except Ford's just doing his regular adventuring, comes across and kills a dragon, pulls the corpse out, revives it for 'knowledge' and gets hit with Stan. Can you imagine if that happened? If Marcille revived Falin and didn't even know she was dead? How Stan could have stayed dead and Ford would have no idea? Anyway), then Ford revives Stan, gets hit with dead brother feelings, drags him home to wash off all the monster blood and put some clothes on him. Stan's.. mostly fine? Sure he's heart is dead and the most he can muster up is a slight ease of tension at seeing Ford and not being dead, but otherwise? he's hungry, thats about it.

Then that night, Stan wakes up, starving and with the need to find food. The meal in his stomach isn't doing anything for him, he needs something more filling. His human form that he got shoved to feels cramped and empty, he's gotta fill it up if he wants to feel like himself again. Phases out of existence, goes off to find something to eat, the Fords surviving by the pure luck of being asleep and thus not emotional enough to catch Stan's uncaring eye.

Good thing Ford stuffed his brother with all kinds of magical alarms! He hunts Stan down when he wakes up, dragging Fiddleford with him, just to find Stan crouching in front of someone bawling their eyes out, chewing something and muttering something under his breath (Stan's still not a giant phase out monster, he needs to improvise). He's fading in and out of Fords eyes, it hurts to look at him, like his human form is covering up something far worse under reality. Stan sees him coming, keeps chewing, only to disappear when Ford tries to grab him.

now its road trip time! Quickly bundle up the person (now confused and telling Ford about all their worst thoughts being real?), get in a car, and chase Stan down, desperately making sure all Stan can do is snack on people and doesn't actually eat a person like Stan was eaten. Bill pops in after a few days, annoyed by this side tracking his portal schemes, tells Ford Stan's soul was so scattered and the entity so freshly dead, Fords spell used it to piece Stan's together. Stan's soul is trying to repair itself with what it has (eldritch soul eating powers), he won't be back to being Stan until he eats enough souls to replace the eldritch bits keeping it together.

So just let his bro eat one, maybe a few hundred people and he'll be back to normal! Easy!

Well Fords not going to to that? He'll just find a way to contain Stan, maybe figure out how to siphon off soul energy from general misery worldwide? He'll figure it out after he captures Stan.

Seeing as that didn't work, Bill tries something else! Which is to get Stan to eat as fast as possible so Ford can stop wasting time on this. Stan, not caring enough about anything still and barely there, shrugs and says sure weird triangle on a plane of existence i wasn't able to interact with before, trying my best here.

Except Ford. Keeps. Interrupting. Him. He can't eat like this, not because he cares about Ford seeing him, he just struggles to stay on the plane of existence people are when they touch him. Stan warping onto a different layer, not frustrated but so, so hungry.

Gets a genius idea. He'll just eat Ford, then Ford won't interrupt him anymore.

Bill does not like this idea, but cannot give Stan enough of a reason not to do it. Bill wants him to eat doesn't he? Fords stopping that from happening, if he eats Ford then no one will stop him. Easy.

Bill pops in to warn Ford of Stan's brand new plan, warns him to keep an eye out and stick with Fiddleford. Shenanigans happen, and Stan gets interrupted again. by the skinny guy. He's so hungry and starving and the snacking isn't helping. He needs a full meal, no mater how it happens.

Hmmm. Extra angst incoming. Stan can't maintain a physical presence on the world if someone touches him, but he needs to interact with his target to eat them (parallel Falin being unable to eat enough with her tiny mouth, Stan can't fit a person in there, this is the best he can do). Comes up with a new idea! He needs his prey to be aware for max misery, needs to interact with them, needs to not be interrupted.

He'll wait for Bill to visit Fords dream again, he'll slip into the mindscape, then eat Ford there. No one to interrupt, no one to stop him. Finally get rid of one Ford, then he can eat the other when he's done.

More shenanigans, Stan's lying low, not on the physical plane, Ford falls asleep, Bill visits (doesn't know Stan's plan, why tell the only other guy who might interrupt after all), and Stan pounces. He looks even more brain breaking here in Fords dream, barely having a human shape to maintain. Ford runs, Bill tries to interfere, Stan shows off why things like him are so dangerous, twists around and almost gets Ford.

Bill manages to interfere, then explodes at Stan, about how stupid he is, how Bill made it clear to eat anyone but Ford, how if Stan could have done this the whole time, he should have told him so that Bill could have gotten some other extra human for him to eat and this could have been over ages ago!

Right in front of Ford.

Fight happens, Bill admits to being a demon, about the real reason he wanted to make the portal, they fight, and Stan is still there, still hungry, still looking for those delicious terrible emotions. Anger, sadness, desperation, misery, denial. And Fords feeling those things sure, he just learned his Muse was trying to get his brother to eat people and use him to end the world.

But Bill is also feeling those things. Bill miserable and hides it with his boastful personality, is desperate to party and shove his feelings aside, desperate to leave his crumbling dimension, angry at Ford for not being on his side, not seeing things his way, in so much denial about it all. He's a ball of self hate and emotions thats been marinating since before Earth existed.

Now that Stan's here, in the layer of the midnscape, he can smell it, can taste it, can see it.

Bill's looking pretty good actually. Better than any poor lost soul Stan's tried to dine on in the last however long it took to get to this point (months probably), and, key point here, Bill can change sizes and be changed in the dream.

Stan can fit him in his mouth.

Cue Ford getting a front row seat to Stan snatching his former muse and ripping into him. Its a horror show of two eldritch entities going at it, Bill struggling to get away and Stan reaching into him, tearing out pieces of his blackened heart, and shoving them into his mouth, squishing Bill smaller and biting down on him, shifting his size in Fords mind so he won't spill a single drop of Bill's mangled soul.

Eating the last piece of an entire dimension.

And then Ford wakes up in a cold sweat, the last moments of his dream nothing but the feeling of watching two higher energy beings like he was watching a nature documentary. His brain turned off his eyes so he wouldn't go mad from the experience. No idea if Bill survived, but that doesn't matter.

What matters is that Stan's right next to him, arm thrown across Fords chest, mouth open and drooling, snoring away, head squished against Fords neck. Curled on top of him and still smacking his lips a little. Ford can still see fragments of Bill's soul in his teeth, and its as horrifying as it is fascinating. He looks just like he did that first night, if a little... off. Skin too perfect, teeth too sharp, something about him thats just not quite as human as he used to be, but more here then he's been since he ran off.

And yeah, Stan ate Fords muse, but it was that or let Stan eat probably thousands of people. How much human souls equals the power Bill had after all? How much power did Stan's soul need to fix itself, if it took more than one bite of Bill's own to do it. And Bill betrayed him after all, planned to use Fords own creation to destroy the world. Fitting that he should instead fix Fords brother, Fords world.

So Ford goes back to sleep, squeezing Stan and only slightly unnerved by the fact that he can sort of feel Stan squishing into him on another plane of existence somehow. No way to explain it other than 'physically we are touching but i'm pretty sure Stan's soul is cuddling mine inside my body'

Then Stan wakes up even more confused. Everything was one big blur to him. Pretty sure he went on a drug trip and it was cured by the power of a bowl of corn chips. Very happy to get all the Ford hugs and also weirded out by the knowledge he is now huggning Fords soul on a parallel plane of existence. No he has no idea how to explain it either other than 'Physically i'm right here, but i'm also doing this' and then Ford smacks him and tells him to stop doing that, even though they weren't touching.

[wabatle]

read the new alien stage comic!!! (i cried just a bit)

Spoilers (and analysis?) below!!

so... mizi is alive? i can't tell.

It seems like she is, that she's in hiding right now. She's breathing, her eyes are open, and she doesn't acknowledge Sua, the one only we can see. And now, even after all of this, everything she did for her friends—her family...

they'll hunt her like a witch.

On another note, Till is alive, yes, we knew that already. But not only is he alive, he's mute, so he communicates with a notepad. His throat burned in the fire, they said.

Now, Mizi and Hyuna had an argument as well, but I'm not sure I really know enough to unpack it, but I'll try my best.

Mizi now knows that it hurts Hyuna to do this, but Hyuna knows that is has to be done. They need to launch the rocket.

Hyuna tells Mizi that the people of the present have to keep walking for the sake of the future. They need to move on not only for the next generations, but for the ones before them. But Mizi can't move on. She can't live in the present because she's stuck in the past— during better, happier times, during every moment she watched her family die, during that day were the person she loved the most was laying in a puddle of blood.

Hyunwoo is in the left picture. It has to be him. Hyuna feels remorse for her brother, we knew that as well. But the fact that he's in Mizi's monologue makes me think that Hyuna told Mizi about what happened to Hyunwoo, and now Mizi has just another person to add to her death counter. Because of this, Mizi wishes she could have given her family a proper memorial or have mourned her loved ones more. She doesn't want to become cold now, just so people in the future can do the same later. Mizi wants to kill all the segyein who caused her and everyone who's ever been in Alien Stage all their harm.

But Hyuna can't have this. Revenge is too quick, it would never make the impact they need it to make. They need to be free, not to kill the ones who kept freedom from them. And Hyuna is willing to do this many, many times just to make sure everyone can love. To make sure everybody finds love.

Mizi misunderstands at first, thinking that Hyuna is explaining that you can only purely love after dealing with the loss of your loved ones. But what she's actually saying is that sacrifice is needed for pure love, which I'm sure hurts Mizi. If pure love is born from sacrifice for love, then Sua's love for Mizi was pure. Then Ivan's love for Till was pure. Then Hyuna's love for Luka was pure. And this is cruel. If love comes from only hurt, then it is cruel.

Okay, thats enough for now lol. Go read the comic if you haven't!

[nicolejones412]

Out of Sync Part 12

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You've found yourself with the 107th fighting Hydra, where you meet a handsome Sergeant. But something just isn't right.

A/N: A bit of a shorter chapter, but we haven't seen Bucky in so many chapters I was ready to get this one out so we could catch up with him a bit.

Read Part 1 here. Read Part 2 here. Read Part 3 here. Read Part 4 here. Read Part 5 here. Read Part 6 here. Read Part 7 here. Read Part 8 here. Read Part 9 here. Read Part 10 here. Read Part 11 here.

FIC:

Bucky looked out over the water before turning his eyes to his hand.

He was free. Truly his mind was his own now. He could hardly believe it, but thanks to Shuri and her team...

And you.

His mind travelled, remembering those walks with you in the early days of his...treatments. The feeling of your mind connecting with his.

T'Challa had told him what happened, or at least what Steve understood to have happened.

You went in, things went bad, there were multiple explosions, a grenade...and then you were just gone. No body, no gear. Every trace just vanished.

Steve and the others had looked for you. Shuri had run a program using facial recognition and Wakanda's satellite network for months and nothing had come up.

If you were on Earth, you didn't want to be found and were ridiculously good at hiding, and Steve and Sam especially seemed completely unconvinced that you would choose to just ghost them.

But time had passed, and other priorities had arisen.

He missed you. Maybe it was that you reminded him of Charlie, but it wasn't just that.

You'd been kind to him. Other than from Steve, true acts of kindness toward him had been few and far between in the last several decades. And you had literally seen his worst, but-

"Bucky!"

He turned around, broken from his thoughts.

"It can't be..." he whispered to himself, scanning the area.

Then he heard your voice again, faint, but recognizable.

He turned in the direction he though it was coming from.

"Hello?" he called out.

Silence.

After a few more moments of listening, he sighed.

The wind must be playing tricks on me, he thought. He went to sit by the water, feeling the wind come off of it, watching his reflection warp in it.

He heard your voice again, this time in the form of a memory.

"I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week."

He plucked some grass from the ground before tossing it into the water as he whispered, knowing you couldn't hear him this time.

"Stay safe out there."

-

You reached up to grab your head. It was throbbing. And Hank's stupid medical devices wouldn't stop beeping.

How many times am I going to have to appear for him to not need to do a check up?

There was no reply. You reached out with your mind to find Charles or Hank. Maybe they were just sleeping.

That was not who you found.

You shot up, the heart rate monitor beeping more rapidly. You weren't sitting up for long though before you had to lie back down.

This was not the mansion. And that mind you'd touched was not one you knew.

You took stock of the room around you. This wasn't a lab exactly. More like a very nice and comfortable hospital room, but there weren't enough people here for it to be a hospital.

About 90 seconds after you woke up, dark haired man in a lab coat walked into the room.

"Oh good, you're awake."

"Where am I?" you asked as you tried to sit up again.

"You're safe, and please don't try to sit up. You took a nasty fall."

"Fall?" That didn't sound right.

"Mmhmm," the man confirmed, checking your vitals and making sure you hadn't taken the IV out of your arm.

"Yes, you fell about 30 feet after appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the sky."

Well that's new.

"I wasn't able to get to you before you hit the ground. My wife wasn't either. We were all a bit shocked."

You blinked rapidly, processing the information, and then were taken aback when this man stretched his arm halfway across the room to grab a clipboard.

He caught your surprised look, seemingly taking note of something.

"Oh how rude of me. I am Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic 4. You are in our home and headquarters. Given the...well fantastical nature of your appearance, my family and I thought it pertinent to have you treated here. None of us are medical doctors, but we've called in the best to help treat you."

As he spoke, you gathered your wits enough to scan his mind.

You saw a team of four superheroes fighting side by side. Astronauts going into space and receiving powers by a solar flare. Awards being given out. Adoring fans waving. The man in front of you kissing a blonde woman.

What concerned you was there was a clear fascination with the multiverse. A fascination that rose suspicion about you.

"Well, thank you for your help. But truly I'm fine."

At that moment the blonde woman you'd seen in his mind came into the room.

"I see our guest is awake." Reed nodded.

"Yes and seems to be in good spirits."

"Well I can call the doctor and have them come look her over."

"That sounds like a perfect idea."

She walked up and kissed him on the cheek before whispering to him, "Don't go crazy with this," before pulling away smiling.

She came up to you and took your hand. "I promise everything is going to be alright."

You knew they weren't lying to per say, but oddly enough even a telepath - or perhaps especially a telepath - can have trust issues.

You spoke up after she left the room.

"Your wife is lovely."

"Why thank you, I do think so myself." He studied you, like a researcher studying a new specimen.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Before you could decide how truthful you wanted to be, your breath left you.

Because the last thing you remembered was Bucky, standing beside a lake in Wakanda, looking right through you.

You'd seen him, and he'd heard you.

But this time was different from every other time you'd jumped between universes. This time it was incredibly painful, and you felt like you were pushing against a brick wall to get to him.

"Hank was right," you whispered under your breath.

"Excuse me?"

You looked up at him, and before you could think better of it asked a question you were fairly certain you knew the answer to.

"How much do you know about the multiverse?"

He leaned back against a wall and shrugged. "Not much. It's a theory that intrigues me."

His wife - Sue - came back in. "The doctor will be here soon." She looked between the two of you before giving Reed a pointed look.

He sighed. "You really should rest." The man was busting at the seams with excitement and curiosity. A scientist who had perhaps had a massive breakthrough in his life's work sitting mere meters from him and his wife was making him be polite.

You rolled your eyes. "Listen-"

"You can talk shop later," Sue interrupted. "We'll let the doctor take a look and you get some rest, then maybe - if you're feeling up to it, you can talk.

"Sue's right. I'm being a terrible host." He walked toward the door as a robot led a man you hadn't met yet into the room.

"We'll talk soon."

You rolled your eyes and allowed the doctor to look you over. You didn't want to admit it, but you were exhausted. Maybe Sue was right.

The doctor recommended rest as well, and it wasn't too long before you were nodding off, a memory of Bucky's voice breaking through the fog.

"Stay safe out there."

-

A/N: So close but then so far! You enjoying this so far? I am so I hope you are. (also in case you're reading this later this is being written before Fantastic Four (2025) comes out, so if my understanding of events and characterization aren't accurate to that movie, that's why)

[yellowhollyhock]

Okay so about Leo and the Shredder

First off there's their first meeting. Shredder bribes him with sword but much more than that, he entices him with the idea that there is a Great Evil which needs to be defeated, acting like he and Leo need each other as allies in order to protect the city. Gives this altruistic teenager the idea that he has a chance to be part of something bigger than himself. To give himself to a cause

Then Leo finds out from Splinter that Shredder is the evil one. In his mind, partially because of the specific way Shredder manipulated him, this is an epic battle of Good vs Evil. Everything the Shredder said was true except flipped. Master Splinter was already the epitome of goodness, but when he defeats the Shredder, it confirms for Leo that good always triumphs, and that his family is a force of the universe upholding that principle. Not monsters, not freaks, not even only ninjas who stay in the shadows: heroes. Responsible for making goodness triumph when the scales fall out of balance.

Then the window scene. He's already decided that doing the right thing is synonymous with standing up to Shredder. That night is nothing like a fair fight, Leo has a really bad time and could have been killed if they hadn't wanted to use him to scare his family. Shredder is the purest representation of evil to Leo, and he's literally using him as a weapon against his family (a kind of vengeance for not joining him that first time; if you will not be my sword, you'll be instead shattered glass, intended to make a loud noise and frighten my enemies, either out of the fight when they see what I've done to you, or out of hiding to be exterminated).

"I will not live in fear" is such a powerful moment, not just because it's wrapping up Leo's arc (Splinter brings up heights while his brothers say he was never scared of anything, but we've already seen Leo scared, not just as a tot but all through the show. He's terrified of making the wrong choice, usually manifesting as a fear of disobeying Splinter, whom he trusts to guide them true), it's also so powerful and important because he's talking about his family. He's responding to Shredder using him as a warning to them. He's standing back on his feet and drawing a line in the sand. He's saying, go ahead and destroy my body, do your very worst to us, You. Cannot. Make me afraid. And I'll be their courage if they lose it. He's on the offensive now; not just to defend against evil, but to go out and defeat it.

But you know, the next thing that happens is the hiding. The shame because he first talked to the Shredder, he was out there fighting while his family was safely hidden, he didn't have the strength to protect April and was protected by her instead. And he absolutely believes in what he said, but living it? It's a very high standard he's set for himself, and he feels he needs to take a bit of time to punish himself for not living up to it in the past.

So the first slump comes from finding out the Shredder was still alive, that they hadn't succeeded like he thought. Raph pulls him out of it, getting him busy with his hands, giving something he can hold and say 'my brothers got my back, and I'm strong enough to keep getting back up.'

Then, the City at War arc.

Shredder is gone, again. For good this time, they made sure. .... they made sure, right?

There's a lot more going on here than Leo feeling responsible and worried about the civilians getting caught in the crossfire. Mainly two other big things

1) The Shredder was a straightforward threat, warring factions of gangs are more complex.

Remember how he baited Leo with Good vs Evil? This was their big thing, not just a good deed. This was supposed to be destiny. So why is the world still dangerous and complicated? If defeating Shredder wasn't it, then what's next? Whatever it is he needs to get the drop on it this time, it can't be like it was before. It has to be better than it was before, otherwise what was the point?

2) Is he really gone?

"We did the city a favor!"

"Did we, Raph? Did we really?"

@nightwatcherraph pointed out to me how his voice gets growly like it does is season 4. One thing happening through this arc is Leo, like Splinter says, learning how to follow his heart, to do the right thing even if everyone tells him he shouldn't. But the other thing, the thing Splinter doesn't see, is the beginning of what will snowball into Leo being unable to heal and move on without serious professional intervention down the line

And you know? Not on a conscious level, but I think Raph does see it. He knows, he senses, something is off, but he doesn't know what, and that drives him crazy. I mean that's not the only thing going on, but it's there.

Because last time, not so long ago? Raph was able to pull Leo out of it when he saw him in a funk. This time, he's not budging.

Leo is worried about things being worse than they were with Shredder alive, that's real, but the way he asks this question also makes me think of the other possible meanings. Because they thought they'd gotten rid of him before, didn't they? If things aren't better, then maybe he isn't really gone.

I don't think Leo's thinking that on a surface level. I do think his body is having a real reaction to the idea that Shredder could still come back, and he's looking for reasons for that deep-down feeling of wrong.

When Master Splinter has a dream, it pretty much confirms things for Leo. This is our big battle. This is Good (following his Sensei) vs Evil (Shredder). This is destiny, Master Splinter literally had a vision. Once this is done, his family can rest.

Rest?

Hmm.

Die?

If it's destiny? If it's for the greater good? He wouldn't hesitate to give his own body--but now it's not just him. 'I could never ask you to,' Splinter is saying, and isn't that what he said to Leo earlier that night about even going after Shredder in the first place? In the moment he absolutely knows they have to do this, he waits for his brothers to say it too, but he pushes for it, he's confident. After all,

"It our fault. We couldn't stop him. We failed."

Ninjitsu is where Leo tends to excel, and he was no match this time for Shredder, nor for Karai (the ways she fits i to and influences and mirrors him throughout all of this is fascinating, but getting into it would double the length of the post, at least).

Just like in City at War, he feels he has to atone for his failures.

And then he doesn't get to die, and has to live with, again, two big things

1) He brought up the idea to overload the power core. They all agreed, but it was his idea. Shredder wouldn't have killed them--Leo would have (not my opinion, Leo's opinion)

2) That. Was it? It's over. They're not assuming Ch'rell is dead this time--they know where he is. He's in prison. Where destiny has been trying to lead him for decades.

So... what is Leo supposed to do with the rest of his life? The Big Thing, the Good vs Evil showdown... happened and ended?

Seriously, who wants to peak in high school?

okay that's not funny but I'm leaving it

If he's fulfilled his larger purpose, then he's no good except to his family, which... well. See number 1

Training with the Ancient One helps a lot--but then what happens?

The epic showdown of Good vs Evil! Ch'rell is gone, but that doesn't mean Shredder isn't around.

And Leo is, through that fight and going forward, a healthier, happier turtle. But there still continue to be Shredders, and he still has this absolute belief in fate--his fate, his brothers' fate, to be wielded, by Master Splinter, by the Tribunal, by the mysterious hand of fate, in the fight against darkness and evil. We see him develop an inner peace and handle things much better, but that belief in his family's role in the universe never goes away.

For example, we get a glimpse of it in BTTS, when they're telling Donny about what's going on in the city, and, busy with his quest to bring Splinter back, he dismisses them. "I'm sorry, but it's not my problem."

Leo's expression is just,, so crushed. They're all betrayed, but Leo is kind of floored. Not your problem? People are getting hurt? Fights are happening? You don't care that evil persists?

He looks so personally offended, and it does bring City at War to mind again, doesn't it? But this time, Leo doesn't dig his heels in. He's matured. He's appalled, but he stays level, and eventually Donny comes around.

That's the thing. They always come around. Leo will never fully stop believing that it all comes down to them, down to him, because experience just keeps proving him right

[left-side-up]

Pluto

Cleo's return home from Real Life, from the perspective of Joe Hills.

She's there, just out of reach, sobbing over a field of corpses. The bodies used to be your friends- now, they're mangled and bloody and barely recognizable. This isn't normal. This is permadeath.

Reality warps at the edges of your vision as you reach out to her. She shouldn't be crying. She doesn't do that unless something is terribly wrong.

She turns to look at you, and her eyes are as red as the blood on her hands.

~~~~~~

Joe Hills startles awake at precisely three in the morning. Without missing a beat, he pulls his comm from where it was charging on his nightstand and checks the main chat.

Grian has joined the server

Smallishbeans has joined the server

Pearlescentmoon has joined the server

GoodTimeWithScar has joined the server

ImpulseSV has joined the server

Skizzleman has joined the server

Geminitay has joined the server

Rendog has joined the server

ZombieCleo has joined the server

They're back. He bolts up from his bed, grabs his elytra, and takes to the skies.

It's been happening for a couple of years now. Every once in a while, a handful of Hermits will disappear to the Life Server. When they return, everyone's memories are fuzzy, and new traumas worm their way into their lives. No matter what approach he tries, Xisuma can't seem to find the cause of his disappearing players. It's a mystery that's been driving him up the walls and putting bags under his eyes for a long time.

This time around, they've only been gone for about a week. Preferable to the usual period of two months, but still. Joe would very much like his friends un-kidnapped, thank you very much.

His mind drifts to his vision. Cleo, alone in a field of death. Their face dirty except for the streaks where tears had been flowing freely. Their hair tangled and matted, the flowers in her crown dead. Their hands, shaking, bloody, injured.

Something terrible happened. He has to find her.

He lands at her doorstep, probably not at all quiet. It's fine- he doubts she's sleeping right now anyways. The door creaks as it opens, cutting into the silence of the nighttime. No one's there.

A bit more worried, he takes a few steps inside, preparing to call her name. Instead, he's tackled to the ground.

Familiar hands wrap around his neck, not squeezing just yet. Green eyes flash in the light of the moon, and tangled, orange hair tickles his face as it hangs over him.

"Howdy, Cleo."

The half-feral look in her eyes fades quickly. They stop baring their teeth in favor of a terrified gasp.

"Joe?"

They clamber off of him and fall to the floor in their hastiness. They tremble, and instead of getting back up, she curls into a ball.

"Oh- Cleo, hey, it's okay."

Joe keeps himself low to the ground as he approaches his friend. It wouldn't do to have her become even more frightened.

"No! I hurt you. I've hurt so many of you."

That seems like it could use a lot of unpacking. For now though, Cleo needs a shower and some sleep. She looks utterly exhausted, and while the blood is gone, she's just as disheveled and filthy as she was in his vision.

"Hey now, we can worry about that another time. I think you may be a bit too scared and sleep deprived to process those emotions properly."

"I just jumped you! Why aren't you more upset?"

"You didn't think it was me, did you?"

They pause. Then they shake their head.

"You didn't hurt me either. Just a little spooked!"

"I'm sorry," they whisper. They sound miserable.

"I'm not mad, Cleo. I love you."

It's quiet for a long time. Joe doesn't get any closer for fear of making his dear friend even more anxious, but she's stopped shaking so badly by now.

"I love you too."

Their voice breaks, and they reach for him, and it's all the permission he needs to pull her into a hug.

~~~~~~

Xisuma: i've got pearl. anyone else awake and able to check on someone?

falsesymmetry: i'm with ren.

MumboJumbo: i have grian and scar

ImpulseSV: skizz and i are together

Ethoslab: i'm with joel. gem, do you want us to come get you?

Xisuma: impulse, i'm coming to check on you two when i can

Geminitay: please

Ethoslab: on the way

Smallishbeans: what about cleo?

Xisuma: don't worry about them

Xisuma: joe was headed her way before anyone else was even awake

~~~~~~

Somehow, Joe coaxes Cleo into taking a bath. He runs the water for them while they get some clean clothes together, and he adds some bubbles for fun. Not that he thinks she's gonna be having fun at any point tonight, but maybe it'll distract her a little.

While they're getting clean, Joe grabs some flowers from Cleo's storage, and makes her a new crown. Then he tidies their room, replaces the bedsheets, ignores the fact that he already did this a week ago when Cleo first went missing, and when there's nothing left to fuss over he takes a seat on the bed.

He's fidgeting with a comb when they enter the room.

"Joe," she says, her voice raspy.

"Cleo," he replies softly. "Hair?"

They smile wryly and join him on the bed. Her you don't have to goes unsaid, and so does his I want to. They've been through that song and dance enough that a single glance is enough to convey the message.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Joe says as he begins combing through the knotted curls. "I'd recommend it, though. Even if it's not with me."

"There's no one else I trust with this more than you."

"Aw, you love me."

"Hush."

He smiles, and he knows she's smiling too.

"Either way, I get it if you still need some time. You literally just got back from... you know."

"...I know."

Neither of them speak again, but the silence isn't uncomfortable no matter how long it stretches on. After a good twenty minutes- maybe more- Cleo's hair is free of tangles. Joe sets the comb on the nightstand. Cleo lays down and drags him down with them.

"I'm so tired," they whisper once the lights are out.

"Then sleep. I'll keep you safe."

"I won the game, Joe."

"Oh?"

According to those who've played the games, winning is more of a curse than anything. Winning makes you more aware of the goings on of the server. Winning clears up your foggy memories, makes you remember your traumas in full detail. Being a winner means you come back home with haunted eyes and the inability to feel truly safe anymore.

"I won, and now there are things I can't get out of my head. Things I did that I think might make me a monster."

Her words hang in the air for a moment. Joe bites his tongue to keep himself from protesting immediately- that won't help here. As much as he loves her, it's possible that she's done bad things, and she deserves the truth from him.

"Monsters don't feel guilty about their actions. That's a step in the right direction, at least."

"...Yeah. I guess so."

"Cleo, you're not a monster to me. I don't care what you've done. Maybe that makes me a little morally grey, but it's the truth. I trust you, nothing's gonna change that."

"Even if I've killed and betrayed our friends?"

"Still trust you. Still love you."

They press their face into his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around them in return. He thinks she may be too tired to cry anymore.

"Go to sleep, Cleo. I love you."

"I love you too."

It doesn't take her much longer to drift off. Joe stays up for a while longer, scared that he'll wake in the morning and she'll be gone again. But he's been exhausted the past week, and he follows them to sleep eventually.

They'll both wake up tomorrow, safe in each other's arms.