#what should have happened

[chiropteracupola]

regular achievable plans (what if we learned a language simply because we wanted to get better at cataloguing different versions of johnny has gone for a soldier/siúil a rún...)

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[homelessnerd]

I have seen a lot of blogs that subscribe to the prosperity gospel/name it and claim it style preaching/inspirational quotes, so I want to address it as I’ve seen a lot of people be hurt by it.

For those of you who don’t know, this way of teaching attempts to use scripture to say that all Christians will be healthy, happy, have a good relationship, blessings, good finances, etc. “All you have to do is pray” and “You can do anything if you have enough faith” are common ideas even if they aren’t explicitly said. Sowing and reaping is another common idea that the pastors of churches who use this ideology use to ask for money from people, especially the poor because the promise is that if they sow a seed of money they will reap even more. It usually just leads to debt.

A lot of these things seem innocent at first, especially the inspirational quote style ones. One I just saw was a Bible verse that says “Whoever sows little reaps little, and whoever sows much reaps much.” And that is a good statement, it’s the Bible, but out of context it isn’t clear at all that the verse is specifically talking about offerings in the church. And later on in the same passage it says these offerings are for the needs of the saints (saints referring to all Christians for any Catholics who may read this) and thus implies that if you need the money you shouldn’t give it. It also says in the verse before it that the offering should be a willing gift and not an exaction. So it is doubly clear that this is not meant to be forced, it is meant to be given out of what you can give.

There is a whole lot more I could write on this issue, it spreads so broad. Rather than explain every single thing they say that’s wrong it would probably be a better use of my energy to say what is right.

God gives us uncomfortable situations, sometimes even dangerous ones. I was homeless for the first four months of my marriage. It was rough. We have debt. My husband has genetic medical issues. It still is rough. But through it all we have trusted God and he has given us something more valuable than all the money or health in the world could get us, and that is a solid community of believers that follow God’s word and urge us to do the same. Even when we didn’t have that, we still had assurance of our salvation and God to lead us through.

Life isn’t easy. People aren’t always healthy, no matter how much faith you have. Sometimes you are struggling with money and can’t seem to get what you need. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you give, sometimes all you get back is hatred for being kind. But there is one thing more valuable than anything in this world, and that is God. So don’t cling to what God can give you, trust him and follow him through everything that does happen. God works all things (good and bad, some things he doesn’t throw at us but instead a fallen world does) for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.

[lunar-years]

What do you think is the most character accurate fic you've ever read??

Ever read? That's an impossible question lmao. I have been reading fanfics since i was twelve. I have read fanfics I don't even remember 🫡

Obviously it's a subjective question to begin with but part of the fun of fanfic to me is exploring different avenues for characters according to different author's preferences and putting blorbos into incredibly un-canon Situations. But in a lot of those settings what is "in-character" is even more thrown asunder because it's so far removed from anything that would even remotely happen in canon.

I guess what I mean by that is a lot of the fics I read and love don't necessarily align with my personal ideas of/headcanons for a character, yet still remain "character accurate" in my esteem, if you will (I'm thinking, for example, of that one Gay!Roy fic which is EXCELLENT and incredibly in-character imo and yet I still don't personally think Roy The Character is gay. But even though that's generally not how I think of his sexuality I still liked exploring that alternative verse and still recognized that story's Roy as Roy. Does that make sense?)

ANYWAY. going to veer off the specific question and instead just list some miscellaneous recent(ish) favs (or at least ones I think were published after I made my last rec list):

Paperwork by @pghumfort (Roy/Jamie)

Tits Out! also by @pghumfort (Jamie/Keeley)

if anything could fall (it's the world that falls away from me) by scarlettroses (Roy/Jamie)

i came prepared for absolution (if you'd only ask) by scarlettroses (pre-relationship Roy/Jamie); I've definitely recommended this one before but it's SO good on character exploration, especially for Roy. really really complex and meaningful look into his brain. I love it.

I should know (what turns you on) by Dancey96 (Roy/Jamie/Keeley)

It's Fine With Me (if you wanna stay the night) by @shortcuts-make-long-delays (pre-relationship Roy/Jamie/Keeley)

screaming crying throwing up by @morethanslightly (Roy/Jamie/Keeley)

that four letter word by @izzyspussy (Roy/Jamie)

5 Times Phoebe Meddled in Uncle Roy's Love Life... by darkesky

An Invitation by Laurasaurus (Roy/Jamie, Roy/Jamie/Keeley, Roy/Keeley)

Not exactly Cyrano by @destinationtoast (Roy/Jamie/Keeley); I may have recommended this before but now it's finished!! go back and re-read it if you haven't finished it yet...it's so worth it!

Also the Gay Roy one I referenced earlier is so afraid that time will take it all from me by LikeAMovieIOnceSaw. Really such a lovely fic 💕

as always please read the tags and story descriptions and ratings before diving in to make sure they are right for you and your needs etc.

[lillotus17]

INTERTWINED SERIES (Spidermen!ENHA) Preview

SYNOPSIS: After being dead for two minutes and then brought back to life thanks to your coworker you start to get these weird visions of future events just minutes before they happen. During a train ride you witness the murder of three teenage boys in broad daylight and then suddenly the next second they're sitting back down in their seats, alive and breathing. Despite the want you have to keep your peace and leave it alone, you can't help but get a very bad feeling and it only intensifies when you recognize the man that murdered them in your vision three train carts away and walking in your guys' direction. Shoving the three boys off of the train, saving their lives, risking your own, and being accused of kidnapping was not on your bucket list after surviving death. You don't have any clue what is going on or what in the hell you're gonna do to help these three boys but thankfully the four of you bump into some help along the way.

RELEASE DATE: TBD

PAIRING: EnhaHyung!Line X Fem. Reader, Spider-men!EnhaHyungLine x Madame Webb!Reader, Superhero!EnhaHyungLine x Clairvoyant!Reader, Spider!EnhaHyungLine x Paramedic!Reader, [ft. Enha Kim Sunoo (Anya Corazon), Yang Jungwon (Julia Cornwall), and Nishimura Riki (Mattie Franklin); TXT Yeonjun (Ezekial Sims), Choi Soobin (Ben Parker), mentions of Choi Beomgyu (Richard Parker); Shin Ryujin (Mary Parker); more to be added].

GENRE: Superhero AU, Romance, Action, Comedy, Angst, Strangers to Allies to Friends to Lovers, polyamorous relationship, (let me know if I forgot anything) more to be added!

WARNINGS: profanity, sexual/suggestive content (intercourse, oral, masturbation, phone sex, sexting, etc) ONLY WRITTEN FOR HYUNG LINE, MINORS DNI (you WILL be removed/blocked), poly relationship, drinking/consuming alcohol, feminine pronouns/terms used for reader, MADAME WEBB SPOLIERS!!! If you haven't watched it already! This is based on the MADAME WEBB MOVIE with some twist added into it! Let me know if I forgot anything at all!

DISCLAIMER: This is purely a work of FICTION! This is not meant to portray any of the Enhypen Members or other mentioned idols in any way or shape or form.

I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE IMAGES/GIFS THAT MAY BE/ARE USED IN MY WRITING. IMAGES CREATED BY ME WILL HAVE MY WATERMARK OR BE COPYRIGHTED! THE MOOD BOARDS USED FOR THIS SERIES ARE ONES I PUT TOGETHER ON MY OWN BUT THE PHOTOS USED ARE NOT MINE!

ALL CREDITS GO TO THE OWNERS/CREATORS!

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK!

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, STRICTLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.

P.S. if you haven't already, you should definitely check out @artysse (credited) on TIKTOK! If you already have, then you know that it's an ENHA Fan Art Account of Spider ENHA! It's really fucking awesome! Go show some love!

NOT PROOF READ: Apologies for any grammatical errors, my loves!

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This takes place in New York, with mentions of South Korea and Japan. Reader is the same age as Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. Jungwon, Sunoo, and Niki are the same age, in high school, and have a slightly bigger age gap between them and hyung line. Time gaps, mentions of MCU universe events/milestones. Slight spider-verse au, hyung line are all from different universes! Also note that maknae line don't have their spider powers (yet) because they develop it in series. ENHA hyungs already have their powers when they meet Y/N and the other boys.

CAST:

Y/N L/N as Cassandra (Cassie) Webb/Madame Webb

Yang Jungwon as Julia Cornwall (Carpenter in the Comics)/Arachne/Spider-(Wo)man

Kim Sunoo as Anya Corazon/Arana

Nishmura Riki (Niki) as Martha (Mattie) Franklin/Spider-(Wo)man

Lee Heeseung as Peter Parker (Tom Holland Universe)/Spider-Man

Park Jongseong (Jay) as Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield Universe)/Spider-Man

Sim Jaeyun (Jake) as Miles Morales (Spider-Verse)/Spider-Man

Park Sunghoon as Gwen Stacy (Spider-Verse)/Spider-Gwen/Ghost Spider

More to be added!

[tennessoui]

Number 8, please, for hold my heart more gently than you hold my throat

thank you for sending this one in!!! (throat fic verse is a/b/o)

[from this prompt list]

8. What happens if one of them gets sick?

you KNOW throat fic obi-wan would rather die than admit to being sick because his master already thinks he's weak and not to be trusted in a fight. he'd be incredibly stubborn about the whole thing and block their bond and try to carry on even if he's got a burning fever and is probably actually a liability in a fight. master anakin is incensed that his padawan has the nerve to block their bond. if he hadn't already fallen years ago due to padawan related strife, he'd definitely fall rn

but then there's also this other side of throat fic obi-wan:

Obi-Wan's head is killing him. Like, physically, actually, really killing him this time. He rolls his head to the side to peer blearily at the chronometer by his bedside. 16:06. On one hand, that can't be right. On the other, it must be. He'd fallen into this bed, fresh from Quinlan's, at roughly 9 in the morning after being a state of perpetual wakefulness the entire night. A combination of death sticks, alcohol, and teenage rebellion does that to a person.

His eyes fall to half-mast as he rolls--carefully--onto his back and stares up at the ceiling of his room. He wonders if Anakin is back yet. He'd left shortly before Obi-Wan the previous night, something about a dinner with Padmé's family. He hadn't sounded excited, but then, how could he have not been? Usually when he leaves the Temple to visit with Padmé, he is gone until the morning.

Obi-Wan wonders bitterly how many nights his master spent with his wife while Obi-Wan was on Melida/Daan. It took him five weeks to track him down. Perhaps he didn't even notice for four.

The thought is more self-pitying than he usually allows, but his body is sore and his head is killing him and his master's probably out there cozying up to senators. Or, even worse, just the one senator.

He gives his bedding a careful sniff before he wrinkles his nose and forces himself to sit up. A change in location is what he needs. He should rot on the couch instead of his bed. It will surely help him feel better. And then, when his master returns from flaunting his lovely relationship with the senator, he can see his padawan's deceased and lifeless corpse on their sectional and feel terribly guilty that he was away as his poor padawan succumbed to his affliction.

Obi-Wan swaddles himself in a comfortable outer robe that he thinks may have once been Anakin's and makes the treacherous journey from his room to the couch. He collapses onto it and curls up around one of their throw pillows, cushioning his aching, poor, hungover head with the other one.

An undeterminable amount of time later, a rough, dry hand falls against his shoulder and then moves up to cup his neck. Without even opening his eyes, Obi-Wan recognizes the touch of his master.

"There you are," Master Skywalker says. He smells like sweat and the training salles. Like mechanical oil and something floral and soft and sweet. Obi-Wan fights against the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste. "Have you been here all day, padawan?"

"No," Obi-Wan croaks, opening his eyes only enough to see the underside of his master's chin before he closes them again.

"Hm," Master Skywalker says.

"What did you do today, master?" Obi-Wan asks, tilting his head just enough that Anakin's fingers slip from his neck to slide through his hair. He sighs at the feeling. It is so nice. Master Skywalker is so nice when he is here, when he is Obi-Wan's.

Master Skywalker's voice carries a hint of amusement as he obliges and begins to stroke his head. "Hm, I had breakfast with Master Secura, led a class on meditation to the newest batch of younglings, and sparred with Master Fisto until supper." He punctuates his words with a tug of his hair. "Which you missed, by the way."

Obi-Wan turns his face away. He doesn't want Anakin's touch if Anakin is going to be mean about it.

"And now I'm needed at the opera for a performance," his master adds. "Padmé's idea, not mine."

Obi-Wan's frown increases tenfold. It isn't fair. She already had him for a night. He's Obi-Wan's master. How dare she think her claim extends further than the Temple's doorstep.

"Master," he says impulsively, turning back to look up at Anakin with pleading eyes, "I'm not feeling well, Master."

"I suspect that may be because of the amount you drank last night, padawan," Master Skywalker replies, tone strangely light as his fingers run down the length of Obi-Wan's face.

Obi-Wan frowns. "I think I really am very sick, master," he says. "I shouldn't be alone, I don't think."

Master Skywalker's eyes flash. His hand stills.

"But if you're going to be at the opera tonight, I suppose--I can manage," he adds. It's a delicate line to walk. If Anakin weren't planning to go see his--his--wife, then Obi-Wan would never admit to feeling unwell. But he is. So, Obi-Wan must. It is the natural order of things. Anakin is Obi-Wan's master. No matter the root cause of his sickness--his hangover--his master should stay with him when he feels so wretched.

"I can call Quin again," he mutters, even as he tilts his face into Anakin's featherlight touch. His master's face darkens like an approaching thunderstorm. "If I start to feel really poorly. He can take care of me."

Master Skywalker's lips turn down into a fierce scowl, and Obi-Wan holds his breath. "No," he snaps, and Obi-Wan has to bite his lip to hold back his automatic purr. "No, I'll stay in tonight. If my padawan is feeling unwell...I should stay."

Obi-Wan bites his lip. It's only been six weeks since they'd arrived back on Coruscant from Melida/Daan. He shouldn't push his luck. He's lucky to still have Anakin's attention at all. To still have a master. "But what about the opera?" he asks carefully, sitting up on his elbows to peer at his master. "The senator will want you."

Once more, Master Skywalker's eyes flash, and he slips onto the couch next to Obi-Wan, resting his thigh in the space where his head had been. His hand falls back to rest on his neck, using the grip to push him back down. Obi-Wan goes easily. This is perhaps everything he's ever wanted in the galaxy.

"Unfortunately, I will have to let her know that priorities have shifted," Master Skywalker murmurs as his hand falls back to that scent-gland beneath his ear. He thumbs at it. If Obi-Wan didn't feel quite so close to nausea due to his hangover, he thinks he'd be getting wet from the sensation. "Mine have at least."

They're strange words, yet Obi-Wan welcomes them because they mean that Anakin will stay. It is everything he wants; it is far more than he deserves.

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Not Another Time

ONE SHOT

[ or Part 2 of Could We Not ]

<< Request >> "I loved could we not. Can you maybe also write when that guy came running on stage and he maybe pushes reader out of the way or something like that😅" - anon

<< Request >> "Omg PLEASE could you do more parts or ‘could we not’ literally loved it!!!" - @loza--may

Summary: Harry is used to things getting crazy on tour. What he wasn't ready for is how much he misses YN during the Latin American leg of his tour. But at the Rio de Janeiro show, he needs to expect the unexpected.

AN: Highly requested part 2, which I wasn't expecting but am so honored to have written for you all. Sorry it took me FOREVER to write and post this. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Some explicit language, attempted attack by a fan, mild head injury

Not much can shake Harry when it comes to wild moments on tour, throughout his entire career. There once was a fan hiding in a trash bin, dildos thrown at his face, wedding proposals, canceled shows due to illness, and there was even a time when a girl tried to dolphin her way onto the stage, back in the early days. But he still loves it, loves it all. It's titled 'Love On Tour' for a reason.

Now, he's in Latin America. Any and every performance here has such a special place in Harry's heart. He has a 'brasil' tattoo on his thigh, after all. However, the time is a little different.

The horn players have not accompanied the band for these shows. No trombone, no saxophone, and no trumpets. Which means no YN. No sweet but subtle winks onstage, no flirtatious comments backstage, no seeing her bright smile, no hearing her pure laugh, or getting lost in her beautifully deep eyes. No gazing at her lips and wishing so desperately that he could kiss them again.

Unfortunately, their first kiss was their last. Harry hopes that's not forever. But after it happened, he got sick, putting a crimp in his plans to further things with her. When he recovered, their time was taken up by those last few shows in Los Angeles. Then he was off to Mexico. And she wasn't.

Needless to say, her absence is very apparent. To him, at least.

So, like he has done every show since Guadalajara, Harry checks his phone after getting dressed. He wants to make sure he hasn't missed any 'good luck' texts before going on stage, but a disappointed sigh releases as he sees that he has no new messages.

"Alright, H. Ten minutes." The stage assistant announces.

Harry nods, handing his phone over and grabbing his mic pack from the sound tech. The band gathers around for a little pre-show ritual and Harry feels the tug on his heart, wishing there were four more members in their huddle, so there could be one particular member tucked under his arm. But he commits to staying focused on his performance, to put on a good show for the people of Rio de Janeiro.

Despite a few fans fainting in Bogota, things have been relatively smooth so far, and this night should be no different. All he has to do is get out there and get through it.

"Do you know the words to this one Rio?" Harry shouts to the crowd as the band begins to play 'What Makes You Beautiful'.

Despite his efforts, this song always makes him miss YN. The trumpets in the backing track just don't do this song, or any of the songs, as much justice as when she is there, with him, playing live. The other three too, of course, but he has always been able to distinguish her trumpet from the other horns, and he would always dance near her while this song played. Without that, without her, it's just not nearly as exciting.

As he begins the second verse, Harry moves to his left, twisting around to tug on the mic cord that feels as if it's caught on something.

"I don't know why you're being shy…" Harry's eyes shoot up and then around as a security guard strides past him, settling his gaze on a figure charging towards him. "And you turn away when I look into your eyes."

It's like a flash. He is walking, then swiveling around, moving over, and then backing up into another security guard. All within a matter of a few seconds. It takes a moment for him to fully understand what's happening, as multiple crew members grab hold of the man.

Watching him be dragged offstage, Harry moves back to the center mic, still in shock of what happened but still wanting to continue the song.

He glances over to each side of the stage, shaking the disbelief away when he meets the gazes of a few of the band and crew. Each one reciprocates the sentiment, yet seem to keep their caution, as a few of them motion over that way. Harry turns back, just for a quick check, and notices a small group of people gathered in a huddle. He turns back to the crowd. He trusts his team, he knows they are handling whatever it is, and he won't let this one moment take away from the show. It can't stop him. It won't stop him.

As the song ends he takes a quick moment to gather himself and take a breath before turning to the crowd.

"Well that was different…" He states sarcastically, though truthfully. It's probably one of the more accurate ways to describe that moment, especially if he's trying to keep this a 'family show', as he always claims. "Is everybody okay?"

The fans laugh and cheer, seeming to answer his question with the same disbelief he feels.

"I'm shooketh… I'm shooketh!" He exclaims, receiving another laugh from the audience. At least they are recovering and feeling good. Now he can recover and feel good too. He twists around, looking from one side of the stage to another, meeting the gaze of a few security guards and crew as he does so. "Thank you, thank you. You saved me!"

That's when he catches it. The glimpse of a familiar face, of YN's face, off to the side of the stage, among the small group he had noticed earlier. However, her expression is not one he's seen before. Well, only once before. It's pained, again, but this time it looks worse, and Harry feels his stomach drop.

He transitions into a quick acknowledgement of his band members, his mind wanting to focus solely on the one who wasn't even scheduled to be there, but as soon as he's done, he takes advantage of what's next.

He uses the band mic to let everyone know he'll be off to the side while the extended introduction to 'Late Night Talking' plays on the screens, and once the lights dim he swiftly makes his way over.

"YN. What's-... what are you-… umm, hi." He fumbles, his thoughts racing with so many questions. He didn't even know she'd be in Brazil, or at the show, let alone on the side of the stage, and now she's standing there in front of him, with an ice pack on her head.

"Hi." She chuckles minimally, hurting Harry's heart with the lack of usual enthusiasm and joy. "I came… to surprise… everyone."

"Well, you did that!" He exclaims, managing as best of a smile as he can. His gaze travels from her eyes, to her lips, and then up to her head, and his expression immediately drops. "What happened?"

"It's nothing." She attempts to play off, much like the last time he saw her injured. "Don't worry about me."

"That's impossible." He retorts. "What happened?"

"The guy… the fan, just… knocked me down… on his way out with security." She shakes her head, scoffing, though Harry feels as if she's directing it towards herself more than anyone else.

"Okay. Umm… go backstage and get checked out." He states, his ears picking up on the music, knowing he'll have to return to center stage in just a few moments. "I'll… I'll see you after, yeah?"

"Harry, I'm fi-"

"Just do it!" He exclaims, immediately wincing as he watches her eyes widen with surprise. He's never talked to her like that, never even raised his voice even remotely in her direction without it being out of excitement or flirtation. But he cares about her, and now he will only worry more seeing her there in pain. "Please."

She nods, opening her mouth with a reply, but seemingly deciding against it.

Harry gives YN a quick kiss on the cheek and hustles back over to his mic stand, shooting his gaze to the side for one last glance of her as she walks out of sight.

It's not as if he's going to stop worrying, but maybe it'll be a little less than it would if she were still there watching him. He knows she'll be taken care of, and he'll see her when it's over. Right now, he needs to get through the rest of it, preferably without any other issues.

"... on a Summer evening, what is happening? An-... you're the end of… we are going to stop the song."

Technical difficulties. During 'Watermelon Sugar'. Of course. As if Harry's mind wasn't already somewhere else. He knows it's an easy fix, hopefully, but it's just another thing added to the existing thoughts already causing chaos in his mind. He's a professional, sure, but everyone has a limit and he just doesn't want to find out where his is.

Get through it. That's all he has to do, just get through the next song, the show, and the night. Just get through it and then get to YN.

'Love of My Life' is next. Thankfully it's a slow song, so he can calm his mind and body down, even just a little, before the break in the set. And at that point he can finally regroup.

It works, for a moment, until he notices that some fans need help, and despite making his team aware, they are still there struggling. He lifts the mic stand up and turns his head back, motioning with his finger, with some intensity, for someone to help them and get them out of there.

He feels himself spiraling, just a bit, and has never looked forward to the end of a song as much as he is tonight.

As Harry waves to the crowd, with a mouthful of water, he impatiently waits to spit it up in the air, thank the crowd, and get the hell off stage.

The crowd continues to applaud and cheer as he says goodbye, turning around and using the last bit of energy he has to run backstage.

He stops among the hustle of the crew, realizing he isn't sure where to go, or where to even start looking for YN. The most likely place is his dressing room, so he swiftly shuffles his way there, doing his best to acknowledge anyone he passes by that congratulates or compliments him. He feels bad, he usually takes time with each person, always grateful for their work and feedback. But not tonight. He only has one person on his mind. One person he wants and needs to see.

He swings the door open and takes a quick scan of the room, finding no one. Not anyone. Not her. He runs his fingers through his now very sweaty hair, inhaling deeper to catch his breath and figure out where to go next, where to look next.

He takes a seat on the couch, elbows resting in his knees, and glances over to the table in front of him to find a note that wasn't there before. He grabs it immediately, blinking the salty moisture out of his eyes as he looks over the words.

"Hey H.

Went back to the hotel.

Hope you had a great

rest of your show!

- YN"

"Fuck." He mumbles, suddenly remembering how he yelled for her to go backstage. Well, he could argue that he only raised his voice, but in that moment, that hectic moment, it didn't matter. He shouldn't have done it at all. And truth be told, it would've made the entire night better if she had stayed. But he yelled, and sent her away. Now all he wants to do is go to her and make it better, make her feel better.

After the fastest shower and outfit change of his life, Harry found Jeff and discovered that his manager helped YN get there, so he knew which hotel room was hers. At least Harry didn't have to spend countless hours searching all of Rio for her.

He stands in front of her door and takes a deep breath, nerves on edge as he knocks, and fully prepared for her to open the door and ask him to leave. Immediately.

"Harry?" He hears, causing his gaze to lift from his shoes to the woman in front of him. She's dressed in cotton shorts and a t-shirt, looking comfortable and yet more beautiful than he's ever seen her. He just wishes she wasn't also holding another ice pack to her temple.

"YN." He breathes out, unable to form any other words as he looks her over, hopefully more subtle than he fears it might be. "Are y-... how… I mean, umm…"

The sweetest sound grabs his attention and he watches her step aside as she lets out a small giggle.

"Come in."

He nods, and without hesitation steps into the room. The sound of the door closing causes him to swivel on his heel, and his eyes stay fixed on YN as she motions him over to the edge of the bed.

"What's up?" She asks, casually, removing the ice pack and placing it down beside her.

"I, umm, wanted to check on you." He answers, not convinced his volume was even loud enough to be heard. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." She swiftly responds, and he cringes at the lack of emotion with it. Even though it was only one word, he feels as if he knows her well enough to know that's not her normal tone. "Hit my head when the guy knocked me to the ground."

"I'm so sorry, YN. I didn't know you were there tonight, or I would've…" He pauses, looking down to where his nails pick at each other. "I don't know… I could've done… something…"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry." She states, causing his gaze to shoot back up to find hers filled with, what looks like, embarrassment. And maybe even regret. But definitely with insecurity, which is not something he's used to seeing from her. "I shouldn't have come."

"Oh." His heart drops.

"I feel like I may have been in the way. Well, I was for that fan…" She states, the smallest smile lifting the corners of her mouth, despite the roll of her eyes and shake of her head. "But I definitely didn't want to be in yours."

"No! I'm glad you're here!" He replies, without hesitation, and watches as her eyes widen, now allowing him to see the depths at which they usually take him to.

"You are? Because it seemed like…" YN clears her throat, confirming for Harry that she is in fact nervous. Not confident. And it seems to be his fault. "It seemed like you were upset when you saw me."

"No! Not at all." Harry replies, his frustration with himself appearing in the crease between his brows. "I wasn't upset seeing you there, I was upset seeing you hurt. Really upset. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, H. I'm alright."

"I know. I know that. I just… I was worried for the rest of the show, wondering if you were okay. It was torturing me."

"I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm really sorry." She lets out a sigh, and it almost breaks Harry's heart as she drops her gaze and squeezes her eyes shut.

"No, don't-... that's not-..." Harry lets out a low growl in frustration. He doesn't know how to express what he means, and if he even should. But at this point, he doesn't know if he can hold back. "It was torture because all I wanted to do was fix it for you. Like last time."

"Like last time?"

He hears her breath hitch, and his heart races more, feeling each beat thump against his chest. They had shared a kiss the last time she got hurt. They spent the rest of the night together, hanging out and talking until the sun was almost rising. But then nothing. Was that it? Was it just a one time thing, just a momentary thing after an adrenaline-raising show? No, it wasn't. Not for him. And she needs to know.

"I… like you, YN. A lot. And that night… meant a lot to me." He fully turns his body towards her, gaining a fraction of the confidence for himself that he has always seen in her, and since she is now there in Brazil, he won't waste another minute without sharing his heart. "We didn't really get to talk much afterwards, or see each other even, but I just need you to know that… I want to be with you. If… if that's something you want too."

Harry watches as she pulls her lips inward, hoping that the expression he sees underneath is pleasant. Pleasant for him. But he suddenly realizes that if she doesn't feel the same, he doesn't want to lose her. For the band.

"If it's not, no problem. We can move past it." He swallows the lump caught grasping against the walls of his throat. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and don't want you to leave the band over it. You're very talented, YN."

"Thank you." She replies, looking over at him with those gorgeous eyes and a tenderness she's never given him before, and despite him offering to move past his feelings, for the sake of his heart, he desperately hopes that she feels the same. He wants her to only look at him like that from now on. "And that night meant a lot to me as well."

"Yeah?" He responds, shifting in his spot at the edge of her bed, with all the giddiness of a lovesick school boy.

"I want to be with you too, H."

His palms fly up to her cheeks, receiving a warmth from them that flows right to his chest. His gaze flickers to her lips, yearning for them, desperate for them.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" She chuckles, and his heart swells from the self-assurance that she always expresses, that he has fallen for.

He grins, wider than he ever has, but only for a moment. He's not going to wait any longer. He leans closer, and her eyes close, pursing her soft lips to meet his in a gentle kiss.

Her hands run up his arms, applying pressure as they move over his shoulders, and connect behind his neck. She pulls him closer, and his tongue teases her lips before she parts them, each sighing as they deepen the kiss.

His chest tightens, this time out of need for air, so he pulls back, only leaving enough room for a breath, and smiles as he hears her release her own, happy exhale.

"How are you feeling now?" He asks, resting his forehead against hers as one hand strokes over the hair covering her temple.

"Much better. I do need to rest now, though." She whispers. "But, you know, I may have a concussion…"

"That's not funny."

"No, it's not. It's very serious." She pulls away more, hands still behind his head, and his mind fills with worry. Worry and confusion, as he watches her smile reappear through her solemn expression. "I should probably have someone stay with me tonight. To make sure I'm alright, of course."

"Of course." He smirks, feeling his heart burst, following as she scoots up the bed and rests her head on the pillow.

He does the same, laying down to face her, and sees her eyes begin to flutter shut. It's been an exhausting day for the both of them.

"Come here." He whispers, opening his arms for her to settle in, wrapping them around her body, and pulling her to his chest. "You doing okay?"

"More than okay." She utters, drowsiness now coating her words. "Thank you, for fixing things."

"Anytime." He replies, placing a tender kiss on top of her head. "I'll fix things for you anytime."

A silence falls between them, and as he hears her soft breaths leave her even softer lips, Harry hums in contentment, allowing his own body to succumb to the rest it now needs too. He shuts his eyes, and one last thought appears as he feels himself happily drift off to sleep.

Despite all the chaos, this night didn't turn out so bad after all. With YN, it's been the best one yet.

Main Masterlist

If you like what I post, and want to just send some extra support, I have a ko-fi account. Even the smallest amount is greatly appreciated. There is no obligation or expectation to donate, because I am honestly just so grateful that you're here! 🩷 Bee xx

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[nshmuras]

WE CANT BE FRIENDS - wait .. JIA??

synopsis : you and riki have been friends for over 10 years. but.. you started to fall for him unexpectedly one day and to your unlucky surprise , the day you were about to talk to him about your feelings he announced he has a girlfriend. weeks later he showed up at your doorstep explaining that his girlfriend wants him to cut you off.

- you walked down the school halls , looking around at everyone to see just one girl .. at least ONE that riki could possibly like.

you listen into everyone's conversations discreetly so you can hear just a snippet of his name to get a clue but so far .. you had no luck.

you were about to give up and just go to class until your friends came up to you with looks of shock and it was clear they knew something that you didnt.

yunjin , karina and kazuha approach you and immediately start to bombard you with random words all at once.

after a few moments you put a hand up to stop them "okay okay woah.. slow down guys." you said as you looked at the three girls.

"all of you tell me whats happening, i cant understand you if your speaking over each other." you said.

yunjin spoke first "yn! we heard something about riki and his crush ... but. you might not like it." she said holding your shoulders

huh? you might not like it? now you were even more anxious and curious.

"what do you mean?" you said in anticipation and curiosity as you waited for either of them to speak.

it was silent between you four except the background noise of students which were burned out by your suspension.

then, karina blurted it out. "riki likes your enemy jia and he's planning to ask her out tomorrow!" she said in a rushed tone.

wait ... JIA??

hours after school ended you were laying on your bed in despair, the rest of the day at school you ignored and avoided riki at all cost .. you couldn't face him after what you heard.

- you looked at your phone and answered karina's call with a "hello?".

she immediately started to talk and it seemed very important.

"yn! i dont know when this happened but i saw riki go to jia during the end of the day. i think hes gonna ask her out!"

the sentence hung in the air for a while until you spoke up "i wonder if hes gonna tell me. or maybe i should ask him tomorrow?"

"i think you should, maybe then you can get to the bottom on why he's crushing on your enemy." karina added and went silent before speaking again

"wanna have a sleepover?" she said softly since she knew you needed to have a chat.

"yeah.. ill pack my stuff and come."

last /\ next

taglist : @goldenmellow @won4kiss @helenngxz @luv4rikii @qwonyoung23 @lukesboo @pnghoon @yoichiislovie @dreeki @suneng @en-verse @itwasntmee @en-gelic @yangjungwonnie @mygnolia @kairoot @elysianiki

buns note : these chapters might come out faster than usual since i kinda dont wanna make u all wait

[thatmexisaurusrex]

🍽🍽! Angst pleases me lol

Make Me Write Monday

@kinard-buckley also asked for this, so I thought I would just answer this in one ask hehe

This is technically a Denial-Verse Side Story I'm hoping to finish it and post it at some point. I'd say this happens after A Surprise Visit and before The Fire is Inside the House. And 😂 okay, so it's a little more than three sentences, but I've got them, so I might as well show them, right? Enjoy! 🥰

*****

“I think I just had the worst shift of my life,” Tommy said as he dropped his duffle next to the door, a little – a little shocked by what had just happened to him on that shift.

Evan was at the table. He was setting up his table for dinner. In his messy apron and a smudge of sauce on his face. And all Tommy wanted was to sink into his usual chair and lean on Evan’s shoulder and try to piece together what the fuck had just happened to him.

Because he didn’t know how to comprehend it.

He hadn’t been able to his entire shift. His drive back to Evan’s place.

“Tell me about it. You should have seen the bullshit that Gerrard had us do. What he ordered us to do almost got the victim killed. It was – what the fuck is wrong with that guy, right?” asked Evan, and Tommy knew Evan didn’t mean it like this, he really knew, but it felt like Evan was glossing over what Tommy had just said.

And.

And they had been talking about Gerrard for weeks. Weeks. Weeks of an endless barrage of trauma and bad choices on the part of Vincent that seemed to seep into the very fabric of Tommy and Evan’s lives.

Tommy didn’t fault Evan for talking about the man so much. There was bound to be a lot happening that wasn’t good at the 118 at the moment. Tommy understood too well what it was like to be under Gerrard’s leadership.

Evan should talk about it.

Work through his feelings.

Be heard and know that he wasn’t overreacting. That his responses to this man were realistic. His, Chimney’s, Hen’s, Eddie’s, Ravi’s – all of them were correct in their anger and appalment against the man.

But.

But it was also straining.

It was a death of a thousand cuts that was slowly making all of them more and more raw and stressed out. No one did well working under traumatic conditions, after all.

And Tommy felt horrible, but he was so tired. And he knew how bad Evan had it right now. But Tommy wanted to talk about what happened to him.

He just wanted a moment to talk about his worst shift ever.

And this wasn’t as if he didn’t want Evan to talk about his day, but they had been talking about Evan’s terrible days for weeks on end, and Tommy just wanted one day.

One day about Tommy’s horrible day.

Which was terrible. And selfish. And cruel. But Tommy couldn’t help but say, “Evan, I just told you I had the worst shift of my life.”

“And I was talking about my shift too,” said Evan slowly as he sat down at the table, “Because we both talk about our shifts at dinner.”

And.

Yes.

That was sort of true.

“Sometimes, we talk about my shift,” said Tommy as he walked to the table and leaned on one of the chairs, “Sometimes. But we always talk about your day.”

Which was probably unfair to say.

But it was true.

They always talked about Evan’s day. And that was okay. Evan needed that now more than ever. Evan was having a lot of terrible days. But – but Tommy had a terrible day today.

And it hurt that Evan wasn’t seeing that he needed this right now.

Evan furrowed his brow.

“Last dinner we talked about you saving a cat from a tree,” Evan pointed out, as if he had to be right.

Or maybe.

Maybe Evan was just confused by the idea that it hadn’t been exactly equal the last few weeks.

“No, that was four dinners ago,” said Tommy clearly.

Because.

It really was.

“That can’t be right.”

Tommy.

Tommy didn’t understand why this was the sticking point.

“That’s what you really want to focus on right now?” asked Tommy, a little – a little exasperated.

Which wasn’t usually where Tommy lived as a person, but well, he didn’t have the patience he usually did. And that really did feel like the wrong place for Evan to focus on at the moment.

“I – I didn’t mean it as like, the most important part of this discussion. I’m just – did we really not talk about your day the last three dinners?” asked Evan, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah. Evan. We didn’t,” said Tommy softly, “And that’s – that’s okay. But. But that’s not really the point I’m trying to make here.”

“What other point could you be making?” asked Evan, and – and it wasn’t defensive, but it felt defensive, “Should I not be talking about my days? Because they’ve all been terrible. I’m sorry that all of my days have been terrible. I don’t mean to take over the conversation, but it’s hard to not talk about all the things Gerrard does.”

Tommy rubbed his face as he tried to not read that as defensive. Because Evan wasn’t like that. Tommy knew that.

But this was.

Tommy didn’t have the spoons for this.

“You know what? I’m not that hungry anymore,” said Tommy as he – as he walked over to the door and picked up his duffel.

“What?” said Evan, and Tommy immediately heard Evan stand up, “You’re just leaving?”

Tommy took a deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

He turned to Evan, who – who looked pissed. And hurt. And scared.

And.

Fuck.

“Evan, I had the worst shift of my life today. I really did. I do not have the patience. I do not have it in me. I need some space to think without saying something I don’t mean to you right now. I’m going home today. I’m not abandoning you. I’m not leaving you. I just need some space to think,” said Tommy clearly.

“So, you’re running away from the conversation?” asked Evan, and okay, that hit a nerve.

“My mom almost died because she refused to be treated by me, I – ” Tommy started to say, started to yell, and –

And he could see the regret in Evan’s eyes.

The instant regret.

And Tommy regretted yelling that at him. At just springing it like that.

Tommy didn’t yell.

He wasn’t that person.

He needed to not be like this to Evan. He needed space.

“ – I love you, Evan. I need some space,” said Tommy.

And he knew Evan was saying something behind him.

But Tommy couldn’t.

He needed to not be there right now.

He needed to be alone.

He needed to make himself a priority, just this one time.

So, Tommy left Evan’s loft.

[colormepurplex2]

The Demon Is In The Details | Sweet, Sweet Soul

↳ Demon!Jimin x Human!f.Reader ⤜ Crossroads Demon AU, Accidental Enthrallment ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 9,928 ⚠️ Crass language, soul sucking, dick piercing, cock sucking, kissing, biting, mild nipple play/biting/there is blood involved, blood drinking, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, body worship, enthrallment/instant infatuation, begging, vaginal sex, creampie, cum play/eating, insatiable lust, lost soul, demon metamorphosis

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

You’re not sure what you expected—but, a lavish bedroom complete with a four-poster bed and sitting area with plush upholstered furniture wasn’t it. It all feels so…human. You can almost pretend like you are just on an extended vacation, staying at some ritzy hotel.

“So, this is where demons live, huh?” You try not to let too much sarcasm thread into your words. “Was expecting more fire and brimstone and less velvet and lace,” you say, plucking at the lacy fringe of the canopy drapes that are pulled back on the bed.

The demon sniffs, his chin turning up in mild indignation. “Fire and brimstone? What utter nonsense,” he mutters, but you can tell he’s just sure to be loud enough for you to hear.

That prickles a bit. It’s not like you’re precisely well-versed on the whole demon thing. Are you supposed to know that demons enjoy the lap of luxury instead of broiling in sulfuric pits of steaming sludge? Everything you’ve ever read, heard, or been taught hinges on the idea that demons are hellish monsters that dwell in Hell. And considering Hell is supposed to be a place of fire and brimstone, well, put two and two together, and you don’t think your assumption is a stretch.

“Is this even Hell?” you ask.

Red eyes cut your way, and the demon’s top lip curls in disgust. “This is a hell, yes.”

“A hell?”

“Mm,” he hums lightly in acknowledgement. “One of many.”

Many? Interesting. “Like the different circles?”

The demon sighs, his red eyes rolling in annoyance. “Whatever it is you think you may know, forget it. There are no ‘circles’, no pits—unless you count the sanguine pits, but you probably don’t want to go there,” his top teeth sink into his bottom lip for a moment, his eyes turning mischievous, “or maybe you do. Another day, perhaps. Anyway, this is the…Inferna is the best human word to use to describe it. But, you may call it home, considering that is exactly what it is now; your home.” He chuckles, but you think it’s a poor joke.

“Home. Okay, sure, very funny.” The sarcasm helps to bolster your mood a bit, knowing that you can still spit words with at least a little venom.

That’s all you’ve been able to think about since the understanding of what was happening dawned on you. The fear of not being able to think for yourself, that your free will and ability to think would be stripped from you, and you’d become nothing more than some mindless demon slut.

The fact you’re able to hold this conversation is promising. But you are curious. With the deal settled between this demon and Dominique, you feel like you’ve been put in an ambiguous limbo of sorts. Dominique’s deal included you, but as she said, it wasn’t your own deal.

So, do you even have a deal with this demon? But, before you can express your curiosity further, a loud knock echoes from the double doors on the other side of the sitting area that you hadn’t noticed before.

“This should be fun,” the demon says, and it almost seems like he’s…pouting? “Come in.”

The doors swing open on a blast of hot air. Clouds of grey-blue smoke curl through the space before dissipating and revealing what you can only describe as evil incarnate. At least, that’s the feeling you get, like happiness and joy can not exist in the presence of this being. Your energy immediately wanes, so much so that it makes your knees weak.

Pitch-colored eyes set in an angular face framed by thick, inky hair give way to taught lips drawn in a severe line. His body is hidden by the billowing folds of a robe that seems made of gossamer and iron, with its constant shifting in the room's ambient lighting.

A voice as deep as the darkest chasm in the ocean and just as cold hisses through the room. “What have we here? A pet?”

“Dark Lord,” the demon at your side says, bending at the waist and bowing deeply. He straightens, casting a quick glance in your direction. “A pleasant mistake is all, My Lord. A soul come to me by the blundering of a supposed friend.”

“More fiend than a friend, it seems, if the result is this.” A smirk curls the pale pink lips of the man—demon?—standing in the doorway.

You want to jump to Dominique’s defense and argue that she’s not the fiend here, but a scathing look from the male at your side silences anything you might have mustered in protest. The look on his face says opening your mouth is probably the last thing you want to do right now. Whoever this ‘Dark Lord’ is, even the demon laying claim to your soul is intimidated by him.

“Very well,” the newcomer says before sucking in a deep, drawing breath as if scenting the very air around him. “Yes, yes, I think she’ll do well. A strong spirit, but not so strong that she won’t break. Perhaps…you might find it in you to share.”

“Share?” The word is gritted out between clamped teeth, stilted and forced. “Of course, if that is what you desire.”

“Please, Jimin, I aim only to tease you,” the being chuckles, wafting a hand complete with blackened nails and spidery purple veins. The billowing robes bend and sway with the act, stirring long shadows along the walls to either side of the doors. “Keep the little mouse. Enjoy the luxury of a pure soul for once. You’ve earned it.”

With that, he turns to leave, vanishing in a swirl of grey that disappears as the doors swing closed once more. Even though he’s gone, there is one thing that he left behind. A word. Or more so, a name.

Jimin.

“So, Jimin, huh?”

A low growl rumbles from the demon before his ruby eyes slice your way. “You will not use that name.”

Despite your lack of belief in demons and all the abracadabra nonsense prior to this, you’ve read enough to know there can be power behind knowing a demon’s name. However, you’re not sure how much power there is. But you’re willing to find out.

“What’s the matter, Jimin—” you twist the name with emphasis, “—don’t like it when someone might have power over you, Jimin? It is a taste of your own medicine, perhaps, Jimin?”

You part your lips, tongue poised to continue your taunting tirade, but in a flash, a warm, rigid hand is clamped over your mouth. Fire burns in the deep recesses of Jimin’s eyes. It's not just a pseudo-flame trick of the light, either. Real flames dance within the blood-colored irises. They undulate and grow brighter with each rise and fall of his chest until you’re certain smoke is going to start pouring out of his ears at any moment.

“You know, I thought I quite enjoyed your fiery spirit. But now, I’m not so sure. Maybe just a little tweak, a little taste, and you’ll…be…just…right.” As he says the words, drawn out and slow, you feel a little tug in the center of your chest.

The feeling starts out light, barely a string’s caress between your breasts. But gradually, it turns into a thick line of yarn that you’d swear was slowly unraveling your soul the way it would from a skein. There is an ebbing clarity, a fleeting thought that this is something you’re certain you should be resisting.

But you can’t seem to tear yourself away from staring into those flaming depths. Simply a moth drawn to the flame, heedless of the blaze threatening to engulf you.

His body presses against yours, hard and hot in contrast to your soft and freezing. The fact your body is chilled right to the bone only registers now. The trembling starts at the tips of your fingers and toes before your entire body shudders against his. Yet, you still can’t will yourself to look away.

“W-what are y-yo…you do-doing to…to me?”

The words sound hollow to your ears, thin and thready, like a weak pulse compared to the hammering of your heart that’s forcing your blood to woosh with staccato punches. The edges of your vision darken, and you struggle to blink or look away, to do anything to break the fevered contact.

“Perfect,” Jimin purrs, the sound registering the second before whatever is holding you in place diminishes, and you slump forward. Strong arms cradle your body, an arm sliding under the backs of your knees to lift you bridal style. Whereas your eyes wouldn’t close before, they now refuse to open. The darkness, such a contrast to the fire you were captured by before, makes your eyes ache and water. You can feel the trails of your tears cut through your hairline and blend with the perspiration gathering there.

Hot and cold. Light and dark. It’s hard to tell up from down at this point—warring emotions, seemingly endless confusion. You feel like you’re floating weightless in an abyss, though distinctly aware of how your body curls against smooth silk covering warm flesh.

With a sigh, you find the strength to open your eyes, meeting those crimson rings once more. Except, this time, there is no fear…no confusion…only peace, deeply rooted and infinitely spread through every fiber of your being.

You can see yourself reflected in those endless, vermillion depths. And what you see is…different; still you…but different—hungrier, a feral tinge that you know should frighten you.

😈😈😈

Jimin

The taste of your soul still lingers in Jimin’s mouth, making saliva pool under his tongue. It was the tiniest taste, just a sampling of what’s to come. But, fuck, if it didn’t make his cock hard and his chest ache from the restraint he used to hold himself from draining you completely dry while sucking the marrow right from your bones.

You are quite possibly the most exquisite creature he has ever laid eyes on, much less had the pleasure of savoring. His anger at Yoongi is quickly dissipating, replaced by the erotic thrum of the call of your soul. It beckons him to drink more, to devour you completely.

Jimin didn’t want to do this so soon. He’d intended to drag this out as much as possible, playing a game with his own constraint to see how long he could withstand your allure. This is Yoongi’s fault. If the Dark Lord hadn’t come in here sniffing around things that were not his, letting things as precious as names slip, Jimin wouldn’t have been so forced to jump the gun.

He had little choice in it, he’s sure. If you had continued to twist his name with your perfect lips, you would have indeed begun to wield the power behind it. With each additional drop of his name, he felt the knot forming at the base of his spine. The one that triggers his survival instincts and forces his hand.

Perhaps it’s for the best, he thinks, as he effortlessly carts your limp body over to the bed and lays you out. Your head lolls from side to side, eyes fluttering as they adjust to what Jimin knows must be an unpleasant ache deep in your psyche. It might be millennia since he became forsaken, but the memory of how it felt has not diminished.

Not that he’s going to let that happen to you. As it is, he’s undecided on how this is going to play out in the end. He has a deal with your friend that you will remain unharmed, and sucking out your soul until you become a demon doesn’t necessarily harm you. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but all together, not exactly harmful. Well, not to you physically, at least. That’s not saying much for you emotionally…spiritually.

Dominique should have been more precise in her demands—unharmed can mean anything. Though, he knows there could be room for argument that he was being deceptive. He shrugs to himself. He’s a demon…it’s to be expected. Words hold all the power. They are Jimin’s preferred weapon of choice for a reason. It’s why he’s so good at what he does, why Yoongi bestowed the crossroads task upon him all those centuries ago. Yes, if your so-called friend had truly cared, she should have been far more specific in her request and should have read between the lines before offering her blood and sealing your fate.

Jimin looks down on you from beside the bed as you slowly regain your senses. He has to adjust himself in his trousers, his arousal growing with each barely audible mewl that whimpers from your lips. If he were a lesser demon, he might not be able to keep himself from pouncing in your weakened state. As much as Jimin likes to dominate, he’d be curious to see what comes naturally now that a part of you resides in him.

“Mmm,” you moan softly.

Your eyes slide closed once more before finally popping open, wide and full of clarity. They find his, and what Jimin sees there has his whole body going taut with anticipation. You look like a feral wolf about to spring on an unsuspecting rabbit, and Jimin just so happens to be said rabbit. If you keep looking at him that way, perhaps he won’t mind being the prey for once.

“Whoa,” Jimin chuckles as you lurch upright in the bed, swinging an arm wildly in his direction, fingers hooked into claws. “Give yourself a minute.”

There is a thick, sultriness to your voice that wasn’t there before as you say, “I…I feel—I want…what did you do to me?” You bring the hand you swung at him up in front of your face, flipping it from front to back again and again as if somehow you’ll be able to physically see the change in yourself.

“Only what I’m entitled to.”

Your eyes snap to his, sharp and calculating. He’s intentionally cryptic, but he knows you can see straight through his deliberately obtuse response.

“Entitled to? The deal was for you not to harm me!” you snarl, teeth barred in his direction. Jimin decides it’s a cute look on you, like a stray kitten gearing up for a hissing match. Too bad for you, Jimin’s trained in the prowess of being a lion.

“You are unharmed,” he snaps back, eyes flashing.

You cringe, and Jimin almost wants to take it back. But that won’t do. No, not for what he has planned for you. As appealing as your defiance is…no, Jimin needs this far too much.

He realizes just how hungry he is.

Absolutely, ravenous. And he knows exactly what he wants to satiate the ache.

You mutter something under your breath, and if Jimin didn’t have the super hearing of a demon, he’d surely miss it. “Why am I so gods damned horny? Now is not the time to be jonesing for a joyride on a monster dick.”

“I think now is precisely the time to be, as you say, ‘jonesing for a joyride on a monster dick’.”

The surprise on your face is second only to the way your heart lurches in your chest, so intense that Jimin can distinctly hear the upbeat roar it launches into at his words. Both make Jimin feel powerful, in vastly different ways. Your lips form an enticing tiny opening as you gape at him, and the blood rushing through your body notches up the pulsing thrum he knows you can feel spiking through your clit now. The mere notion of riding a dick has your body primed and aching already.

“What did you say?”

“I merely repeated what you said. I don’t typically fuck on the first date, but seeing as how this isn’t a usual first…I think I can make an exception.”

In fact, Jimin is almost sure that if he doesn’t find himself in one of your holes in the next five minutes, he might make a fool of himself, similar to something a teenage human boy might experience. Typically, he doesn’t get to enjoy the tender confines of a human, not unless it’s part of the demon deal they make—which, thanks to the influx of paranormal romance stories out there, has increased somewhat in the last handful of decades.

The tip of your tongue pokes out and absently moves over the roundness of your bottom lip. “I don’t know if I understand what you’re saying.”

That’s cute; you trying to play it off like Jimin’s proclamation didn’t just create a wave pool in your panties. He can smell it, the light, tangy scent of your arousal. It blooms in the air as you shift to your knees on the bed; you’re unknowingly filling Jimin’s lungs with the smell of your dripping cunt.

He takes a deep, appreciative breath and allows a moment of tense silence to hang in the air between you. The thread snaps, thin as gauze. You’re on him in the next instant, one hand fisting in his hair and the other ripping at the buttons on his shirt. Your knees slide over the silk of the duvet as you simultaneously pull Jimin until his thighs knock the side of the bed and your front is pressed to his.

“Take your clothes off,” Jimin states, and you immediately stop your frantic groping of him and begin to shed your own clothes. “Bare yourself to me.” Jimin’s top lip quivers as his mouth forms around the commands, power bubbling in his veins as the small piece of you burns his insides; pain-laced pleasure threads through his every fiber, and he wants more.

Jimin follows your movements, watching as you strip off your long-sleeved shirt, tossing it aimlessly to the side before doing the same with your bra. You roll back onto your ass and kick your legs out in front of you across the bed and tear at the zipper and button on your jeans. It’s cute, the way you snarl and hiss at the offending denim as you wrestle it, along with your panties, down your legs. You finally kick free of them and, in the process, send a cloud of your heady arousal right into Jimin’s nose.

It’s enough to make him feral. The moment your last article of clothing falls to the floor, you splay yourself back on the bed, knees wide and arms extending above your head. Like a present, freshly unwrapped, and his to play with. Your hooded gaze meets his, like a challenge daring him to let his eyes drink their fill; and, oh boy, do they.

You are utterly divine. Jimin wants nothing more than to lick and kiss every inch of your striking skin, starting with the tender flesh behind your ear and ending with the points of your toes, mapping out your body like the temple that it is. Your nipples are tight peaks straining toward the ceiling, and your pussy lips are already slick and swollen with want; you paint the picture of perfect sexual carnality.

Jimin watches as your mouth tries to form his name. When it doesn’t come, a line forms between your brows, and you manage to gruff out a different word instead, “Demon.” It’s nowhere near as seductive as his name, but he’ll consider it a term of endearment all the same.

He chuckles, gripping your ankles and using a flex of strength to flip you around and position you on the bed just how he wants you. Your head hangs off the edge, hands raising in surprise to brace on his hips. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession, your breathing so harsh he can feel the thick exhale of your breath through the linen of his trousers.

“I’ll show you ‘demon’,” Jimin purrs seductively.

The button on his pants pops under his thumb, and the zipper slides down swiftly. Before Jimin can push them down, you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants and shoving them down. It’s an awkward angle for you; with your arms bent how they are, you only get them down his thighs. But, it’s enough. With a sway of his hips, Jimin gets his pants to drop to around his ankles.

He could use his power to disrobe instantly, but he finds this far more entertaining. Jimin revels in the slack-jawed look on your face as you take in his rigid length protruding in front of your face. The piercing in the tip glints in the ambient light, the first pearly string of his arousal already beaded and webbing along the silver ring.

Placing a thumb against your bottom lip, Jimin gently pries your jaw open until you’re stretched wide enough he can tease the tip of his cock inside. Your chest convulses, nostrils flaring as you continue to suck in greedy breaths through your nose, considering your mouth is growing fuller by the second as he continues to feed himself into the hot, wet confines. Using twin fistfuls of your violet hair, he holds you steady.

You swallow around him, the contracting of your throat sending tingles down Jimin’s spine and making his balls draw up as his whole body shudders. His control slips the tiniest bit, siphoning a sliver of your soul. It slams into him, causing him to jerk forward and drive even further into your throat, cutting off your air.

“Fuck!” Jimin roars, his eyes squeezing shut as he denies his body the release that nearly swept him away. This can’t be over yet; he’s just getting started.

😈😈😈

You gag, effectively choking on his cock as his pelvis presses flush against your chin, and you can feel his heavy balls crowd in close to your nose. There was a moment there, where you felt connected to him in a way that should scare you, but a different kind of fear quickly replaced that feeling. Panic looms heavy in your chest as your lungs protest the lack of air, but you can’t bring yourself to shove Jimin away.

It’s infuriating to be able to think his name but not be able to utter it aloud. “F-fuck you,” you rasp when he finally withdraws. Saliva strings from your parted lips to the glistening head and shaft of his cock, the tip heavily leaking pearlescent drops that mix with the glossy strands. His cloying taste lingers, and you want nothing more than to stretch your neck up and scoop those milky beads away with your tongue.

Every second since Jimin did whatever he did to you, you’ve barely had a hold on your desire to burrow into him, get beneath his skin, and pick away at his insides until you figure out how he ticks. You want to be inside of him and have him inside of you, anything to diminish what feels like a miles-deep trench between the two of you.

You’ve never felt such a visceral desire to fuck. It’s not that you’re a prude; if anything, you would consider yourself to have a healthy sexual appetite. However, this is different. This is you wholly and utterly wrecked, wanting Jimin in all possible ways.

“Oh, I plan to. But first—” Jimin teases, a wicked grin curling his plush lips. He forces you to watch upside down as he finishes disrobing. With each additional inch of flawless porcelain flesh he reveals, you grow wetter until you’re a whimpering, slick mess staring at his naked body, “—you’re going to choke on my cock some more while I taste that pussy.”

Jimin’s dirty words are like gasoline in your veins, and his hands slapping against the insides of your thighs to pry them open is the match. Heat boils beneath your skin, sweat beads and pools between your breasts, and glides down the slope of your neck to tickle your hairline.

Your mouth is open, and your tongue sticks out flat in welcome as Jimin juts his hips forward. The thick length of his cock slides past your lips, velvety smooth and tasting faintly of hot metal. His body molds along the front of yours, slick chest resting against your stomach.

The warm fan of his breath hits a second before the molten lick of his tongue slides from your clit to the cleft of your ass, his hands gripping the meat on the back of your thighs to raise your hips. Your scream at that initial contact is muffled by the thickness of his cock in your throat. Jimin buries himself in your esophagus, pistoning his hips in and out so relentlessly that you only manage tiny gasping breaths.

He doesn’t let up, pounding into your mouth with manic abandon. You have to brace your hands against his thighs, fingers digging into the muscles and nails leaving deep, crescent divots in the flesh. Sensations assault you from both ends as Jimin buries his face between your thighs.

Jimin feasts like a man—demon—starved. His tongue swirls, slides, and dips in intervals between his lips sucking and teeth dragging. Pleasure builds, starting at the base of your spine and moving up until even your tongue writhing on the underside of Jimin’s cock feels like a direct line to your clit.

“Mmf–uh!” you garble a moan that ramps into a shriek as your orgasm barrels through you.

“That’s right,” Jimin murmurs into the wet folds of your pussy, “cum all over my face and tongue, just like that.” He continues to lap at you, suckling and humming his delight.

He grunts and moans a litany of guttural words you can’t understand before emptying himself down your throat. Hips stuttering against your face, he throbs in your mouth, his piercing sliding along the roof of your mouth as he begins to pull out.

You lick your numb lips and work your aching jaw when Jimin fully withdraws from your mouth, but not before gripping the base of his swollen cock and tapping it against your tongue a few times, smearing his still-leaking arousal across your lips. You know you should feel mildly degraded, being used as a proverbial cum rag, but if anything, it turns you on even more.

“Fuck.” The word comes out like a whimper, your body clenching in the aftermath of one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

Jimin chuckles, “I’m getting to that part.”

“What are you doing to me?” you ask breathlessly. It’s not a question you expect an answer to, more a rhetorical musing that drifts from your muddled brain. So, it surprises you when Jimin steps back and cradles your upside-down face between his hands, lifting your face until it’s inches from his.

His scarlet eyes have taken on a golden ring around the edges. They pulse in tandem with each of his breaths. “I’ve laid claim to you is what I’ve done. And before you even think about spouting off about the deal, being that you are to remain unharmed, you are. You can feel it, you know I’m speaking the truth. My claim on your soul has nothing to do with your well-being. If anything, you are now stronger and more resilient than you’ve ever been before.”

He’s right. You can feel it in your bones. Not just their additional strength but the way your muscles cling to them, and you’re sure they would neither snap nor tear no matter how far you bend them. You are no longer the delicate mortal you once were. And you’re not sure if you care, either.

If anything, the strength is addicting.

You. Want. More.

“More,” you tell Jimin. “I need more. Please.”

You’re pretty sure you would do anything at this point for another taste, another dose of whatever this is that’s now zinging beneath your skin. Jimin drops his hold on your face and stretches his arms in the air above his head, lithe body stretching in all its glory before you.

It’s rapturous watching the way his body moves. Wanting to see the vision of him properly, you roll over and push up onto your knees. Jimin slowly brings his arms back down, threading his fingers together in front of him and pushing his palms out. The distinct crack of his knuckles sends chills down your spine.

A predatory glint catches in his eyes, eliciting another visceral response from your body, this one of desire. Not caring how desperate you seem, you once again throw yourself at him, hands gripping and tugging until you’ve wrestled him on top of you on the bed. He lands in the valley between your thighs, and you wrap your legs around him, holding him in place.

“Tell me your name,” Jimin whispers in command, lips brushing over yours.

It forms on the tip of your tongue, your impulse to give him exactly what he wants. But, perhaps you’re not as far gone as you thought because you are able to resist this. Slowly, you shake your head, and a sly grin forms on your face.

“No.”

Jimin’s brow pinches and his top lip curls in what you’ve realized is a tell, indicating that his patience is thinning. You roll your hips against his, thrilled by how the action makes the line between his brows disappear, and his lips pop open with a soft grunt.

“You’re not the only one that’s clever here, Demon. If I can’t use your name, you won’t have mine.”

You can see the challenge in his eyes, the pure delight at the prospect of the battle ahead. “So be it, little mouse, but be warned: you’ll break long before I do.”

His mouth covers yours, silencing any protest you might have made to his statement. The vehement denial turns fleeting the instant his tongue presses between your lips and invades your mouth.

The tangy taste of your own arousal mixes with the intoxicating natural heat of the demon himself. He tastes like blood and ash but also like a crisp drink of water after days in the desert, both your salvation and your demise.

“Ah!” you yelp as Jimin fists a hand into your hair and cranes your head back, breaking the kiss and exposing the length of your neck to him.

“Pay close attention, pet. You don’t want to miss a second of this.” His words are murmured, so soft against your skin as he says them between open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

With every press of his mouth, his hips swivel in lazy circles that rub the thick shaft of his desire over your clit. It’s just enough pressure to drive you mad but not nearly enough to give you what you truly want.

Jimin takes first one nipple and then the other into the wet lock of his lips, lashing the pert tip with his tongue. The hand that was tugging your hair loosens, sliding down the side of your face before clasping around your neck like a five-fingered necklace.

You can feel the moment he begins to squeeze with his fingers and thumb, as they are so precisely placed on either side of your neck that they press against your jugulars. It creates a subtle pounding in your head, a lightheadedness that makes you hyper-aware of the way his teeth scrape over the tender flesh of your right breast before lightly piercing the skin.

A moan comes out in place of a scream as your body gives in to the depraved pleasure. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it’s like Jimin is turning your entire body into one giant, throbbing erogenous zone. Pain is no longer something your body tries to pull away from. Instead, you find yourself arching your back so the points of his teeth pierce your flesh once more.

“F-fuck!” 

You can feel the heat of your blood pooling between your breasts for a moment before Jimin is lapping it up the same way he was licking at your pussy just moments ago. The sharp scent of hot copper punches the air when Jimin lifts his face and laughs, the sound dark and gravelly.

Peering down the slope of your nose the best you can, you catch a glimpse of his face before he dives back down to once again ravish the tight buds of your nipples. But that one glimpse is enough to paint a vivid picture of Jimin bathed in your blood, red eyes ringed in black, crimson smeared at the corners of his mouth, coating the tips of his teeth as he opened his mouth to laugh.

It does something to you, something primal and instinctive. Your body goes limp under him as your muscles coil before you snap. You throw your weight into him, shoving up with your hips and using the hold you have with your legs wrapped around him to your advantage. One moment, Jimin is buried between the mounds of your breasts, feasting on the tiny rivulets of crimson from his bites, and the next, he’s beneath you with a pleasant surprise on his bloody face.

“Look at you,” Jimin croons, his hands landing firmly on your hips. Using his hold, he undulates your hips, forcing the wet slit of your cunt to rub along the length of his dick, the ring in the tip catching on the hood of your clit with every pass. “You’re making a mess all over my cock.”

Bracing yourself on his chest, you let his hands encourage your hips with ease, luxuriating in the silky glide between your thighs. You’re relatively certain with just a few more minutes of this, and you could get yourself off, Jimin’s own pleasure be damned. But, it seems he picks up on that, and with a scoff, he uses his grip on your hips to force your body still.

“Don’t be an asshole!” you whine, digging your nails into the muscles of his chest. His dusky nipples stand out, and without thinking about it, you lean down and capture one between your teeth the same way he did yours. The skin pulls tight, and you love the sharp sound Jimin makes; something between a moan and a grunt.

A fist buries in your hair, and your head snaps back as Jimin wrenches you up, your teeth snicking free from his nipple. Black blood oozes from around the small rip in the bud, filling the hollow between his pecs and the notch at the base of his throat. The wound closes right before your eyes, sealing closed almost instantly. “Look at this mess. Clean it up,” Jimin growls low in his throat, the words barely above a whisper.

You immediately stick out your tongue, and with the grip on the back of your head, Jimin guides your mouth down to his chest. His blood is hot and thick, tasting strongly of rich spices, like the fiery notes of a mulled wine. You feel unhinged, so completely removed from who you were before Dom buried that little box in the woods. Maybe it’s delirium, and you’ve snapped, or perhaps this is just who you’ve always been…whatever it is, you can’t seem to stop.

Lips swollen and covered in demon blood, you leave a trail of macabre kisses up the length of Jimin’s neck before covering your mouth with his once again. The mix of your blood and his is heady and addicting, the perfect match of iron and spice.

“Why can’t I stop?” you whisper against Jimin’s lips, not giving him time to answer before you’re licking into his mouth again. “Why don’t I want to stop?”

😈😈😈

Jimin

You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to stop. It’s never been like this for Jimin before. He’s never once experienced something so raw and carnal. He is wholly and utterly fucked. Or, well, he will be in just…one…moment.

“Be a good girl and give us what we both want,” he commands you, using his grip on your hair to pull your lips off of his. “Ride my cock, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Jimin watches as you rear up, head cocked back because of his continued grip on your hair, reach between your thighs, and wrap your fingers around his rigid length. You stroke your hand up, thumb toying with the ring there, before sliding down. Continuing, you work your hand from root to tip a few more times until Jimin is sure he might explode.

The command to stop fucking around and start fucking him is on the tip of his tongue when you finally comply. You take him in one swift plummet, impaling yourself on his cock with a strangled cry that echoes through the room.

Cracks form in the dried blood around Jimin’s mouth. He can feel it pull and tug as his lips part with a groan. Your body moves over his, hips and tits bouncing. Loosening his hand in your hair, he slides it down at the same time he brings his other up. You fit perfectly in his hands, and the soft mounds of your breasts mold around his fingers as he squeezes them appreciatively.

“I can f-feel you so deep.” You’re mewling, panting and whining, the sounds a symphony of eroticism and pleasure to Jimin’s ears.

The bite marks on your chest have stopped bleeding, but Jimin still appreciates the way the dried crimson smears of his feasting look under his hands. Everything about your body drives him crazy and turns him into a barely-restrained animal.

The only reason he hasn’t shoved you face down on the bed and rutted you like a beast is because he wants to enjoy you a little bit longer before completely destroying you. He knows he would lose control of his abilities, gobbling down the rest of your soul in one gulp.

“Look at you, taking my cock so perfectly,” he grunts, digging his heels in and flexing his hips up as you drop down, forcing himself even deeper. You keen, increasing your pace as he continues to meet you stroke for stroke. Slipping his hands down, one latches on your hip, and the other presses to your lower belly, thumb finding your clit and swirling in precise circles.

“I, uh, fuck! I’m going to—”

The cresting of your orgasm cuts off your words. Your body shudders with the release, walls intensely contracting around his cock. Warmth floods Jimin’s body. He can feel every pulse of your body as if it’s begging for a reward.

Keeping his hold on you, he redoubles his effort, pistoning his hips into you at a manic pace. His thumb continues its assault on your clit, earning him delightful whimpers and moans from you.

“Give me another one. Fuck!” he grunts. Tears streak down your cheeks at the overstimulation, but your body gives him exactly what he wants by clamping down on his cock with your next orgasm.

Jimin can feel the way his tip pulses and his shaft grows engorged before his body succumbs to the pleasure, and he explodes, filling you so completely that torrents of cum leak from around his cock and string across his pelvis and your thighs.

The release rips his control to shreds and before Jimin can stop himself, he’s taking another hefty draft of your soul. It settles along the fibers of his being, coating his insides as thoroughly as he just coated yours.

There is no regret or remorse for the accidental slip. Jimin luxuriates in the euphoric aftermath. Post-soul sucking is nearly as good as post-orgasm, and he just so happened to experience both in the span of mere seconds. Reaching with one of his hands, he scoops a thick drop of cum up with his finger and lifts it to your mouth.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping your tongue around the offered digit. The moan you release is soft and sweet. Jimin drags you down, capturing your mouth once more in a devouring kiss.

He’s wholly and utterly satiated…for now.

He only hopes you’ll be as amiable to his new revelation because he’s finally made up his mind. Jimin plans to keep you…no matter what he has to do, no matter the words he’ll have to twist or who he will need to manipulate.

You will be his…

Forever.

😈😈😈

You try to resist Jimin as the weeks pass by, but your resolve is as formidable as wet paper. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve had him inside of you—welcomed him within the confines of your body and subsequently fed him slivers of your soul.

After a while, you begin to seek it out…hungry for his touch or rousing him with your lips around his cock, swallowing whatever he’ll give you. It’s unclear where the line was or when you crossed it, but here you are…lost in some in-between limbo.

You roll over, shoving away from Jimin’s naked body, and slide off the bed, his taste still clinging to your tongue. You’re still feeling the aftereffects of whatever just happened. Whatever it was, it wasn’t sex. At least, not regular sex. It was something…just something else.

Each time, it feels like a whole new experience. He shows you something you never thought possible and has you so wrung out you forget to question it. You can still feel him inside you, not just the phantom girth of his cock, but somewhere deeper. It’s like he’s permanently etched onto your bones now. As weird as that sounds, it’s exactly how it feels.

Crossing the expanse of his room, you stare at yourself in the mirror above an ornate chaise. You prod a finger beneath your eye, pulling the bottom lid down. No matter how much you poke and rub, the distinct red ring circling your pupil doesn’t go away.

From what little Jimin has told you over the weeks about what’s happening, you understand that you’re now a few pieces of your soul lighter. He assured you that you’re unharmed and as long as things go well, then when the deal with Dominique is complete, your soul will be restored…if you want it to be. Those were his exact—cryptic—words.

If you want it to be?

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, not for the first time.

Jimin shrugs, not having to ask you what you mean because somehow he has this innate ability to just know what’s on your mind. His nonchalance as he lounges against a mound of pillows on the bed grates. He’s acting like a cat that’s gotten the cream…and you suppose, maybe he has.

“It means exactly what it means.”

Dropping your hand from your face, you turn and bracket your bare hips with your hands, eyes narrowing in his direction. His answers are nonanswers, and no matter how much you try to muster anger at him over it…it doesn’t come.

You’re frustrated, yes. But anger isn’t something you’re able to grasp right now for some reason, and that should make you even more angry…yet, it’s as if you’re incapable of mustering one ounce of vitriol.

“Why can’t I get mad at you?” you ask instead of pressing your previous question, hoping maybe he’ll afford you some semblance of an acceptable answer.

Jimin laughs softly. “Because you don’t want to. And before you open that pretty mouth of yours to tell me differently…think really hard about it, and you’ll see that I am right. You love being here. Dare I say you might even love me.”

Now you’re the one laughing, though it’s a bit more hollow than you intend. “That’s absurd.” You taste the lie on your tongue as soon as you say it. “Go to hell,” you mutter under your breath.

“Already here, sweetheart.” Jimin slinks off the bed, very reminiscent of the way a serpent moves, all smooth lines and sinuous fluidity. “You’ll find some new clothes in the chifferobe. Get dressed unless you want to go to your little rendezvous like that.” His eyes sweep your naked body, and you can feel the intensity at which they smolder.

To avoid potentially missing your meet up with Dom, you rip your gaze from his and approach the aforementioned wardrobe. Within, you find an entire arsenal of clothes, all in your sizes. That’s one thing you’ve grown to really enjoy: the pure magic of the endless possibilities. You can have anything you want as long as it doesn’t go against Jimin’s wants and desires.

 You may have put on a fashion show or two at the expense of Jimin’s powers. With a simple snap of his fingers, he'd manifest it for you no matter how ridiculous the garment. It’s helped to pass the time. Between the endless fucking and having nothing better to do, well…

It’s been a month since that fateful night with your best friend at the crossroads. A lot can happen in a month. A lot that you’d never have expected. The muttered assurances and pleas you made to one another before you left with Jimin linger in your mind. Her promise to find a way to free you, your unfailing belief and assurance that she would and could do it.

And now? Well, now…you’re not so sure. Should you want to escape your ten-year fate? Probably. Do you? The jury is still out. There is one thing you do know, though. Every day you spend here with Jimin is one more day you get to enjoy the power and grace of whatever connection there is between you. You get to lose yourself in the contours and planes of his impossibly immaculate body; whether it’s human or not, you’ve decided you don’t really care because it just feels too fucking good.

The red ring in your eyes is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of it all. Your fingers flick over some of the newer garments, taking in the sleek feel of silk and the soft brush of leather. Everything in here exudes sex. Something you might have once been embarrassed by, but not now.

Grabbing an off-the-shoulder emerald silk top, you pair it with a simple pair of black jeans. The thick-soled Docs you wore the night of the deal go on after you pull on a pair of socks. The lilac of your hair has remained despite the numerous times you’ve washed it over the last month. Jimin just chuckled and fingered a lock of your hair when you asked him about it, saying something about how much he likes the color on you.

You’ve chalked it up to a flex of his power. After the first week of oddities, you stopped questioning it. The bathing chamber connected to his room offers a variety of luxury products, none of them ever seem to run out. Jimin enjoys soaking in a bath, something you’ve done with him more than a handful of times after a rough but fun session. Sessions such as dirtying up his sheets—which are always pristine and clean once more with just a flick of his wrist.

That little taste of power may make you no longer eager to escape your situation. Who you were before, the responsibilities you held, the people in your life…they all seem like a dream now, hazy and unclear. With the exception of Dominique, of course.

You’re excited to see your friend, but that’s about as far as your enthusiasm goes. Sighing, you turn to face Jimin. Who, in the span of however long it took you to get ready, has cleaned the entire room and dressed himself in a suit similar to the one he wore the night you met him.

His black hair is mussed in a way that looks sexy, tendrils falling from the coif to frame his ruby-colored eyes. Eyes that you have lost yourself in countless times and that are starting to mirror your own. You watch as a cherry lollipop appears in his hand, the wrapper already gone. It shouldn’t be so seductive, the way he using his tongue to seat the candy past his teeth. But you’re desperately turned on by the display.

“Fuck you,” you gruff, knowing he’ll deny you if you proposition him for a quickie before the meeting because it’s never just a quickie with Jimin. No, he turns anything into a full-blown, hour-long experience. Not that you’re complaining.

“Don’t pout…or do. I like the way it makes your lips poke out.” Jimin gestures toward you with the lollipop. “I’ll make it up to you when we return, little mouse. Promise.” He pops the stick into his mouth once more and then holds out his hand to you, one eyebrow raising in silent command.

It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, sliding through the space between Jimin’s world and the other—the one you used to call home. Used to? You’re not sure when that became the distinction.

The moment your feet find the solid ground of the crossroads clearing, you anticipate a forlorn feeling or for an intense desire for salvation to slam into you. Only, it doesn’t come. But maybe seeing Dominique will be the key; unlock the floodgates or something.

She appears a few minutes later. The sound of her boots crunching through the underbrush draws your eyes to the two trees across the clearing through which you followed her just a month ago.

Dominique yells your name before breaking out into a run. Jimin squeezes your fingers where his hand is still wrapped around yours. In all the time you’ve been with him, you still haven’t given him your name. But, now…he knows.

Irritation colors your insides. You snatch your hand from his, earning a soft chuckle from him, and try to plaster on a smile as Dom closes the distance and throws her arms around your neck.

“Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods,” she chants, voice on the verge of hysterics. “Let me,” she begs, her hands sliding to your shoulders so she can hold you at arm's length. Her eyes sweep you from head to toe, clearly checking to make sure you’re unharmed.

“Not a hair out of place, I believe, is what you said,” Jimin says coyly. “Even the color is the same.”

Dominique ignores him, keeping her focus on you. “Your eyes,” she whispers. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Side effect of my time there.” You shrug. “I’m okay, Dom, really.”

When you were first taken, that would have felt like a lie. Now, however, it’s so far from that. You are okay—more than. You glance at Jimin over your shoulder, trying to gauge whether or not he’s listening. He’s absently twirling the lollipop's stick and humming softly, seemingly wholly tuned out.

Still, you let Dominique pull you further away. She pitches her voice low, pulling you in for another hug to disguise the fact she pushes her mouth close to your ear and whispers, “I’ve figured it out. Grann knows a way we can entrap the demon. All I need is his true name. Do you know it?”

You’ve been able to say it for the last two weeks now since Jimin lifted the demand for you not to use it, but for some reason, you don’t want to tell her, so it doesn’t feel like a betrayal. You subtly shake your head. “Sorry.”

“Fuck. Okay. I know you didn't ask for this, but you're handling this better than I thought you would. I mean, I was prepared for something like this for me, but you had no idea what would happen. Not that I think you’re handling it better than I would…I just, yeah, I’m glad you’re alive.”

Dominique pulls back a little so she can look into your eyes but still remain close. The skin around her eyes is darker, her hair a bit disheveled and the purple strands completely faded and washed out. She looks tired, exhausted, really. But what she just said sparks something in you, tickles a niggling you had in the back of your mind from a month ago that resurfaces now. She was prepared for something like this for herself? Interesting. Before you can think further on the matter, Dom sighs heavily, and your attention draws back to her tired expression.

You pause for a beat, waiting for the concern and love for your friend to come crashing down on you. Much like your anger, it doesn’t so much as tickle through your mind. If anything, you’re feeling restless and eager to finish up this meeting and return to Jimin’s quarters in the Obsidian Fortress. Quarters that, you realize now, feel more like home than Dominique’s arms do.

“Maybe I can try, though. For next time.” You try to offer her somewhat of a reassuring smile, but you’re not sure it lands. Her eyes flick over your face, searching…for what, you’re unsure. Whatever she finds there, though, must satisfy her enough that she nods.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

“I’ve missed you, too, Dom. You need to take care of yourself. Can’t rescue me if you can barely keep your feet.”

😈😈😈

Jimin

“...rescue me…”

Jimin admits he was barely paying attention. His own fault, really. But those two words ring in his ears as if you’d shouted them for the entire world to hear. He had really thought you were coming around, enjoying your time with him.

But this? You’re still maintaining some sort of fantasy where your little witchy friend comes to your rescue? Oh, that makes Jimin’s blood boil. How dare you. He’s done nothing but satisfy your every gods damned need and desire.

His plan for forever jumps right to the forefront of his mind. Apparently, he can’t continue to dawdle over this. It’s time to make his move, consequences be damned.

Jimin watches as you giggle and chat with your friend, completely unaware of the fury brewing a few feet away from you. He hopes you’re enjoying yourself because this will be the last time you ever do this again.

The hour drags by. But, when it’s finally time to say goodbye, it doesn’t take much effort on his part. If he hadn’t overheard the little bit of your conversation earlier, he’d almost think you were coming to him willingly—eager, even.

After the fifth time Jimin tasted your soul, he found it hard to read you. Your mind was closed to him; otherwise, he would shove right in and scour it for any morsel of information. Clearly, he’s coddled you too much. So unbecoming of a demon, and there’s only one way he can think to rectify his folly and move forward with his plan all at once…one way—or demon, more precisely—that can give him what he wants; the deal with Dominique be damned.

😈😈😈

It feels right, sliding your hand into Jimin’s. You give Dominique one final, half-hearted wave, and then your breath is stolen by the sensation of falling. It sweeps through your belly, and when you blink, you expect to see Jimin’s lavish room, but instead, you’re somewhere else, somewhere colder and more bleak.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Jimin, what a pleasant surprise,” comes a dark, familiar voice behind you. Chills cascade down your spine, replacing the confusion from seconds before. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jimin tightens his grip on your hand and turns, pulling you with him to face the same being from the first day you were brought to this realm. “I have a favor to ask.”

Coal-black eyes meet yours, and they widen in surprised delight. “My, my, Jimin, you’ve been busy, haven’t you? And yet, her soul is still mostly intact. Restraint and commitment, I’m impressed. What’s the favor?”

“I want to keep her.”

“Keep me?” you ask, startled by this revelation. 

Ignoring you, Jimin continues, “Forever. Dissolve my deal, make her mine in all ways.”

“Interesting,” the dark figure coos. “So very interesting.” With a swirl of dark fabric and smoke, he’s standing before you, so close you can see the purple-black pallor around his eyes and the fine points of his teeth as he smiles. “Mm, I’m intrigued. What’s brought about this request?”

Jimin opens his mouth but closes it again before clearing his throat and tightening his grip on your hand. “I’ve taken a liking to…her.”

“More than a liking, it seems,” Dark Lord chuckles. “Though, it doesn’t seem like you really need my interference. She seems willing enough.”

“What?” Jimin asks, finally looking at you for the first time since pulling you here. “But, I heard—”

“What she wanted the human to hear.”

A long, pale finger hooks under your chin and angles your head, tilting your face from side to side. “Yes, quite willing. Isn’t that so, kitten? Ah-ah, don’t lie to us.”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“If she’s a willing soul, then there is no need for protection. By that account, the deal is void,” he continues, slowly examining your face. “All you need to do is take it all…every drop of her willing soul.”

Without responding, Jimin whisks you away. You suddenly find yourself standing in the middle of Jimin’s room, with him standing right in front of you and his eyes boring into yours so intently.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask.

Jimin gathers you against his chest, arms banding around your waist. “Tell me he’s right.”

“He’s right, Jimin. I’m willing. I-I don’t know…what happened, or when…maybe you’ve manipulated me somehow, and this is all your doing—but, fuck, somehow he’s right.”

His reply is hesitant, uncertain, “You want to be with me?”

Instead of reassuring him once again, you turn the question back on him. “Only if you want to be with me. Tell me I’m more than just part of a demon deal, that I’m not some coveted prize that you’re going to toss away in ten years.”

“No, no, I’d never do that. Even if I had to force you, I’d have never let you go.” At least he has the sense to look sheepish at admitting he’d use force if necessary.

“Wouldn’t that have hurt you somehow, breaking the deal?” Worry creases your brow, even at the mere thought.

Jimin shrugs, pulling you impossibly closer. His warm breath fans over your face as he says, “What’s a few years of punishment in the sanguine pits for breaking a deal compared to an eternity with you?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at the crazy turn of events. “So, what now?” you ask, voice a little shaky at the sudden prospect of what he might say.

“Say it again,” he requests, breathy and fervent in his need to hear it once more, just to be sure.

It comes naturally now, saying precisely what you want.

“I’m willing.”

Jimin responds by cupping your face in his hands and slanting his mouth over yours. You recognize it the instant he starts to sip from your soul. With deep, long swallows, Jimin pulls at that little place inside you…and you let him.

You open yourself to him, accepting this as your fate. Maybe he truly did manipulate you and took away your free will all those weeks ago, but right now, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. Because it feels right…this feels right.

“Sweet, sweet soul,” Jimin murmurs against your mouth. He’s greedy, tongue and lips working as he continues to taste you through the last few drops. “You’re now mine forever, little mouse.”

With eyes of vermillion and honey, you come alive…perhaps for the first time in your life.

All because your friend buried a box.

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-06-29 ColorMePurplex2

[allwaswell16]

This is a fic rec of One Direction marking fics where a character is marked in some way by another character (drawing, tattoos, bites, etc) as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis/Harry -

🖊️ got the sunshine on my shoulders by @hattalove

(E, 124k, drawing) five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

🖊️ 2012 'Verse (series) by @ashavahishta

(E, 102k, marking) Louis would be embarrassed by how his voice goes all low and husky, but it’s no secret between the two of them that he likes to leave marks.

🖊️ Until I Found You by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(E, 45k, love bites) What happens when the opportunity that Louis has been waiting for finally comes, but at the price of having to share the stage with one Harry Styles?

🖊️ through walls of trees by @ineverateakiwi

(T, 41k, bond mark) Elesdon is a country divided into five kingdoms and had long been considered peaceful. After a coup in the heart of the country, Lady Sulia ascended to the throne and imprisoned the four courts, stripping them of their powers. With the exception of King Louis Tomlinson, who submitted to her favors.

🖊️ little wings on my shoes by @juliusschmidt

(M, 39k, love bites) The American High School AU in which no one is cool (except Niall) and Harry wears a rainbow bracelet.

🖊️ some things fade (some never do) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 25k, magical tattoos) Three years after their break up, Harry calls.

🖊️ It's Been Ages by @2tiedships2

(NR, 13k, love bites) “We need to talk,” Niall said as he plopped down on Louis’ bed. “It’s you and Harry. You like him, he likes you, it’s a match made in heaven and you will one day be mates."

🖊️ where your lips land by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite

(E, 12k, drawing & tattoos) the Tyler Knott Gregson-inspired AU where Louis is a poet who lives in Montana and Harry is a photographer passing through.

🖊️ Just a touch of your love by @thegirlontheblackhoodie

(E, 12k, love bites) Harry is a touch starved omega trying to get through it on his own. Louis happens to be the only alpha around to realize it and offers to help.

🖊️ See You When I Get Home by @fournipplesau

(E, 10k, love bites) "What are you thinking about?" He repeats Louis' question from earlier. "You." Louis' reply comes out in a moan. It shocks Harry, and his brain scrambles for the right thing to do, the right thing to say. He doesn't even know how to feel, or if he even heard Louis correctly. "Me?"

🖊️ Drawn to You by @lululawrence

(NR, 8k, soulmarks) Through the years, the random drawings had evolved and changed. There was a period in sixth form when his soulmate must have gotten shy or something, because the drawings only happened after school hours and in places that others wouldn’t be as likely to see.

🖊️ don't let nobody touch it (unless that somebody's me) by stylescantstop

(E, 8k, love bites) the one where harry dances with other men and a jealous louis reminds him he's the only one who can make him come completely apart.

🖊️ You can remain unaware (if you want) by harryanthus

(NR, 7k, soulmarks) the au where soul marks get coloured when they realise they’re in love with their soul mate and Harry has a coloured soul mark, Louis doesn’t.

🖊️ Sex Drunk Suckerpunch by thinlines / @thinlinez

(E, 7k, marking) Sugar Baby Louis did what any sugar baby should avoid doing but (clichely) end up doing anyways, that is, failing for his sugar mama.

🖊️ Hello Darling by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche

(E, 5k, love bites) A city wide blizzard warning, a power outage, and a dismal lack of tea leaves him hours away from what he expects to be one of the more pathetic Christmas mornings of his life. That is, until the new bright eyed intern scares the living crap out of him.

🖊️ Now When I Think of Love it's Redefined by Moriartied / @adidasandangelwings

(E, 3k, marking) The love story of Harry and Louis. (From the XFactor up through their first big fight.) Part 4 of Group Dynamics

🖊️ can't stop lookin' at you by runaways

(E, 2k, love bites) Harry wears little red shorts. Louis is quite fond of them.

- Rare Pairs -

🖊️ Make Your Mark by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 3k, Liam/Louis) When one of Liam's classmates isn't getting the hint that he's not interested, Louis suggests they make him look unavailable.

[burst-of-iridescent]

Aang was indeed a bad father. It's way past time we stopped making excuses for him.

An all too common defense for Aang is the fact that he's a monk and is not well-versed in how parenting looks. Yeah! No shit! But do you know who is well-versed? Katara! They talk as if Aang is a single parent like Toph but he is not. Katara's been on Aang's side since the day they met, always stood up for him, always complimented him.

Is this really the thanks she gets? Are they really that disinterested in explaining Katara's side of the story? As if her not getting a statue wasn't insulting enough.

Another major flaw in this defense is that Aang is not just a monk. He's the avatar. This means, part of mastering all elements also means embodying all of the ideologies based on said elements. That includes elements/ideologies completely opposite of his own. His daughter's crack about Aang "cutting and running when things get tough" shows that he's learned absolutely nothing.

We never truly see him master all the elements, he just gets them and, more or less, calls it a day. I'm even beginning to doubt that he's truly mastered his default airbending and he just got his tattoos prematurely because the monks were impressed with his scooter invention.

Zuko got the privilege of understanding the ideologies of other nations, allowing him to grow, and unlearn any toxic masculinity lessons through them, and would blow a gasket if he ever saw a kid get mistreated by a parent in any way. Is it really any wonder why Zuko is the more popular character and the most requested choice for Katara, in comparison to Aang?

using the "but he was a monk!" argument to excuse aang's bad parenting is fucking baffling to me. even leaving aside that aang did have a father figure (or are we collectively ignoring monk gyatso?), i don't think you need to witness fatherhood in action to understand that showing preferential treatment to one of your children is a messed up thing to do. that seems like the kind of thing that should be common sense, especially when you're best friends with the guy who's walking proof of what happens when you play favourites with your kids.

truthfully, i also don't fully agree with katara being able to compensate for aang's supposed lack of knowledge. while i do believe katara was a good mother, and i don't think it was her responsibility to teach her own husband how to be a good parent, i have my doubts about how much, if ever, katara called aang out on his behaviour towards bumi and kya. if their relationship in atla was any indication, i suspect katara very much turned a blind eye (or at most tried to gently suggest that aang pay more attention to bumi and kya) to aang's flaws in this area, as she (unfortunately) does in most others. that's one of the reasons i was never able to get onboard with kat.aang, because katara is the only one of the gaang who is never able to meaningfully challenge aang, even when he desperately needs it. (the only time i recall her trying to push him to do something he doesn't want is in sozin's comet when the fate of the literal world depended upon it. not a good omen, methinks.)

the katara we knew in atla might not have idly sat by while aang favored his airbending child over the others, but the seeds for who she turns out to be in lok are already planted. it's not a stretch to see how katara's blind faith in aang, and her unwillingness to confront his flaws, could have easily led her down the path to the woman who would fail to stop her husband from neglecting two of their children.

it's no surprise that aang in lok is repeating all the same mistakes he did in atla, because his character arc came to a screeching halt at the start of book 3 and was never picked back up again. how are we meant to believe that aang ever became the avatar (yknow, the embodiment of all four nations in one) when he was still, at the very end of the show, prioritizing the values of one nation over the others?

truly the shocker of the century that people might prefer katara to be with a character who had a believable arc with well-written development and a satisfying conclusion, instead of the narrative equivalent of a brick wall.

[chatterbox-73]

not sure if U take requests but could u do present mic or an aizawa fic?

.Sugar Daddy.

.Radio Sugar.

Hizashi Yamada x fem!Reader

This story is a smut story, I’ll more characters x reader one shots in the future and if you want to see a character please let me know.

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

Part two: Price of consoling (Shota Aizawa)

A/N: I was requested to write about Mic or Aizawa, honestly had the hardest time choosing so will most likely post an Aizawa one-shot in the foreseeable future… though I also don’t want to jinx myself😁.

Summary/inspiration/prompt: you find yourself at a bar using your last few yen before meeting a stranger who teaches you a few very important lessons.

Word count: 1.4k

CW: NSFW and adult content, semi-public sex, oral (m!receiving and implied f!receiving), inexperienced reader, drinking.

You were at university getting your major in music and performing arts, your parents hadn’t approved of your decision to study music and so they completely cut you off. You hadn’t spoken to or seen them in years and it was hard getting by at first that was until you met and got extremely close to a very popular pro hero, who also happened to be a teacher at a top hero academy and a host of a late night radio talk show.

You had been having no luck with any jobs, as all the places hiring wanted some oddly specific quirks for the jobs, some wanted strength based quirks while others wanted speed based quirks, both of which weren’t so fortunate to have. Instead you had a mutation quirk, you didn’t think it was ‘unsightly’, you actually believe yourself to be quite beautiful however you had been called ‘unsightly’ more times in this week alone then you had in your entire life; your quirk wasn’t even that bad.

Your quirk, ‘Four Eyes’ your childhood friend so cruelly named it gave you an extra set of eyes, your extra set of eyes were usually a cool gray but would change colours depending on your emotions. So all in all it wasn’t a weird or out of the ordinary type of quirk, but people still didn’t want to work with someone who had a mutation.

You found yourself at a bar drinking your last few hundred yen, your head laid against the bar counter and you watched the amber coloured liquid swirl around the cup, “now why’s a pretty lady, alone in a place like this?” Your eyes followed where the voice came from, to fine a blonde man with red eyes and a moustache. “Cheap beer and quiet… oh and of course mutant friendly… and you are?” you sat up and took a large swig of the beer almost finishing it all in one shot, he smiled at you and rested his elbows on the bar table, “Yamada… tough time, huh?” He throw his name in as it held no importance and made no attempt to hide that he looked at your breasts, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms under your breasts to pushed them up. If some guy was going to hit on you, you were going to take full advantage of it… “yeah… so it should be easy for you to understand I don’t do this for free” you hummed, as if you knew what you were doing, but in actuality you had no clue. You’d seen plenty of movies and read copious amounts of books with scenarios like this but you had never sold yourself for money, you weren’t even very versed in the ‘act’ itself, but maybe you’d get lucky and he’ll take charge. Yamada lent in and whispered to you, his eyes still focused on your plump breasts “go to the bathroom and I’ll meet you there” he lightly kissed your neck and sat up straight, you got up and walked to the bathroom waiting for the man.

You sat on your feet looking directly at his hard member, it wasn’t massive but still large, it was covered in thick pulsing veins and curved to the side, his balls hung low and were mostly hairless despite the nicely trimmed dense dark blond carpet of pubes that surrounded his cock, in all honesty the sight was delicious, you felt a ache in your abdomen and throat, a dampness settled in your panties as a dryness sat in your mouth. Yamada grabbed the base of his cock and tapped it against your cheek before wiping his tip along your lips before using his other hand to tilt your head back and open your mouth, “suck it baby” he demanded and slide is tip over your tongue, you rested your hands flat on your thighs and began suckling on his tip, you continued this until he clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, “get up” he said and barely looked down at you, you stood and before you could anything he bet you to it. “You don’t do this often” Yamada said as he looked at you, his eyes cold and dark, you shook your head and went to apologise but was interrupted again, “tell me when I’ve got the number right” he held up a hand all five fingers up, before he put down his thumb, only leaving up four fingers, you watched his hand and he watched you. Yamada dropped another finger and then another, to this you blinked and looked to the ground, the man looked at his hand… two, how measly and pathetic, he thought. “And out of these two times, did you give a blowjob” he asked and your eyes stayed on the ground, he hummed and wrapped an arms around your waist pulling you into his chest, his other hand tangled onto your hair “don’t worry, I’ll teach you, sweetness” he chuckled as forced a kiss on your mouth, you gasped as he pressed his hips into yours and pushed his tongue into your mouth, you grabbed his shirt and whined before he pulled away from you and pushed you back onto your knees.

You panted and gasped as your heart raced, you looked up at him waiting for instructions, “grab the base with one hand” you followed the instruction, your hand wrapped around his tip and slowly slid down to the base making contact with Yamada’s rough carpet, he smirked and nodded “good girl, now gently cup my balls with your other hand” he said, your hand lightly cupped his sack, it was strange they were warm, heavy and strangely smooth, the man hissed slightly at the warmth of your hand, “now hurry up and start sucking… but don’t only suck, kiss and lick too” he eyed you as you took his tip into your mouth and sucked it, before you swirled your tongue around it and slowly slipped it out of your mouth, you continued to repeat this same action until you gained more confidence and with your new found confidence you took him deeper, you bobbed your head and light rubbed his ball, Yamada leaned his head back groaning and tangling a hand into your hair.

It was euphoric, his taste, his scent and his sound, he was enjoying your mouth wholly, Yamada wasn’t far from finished and somehow you could tell, you gently squeezed his sack and took him all the way in, it was uncomfortable and made you feel as though you’d vomited at any moment but the feeling of his body tense and the taste of his hot seed… your eyes rolled back and you hand disappeared under the waistband of your pants, you moaned allowing your fingers to explore your wetness, the man stiffened and pulled you off his member, pulling you to your feet.

Your body pressed to his, your fingers still occupied with your cunt, “that was sloppy…” Yamada hummed pulling your hand from your pants, “you came… didn’t you” you whined and glared at the man before your resentment quickly turned to shock as he took your dirty fingers into his mouth sucking them clean, Yamada chuckled lifting you onto the bathroom counter before yanking your pants off and disappearing between your thighs.

You looked at your very full bank account it had only been two hours since you allowed that strange to fuck you on the bathroom counter and now you stood at the ATM looking down at all the extra digits that weren’t there before, one single transaction from a Hizashi Yamada and you’re richer than you’d been in your entire life, all you had to do was have some sloppy mediocre sex with him, suddenly a thought crossed your mind; ‘if I get better at that and do everything he wants… I’d be living comfortably for the rest of my life’ you smile and draw out some money, just enough to get dinner and rent a couple of adult films… for studying of course…

__

That was three years ago, now you live in a high class apartment and wear the finest clothes and jewellery, everything and anything you want, only for the price of your body. However there’s one thing you weren’t prepared for was Yamada introducing you to his friend, A friend he explained has recently broken up with his girlfriend and needs some consoling… at the right price of course… to which you couldn’t refuse.

More from the ‘Sugar Daddy’ series:

Masterlist (coming soon)

Previous - Satoru Gojo: ‘Not’ only you.

Next - Shota Aizawa: Price of consoling.

[girlactionfigure]

Debunking the antisemitic  Talmud quotes meme promoted by @DanBilzerian and boosted by @RealCandaceO and her ilk

A thread.

Preface: None of this is new; most of these fake quotes originate from a couple of antisemitic German books that are over a hundred years old and they've been debunked over and over in many places. Sadly, most of them are not so accessible so I'll go over them myself. 

As far as my credentials, I'm a Rabbi who is in his second decade teaching Talmud for a living. This is something that occupies a large part of my day.

It's truly an eye-rolling moment whenever I see these quoted. Let me show you why:

1) Soferim 15

Mistranslation + taken out of context. 

In a discussion about generalities, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that even the best members of your enemy nation, you should kill in a time of war instead of having mercy on them. This is rooted in the exodus from Egypt:

It says that after the plagues, when the Jews were in the midst of the sea, they were pursued by Pharoh and the rest of the egyptians on chariots. Now, how could they have chariots if all of their animals died in a plague?

Those who feared G-d brought them inside as per Moshe. 

So, they believed in the words of Moshe, they believed that G-d was sending those plagues on Egypt, and yet they still decided after seeing everything all the miracles they saw and knowing what they put the Jewish people through, to pursue them at sea in order to kill them. 

This is why Rabbi Shimon says that, in a time of war, don't have mercy on 'the best' of your enemies but rather kill them. We can see from this that they might have been the best members of their society but they still ultimately wanted to go through with their murderous intents. 

 Yevamot 98a

Fake translation, and out of context. 

There's a discussion about what happens when identical twin brothers converted, one marries a Jewish woman and he dies without having an heir: does his existing brother perform levirate marriage, or give her a form of divorce. 

There's a whole debate about whether or not he's permitted to do a levirate marriage.

One of the arguments that is brought is that since there's so much licentiousness in the non-Jewishness nation at the time, we don't know who is anyone's father as such, we don't allow it. 

To back this opinion, a verse from Ezekiel about the licentiousness of the Egyptians that compares their views on relationships with the way animals mate with each others without caring about who they mate with. 

So, in no way does it say that "children of non-Jews are animals." 

3) Bava Metzia 114b

Fake translation, and completely out of context. 

In short, there's a discussion about the idea of ritual purity, and whether the corpse of a non-Jew renders you impure if you touch their grave or not. According to Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, no. Here's why: 

He quotes a verse in relation to ritual purity that says that only Jews are called "Adam." 

Now, antisemites translate this as meaning man. Except, there are four terms that define man: Adam, Ish, Enosh and Gever. They all have different spiritual meanings.

So, Rabbi Shimon is not saying here that "non-Jews are not human", there's nothing about how non-Jews are beast at all mentioned there. In fact, the ones being compared to animals here are Jews (sheep). 

4) Gad Shas 2:2 

This is a fake quote. There's no such thing as Gad Shas.

In fact, both the Bible &  Talmud prescribe lashes for a Jewish man who engages in relations with a non-Jewish girl whether for pleasure or "marriage" (such unions are not legally recognized as marriage). 

5) Avodah Zara 36b

Fake translation and out of context.

Yes, non-Jewish girls are considered niddah from birth. So is the status of any non-Jewish woman who is unmarried as well. And married women for nearly half a month. 

It has nothing to do with "filth" at all. 

In fact, the reason why the Rabbis decreed that non-Jewish women are considered to be in a state of niddah from birth is to make it an even worse punishment if a Jew were to stay and have relations with one of them.

The Torah is really big into not intermarriage. Lots of verses. 

6) Sanhedrin 54b

Fake translation & wildly out of context.

This is a discussion specifically about *forbidden relationships* and whether it makes you susceptible to the death penalty. What's debated here is whether a person who engages in such horrible actions is put to death. 

The Sages determined that before the age of 9, children are completely unaware & don't understand what relations are. Between the ages of 9 & 13, while they do understand, they are not considered guilty whether passive or active. 

The whole discussion is about their victimizer. 

So here, the Jewish that is codified is that if a man forces someone between the ages of 9 & 13 to engage with him, that person gets the death penalty (and his victim does not) and under the age of 9, he does not get the death penalty but rather he gets lashes in public. 

The fact that he gets lashes for it instead of the death penalty doesn't mean that it's less than a crime. It's because it's considered something other than having relations, because a child that age is unable to understand what is happening and as such it's a different crime. 

For the record, Halacha also permits you to straight up kill this victmizer if you catch him in the act and it's necessary to stop, so it's not like he's being protected or we don't believe his crime is not something heinous. 

7) Sanhedrin 58b

Fake translation

The opinion of Rabbi Chanina is that if a non-Jew strikes a Jew, he is worthy of receiving the death penalty, as we saw when an Egyptian struck a Jew and Moshe killed him. 

Jewish law, however, says that a non-Jew is not executed for this. 

This is why so many of these are infuriating. This is one opinion talking about how someone "ought to" get something for doing something, but somehow it becomes transformed as "This is what Judaism believes." 

8) Sanhedrin 57a

Fake translation, plus out of context. 

Here, there is a whole discussion about the 7 Laws of Noach and whether a non-Jew who transgresses them is liable to the death penalty or not. 

Here  the Talmud states that laws against murder are stronger for non-Jews. 

As is codified in Halacha, a non-Jew who kills a fetus for example is going to be put to death, while it might not be the case for a Jew depending on the case. Same if he killed someone who was dying, or put them in a situation where they died indirectly because of him. 

So, if a non-Jew hired a hitman, locked someone and left them to starve to death or pushed them in front of a lion, they will be put to death while a Jew might not be in this situation.

That doesn't mean that a Jew is allowed to do such a thing; the Jew will in fact be punished. 

The only distinction here is that "7 mitsvot you can't violate, you can do whatever you want but otherwise you deserve the death penalty if you violate them."

Think of it like Adam in the Garden being told he has one thing to do, and one thing only. Breaking it is much worse. 

Since for Jews there are 613, there are more punishments than just the death penalty/nothing, which means that in certain cases, a Jew might be punished with lashes or spend the rest of his life in prison versus being put to death. Doesn't mean that non-Jewish lives don't matter. 

9) Tosfot  Yevamot 84b

Fake quote. 

I mean, I went through the Tosafot on that page twice and there's absolutely nothing even close. 

It's also confusing, because why with a dog specifically? That has no meaning to us, dogs aren't seen as particularly bad in Judaism. 

10) Bava Metzia 24a

Out of context. 

This is the closest one to being accurate, and yet at the same time wildly out of context. We start by discussing a case where a man saves a lost object from a wild animal, at sea, the flooding of a river, or finds it in a public place. 

There's a debate: did the owner despair of finding the object and, as a result, it is considered ownerless so the person who saved it is permitted to keep it, or does it still belong to his original owner who still hopes to retrieve it eventually. 

"Is the item owned or ownerless?" is the basic gist, and the answer is that if you find it in a place where it's a majority of non-Jewish inhabitants, it is considered ownerless (even if it belonged to a Jew in the first place) because it is not the way of people to get them back 

So it has nothing to do whether the owner of the object isn't Jewish (so you can keep it) but if he was Jewish you'd give it back. 

It has to do with whether the majority there are likely to give back such lost items or not, and it simply was not the case in those societies. 

11) Bava Kamma 113a

Fake quote, and out of context. 

This is a discussion that has to do with tax collectors who were ripping off people at the time and enriching themselves on the back of citizens by claiming taxes that didn't belong to them. Doesn't matter if Jewish or not. 

So there is a discussion about whether you are allowed to lie in order to protect yourself and your money from those thieves. 

The same way you'd be allowed to lie to "circumvent" a non-Jew about whether you were hiding a Jew in your attic during the Second World War. 

12) Avodah Zara 22a-22b

Mistranslation, and out of context. 

Basically, it says that you're not allowed to leave your animals alone in the inns of non-Jews at the time since you're putting a stumbling block in front of the blind as they commonly engaged in bestiality back then. 

I mean I don't think there's much to say about this, it's clear that in many places in the world this is just as common today as it was back then, and even in the more rural areas of the "developed" world it's still something that happens. 

The less said, the better. 

Conclusion:

This wraps up this ridiculous piece of propaganda. None of the quotes were 1) accurate, 2) complete and 3) in context. Some of them, straight up lies. 

Don't learn theology from memes, people. 

[dweemeister]

Instant reactions to the 96th Academy Awards

A rough night for me. But there have been rougher ones before. I imagine most of my comments put me in a very lonely minority, as has been apparent the last few months.

But here goes:

For all intents and purposes, yours truly was on the Killers of the Flower Moon train. An extraordinary crime epic from Scorsese, with astounding craftsmanship and fantastic performance from Lily Gladstone. More than what I previously believed possible, a major studio production went out of its way to make sure that its Indigenous American representation on-screen was as genuine as it could possibly be (still imperfect, as the film acknowledges, but what an effort). And yet, KOTFM goes 0/10. I've never had a favored Best Picture nominee be shut out in such a way before. And I'm not surprised at all by it. It was clear that non-American and non-Canadian audiences didn't get the context to the film (a criticism I understand, given the screenplay) and, in other quarters, folks thought it was too long (I admittedly have a higher tolerance for longer movies) and others have said something akin to the fact that they are getting tired over "racial guilt" movies from America. I'm not in the mood to respond to the last one. I think it deserved better tonight. I particularly think Lily Gladstone deserved better tonight.

Stat upheld: two non-white actresses have never won on the same night in Oscar history. History, in and of itself, was always against Gladstone.

Oppenheimer winning? Fine, I guess. It was my #4 choice of the ten Best Picture nominees. I guess Christopher Nolan was overdue, but I have always been a Nolan skeptic. The film certainly is his most humanistic, and I appreciate that. As for the narrative organization and editing trickery? It mostly serves to take me out of the movie. And I don't think Nolan truly understands what thematic film music can accomplish for his movies. I think RDJ should have had much more competition all season long, but he did not. Most people are gonna say this is the return of the Academy's favorite subgenre... the Great Man Biopic. But in composition and structure, Oppenheimer (and even Maestro) resembles very little of the past Great Man Biopics. It'll be interesting to see how history treats this movie.

I disliked Poor Things. I didn't care for its sense of humor, didn't agree with many folks' opinions that it was a magnum opus of female empowerment. I thought it was incredibly male gaze-y and troublingly sanitized its scenes of sex work. Jerskin Fendrix's score was unlistenable outside the context of the film and distracting within it. But it has four Academy Awards and people love this movie, so my opinion can go to heck?

Well done Da'Vine Joy Randolph for her win as Supporting Actress for The Holdovers. I truly hope this opens up a lot more new opportunities for her going for! Wonderful speech.

And speaking of wonderful speeches, both documentary winners got me very emotional. The Last Repair Shop is on YouTube for American and Canadian viewers, and it's simply wonderful. Perhaps the happiest I was all night long! And then came Mstyslav Chernov's speech after winning for 20 Days in Mariupol. Chernov had, arguably, the speech of the night. And I agree with him. I, too, wish he never had to make his film and that he never won this Oscar. But he did his job to document what happened in Mariupol. And for that he (and the Ukrainians suffering and dying in their war versus Russia) deserves our plaudits and support.

Once more, Hayao Miyazaki cannot be bothered to show up to an awards ceremony. It's hilarious! I would have voted Robot Dreams, but The Boy and the Heron is not a winner to sniff at. Spider-Verse will have one more shot.... whenever the third movie comes out?

Good lord, they selected the worst possible winner in Animated Short with War Is Over!. There's an unwritten rule that the Academy, among the fifteen nominated shorts, must select one which will piss me the hell off. And for the second straight year in Animated Short, they have done exactly that, choosing something akin to a soft drink commercial.

Billie Eilish and Finneas are now the youngest and second-youngest ever to win two Oscars, after Luise Rainer (Best Actress for 1936's The Great Ziegfeld and 1937's The Good Earth). That feels very, very weird. In both cases of this record.

The "I'm Just Ken" performance? Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Like Ken)??? Busby Berkeley choreography? What do the kids say? Inject that straight into my veins? It was wonderful.

And speaking of nods to cinema history, I'm so glad they led off the stunt performers tribute with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd. :,)

And congratulations to Godzilla Minus One and its Best Visual Effects win! After seventy years, Godzilla is now an Oscar-winning franchise, and its win percentage is 100%! Simply wonderful!

I think the moral of the story is that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) has been gradually internationalizing over the last decade. And the results of that were very clear tonight. Does that mean I'm too provincial in my tastes? I don't know. But wins such as Emma Stone's, Anatomy of a Fall, The Boy and the Heron, and Godzilla are demonstrative of that.

I'm glad this season is over. I certainly hope that Killers of the Flower Moon will be looked upon more kindly by history and time, without the bells and whistles of awards campaigning and a fuller understanding of why it was made the way it was.

This month has been fun! But now it's time to see movies again without the lens of awards for a long, long while.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hi! I love your writing, and I'm usually just a lurker, but I love the verse so could we get more secret!reader with her cat?

Bruce paused outside the door, hesitating.

Jason had said you were... better. And you did know who he was. Hopefully you didn't register him as a threat. He didn't want to ruin the progress you'd made. You'd been out more.

Not coming with Jason to the house. Not unless Damian asked you to come look at one of his animals. Even still... you didn't stay long. Just long enough to do whatever check-up, vaccination, or nail trim he'd asked for help with.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, knocking on the door. He had some money for you. As he understood, you didn't need it really but. If you were going to be their on-call veterinarian, he should probably pay you.

Locks disengaged. Bruce counted four and nodded to himself, only to have to blink for a second when you opened the door. A massive orange cat sprawled across your arm like a baby.

"Is that a house cat or a tiger?" Bruce asked, watching you heft him closer.

"A cat, we think," you answer, stepping back just slightly to let him into the entry way. "Jason isn't-"

"I came to see you, actually," he said, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket.

"Why-"

"Some money for taking care of Damian's zoo," he explained, giving you an apologetic smile.

"It's fine- Oh good lord Elmer," you break off and adjust the cat who'd started to slide off your arm. His front paws twitching aimlessly.

"Is he okay?" Bruce asked, setting the envelope on the little kitchen table, frowning.

"Just stoned," you snort. "Jason left the catnip on the coffee table and Elmer- well." You gesture to him with your free hand and turned to lay him on the sofa in a sunbeam.

Bruce chuckled, "Can I pet him?" he asked.

"I don't think he'd even notice," you tell him. "He's pretty out there."

Bruce waited for you to move away before he moved forward, mindful of your nerves. He could see the tension in your body as you rubbed your shoulder and pressed your collar closer to your neck. Insecure of the scarring and your voice. And he reached forward. Strokin the orange fur and smiling to himself when he heard the metal file rasp of his purr. "That is a huge cat."

"Do you want something to Drink? Jason said he'd be back soon if-"

He could smell coffee and so he nodded. "Coffee would be nice. It's cold out today-"

"So cold Elmer can't find squirrels to growl at out the window," you snort, going to get him a drink.

"Attack cat, huh?" he said to the cat, snorting as he took a seat on the sofa, stroking the cat gently. And he took a minute to look around.

It was clear you loved the cat. There was a nice cat tree. No real discernable cat smell. And some toys- traces of catnip on the rug still that the vacuum hadn't picked up. And he could tell Jason had probably given you free rein to decorate. It wasn't as... Spartan. And the furniture was fit to sit on.

"He thinks so," you snort, "Silly old man. Creamer?"

"Please," Bruce said smiling. Your voice, while not loud, was clear if you listened but he could see why you'd hesitate to say much. This was the longest conversation Bruce had had with you. And when you come back to the living room, proffering his coffee, Bruce stood slightly to take it. "Thank you," he said.

You nod and smile just a little, "You didn't have to pay-"

Bruce held up a hand and shook his head, "I didn't realize Damian had been bringing you to take care of... Well. All of his animals. It's for your time if nothing else."

"It's not a problem," you answer, looking away. "It gets me out of the house. And I miss- well. I'm supposed to be presumed dead and-"

"It's hard to have a clinic when you're in hiding," he finished, smiling wryly.

And when you nod, shoulders sagging slightly, he could see why Jason was so protective of you. What had happened to you was an injustice. You'd been hurt. And you continued to be hurt. It wasn't just your big over-bright eyes. It was the heart. You wore it on your sleeve.

The Garage door opened and you looked that way, startled and Bruce felt himself tense for just a second. Until your shoulders relaxed again at the sound of Jason's boots on the floor.

"Hey," Jason said, glancing between you and Bruce. He'd noticed one of his cars parked on the street, "the demon try to take in a little of puppies again?"

"No," Bruce snorted, "Thank god. I just came to thank Y/N. And pay her for being his personal vet."

Jason nodded, crossing the floor to kiss the side of your head and give you a squeeze, "Is there more coffee?" he asked, "It's freezing."

You make a soft affirmative noise and slip out of his grip, retreating into the kitchen to make him a mug, ignoring his protests that he could get it and looking down at the cat who was now ineffectively trying to wash his face- staring vacantly at his outstretched paw. "Damn," Jason said, "Just go to sleep buddy."