#when “Anything your heart desires will come to you” goes too far

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

I’m living for Trein interacting with Crewel Yuu, honestly he probably is kinda like a grandpa out of (misplaced) guilt. I’m still trying to figure out what exactly happened to make em disappear cause they’re in the place that should have been the most protected lol.

-🦑

Someone on earth was very determined to wish on everything so they could have a child. Surprise! A stolen and teleported child appears.

Trein hugs Yuu the moment he learns they're Crewel's child.

Trein "You're home. I've been blaming myself every day since your disappearance."

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I'm not saying yandere Dick Grayson would baby trap his darling...but he most definitely would

Warnings: toxic and abusive themes. forced domesticated life, mentions of baby trapping, purposeful weight gain, manipulation, dick is a good hubby though, he's just so desprate

Please just hear me out on this concept. Now i've said before that Dick Grayson would've realistically had to put a halt on his personal life and relationships because alongside being nightwing and keeping his family together, it'd just be too much.

Could you imagine Yandere! Dick is like hitting his mid-thirties at this point, work is growing old and all of his siblings are just about adults and he's exhausted. One day, the siblings are all just chilling around the mansion and the topic of what they plan to do with their life after being a vigilante comes up. Dick hadn't though about it ever because well...this consumed every minute of his life but he figured he'd probably settle down and start a family. Jokingly one of his siblings said, "How could you ever find time for another family when you're already the matriarch of this one?", and it just hasn't left his mind since.

Fast forward and he's sitting in a dinner alone after patrol and he's just watching this family and their kids and it just hits him that he'll never have that at the rate he's going. If he doesn't end up dead from his work, he'd probably end up rotting in that mansion alone because he's too busy fixing the messes Bruce made with the others. He's been a "father" to his siblings since his teen years and he has not much to show for it. I mean he's proud of all of them but...he's still just their older brother...

He goes home and is thinking about just how happy that father looked while throwing his kids up in the air...or how beautiful his wife looked carrying their unborn child. He envied how simple and perfect their life was. They didn't have to miss out on life to fight crime around the clock or to piece back together something he never broke. They could happily go home..with each other and be proud of what they've made. He's looking back at his life and while he knows he's accomplished so much but being an actual dad is something he'll never get a chance to be. Not while he's still playing as the head of Bruce's household.

Yandere! Dick Grayson who now wants to be a father so badly and to come home to a pretty wife who truly loved him. Not just some one nighter who couldn't see past his body.

He met you by chance a few weeks later. It was while he was grabbing food before his nightly patrol, and the spark was like never before. It was fate. or delusion You were destined to be his pretty wife and be his ticket out of that mess. You're so perfect

Dick is maybe a little too eager to make his desires a reality. Like he's completely ready to let go of his previous familial duties to make way for his new ones. It's a huge shift but it's a necessary one. This is his Fiona Gallagher moment. He's steadily loosening the grip and ignoring calls to be fully focused on you. Dick wants to prove he'll be a great husband who won't neglect you for anyone else even if they're as close as family. He can't let them get in the way anymore.

He doesn't care if he has to manipulate his way into your heart, he's going to have you. He's the only one that'd ever be as good to you as he will be. There's not even a money limit on how much he's willing to pour into this process. If it takes paying your rent or car note to prove he's provider material...then so be it. Anything for the future mother of his children.

!Yandere Dick Grayson who doesn't even know if you want kids or marriage but he's so far gone in his own fantasies that he just assumes you have the same goals as he...even if you don't...you soon will..I like to think he slowly shifts you into being a stay at home girlfriends and floods your mind with ideas of this being your purpose. He needs you to know just how great you are at being domestic...this isn't so bad right? You could do this for the rest of your life!

Like i said he doesn't mind throwing money at you if it'll make you desire this life with him. Besides, he prefers you to be financially dependent on him. You are so shy when you ask him for things but he loves knowing that you need him, just like a good wife does.

First he's just always wanting you over his house for cute dates, then it's becoming a weekender situation...then a few days out of the week and now you practically live with him.

In the meantime he's doing subtle things like cooking dinner and breakfast with you at the same times every day. This is so you'll automatically start doing this on your own and so you know what he likes and at what time. He's got you doing shopping runs for the home. He's a sneaky little shit who asks you to throw in his laundry and clean up his messes while he's at work. He of course compensates you for being such a great helper. Your new job is here at his home. It fills him up with so much joy when he comes home and all your tasks are completed.

Yandere! Dick who is always surprising you with foods and snacks you cannot resist to make you plumper for when you're carrying his baby. Of course he's denying the allegations when you jokingly tease him about making you fat on purpose but we know the truth. Still, he's loving your body regardless, it needs to be healthy with extra fats to keep your children protected. He can barely contain himself though when he sees your little stomach pudge , it gets him all too excited for the real deal. It makes him feel all the less guilty about tampering with the contraceptives when he thinks about how gorgeous you'll be when you're swollen with his baby. I mean you're already this cute with a little bloat.

Oh just the thought of you walking around in public and everyone who sees you know that you're already claimed..ugh He doesn't know what to do with himself. You're all his and no one can steal you away from him. Not when you don't have any time. You're too busy taking care of the home and the baby to be bothered by anything else.

You won't be too mad at him, right? I mean just so desperate to have a quiet new life. He wants to be a father so bad, please let him have this. He'll be so so good for you and the baby.....he needs this.

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x reader | fluff, a little bit domestic, a little bit intimate, a little bit suggestive? (not really) | cw: cursing, a very modest bath scene

-bakugou only knows how to give, you wish he'd let you do the same for him-

Thinking about the newly domestic give and take between you and Katsuki. It doesn't come naturally to him. He's hell bent on doing everything himself, at first. That's the way he's always lived after all—hyper self-sufficient, independent to a fault, and so goddamn stubborn about it all.

It makes you feel almost useless, his insistence on doing everything, not only for himself but for you as well. Honestly, you should have expected it; he was like that well before moving in together. Taking all the responsibilities on himself, wrangling you out of the way when you so much as try to help, because he "feels like it", or he's "better at it", or "just move, f'r I make ya".

But you were a guest in his house, then—so you let him have his way, bullheaded as it was. Now that you share a house—a home—you want nothing more than to take care of it, of him.

Though moving mountains would be easier than convincing him to accept it.

You try brute force, first. And it goes as well as you might expect, like throwing pebbles at a brick wall. Putting yourself between him and the dishes is just as futile; he cooked dinner, you should be the one to do this. It's only fair. Still, he takes it upon himself to pick you up and physically remove you from 'his' spot by the sink, ugly yellow gloves dripping dishwater all the way to the counter.

The floor is completely soaked by the time he plops you down on the countertop, as are your jeans, your flailing arms and exasperated "Katsuki!" having done little to deter him. Your mouth opens in protest but his hands, firm at your sides and eyes, red, and stern and definite leave no room for discussion.

So you try to 'talk about it', second. When his mood has cooled and he's feeling a little sweet. He usually is, when hero work has worn him down, chipped away at his fire until there's nothing left but his worn down bones and the aching desire to be enveloped in you—his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair.

He's nothing but mush in your arms by the time you bring it up, nearly two hundred pounds of limp muscle, eyes half lidded, and slow, warm breath. You think he doesn't hear you at first, more likely he pretends not to; but then you hear a half-hearted, "hmph". And you sigh.

"I'm serious, Kats." you rake your fingers across his scalp absently and he groans in appreciation, furling into you more. "You can't do everything, just look at you."

He peers up at you with one eye, an almost glare, more playful than anything; too tired for anything more. He huffs gently, warm breath across your chest when you don't back down. "We'll talk about it later."

'Later'; meaning never. Still, you don't press him. Not when he's so tired, not when this small moment of peace is all he allows you to offer him.

Ever predictable; there isn't a later, and he finds a way to avoid the conversation, in one way or another. Over and over and over again. You're at the end of your rope just trying to get him to listen.

So you try a last ditch effort at patience, at compromise (usually a losing battle, with him); working him over, little by little.

And it works, mostly.

You find that, most times, you can slip past him while he's cooking to steal the dirty mixing bowls and discarded pans; wash them while he's preoccupied trying not to burn the chicken or fretting over cutting the vegetables 'just right'. That him doing the cooking is non-negotiable, but he'll let you help as long as you stop trying to kiss him while he's "tryin' to make y'r dinner over here, god damnit".

(Don't let him fool you, he likes it).

That it takes you far too long to realize how much he craves being asked for 'help', instead of your usual insistence on helping him. That when he feels appreciated and useful, he's almost eager to share the housework with you, looking almost boyish standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, the tepid scowl twisting his pretty face betrayed by the blush creeping up the back of his neck when you hum a lilted, "Thank you, Katsuki".

Your strategy's not foolproof, of course; he's still quick to steal whatever you're working on once he's finished his, itching to make himself busy once more.

But it's progress.

Still, no matter how much you try, or how long you pester him, he puts his foot down at taking care of him while he's sick, while he's training or on patrol. Anything that could end with you hurt, or put you in harms way is a hard 'no'—always, always, always.

That's not to say he doesn't let you take care of him ever. Though it was more hassle than it should have been, getting him to just sit comfortable instead of disappearing into the bath for hours, or taking his frustrations out on his poor, battered training equipment.

These days, when he's had an especially tiring evening, he'll sink down into the sofa without you having to say a thing, let you press your fingers into his shoulders and down his spine until the knots unwind. That occasionally he'll let you take him by the hand even, coax him gently into warm water and vanilla scented bubble bath.

That he becomes particularly docile when you're massaging your flowery conditioner into his wily blonde hair. The scent of you—over his waist, around his shoulders, in his hair—it's almost intoxicating, and he wraps his arms around you, like he's desperate for more, burying his face in your chest; sighs like he's at ease for the first time in his life.

It isn't easy, teaching Katsuki to take—but when he lays down with you at night, his eyes are a little brighter, hands hold you a little tighter, a little longer than when all he knew was how to give, give, give. And when his lips find yours, and you can feel his smile against them, you figure all the trouble is worth it.

And when he rolls the both of you over til you're pinned beneath heavy thighs, impish grin on his lips and calloused fingers beneath your shirt, trouble and promise brewing behind his newly fired eyes, well that's just a bonus.

[perrywrites]

Absentmindedly murmuring that you want him inside of you during his practice;

NSFW 

Includes; Isagi, Hiori, Bachira

Part 2 (Chigiri, Reo) and part 3 (Kaiser, Barou) and part 4 (Nagi, Shidou, Kunigami) and part 5 (Sae, Rin, Karasu, Otoya, Yukimiya)

Isagi: it’s time for his break during practice, and he’s gulping down water, adam’s apple bobbing as he hydrates himself. He’s loosely aware of your dazed stare as you continue looking at him from the bench, after all you haven’t been very subtle in staring at him throughout practice - and although he could ignore it on field, not so much off of it. He’s still gulping down water, about to go towards you afterwards just for a quick chat, and to ask you why you’ve been staring at him so much, unusually quietly. Then you say something that makes him freeze up, setting fire to his face and nearly killing him in the process. “I want you inside of me…” you mumble that, sighing in a manner as if he had romanced you. The surprise proves near fatal, and he’s choking on his water, turning away from you as his ears burn up fiercely. What? What? Did you actually just say that? Or has he somehow actually gone crazy now? Some sort of brain fatigue? An answer to his unasked question comes in the form of your lighthearted giggle, as you apologize casually for letting your thoughts slip out. That doesn’t do anything to calm the fire heating up his skin, heart thundering throughout his body, especially not when your eyes are still just as dazed when you look up at him, all lovesick and opaque with longing. “You can’t just say that,” he says, voice quiet and strained, face still heavily flushed. You giggle, and tease him a bit more, before he goes back to practice. Except now he can’t focus on anything anymore. All he can think about are your sweet words, that lovesick gaze of yours, and the softness of your plush walls. His mind is failing, and you’ve proven to be a magnificent distraction. The only thing on his mind right now is how badly he wants to sink into you and fuck you hard for even daring to say that outloud. He wants to pin you down and have his way with you, make you so dumb on his cock, fill you up - and oh god. He’s clenching his hands, flexing any muscles in his body that he can, trying to divert the blood away from his cock, because his shorts were starting to feel a little too tight. Fuck, look at what you’ve done. Are you proud of yourself? You’re not going to be getting away with this, you know that, right? Why did you think it was a good idea to tease him like this during practice, make him want you so badly? Was last night not enough? Just wait until the end of practice. He’ll be pouncing on you with a growl, dragging you somewhere private he can pound some fucking sense into you. Don’t bother trying to run away, you know he’ll catch you.

Hiori: he finds himself raising an amused eyebrow as he walks towards you during his break, noting how you’re still looking at him, all dreamy and dazed, gaze thick with longing. He knows more than well enough the meaning of that stare, your expressions always give away far too much, but he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he asks you lightly if something’s wrong, taking sips of his water. He freezes before he can go in for a third sip, some water spilling out from the top of the bottle at his sudden pause. Did he hear you right? Did you actually just say that? He blinks, looking at you, and his eyes narrow darkly when he catches that spacey fuzzy look on your face. How do you manage to look so innocent and corruptible despite just saying such a perverse thing? He doesn’t understand it, no matter how many times he thinks about it, but what he does know is how that spaced out look on your face never fails to stir sinful desires within him, cock twitching in his pants as his body heats up. On the surface, he looks calm, as always, nothing amiss - but his eyes are clouded over deeply, and his jaw is tense. You love to test his self-restraint, don’t you? For some reason, when you two first started dating, you seemed to have the impression that he doesn’t yearn, doesn’t have a sexual appetite, and it was amusing for him to prove you wrong again and again, take you by surprise - because every time you’d be befuddled by the fact that he wants you, and that he wants you badly. That’s why you’re capable of saying something so inviting so carelessly, right? Even right now, you don’t know a single thing that’s running through his mind, do you? How he wants to watch your eyes turn all dewy, tears pooling as you whimper and sob out his name beneath him, face flushed and lips quivering, an expression only for him on your face, make you vulnerable and helpless underneath as he loves you to death. He wants to do all of those things and more, make you so weak and useless, cherish you and make you take him until you break. But, he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he smiles impassively, walking over to you as he pats your head, but when he speaks, there’s something veiled in his controlled voice. “Don’t worry, ya only have to wait a little longer, okay?”

Bachira: throughout practice he catches your stare, noting your listless gaze as your eyes follow him run and score across the field. He’s not oblivious, though, he can tell well enough the simmering desire sitting heavy and darkly in your seemingly empty and unthinking eyes. “What’s with that look?” he asks, all toothy smirk and teasing eyes as he drinks from his bottle, eager to badger you during his small water break. But it seems like you’re a little too out of it, feeling a little too bold, because you respond bluntly, murmuring quietly that you were thinking about wanting him inside of you. He’s taken aback at your unintentional provocation, blinking away the shock as he smiles, amused. You really will be the death of him, won’t you? He tries lightheartedly teasing you, asking you what made you so impatient that you couldn’t even wait until you two were alone to tell him this, and when you say that neither of you would be able to resist right now if he got you alone, he damn near loses his mind. He can feel the heat spreading through his body, itching to do something to you as you continue looking up at him all dazed and yearning, and he tells you that exactly so, voice all husky. With a smile as normal as ever, except his eyes are glinting in a way that sends fire down your core. A whimper bubbles up your throat. “I want you to do something to me so badly, you have no clue,” you say, whimpery voice bursting out, and you’ve done it. His eyes darken needily, smile faltering, and he quickly ditches his towel and water bottle; practice be damned. Hand on your arm, he pulls you up and begins lightly dragging you somewhere else, somewhere isolated, somewhere he can fuck you and make you cry so hard on his cock you lose your voice. That’s what you get for tempting him. This is what you want, right? He’ll give it all to you, don’t worry. Just be good and submissive for him, spread those legs for him and leave your body all pliant under his hungry touch. He’ll fill you up, and he’ll keep filling you up until you’re satisfied - or rather, until he’s satisfied. Because you’ve lit a fire in him that you absolutely can’t handle - but don’t worry - he’ll hold you and love you even when you become a babbling mess on his cock, so let him break you apart right now. You’re the one that started it this time anyways, so he doesn’t have to hold back, right?

[ashtavula]

OMGOMGOMG COULD I ALSO REQUEST THE REST OF DIASOMNIA WITH THE ACCIDENTAL LOVE LETTERS?!?!!

I LOVE YOUR WORK AHDJBAJSNFF

aaaaa thank you!!!

Sebek, Silver, and Lilia accidentally receive your love letter

Sebek:

-The two of you had been studying together. Well, more like Sebek had been fussing at you while you struggled to understand the complex theorems in front of you. You end up having to leave in a rush, and your love letter ends up fluttering to the floor. Sebek tries to tell you that you dropped something, but you leave without paying attention to his words. He picks it up, and his eyes go wide when he realizes what's been written.

-Sebek sputters as he reads, and his cheeks turn pink. He'd been trying to ignore his feelings for you, but your letter makes his heart pound in his chest. Sebek is consumed by the desire to go to you, to tell you that he loves you more than anything. And before he can think to try and stop himself, he's already shoved his things into his bag and is tearing off after you, still holding your letter.

-When he finds you some time later, he immediately grabs your hands and pulls you close. Sebek, in all of his usual enthusiasm, loudly declares that he accepts your feelings. He goes on to vow that he will be a devoted husband to you, and that his adoration for you will never wane. As usual, he's going too far, but that's just one of the many things you love about him.

Silver:

-Silver was confused when he woke up to find a letter sitting on his chest, delivered by one of his avian friends. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he opens the folded paper. The lingering drowsiness quickly leaves him once the contents of your letter are revealed to him.

-You...you love him. Silver has a hard time coming to terms with that. He loves you too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to give you the sort of life you deserve. Silver isn't oblivious. He knows that his condition is difficult and frustrating. He also knows how most people see him. It takes a few long minutes, but Silver eventually decides that there's no harm in at least trying.

-A week later, a letter arrives for you, telling you to go to the botanical gardens after sunset. When you arrive, you find Silver. He appears almost ethereal in the moonlight, holding a bouquet of flowers for you. The two of you wander through the garden, and Silver points out all of the flowers that only bloom at night. He shows you just how beautiful things can be in the quiet of the dark. At the end of the path, surrounded by the sweet scent of the flowers, Silver gets down on one knee, and he confesses to you. He tells you that he can't promise much, but he can promise to love you, no matter what.

Lilia:

-He tilts his head to the side as one of his little bats comes flying towards him with some paper clutched in it's claws. Once Lilia receives it, he's quick to note that the page is covered with your handwriting. And it doesn't take more than a few words for him to realize exactly what kind of letter you've written for him.

-Lilia's lips spread into a sly smile as he reads, little giggles escaping him. He's happy, but also rather amused by the novelty of actually having a love letter addressed to him. It reminds him that even he can be surprised every now and then. And since you're being so sweet to him, he decides that it's only fair to return the favor.

-Since you sent him an old-fashioned love letter, he's going to show you some old-fashioned fae courtship. He surprises you by arriving at Ramshackle one evening, bearing a container of homemade food and his bass guitar. Once you've been given the food, Lilia clears his throat, and starts strumming on his guitar. He's written you a love song. The lyrics are lovely, even if he does take a few...liberties with the vocals. And once you accept his somewhat odd courting, he'll give you one more gift. A sweet kiss, right there on your front porch.

[dreamermonica]

you belong with me !

when someone else approaches their partner, how do they react?

—includes itoshi rin, michael kaiser, itoshi sae

—gender of reader isn't specificied, fluff, established relationships, angy bllk boys, mentions of creeps, unwanted contact and such. first post in this blog, hope everything goes well!

all hell goes loose when RIN catches sight of another person gripping your wrist—especially when you look utterly terrified and confused. they dare to touch someone that is leagues above their own, someone that's already taken by one of the most well-known soccer players in the world, and do it without the bare minimum of consideration for your own feelings? in that very moment, he only sees red.

quickly apprehending the cause of your discomfort by ripping the person's hand off of your arm and retracting you to his chest with a small oomf from you—a harsh glare burns onto the person's face. you could probably see the intensity of his stare just by looking at the person's horrified reaction.

“who are you to touch them like that?” his airy voice brings comfort to the erratic beating of your heart, your tense form slowly melting in his hold.

right now, he doesn't care that he's attracting unnecessary attention. the crowd that's slowly forming around the commotion he'd caused is the least of his problems right now. sure, it'll probably ruin the stealth of your date but he needs to see this insignificant pest to drown in shame until he's satisfied.

“rin—it's fine. this type of stuff is normal, let's just go, hm?” you probably sensed that he was ready to take it a step too far, and when he kills down the glare on his expression to look at you properly with his usual indifferent eyes, you heave out a sigh of relief.

tugging on his coat, you smile at him nervously. “c'mon now! let's resume our date before anyone recognizes you!”

contrary to the usual soft and compliant rin you're used to, he does not budge an inch. seemingly glued to the floor after your words. “what did you say?”

“...huh?”

“before what you just said right now. you mean this type of interaction is normal?”

with how intense his stare burns into yours, you grow sheepish each passing second—hand reluctantly raising to rub the back of your neck in confusion and slight bewilderment.

wait, he didn't know that until now? how are you going to word this properly without sounding sensitive? “well—uh, you see...you're like, crazy popular, and everyone knows i'm dating you, so of course i'd also grow popular too, and then you know you also have some of these crazy fans that hate me and—” you cut yourself off when you feel a familiar air of anger rise once more.

your lover does not reply, and only carefully brings out his phone to dial what you recognize as his manager's phone number—and very, very scary words coming out from his lips while shifting his stare back at the person who's now groveling at his feet.

his little conversation about hiring bodyguards and telling the media they're doomed for affecting your safety does not faze you one single bit. there's only one thought inside your pretty little mind as you stare at the dark expression of itoshi rin.

oh lord. what have you done?

if there's anything KAISER hated more than anything, it would be when someone touches something, or in this case, someone who solely belongs to him. a emperor usually has his own certain treasures, and they're kept away from the hands and eyes of commoners and peasants for a reason. should one give into their selfish desires and attempt to take away his treasures—an inevitable treason is in line.

“what the hell is this? some irrelevant bumpkin treading where he doesn't belong?” with how loud and condescending the blonde sounds, you're certain that he's doing it so that it garners the entire room's attention.

a celebration party is held to commemorate bastard münchen's latest victory—hence the crowd full of friends and families of the football team's members alike are gathered, along with expensive investors and celebrities wanting to meet the famous aces of the country. funny acts committed in parties like these are not common, yet not all that uncommon either.

but it's mostly happens for the nobodies. who would even consider getting too friendly with the infamous partner of michael kaiser—who's offhandedly the embodiment of bastard in bastard münchen?

at the end of the day, it seems there's someone with more-balls-than-brains here in front of him. it's interesting, in a way. kaiser thinks as grins as the man's face contorts into a way that feeds his own sadism. the day was starting to get boring until this little failure came to ruin his—

a gentle squeeze on his hand halts his violent thoughts.

he cranes his neck to look at you with an eyebrow raised, your [e/c] hues glinting in a way that's telling him to stop whatever he's going to do before it goes too far.

contemplating options as the football ace glances back at the man drowning in shame amidst the sea of judgemental looks thrown his way, he heaves a deep sigh. one of defeat rather than disappointment. he's already well-aware of your forgiving nature.

“okay. i'll cut it out. but in one condition,” he looks back at you, squeezing your hand back as a smirk creeps on his face. “we ditch the party.”

“wha—? but isn't this whole event your idea in the first place?” you come nothing short of confused, hand still in his.

“meh, who cares.” he retorts boredly, snapping his fingers to call on forth the body guards hired for the party, before gesturing towards the man—kicking him out for the good and betterment of guests. “it was getting boring anyway. 'only hosted this event just so i could see you all dressed up.”

dressed up for his victory, he chooses not to add to spare your blushing face. that final goal he scored would've made his fans froth at the mouth if they were up close. he briefly wonders if you had reacted the same. er—most likely not, but a man can dream.

“you're so infuriating, you know that?” you comment without any malice, a small smile spreading on your lips when kaiser starts tugging you away from the room filled with expensive champagnes and rich ambassadors. almost feels like a daydream to run away like this, hand in each other while noa's scoldings fall on deaf ears.

a light laugh escapes his lips, “but you still love me anyway.”

he sends a playful wink your way right after, and you might just faint—knees weakened and all.

SAE seems indifferent at first, blankly staring at the person attempting to woo you. is it of disbelief? disgust, even? whatever it was, he just kept staring while the person uttered the most horrendous pick up lines your poor ears have ever heard. you were too preoccupied in tuning out the person's musings to even notice sae moving towards you.

it sure is a pain to have an attractive s/o. the famous football player just went to the bathroom and he comes back to see another man kissing up to you like some dog whimpering for scraps of food. in this case, the scraps of food the dog was getting desperate for was your number. a shitshow, he thinks.

“sorry, but i'm actually waiting for someone.” you finally managed to formulate a sentence without the man cutting it off once again with his terrible lines. you forgo the urge to compare him to an npc designed to rizz up a rock. it was genuinely that bad. bad enough that the rock would probably grow legs just to get away from him.

“you've said that what, three times now? where's that person yer' talkin' about, huh?” the man leans closer while rubbing the insides of his ear, causing you to cautiously take a step back. god, a bath could really help this man, and he's right—where is your boyfriend? “just lemme hit now, you won't regret it one bit—”

a sturdy hand places itself onto the creepy man's shoulder, roughly, and i mean, roughly turning the man around to face a maddened pair of emerald hues. right before you and the man stands an enraged itoshi sae—one of the most well-known aces of the entire country. from the way the man stays paralyzed in his place, it's not hard to deduce that he probably recognizes the living and breathing legend right in front of him.

“out of my sight, unless you want things to get dirty.” the soccer genius is known to be level-headed and rational even in dire situations when it comes to within and outward of the field, so who exactly are you staring at right now?

the redhead coldly dismisses the man with a chilling glare, before approaching you with hands now stuffed in pockets, eyebrows raised as if to question your dumbfounded look. “let's get going. the grime is starting to rub off on me.”

ah, that's right.

you let him grab your wrist to drag you away, his demeanour doing a complete 180 as he asks about what kind of food you'd want to eat today, naming your favourite restaurants one by one whilst he tugs you around, ignoring the double takes of passerbys making sure they didn't just see sae itoshi in the flesh.

the man you're staring at right now...is your lover

the very same man who shut down the touchy feely dude earlier, not to mention him completely dismissing the entire situation as to not ruin your mood, the one who has all your favourite restaurants memorized, the very same guy who invited you out today because he simply wanted to see you and enjoy the day with you, the boy who chose you out of millions, and millions of admirers—

you're simply looking at your boyfriend, itoshi sae. not the genius revered by multiple nations, but simply a man who loves you just as much as you do to him.

a smile spreads on your face as you finally keep up with his pace, now beside him instead of being dragged around like a lost puppy. “hmm, why don't you choose? i'm feeling like trying some new today.”

“okay. we're going spicy then.”

(ik bastard means like sword or smth for germans ok kaiser being THE bastard just sounded right for me)

edit; okay just found out bastard actually means bastard, it makes more sense now

ALSO YES I HC SAE LIKES SPICY FOOD

[callistoscope]

soaring ahead

Summary: Harvey deserves some extra loving, and you’re more than happy to voice that opinion. In multiple ways.

Pairing: Sub!Harvey x Soft Dom!Reader

Word Count: 2.0k.

Warnings: explicit sexual act/smut! more specifically, harvey gets a bj!

a/n: this doesn’t really have hard sub/dom undertones lol, reader is a verrryyyy soft dom, but it’s really important to me that it’s made clear! Harvey’s the biggest sub in the world in anything I write!

——

It isn't about control. This is not about making him vulnerable in your hands, for the sole sake of satisfying your own whims— but it's getting embarrassingly close the farther you get into this.

Harvey is a gentleman, with not a single bone in his body dedicated only to his own pleasure, and he will remain that way for the rest of his life likely. In some minute way that sprawls out through all of his actions, all his shy but endlessly loving glances. He's selfless with devotion.

Here, Harvey is still wholly himself, every bit of the soft man you love. Not that you'd expected differently. His brown eyes faltering, but still steadfast in their approach to meet yours as he continues to whisper if you're really sure about this— right as you drop to your knees in front of the bed.

It's taken a lot of reassurances to get even this far. Harvey, in his unyielding consideration of your feelings, can never quite bypass his need to assuage any pressure he frets over putting you under. He'd even tried to insist you both lay down on the bed, so you don't hurt your knees from being on the floor.

You still aren't sure if you've ever seen him turn redder than when you'd insisted you prefer it— this way, I get to see your face more clearly, you'd told him maybe too honestly.

Despite stating the reason for your preference, Harvey is still shying away, torn between looking at you in admiration and averting his eyes in mortification. It's cute, to see him flounder between either option, hesitantly holding his first to his mouth. He seems to decide on closing his eyes, fist trembling with the effort it took to not fully cover his face. Trying earnestly to please you without completely forfeiting his desire to hide. He squirms a little when your hand makes contact, wrapping carefully around his dick.

"Hey," you start, voice low but soft. Plush like a warm blanket, knit with thick yarn, "... Can you look at me?" One of your hands goes to rest on his bare knee, right where it bends, thumb rubbing where you can feel the faint indents of his bone.

You can see his shut eyes scrunch closed a bit tighter for a moment, whining quietly when your other hand moves a little as well, stroking his dick in a slow and smooth motion. You'd already gotten his pants and underwear down, were already well on the cusp of giving him the attention he deserved. You trail your thumb up towards the underside of his tip in a misshapen circle. This makes Harvey's eyes fly open with a start, an exhale sharply bursting from his lungs. He still presses his hand to his mouth, the fingers curled into his palms digging in particularly hard when you carefully lick up from hilt to the very top.

His hand flexes, another little noise regretfully getting muffled into it. He blinks wildly, and it shakes you then how disheveled he looks, hair mussed from your hands, face flushed scarlet. The thin sheen of sweat adds a shine to him, but where Harvey truly becomes striking is at his eyes.

It's not unusual to catch him looking at you as if you were a miracle, as if that's the only way he could comprehend a person like you coming into his life.

It's not a look you didn't expect, but there's a rawness now that you've only seen a handful of times. When all the attention's on Harvey, when he allows it to soak into his heart instead of gently ushering you back into the loving spotlight along with him. It's not that he only ever tended to you— he seemed to like it plenty when you were in the lead, guiding you both, gently guiding him where to go. Lavishing him with praise that got him all but melting under you, but he rarely let you take care of just him much farther than that. Not for more than a few moments.

The warmth in his brown eyes causes you to raise your hand, the one that had been on his knee, stretching it until it comes into contact with his cheek. You have to strain your arm like this, but you hardly care, especially when he readily leans into it, effectively abandoning his wrist. You press a kiss right to his tip, getting to feel him inhale shakily against your palm, nuzzling your hand in another attempt to hide.

"... You're so pretty." You barely have a chance to ruminate on the thought before it slips out of your mouth, Harvey's eyes rapidly focusing back on you. His hand and your own partially disfigure the look you get at his face, but the warm light of the lamp shows the red color settling on him nicely. "... I love you so much, sweetheart. You know that?"

Harvey seems to want to answer, his lips parting only to close with an unabashed moan as you settle your mouth down, taking him halfway and carefully keeping your teeth from grazing him. It seems to hit him all at once, whimpering as you look up at him, his hand that had been at his mouth, interestingly enough, rushing for the one on his cheek.

He takes it into his right hand, pressing a sweetly chaste kiss to your knuckles before lowering it to his upper thigh, away from where you were settled. His fingers twine with yours, holding it in a way that felt all too pure. He's looking at you with stars in his eyes, like your own have galaxies and more. You have a sneaking suspicion he knew you were straining your arm.

"... I love you, too." Harvey whispers in a wavering voice, body trembling when you push yourself farther down. You twirl your tongue around the head of his dick, and you can feel him fight the reflex to buck up from his next shiver, the next sound that escapes him sharp, head falling back for a quick moment before he's leaning back forward to look down at you. You suck and he almost repeats the motion, his free hand reaching to tenderly press some of your hair back.

You back off for what might look like a breather on Harvey's part, but it's only really because you want to talk. You shift on the floor, knees starting to ache. "Do you know that I love you?" You say gently, voice a little more hoarse than you'd expected. He hadn't answered your question.

That makes him glance down bashfully, which only seems to make his embarrassment worse since he mostly gets a reminder of what exactly's going on below the metaphorical belt. "O-Of course." He breathes shallowly, seeming to have needed the breather more than you.

"Of course... I wouldn't doubt you." Harvey says softly.

It's not that you don't trust him, but you know him. The doubts that are always riding his coattails, coasting along no matter how adoringly you touch him, no matter how much you praise him. You could give him the world on a sliver platter, kiss every atom of his body, and he'd still struggle to accept it. You want him to know it, down to his bones. For your love to be the airplane he can trust to see in the sky, through the radio, a certainty he can glimpse even in the clouds.

"Can you say it a few times for me?" You ask, swallowing as you gaze up at him determinedly. One hand continues to stroke his cock languidly, the other squeezing the hand he's holding. "Say that I love you."

Harvey blinks, looking a little uncertain. He shudders faintly regardless, sensitive to every touch. "You... love me?" He echoes doubtfully, as if not sure that's quite what you meant him to say, only to gasp when you take his dick back into your mouth, bobbling steadily. You nod as best as you can, which you're sure looks a bit silly, but Harvey doesn't seem to be focusing too much on how silly anything might be, thankfully.

In any case, he seems to be getting it, eyes widening in understanding. He whimpers again, maybe also because he understands. You can't remind him when you're like this, so you're pushing him to remind himself.

"... You love me." His voice shakes, but there's something imbedded in it that warms you. His face is twisting faintly with emotion, eyebrows scrunching when your free hand strokes at his base as you slide your mouth further down. Harvey's grip on your hand tightens, his breaths coming out quick, every other one a bit whiney. He's shaking.

"...Y-You—" His sentence is thoroughly chopped in half when you keep going, fighting your gag reflex as you aim for getting Harvey as deep as he can go. "— God, y-you love me. I love you. So— So much."

You roll the flat of your tongue against the very tip, light and cautious. Harvey's body goes tense before abruptly twitching.

"Honey..." He gets out, brown eyes fluttering shut, "H-Honey, I'm not gonna... I'm not..." He trails off with another noise, breathy and a touch desperate.

Embarrassment creases a few lines into his forehead from his own implication. You squeeze his hand this time, thumb moving to stroke the skin of his own. You're looking up at him again, the way his eyes soften impossibly for you. You can't really nod now, but you try to tell him when your eyes: It's okay. He flinches, endearingly sensitive.

You breathe through your nose, relaxing your throat before you go for the next inch. You don't think you quite succeed, but Harvey seems to think you have regardless. He's holding your hand like a lifeline. The hand in your hair retreats, going back to grasp the sheets with a grip that would have been painful. Your heart flutters with love as much as lust, doubling your efforts.

Harvey's whole body trembles, and you're focusing a bit too much on swallowing to fully appreciate how he sounds, high pitched and shuddering. Even still, it echoes loud in your subconscious mind.

When his body loosens, his hold on your hand loosening but firm enough to portray how little he yearned for its absence, you pull away with a sharp inhale, breathing a bit deeply. Harvey had moved his hand behind him to keep himself propped up, and you can tell it's taking some energy for him to not fall back-first on the bed in midst his bliss, but you can feel his concern reignite.

You leap up on sore knees before he can say anything, arms finding his back and tugging him forward tightly. His face ends up finding the crook of your neck as sinks into you like a ship consumed by the sea, nuzzling into your warmth and hugging you back as if you've been separated for years.

"I love you," you murmur, stroking his back, "I love you, I love you." It's as if you're making up for lost time, saying the words for when you couldn't. That makes him pull away, and you're quick to cup his cheeks, eyes looking meaningfully into his own as you rest your forehead against his. "I love you." Your voice wavers, caught up in a tide of affection that ebbs higher the more you look at him.

Harvey smiles brilliantly, a bashful tinge to it, as if he's still questioning his right to such joy and fortune. He leans until your noses brush in a featherlight touch, needing to touch you however he can. "I... I love you, too." He's still breathless, words a little too hushed, but his eyes glimmer a little from his own emotions. A deep brown that still somehow shines like the sun as they start to glisten with tears.

You pull him back into a hug. His chin rests on your shoulder, a content filling him as he relishes in the feeling of floating— the one time being so high up in the sky doesn’t feel so terrifying.

[lustnhim]

‘ corruption. ‘ — elvis x fem! reader

note: requested + dead-dove(ish) / warnings: big age gap (18 + 35) corruption kink, innocence kink, size kink, naive reader + demanding elvis, elvis has been lusting over you for a while, pervert elvis, elvis is a family friend, goes from gentle to rough pretty quick, p in v sex, no protection, fingering, oral m-receiving, loss of virginity, bleeding, prop typos/spelling mistakes. / summary: elvis offers to ‘babysit’ while your parents go off on vacation, when the two of you are left alone– he wants to see just how much you know and how much he has to teach you.

A staring problem. That’s what Elvis had. He cursed himself for every glance he took at you, his eyes would wander to your chest, your legs and thighs– he could stare forever at your pretty lil’ face too though. Your eyes were gorgeous, your lips, pouty and your cheeks still a bit chubby. Babyface. He had called you that a few times, when he thought about it too much it made his stomach turn. At your birthday, he watched intently as you leaned over the table, your little blue dress too short to cover your pretty behind. He had sung the last bits of happy birthday through clenched teeth and excused himself to the bathroom while the image was still fresh in his mind and when he was done, he begged God for forgiveness. He had watched you grow up, been around for all your life– what would your daddy do if he knew? If he knew his best friend wanted his daughter more than anything else in this world. Being pulled aside by your father, he thought the worst. He knew his gaze wasn't well hidden-- even though he tried with everything in him. When your father asked him to ‘babysit’ he couldn’t believe his ears. "Me an' the wife are heading down to Florida, just the two of us this weekend. Will you be free..." Elvis' mind blanked. Alone with you. For weeks. Just the two of you. It sounded like heaven— it was to him. He could hardly listen to the rest of what your father said, stuck on the thought of being alone with you. His mind was blank, nodding mindlessly and making small ‘ah’ sounds and saying ‘gotcha’ with every other sentence. This weekend could not come any faster.

Elvis was shaking. When he pulled up to the house he struggled to stay still— his knuckles white from the grip he had on the steering wheel.  He forced himself to take slow, steady breaths as he made his way to the front door, trying to calm his nerves. When you open the door, he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you. The cutest little sundress, white with small blue detailing, black knee high socks, one slightly lower than the other. Elvis swallowed hard, trying to keep his eyes from wandering too far. “Oh hi Elvis, mama n’ daddy already left–” You said simply, giving a soft smile to him. “Ah, they ain’t been gone too long have they?” He asked as you scooted out of the way, allowing him inside. His voice was surprisingly calm, he was afraid it would’ve came out hoarse and strained. “No,no bout’ five minutes–” You say, closing the door behind Elvis. “Here, I'll show you your room.” You smile, carelessly taking Elvis’ hand as he sits down his suitcase. Your skin is so soft and warm against his cold and calloused hands. Your fingers intertwine with his, he takes note of how small your hand is. How small you are compared to him. It would be so easy to grab ahold of you, hold you close to his chest as his free hand would wander across your body. He can feel it. The heat. The straining against his pants. He prays you don’t notice. “Here! They moved the guest room– it’s beside mine now.” You let go of his hand once the two of you are upstairs. Elvis watches as you let go of his hand, a sense of loss filling him as your warmth disappears. He clenches his fists, trying to control the overwhelming desire that threatens to consume him. You open the door and walk inside the guest room– your mama had made it all up for him, even leaving some spare clothes in the wardrobe just in case he needs them. Elvis watches as you plop on the bed, your sundress riding up slightly exposing more of your thighs. Elvis clears his throat before speakin, “Thank you, Darlin’...I appreciate it..” He says, this time his voice is shaky. The heat becoming overwhelming. “You’re welcome! I already ate dinner– did you?” You asked, falling back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling, your legs carelessly parting just slightly. Elvis’ breath hitches, the small sliver of baby blue panties just barely visible. Elvis could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep his eyes from wandering too far down your legs. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "No, I ain't ate yet," he replied, his voice strained. "I reckon I could go for a bite though." He forced a smile, hoping you wouldn't notice the way his hands tried to cover himself. You sat up, adjusting your dress as you did so. "Well, there's plenty of leftovers in the fridge if you want some. I could heat it up for you if you'd like." You offered, standing up from the bed. Elvis nodded, his throat feeling tight. "That'd be mighty kind of you, darlin'. I appreciate it." He managed to say, his eyes following you as you walked out of the room. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. This was going to be a long weekend.

Following the next few days, Elvis tried to keep some distance from you, he didn’t know what he would do to you if he didn’t. Innocent, sweet, bubbly– and so eager. He would give anything to be the one to teach you, to teach you how to feel good, how to make him feel good. Only him. There had been a few instances in which you had habitually walked out of the bathroom and into the hallway past his room, only wrapped in a towel and Elvis had to fight everything in him not to stand up from his bed and follow you into your room. The two of you would talk in the morning, every now and then in the evening– and virtually none at night. He was cooped up in his room, and you were cooped up in yours. Elvis could feel the tension building up within him as the days went by. He knew it was only a matter of time before he caved to his desires. The way you moved, the way you talked, the way you looked at him with those big, innocent eyes, it was all too much for him to handle. The night air was heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant sound of crickets. Elvis couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He got up from his bed, unable to stay put any longer. He quietly slipped out of his room and headed towards your bedroom. He didn’t know why he was, his mind was telling him to just go back to his room but his legs just kept moving. You were fast asleep, your soft breathing the only sound in your room. Elvis hesitated for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open. The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a soft glow on your sleeping form. Elvis walked over to your bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as your chest rose and fell gently with each breath. He couldn't resist the urge to touch you. His hand brushed against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. You looked up at him, confused, and a bit sleepy. "Elvis? What are you doing here?" He smiled gently, his hands resting gently against your cheek now. “I couldn’t sleep babyface…” Elvis' gaze lingered on your face, his desire for you burning like a wildfire. He wanted nothing more than to crawl over top of you, to have you experience what he so craved. His fingers traced down your jaw, making their way towards your neck. His touch was feather light, sending shivers down your spine. "El-Elvis what are you doin’?" You stammered, rising up in your bed– your mind foggy from sleepiness. “Nothin’ yet, Darlin’...” Elvis' eyes darkened with lust as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "But I aim to do plenty," he whispered huskily, his hand drawing small circles on your collarbone, "You're so innocent, so pure...You’re old enough now, somebody’s gotta show ya honey…." Elvis eyes scan your face. Your eyes were so wide and confused you looked like a lost puppy. “I don't..” You started but Elvis shushed you, “Scooch over baby.” He says, taking his hand out of your hair and pushing you over giving him room. 

Elvis watched as you moved, the soft mattress creaking slightly. He crawled over you, his body pressing against yours. “Tell me baby, what do you know about sex..?” He asks rather bluntly, causing a pink blush to spread across your face. “Uhm, I- I know enough.” You could feel his hardness against your thigh, causing you to squirm slightly. Elvis chuckled softly, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place. “I doubt that honey…” He replies, his hands tracing along the hem of your nightgown. “I do know enough…why are you even askin’?” You replied huffing and annoyed. Elvis smirked, his fingers inching closer to the hem of your nightgown. "Because I'm 'bout to teach you, darlin'." He said, his voice low and seductive. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, the feeling only fueling his desire. "I'm gonna teach you everything, from the tip of your head to the tips of your toes." His hands slid under your nightgown, his fingers ghosting over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise. Elvis leaned in, his  lips brushing against your ear. "Do you wanna learn, babyface?" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin. He could feel your body tense up, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through you. He gave you a moment to respond, his fingers continuing their exploration. He bit his lip, waiting for your answer. He wanted nothing more than to take you then and there, to have you experience all the pleasures he'd been craving. But he wanted you to want it too. He wanted this to be something you'd remember, something you'd crave as much as he did. “E-Elvis..I ain’t sposed’ to…” You said, your body shaking. You didn’t know what to do, of course– you’ve never done anything with a boy, let alone a man. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He replies hastily, the desperation in his voice was overly evident. You hesitated, looking at the man–studying his expression. Pure lust. “Okay…” You said and that was all Elvis needed to hear.  "No runnin' off now, Darlin'." He whispered, leaning in immediately, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. You gasped, arching your back, your head falling back. His lips found your earlobe, nipping and sucking gently. A soft moan escaped your lips, your body responding to his touch. "Elvis...what are you doing?" You whispered, your voice trembling. "I told ya, teachin' you things, sweetheart." Elvis replied, his hand moving gently up your thigh, his fingers sliding across the fabric of your panties. You let out a sharp breath, your eyes widening as he rubbed his thumb against your clit. “Elvis! S-slow down.” You pleaded and felt his fingers move off. “Oh honey..” You cood, his hand moving gently to your chest, groping you gently. 

“Can I pull this down?” He asks, and you nod. Pulling down the top of your nightgown just enough to where both of your breasts pooled out he let out a shaky gasp. “Perfect.” he moaned before bending down to take one in his mouth causing you to gasp. Latching on to your nipple he sucked gently as his hand massaged the other. You looked down at him, your fingers finding their way in his hair. This felt...so strange yet so good. Elvis was in heaven. Your soft skin in his calloused hands as his tongue flicked against your nipple before moving to your other breast– giving it the same treatment. Palming himself through his pajamas you let out a soft whimper as he bit down gently onto you before pulling away. “So fuckin’ soft.” He groans before palming himself through his pants one last time and pulling out his erect cock, pre-cum leaking from the tip. “Gonna show ya somethin’ else babyface. Get tween’ my legs.” He orders, stroking himself lazily. Elvis could’ve died and gone to heaven as he watched you crawl across the bed and lay between his legs, your face right next to his cock. Elvis watched as you hesitantly reached out to touch his cock, your small hand wrapping around him. "That's it, baby. Feel how hard you make me." He encouraged, his hands gripping the sheets beside him. He could feel his heart racing, his breath hitching as you touched him. “Like this?” You asked and Elvis nodded slowly, "Yes baby…Good girl...such a good girl. Can ya put your mouth on it baby?" He whispered, his fingers tangling in your hair . You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him. "Do it, Darlin'." He urged, his voice thick with lust. You opened your mouth, your tongue flicking out to taste the pre-cum coating the tip. Elvis groaned, his hands gripping your hair as you took him in, your lips wrapping around his cock. You sucked gently, your eyes wide as you explored him with your mouth. Elvis could feel his control slipping as you took him deeper, your mouth warm and wet. "Fuck, baby...that's it."  He praised, his hips bucking into your mouth. He was losing it, his body trembling as you continued to suck him. "I'm gonna cum, Darlin'." He warned, his fingers tangling in your hair. He exploded, his hot cum filling your mouth, the taste overpowering. You pulled away, swallowing the last of his cum before looking up at him. "That's a good girl." He praised his hand, smoothing your hair as he caught his breath. "Here honey," he said, tucking himself away for the time being and moving closer to you.

His hands raising to remove the rest of your nightgown. Looking down at you in just your panties Elvis could hardly wait. Sliding two fingers into the sides of your panties he pulled them down and watched as you shyly closed your legs. “Now now baby.. Keep em’ open.” He said, opening them and admiring you. So perfect… he could see the wetness pooling from your core.  "You're so wet for me, baby." He said, his voice heavy with lust. "I'm gonna show you how good it feels to be touched, how good it feels to be wanted." He slid one finger into you causing you to immediately gasp. His fingers were much bigger than yours, not that it ever mattered– you hardly touched yourself anyways. Stretching you open, you cried out, your hips bucking against his hand. "Fuck, you're tight." Elvis groaned, his other hand moving up to knee to make sure your legs stayed spread. Elvi slipped in another finger, curling them up inside of you, a moan escaping your lips. Elvis giggled and began pumping his fingers in and out of you, stretching you open as sick wet sounds filled the room.You could feel a buildup in your stomach, your walls clenching around his digits. Elvis was about to cum in his pants. The sight of you so overwhelmed just by his fingers was too much. "Cum for me, baby," Elvis growled, his words sending shivers down your spine. He felt your body tense, your walls squeezing his fingers as you came. He smirked, pulling his fingers out of you, coating them in your juices. He brought his fingers to your mouth, "Taste yourself, Darlin'." He said, watching as you licked his fingers clean. The sight a dirty contrast, your soft pink lips sucking eagerly at his calloused wet fingers. 

Pulling out his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop he positioned himself above you. "Now baby, m’ gonna need you to relax." Elvis said, straddling your legs. He positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours. "Ready, baby?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. “Please go easy…: You begged and he nodded, rubbing his swollen tip against your slit. “I will baby, I promise…” He said, as pushed inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate him. You cried out, your back arching. He waited for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. "That's it, take all of me, baby." He encouraged, pulling out slightly and pushing back in. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders. Elvis started to move, his thrusts slow at first but picking up speed. "Fuck, you feel so good, baby." He grunted, his hips struggling to keep this slow pace.  Elvis felt himself getting lost. He wanted you so badly, and this slow, tantalizing pace was killing him. Gripping your hips roughly he pushed you down onto him, his cock splitting you in an instant. “Elvis!” You yelped, feeling a sharp pain rip through your body. . He leaned down, kissing on your neck as he moved one hand down to between your legs, rubbing gently on your clit. “I’m sa’ sorry baby…I- I can’t help it.” He apologized, as he began moving rapidly. Each thrust causing a loud whimper to escape your mouth. The pain was evident but pleasure soon replaced it as his fingers worked expertly onto your nub.  "I'm gonna cum, baby," he warned, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Cum with me." He urged, his pace increasing. You let out a soft moan, your body trembling as you came, your walls clenching around him. That was all it took for Elvis, he let out a loud groan, his body tensing up as he filled you with his cum. He collapsed onto you, his heart racing as he caught his breath. He could feel your heart beating against his chest, the sound of your heavy breathing the only noise in the room. Elvis pulled out, his cock leaving you feeling empty. Dribbles of cum and a bit of blood oozing out of you,, “Oh honey…” He whispers, running his hand gently across your slit as if to soothe the pain. “Didn’t know any better…” He said, pulling you close to him, kissing gently on your forehead. Elvis was feeling rather satisfied with himself…he had been your first. He had done it.

He had corrupted you.

i promise the next fics will be better i jus gotta get back into it 😓 hope y’all enjoyed nonetheless!

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @wildhorseinkansas @elvisiana @spookyeagleflower @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @elvisalltheway101 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @faeolwen @slayingjd

if you wanna be added or removed lmk!

[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[spideyjimin]

INTRO | un cielo di perle

“un cielo di perle” means a sky of pearls in italian

⏤ pairing: taehyung x female reader 

⏤ genre: college au, rich kid!taehyung, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, and smut

⏤ rating: 18+

⏤ words: 941

⏤ summary: taehyung doesn’t know how to love, he actually has never loved anyone, not even himself. he dreams of escaping this life, a life where he can do whatever he wants and where his parents don’t exploit him. his dream becomes a reality when he meets you; however, it comes with a challenge. at first, you hate him. but as the saying goes, there’s only one step between hate and love. and when taehyung loves, he can steal a sky of pearls for his lover.   

⏤ warnings: mature language, swearing, mention of sex, and that’s it

⏤ playlist: brividi - Mahmood ft. Blanco

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT

Kim Taehyung is walking on the campus with a little handbag in his hand. His black hair is pushed back, and he’s wearing a white button-up shirt with brown classic pants. The outfit is complemented by a black watch on his left wrist. His entire being breathes old money as always. Taehyung was born into a very old and powerful family. A family whose history dates back several centuries. 

However, with such history comes also strong responsibilities. He can’t do whatever he desires because the family’s image and reputation are at stake. He has grown up knowing it, especially since he’s the firstborn and only son, he only has a younger sister. So the responsibilities have all fallen onto his shoulders. Responsibilities that are way too heavy to carry. But what can he do? 

As he’s walking to the lecture hall to attend his history class, everyone turns their heads to look at him. On top of being a handsome man, he has quite a strong presence and charisma. All eyes are always on him, he knows how to catch someone’s attention. Nonetheless, sometimes, he considers that to be a burden more than anything else. His parents make him use his charms to conquer new investors for their couture house. 

Quite quickly, he reaches the lecture hall and takes a seat next to his best friend, Jimin. They grew up together and they have always counted on each other. Taehyung knows that Jimin will always be there no matter what, and that he’ll try to help him find a solution. However, there’s one problem that he’ll never be able to help him with. You.  

“Hi,” Jimin says with a little smile appearing on his face. “Where were you last night?” he asks.

Taehyung disappeared last night, he wanted to be alone. Alone with his thoughts. He was supposed to be at a party organized by Jungkook, one of his closest friends but in the end, he didn’t go. He is completely heartbroken and instead of getting drunk, he decided to stay alone to realize the extent of what his life has become. And he realized that for the first time in his life, he deeply loved someone. But it's someone he can’t have and keep in his life. 

“I stayed home,” he replies to his friend. 

Jimin frowns, it’s quite surprising since Taehyung wouldn’t miss a party. However, he has noticed that his best friend has changed for the past 2 months. He was acting differently and he was definitely happier. 

Taehyung’s eyes notice you entering the massive room full of students. You’ll always be the only person he’ll notice in a crowded room. You’re talking to your best friend, Nari, and you don’t even see him. In some way, he prefers you don’t so you don’t notice how he’s devouring you with his eyes. His heart wants to be next to you but his mind reminds him that the only way he can protect you is to keep you far. 

Life isn’t particularly easy for him. His parents are always there to remind him that his responsibilities come first, and when he doesn’t listen to them, they threaten him. He never has a choice. Whatever he might feel isn’t important. They decide for him, and he needs to do as they say. He’s completely powerless. He’s just a puppet in his parents’ hands. They found out about you, he still doesn’t know how, and they told him that they would destroy your life if he didn’t stay away from you. 

His future is with Hyejoo, the daughter of another powerful family. The daughter of one investor of Kim Couture. That’s the girl his parents chose for him. The saddest part is that she even likes him a lot when he only finds her stupid and ridiculous. He’ll never be with her. 

As his eyes follow you, he’s brought back to the intimate night you shared a couple of nights ago. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes. It was the best sex session he had ever in his life, and god, he has fucked many girls in his life. He can perfectly see you again under his body while he fucks you with no mercy. He can perfectly hear you moan as your body contorts with pleasure, and the way he perfectly fits inside you. He can still sense your soft skin under his fingers, and he can still taste your lips on his. Damn, now, he wants to kiss you. His fingers run over his lips to imitate the feeling of your lips.  

But he quickly reminds himself that he can’t have you. His eyes abruptly open again. 

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks. Taehyung only nods.

Very discreetly, you look around to look for the man that broke your heart. It doesn’t take you long before finding him, and to your surprise, he’s also looking at you. You’d even say he’s intently glancing at you, but you believe it’s only your imagination playing with you. He rejected you after all so it wouldn’t make any sense to be looking at you this way. 

You rapidly look away, and this anger you’ve been feeling since he broke your heart comes back. You hate him just like you did two months ago. Maybe even more because you let him in. You let him use you. Two months ago, he was simply a stranger that you didn’t like. Now, he’s a lover that you hate. But, you totally ignore that Taehyung is protecting you from his family. 

To understand how you both got here, we need to go back in time.

[celepom]

It’s Pride 2023! Time to put up some more comic recs!

This time I’ve put together some stories about discovering one’s own queer identity, outlining a family history of queerness, and several stories where being queer isn’t the focus - queer characters are simply allowed to be.

Belle of the Ball By Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

---

The Moth Keeper By Kay O’Neill

Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth and show her thanks to her friends with her actions, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn't exactly what Anya thought it would be? The nights are cold in the desert and the lunar moths live far from the village. Anya finds herself isolated and lonely. Despite Anya's dedication, she wonders what it would be like to live in the sun. Her thoughts turn into an obsession, and when Anya takes a chance to stay up during the day to feel the sun's warmth, her village and the lunar moths are left to deal with the consequences.

---

Hollow By Shannon Watters, Branden Boyer-White & Berenice Nelle

Isabel "Izzy" Crane and her family have just relocated to Sleepy Hollow, the town made famous by—and obsessed with—Washington Irving's legend of the Headless Horseman. But city slicker-skeptic Izzy has no time for superstition as she navigates life at a new address, a new school, and, with any luck, with new friends. Ghost stories aren't real, after all.... Then Izzy is pulled into the orbit of the town's teen royalty, Vicky Van Tassel (yes, that Van Tassel) and loveable varsity-level prankster Croc Byun. Vicky's weariness with her family connection to the legend turns to terror when the trio begins to be haunted by the Horseman himself, uncovering a curse set on destroying the Van Tassel line. Now, they have only until Halloween night to break it—meaning it's a totally inconvenient time for Izzy to develop a massive crush on the enigmatic Vicky. Can Izzy's practical nature help her face the unknown—or only trip her up? As the calendar runs down to the 31st, Izzy will have to use all of her wits and work with her new friends to save Vicky and uncover the mystery of the legendary Horseman of Sleepy Hollow—before it's too late. 

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Until I Meet my Husband By Ryousuke Nanasaki & Yoshi Tsukizuki

The memoir of gay activist Ryousuke Nanasaki and the first religiously recognized same-sex marriage in Japan. From school crushes to awkward dating sites to finding a community, this collection of stories recounts the author’s “firsts” as a young gay man searching for love. Dating is never ever easy, but that goes doubly so for Ryousuke, whose journey is full of unrequited loves and many speed bumps. But perseverance and time heals all wounds, even those of the heart.

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Is Love the Answer? By Uta Isaki

When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside--asexual--and she’s not the only one. After years of wondering if love was the answer, Chika realizes that the answer she long sought may not exist at all--and that that's perfectly normal.

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M Is for Monster By Talia Dutton

When Doctor Frances Ai's younger sister Maura died in a tragic accident six months ago, Frances swore she would bring her back to life. However, the creature that rises from the slab is clearly not Maura. This girl, who chooses the name "M," doesn't remember anything about Maura's life and just wants to be her own person. However, Frances expects M to pursue the same path that Maura had been on—applying to college to become a scientist—and continue the plans she and Maura shared. Hoping to trigger Maura's memories, Frances surrounds M with the trappings of Maura's past, but M wants nothing to do with Frances' attempts to change her into something she's not. In order to face the future, both Frances and M need to learn to listen and let go of Maura once and for all. Talia Dutton's debut graphic novel, M Is for Monster, takes a hard look at what it means to live up to other people's expectations—as well as our own.

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Golden Sparkle By Minta Suzumaru

Himaru Uehara’s first year of high school is off to a good start, minus one problem—he keeps having wet dreams. With only his mom and sister at home—and having skipped health class in middle school—he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him. Thankfully, a new friend has just the remedy and teaches Himaru exactly how to deal with those pesky dreams! But his solution only leads to more confusion, and the two find themselves navigating feelings they’ve never felt before.

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Thieves By Lucie Bryon

Ella can’t seem to remember a single thing from the party the night before at a mysterious stranger’s mansion, and she sure as heck doesn’t know why she’s woken up in her bed surrounded by a magpie’s nest of objects that aren’t her own. And she can’t stop thinking about her huge crush on Madeleine, who she definitely can’t tell about her sudden penchant for kleptomania… But does Maddy have secrets of her own? Can they piece together that night between them and fix the mess of their chaotic personal lives in time to form a normal, teenage relationship? That would be nice.

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Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic By Alison Bechdel

Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescense, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive.

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She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat By Sakaomi Yuzaki

Cooking is how Nomoto de-stresses, but one day, she finds herself making way more than she can eat by herself. And so, she invites her neighbor Kasuga, who also lives alone. What will come out of this impromptu dinner invitation...?

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.  

[annwrites]

⸻ eating from your hand.

· pairing: larys strong x bastardtargfem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: during rhaenyra's betrothal celebration, larys & rhaenyra's elder sister share a small moment · tags: fluff, mutual pining, angst · word count: 1,024

You scan the crowded room, desperate for an escape. But it's all too much—the music, the dancing, the people, the strong scents of food and perfume, the obnoxious man at your back, still trying to vie as a candidate for your hand—you feel far too overwhelmed to concentrate. Until your eyes finally land upon Larys—who's standing across the room, his eyes already focused on you—gesturing for you to come to him.

You turn back to Lord Jason one final time, interrupting his speech about gold and castles—or perhaps it was golden castles, as if all you could possibly care about is wealth—and force a smile. “Thank you for your offer, Lord Jason, once again. But I'd like to spend the remainder of my evening in the company of friends. I hope you enjoy the rest of yours.”

Before he can say anything further—can wrap his arm around your waist—you're already forcing your way through a throng of people.

When the crowd finally breaks—dance partners separating for just a moment as the music mellows and then begins to swell again—you move as quickly as possible through them, finally reaching the other side of what has now become a ballroom.

When you finally make it to Larys, you're nearly out of breath, simply from the prospect of having almost been caught in the middle of a buzzing crowd.

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. “Are you all right?”

You nod. “Thirsty.”

You both sit and Harwin goes to hand you a mug of ale, but Larys shakes his head at him, his expression disapproving. Larys instead hands you a chalice full of water and you drink it down greedily, a few drops sliding down your chin. Larys brushes them away with his thumb.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about, then?”

Instead of immediately answering, you instead wrap both your arms around his left one and press your forehead against the tip of his shoulder. Your heart is still pounding, so you wait until it has calmed before you bother trying to speak again.

“Do I need to have Harwin break something on Lord Jason?”

You giggle when you hear Harwin's reply. “You know I will.”

You shake your head, gently resting your cheek against Larys' upper arm. “No. He was just proposing.”

He begins to sputter, choking on his wine. Harwin slams his hand against his back, forcing him to finally swallow and then inhale a ragged breath.

“You alright there, little brother?”

Larys nods, fervently.

When he looks at you again, you're staring at him with an alarmed expression. “Are you sure-”

“Just went down the wrong pipe.” He states before taking a sip of water and grimacing.

He faces you then. “He proposed? Was your father aware he was planning this?”

You shake your head. “I...I don't know. Perhaps? It felt more like he was simply making me his second choice. Rhaenyra is to be married in the next few days. She's the one he wanted, but now will never have. So what better way to still get close to the Throne than to...”

You shake your head. Always the second choice. Always an afterthought. Always expected to be submissive and obedient. Perhaps that's why, when he spoke to you, he did so in a way which made it sound as if the matter was already settled. That you already belonged to him.

Did he truly assume you would just agree so easily? Then again, who else would want you?

Rhaenyra. It was always Rhaenyra that men seemed to desire. Never the bastard. Never you. It didn't matter that you were legitimized.

Larys places a finger under your chin, tipping your face until your eyes are looking into his own. "And what did you say?"

There's something within his expression, deep within his eyes—a feeling you can't place. Worry? No, surely not. You're just his friend. He would never...

But, even in spite of that knowledge—that you would never be more to him than just a companion to take the occasional walk with, to sometimes have dinner with—you sit even closer to him, pressing yourself into his side.

"I made sure to mention how I'm his second choice. He tried to assure me otherwise: that I'm the one he's wanted all along, but I'm not quite that gullible. I couldn't get away from him fast enough."

He nods, releasing a breath. "So, you do not wish to marry the Lord Lion?"

You shake your head. "No," you say, barely a whisper.

But you wonder if perhaps you should, anyway. He may be prideful and arrogant, but he would make a good match, nonetheless. You do not wish to spend your life alone. And you wish desperately to one day be a mother. No one else had yet offered their hand to you. This may be your only chance.

You look across the room to where Lord Jason now sits beside his twin. He's handsome, you consider. And they say the West, especially from atop the Rock, is breathtaking. You could find contentment there, with him. Probably...

Rhaenyra had already been difficult enough in your father finding a match for. You do not wish to be the same. If he orders you to wed the Warden of the West, you will do your duty. Which you always resign yourself to.

Larys kisses your hair, then presses his forehead against the side of your head. "What is it, My Love?"

You shake your head and he leans back to look at you. You force a feigned smile. "Nothing."

"You should eat something," he says while handing you a cracker with cheese atop it. You take it from him, popping it into your mouth.

"Good?"

You nod, picking one up and holding it in front of him, smiling as he eats out of your hand. He always makes your heart feel lighter. You decide to think no more of golden lions and second choices tonight. For once, you can live in the moment around you.

[whoreteen]

Lick!

you and Seokmin have a weekly routine — watching crappy movies together, cuddling and pining after each other. of course, neither of you have the guts to make the first move. that is until you decide to deepthroat a popsicle during movie night l, teasing Seokmin until he loses all self control; which essentially is your ultimate goal.

☼ word count: 3k ☼ pairing: dk x fem reader ☼ genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining, roommate!au ☼ warnings: food play, degradation, praise kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, use of pet names. lmk if i missed anything

m.list | ☕️ | feedback | minors dni | if you read it & enjoy it, reblog it

You know exactly how to rile your roommate, Seokmin, up and you’re always doing it on purpose. He knows it, you know it and, you love every second of it.

He usually plays along with you, but you never goes past just flirting.

Admittedly, you want more, a part of you wants him to give you what you want, yet all he does is tease back to frustrate you. You crave more, you need more — so you figure what better way to shoot your shot than during movie night when you’re all cuddled up?

Seokmin comes back from the kitchen, handing you a popsicle and a bowl of popcorn before taking a seat right next to you.

“What movie did you pick?”

“Troll 2,” you reply, silently thanking him for the snacks you specifically asked for as he scoots closer to you, pushing his own popsicle into his mouth.

He smiles with a happy hum as the cherry flavor melts into his mouth before getting comfy on the couch, and putting a blanket on you.

You try to ignore the electricity pulsing in your body when he slides a hand under your shirt and rubs small, soothing circles into your skin, causing sparks to erupt all over your skin. Seokmin always has his way of doing this to you — effortlessly making your heart flutter and hammer in your chest when he’s not even trying to. Electricity and such desire you just can’t to turn a blind eye to no matter how hard you seem to try.

Not even minutes later, you catch yourself staring up at the pretty boy beside you instead of paying attention to the movie. You’re too busy stealing glances at him and it doesn’t calm your heart when you catch him doing the same to you, his eyes lingering for moments longer than they shouldn’t have. You immediately look away and gaze ahead at the screen, pretending to watch the movie.

A soft chuckle leaves Seokmin’s lips and you look up at him, confused. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he beams, lightly shaking his head. “You’re just cute.”

You raise a perfectly arched eyebrow at his words, a mischievous smile on your lips a few seconds after. Sure, you love it when he calls you cute but it’s not what you want to hear right now. You want him so deep in your guts and you want him to think you’re hot, sexy, tempting.

Unbeknownst to you, the feelings are very mutual.

Of course you don’t know how huge of crush Seokmin has on you or how attracted he is to you. But, you do know he has an oral fixation as he always seems to stare at your mouth when he thinks you’re not aware; you intend to take advantage of that.

The only thing on your mind right now is to see how far you can take teasing him before he (hopefully) decides to fuck your brains out.

Smirking to yourself, you begin slurping on your popsicle, innocently, but enough to make him look as you continue to ‘focus’ on the movie.

You can feel his heated eyes on you. In all honesty, you’re sure you look tempting; you’re even more sure when you feel shifting in his seat and his hand slowly tracing its way down to your hips. His eyes are inevitably drawn down to mouth, burning with something. And, you know what they say: eyes never lie.

You continue your sinful actions, paying him no mind, and he intensely watches the ice pop slide into your mouth and then out, as it is his dick.

Your lips envelop the cherry flavored popsicle, red and lustrous as you push it further into your waiting mouth. You suck at it chastely before getting a bit sloppy, even letting some drops fall on your exposed cleavage and, Seokmin can’t help but lick his lips — wanting so badly to lick the drops from your skin.

“My eyes are up here you know,” you tease, and before he can respond, you pull the popsicle in and out of your mouth a few times, a long trail of melted flavored cherry, and saliva following.

Your roommate blinks once. Twice. “W-what?” he asks, taken by surprise.

“You’re staring, Seokmin,” you quip between popsicle licks.

“What’s the matter, baby? You’re blushing and stuttering,” you coo, nonchalantly pulling the popsicle out of your mouth with a pop. Seokmin feels his cock twitch when he’s sees the spit string. It’s almost downright obscene and he can’t help but bite his lip. There’s just no way you’re not aware of what you’re doing to him and, it takes everything in Seokmin’s willpower to not pin you down on the couch and, have his way with you.

He hums absentmindedly, still carelessly staring at your mouth and pouty lips. You have a straight up filthy look in your eyes, and Seokmin can feel himself getting lightheaded as the blood from his brain rushes to his dick.

He swallows a large lump in his throat before speaking, “I can’t help it,” he says, his voice gravelly. “Fuck. Stop that.”

Staring into his eyes, you have to stop the overwhelming urge to lean in for kiss. “You don’t like it?”

“Stupid question. Of course I do,” he scoffs. It’s so easy to rile him up. “You look so sexy sucking on that but it’s not good for my heart. If you keep teasing me like this, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

Every time your tongue darts out to lick at the treat, he feels his cock twitch and his heart swell. All he wants is to grab that popsicle and replace it with his cock; fuck your face as his dick slips past those pretty soft, little lips so fucking badly.

“If you’re horny, just tell me.”

He sucks in a breath. “I am. Wanna fuck?”

“Perv!”

“Says the one deepthroating an ice pop,” he scoffs.

“I’m not,” you retort, as you give another lick to your popsicle, considering your next move. “Let me show you how deepthroating is really done.”

You don’t have to contemplate for long as you take the whole thing in your mouth, red tinted, wet lips wrapped around it. You begin deepthroating it, imagining it’s his cock as you moan around the ice pop.

You stop for a moment, licking your lips, and open your mouth to say, “Come on, Seok, use your words and tell me what you want.”

“You,” he finally replies like it’s so obvious, sending even more electric shocks to your center. “I want you.”

“Hmm,” you tease with a smirk. “I gotta say, I really wish I had something better to lick than this popsicle.”

“Yeah? Wanna suck my cock the same way?” he purrs.

You nod your head, continuing your ministrations.

“What a fucking whore,” he groans as he cups your cheek and lets his thumb run across it slowly. “You planned this, didn’t you? Are you that desperate for my cock?”

“I’ve always wanted to climb you like a tree since the first day, so yes, definitely.”

Seokmin traces your lips with his thumb, teasing you a little before finally replacing the ice pop with one of his long fingers, and then another, sliding them in your mouth.

“I bet you’d love me to fuck that pretty face of yours,” he rasps. “You’d take it like the little whore you know you are, wouldn’t you, angel?”

You nod vigorously as you begin sucking on his digits, gently hollowing your cheeks.

He lets out a groan, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches you drool all over his fingers. “Fuck, I’m going to ruin you.”

You have to swallow back your whimper.

“God, you’re so—” he starts, his moist fingers gently running over your wet, parted lips, your cheeks, down your neck, pausing to hold your throat, “so fucking perfect. You have no idea how much I want to kiss you,” he groans before placing a gentle kiss on your cheek, officially stalling your little brain. “I wanted to fuck you since the first time I met you.”

One of his fingers traces down the side of your face, making your eyelids flutter. The gentle, sweet touch to your skin instantly makes your cheeks heat up — his words, though, sends shivers down your spine and you feel a tinge of heat in your core.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanks your head back before swooping in to lick a long stripe up your neck. Your only response is a moan.

“What, cat got your tongue?” he teases as he places open mouthed kisses to your neck, making sure to leave hickeys. “You were acting like such a brat with all that teasing. Not so brave now, hmm?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out, your brain going all mushy. Seokmin finally kisses you and you feel yourself get dizzy and completely lost in him, not able to bring yourself to process his words in time to react properly as he bites on your bottom lip lightly.

Once he pulls away, you’re the same color as your half eaten popsicle, cherry red.

It only take a couple seconds before Seokmin stops fighting the urge to push you down on the couch, and pin your hands above your head as his frame hovers above you. His lips melts against yours in yet another kiss as he kisses you sloppily, the taste of cherry lingering in your mouths, both your popsicles and the movie long forgotten.

He breaks the kiss not long after, trailing soft, loving kisses from the corner of your lips to your cheek, before asking, “Are you sure about this?” His voice changes drastically to a soft tone, fondness and pure love showing in his actions.

You whine some sort of yes, finding yourself chasing his lips and Seokmin can’t help but beam in delight.

“Good, because I’ve never want to fuck you more than I do now.”

He pulls you in for a kiss and you try your best to regulate your breathing, but when he groans into the kiss and sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, all you see is red. You roll your hips into him and Seokmin lets out a grunt as his grip strengthens on your hip in response.

He lets his body grind down hard against you as he surges forward to kiss you harder with greedy lips, almost bruising. The kiss is messy, urgent, and intimate in a way you just can’t explain. It is way too eager and desperate for being a first kiss between the two of you, but, in Seokmin’s eyes it was bound to happen. He’s been anticipating this ever since he first laid eyes on you.

You feel his erection straining against his boxers as he guides your hips to align against his own, grinding against you. You feel yourself yourself growing with want.

“Seokmin,” you whine, your voice breathy as you give him that delectable bambi eyed look. “Touch me.”

He looks down, meeting your hazy and glossy eyes that spell nothing but intense desire and want. “Can I?”

You think your knees may give out as you squirm against his hold. “Please. I want you so bad.”

You feel his long fingers run across your inner thigh, dipping so close to your sensitive heat, where you most need him, and you can’t help but push your hips forward for more. Seokmin huffs a brief chuckle, gently tracing his fingers across your covered, twitching clit before finally pushing your panties to the side and pushing one finger in, then another.

He can’t help but groan at the fact that you’re already so wet, and so ready for him that he almost snaps. “Fuck, baby, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”

A loud gasp leaves your mouth, making Seokmin smile.

“Like that, huh?” he teases lightly as he skilfully curls his digits, adding a third finger whilst he whispers words of encouragement and praises you. “Does it feel good?”

You moan and Seokmin feels his cock twitch in his boxers at the little, soft noises escaping you and the way your toes curl. “S-so good. Please, don’t stop.”

“Such a desperate little slut, aren’t you?” he tsks. “Look at you, already pushing back against my fingers. How fucking pathetic.”

You arch your back and let out a whine when he slaps your swollen clit with his fingers, once, then twice before beginning to pump his fingers with more force, curling them. “Aw, my pretty baby’s already whining? I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Teasing you like this has always been on Seokmin’s mind, but never did he didn’t think you would want to take it this far. God, how he wishes he can take a mental image of this moment.

He starts leaving wet kisses down to your collarbone and between your breasts, his scent and airy tone invading every inch of your shaky frame. You feel his free hand travelling around your body to unhook your bra so that your breasts are exposed to his lustful gaze.

Seokmin cups your breast with his free hand, grazing his thumb over the nub which earns him a needy whine. As he moves his fingers around your walls, his fingertips grazing your g-spot, you can’t help but wonder if you’re dreaming. You feel like you’re on cloud nine. It feels too good to be a true, and if this is a dream, you don’t ever wanna wake up.

Moving his lips downwards, he takes one nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking until you’re putty in his hands. Then he shifts his attention to the other breast, loving the way your fingers run through his hair, tugging gently whenever he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

You moan in delight as your back arches off the couch, wanting more. “S-Seokmin, please, I want more.”

Hearing you ask so nicely makes him smirk. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re needy.”

He presses a gentle kiss on your lips before scooting down your body and settling between your legs. His warm hands run up your thigh and hikes your skirt up to your waist, placing one of your legs on his shoulder. You can’t help but cover your face in embarrassment.

“No no, I want to see you, baby, don’t cover your face,” he says, his voice holding a certain degree of authority that makes you stop in your tracks. He places gentle, soft kisses on your inner thigh, before cooing, “I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

You don’t need to hear it. You already know he will.

Seokmin reaches to pull your underwear down, discarding it somewhere over his shoulder before reaching for the half-melted popsicle. He slowly runs it along your thigh to start, not wanting to startle you too much as praises you with soothing licks.

“You’re so beautiful…” he praises, his voice impossibly deep, almost a growl as he disappears between your legs. “All flushed and spread out like this. Just for me… Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You bite your lip harshly, trying your best to stop yourself from screaming when you feel his mouth on your clit. The combination of Seokmin’s warm tongue and the cold popsicle is unlike anything you’re experienced and your hips can’t help but buck off the couch, but Seokmin pins you down with his hand.

“You taste like fucking candy,” he groans against your heat. “I could eat you out all day and night.”

He continues licking and kissing your wet folds, pressing the popsicle against your clit as his fingers curl in search of your sweet spot. He knows he has found it when you begin spasming underneath him, your legs shaking uncontrollably as your wetness easily coats his fingers, only encouraging him to move faster.

As he pushes his face further into your cunt, he tries his best to gain some sort of control, ignoring the intrusive thoughts of his cock inside you, filling you up just right.

“S-seok, fuck, right there,” you nearly scream, Seokmin revelling in your noises as he pairs his curling fingers with the popsicle, wrapping his lips around your clit.

“Feels good? You sound so prettily.”

Each lick and each thrust of his fingers causes you to lose track of time and space and you can’t help but feel the tears pooling in your eyes. “God, yes, it feel s-so good. Keep going just like t-that.”

Seokmin eagerly obliges, his entire arm pumping as he presses his fingers harder and faster into your g-spot whilst he sucks harshly on your clit with his skilled tongue, slurping up the melted popsicle juice mixed with your arousal.

“Don’t cum yet, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure and start to babble incoherently, turning into a crying mess as he sucks on your clit like a lollipop, until you begin to shake, quivering uncontrollably as you scream his name like a mantra. You’re immensely grateful for the grip he has on you as your knees are on the verge of giving out.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl, you look so pretty for me. Just keep going like this, okay angel?” he whispers breathily, his fingers and tongue begins to match the pace of your rocking hips.

“S-Seok, nngh fuck,” you cry, twitching as he leaves bite marks alongside the many other bruises that litter your body from his mouth. “Please, please, please, can I cum?” you whimper, not caring how pathetic you must sound; the only thing that’s on your mind right now is your release. “I-I want to, fuck, cum s-so bad.”

“Then cum,” he says and that’s all it takes, your orgasm hitting you so hard as you let out a broken moan.

Seokmin helps you ride out your intense orgasm, and he moans, huskily at that, against your heat upon seeing your tear stained face. “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.”

He doesn’t stop though, continuing to suck and lick your sensitive nub and devouring you faster until you’re practically shaking. Your back arches as Seokmin draws out your orgasm for as long as he can until you come for a second time.

Then he gazes up at up, a mixture of your arousal and his spit glistening on his chin and dripping down his defined jaw as he removes his fingers and cleans the them with his mouth, groaning at your sweet taste.

“My turn?” he asks teasingly.

And, who are you to deny such a heartfelt request. “Your wish is my command.”

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Four - Jon goes to visit Old Nan and sets his future in motion.

Series masterlist

Jon dreams of you again, and again, and again, night after night, your back against the wall, bleeding out in his arms as you beg him to protect you. The time for him to set off for the Wall grows ever near, not too close, but not far enough away he can forget its approach. It plagues his mind, his desire to join his uncle, to prove that he is worth something, warring with an inherent need to be near you, to protect you from the horrors that live within his slumbering consciousness.

He has other dreams as well, smaller, less gory dreams, and when they start to bleed into his waking world, he turns to the only person alive he believes will have some semblance of an answer.

“Greendreams, they run in your blood.” Old Nan says simply, once he has finished telling her of his plight. Her needlepoint is in her lap, her frail body wrapped in thick blankets, even with the fire roaring beside her.

“Greendreams? But I am not a warg, Ghost, and I do not share a mind.” He protests, half serious, half humoring the old women.

“You need not share minds to have the dreams, nor do you need to be a greenseer to possess greensight, they are not one and the same.” She explains, her voice growing stronger as she speaks. “You must listen to these dreams, prevent the horrors if you are able.”

“I am to go to the Wall, but Lady y/n will return to King’s Landing, how am I to protect her?”

She fixes him with a look, one that he knows means she thinks him simple.

Jon stares into the fire, a silent prayer to the gods. He cannot protect you from his place on the Wall, he must make a choice, though he’s unsure if it is fully his to make. He alone cannot choose to return with you, he is a bastard, he has no place in King’s Landing.

Old Nan dismisses him without sparing a moment for his internal turmoil, and in his meandering, he runs directly into your father.

Tyrion looks up at him frowning, and Jon already fears he has spoiled his chances.

“My apologies, Lord Lannister.” He says, taking a quick step back to give the man room.

Tyrion scans him, searching him for weaknesses, his piercing green eyes, picking him apart. “My daughter, she is beautiful.”

Jon says nothing, only nods.

“Speak boy.” Tyrion snaps, glaring up at him with the might of a man three times his size.

“Yes, Lady y/n, is very beautiful.” He shifts his weight imperceptibility, hoping someone will come and save him from this encounter.

Tyrion nods. “She grows more beautiful each day, I worry for her, as all fathers do.”

Jon nods again.

“I know the circumstances of your birth are not…conventional, but they are many ways for a bastard boy to earn a name for himself in King’s Landing.”

Perhaps the gods had been listening to his prayer. “My Lord?”

Tyrion clasps his arms behind his back. “I have spoken with your father, he is to join my good-brother as Hand to the King and return with him to King’s Landing, he is bringing Lady Sansa with him, and you, if you agree to my proposition.”

Jon knew his father wouldn’t be able to deny King Robert anything, but to think…

“If you come to King’s Landing you shall come as my daughter’s guard, her sworn-shield, you will not leave her side, you will give your life for hers, and in return you get to escape your dreary life here.” Tyrion continues, giving him an expectant look.

“I am not a knight.” He says dumbly, the implications of what Lord Tyrion is asking him weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“Not in this moment, but my good-brother would be more than happy to knight the son of his dearest friend.”

“Why?”

Tyrion scoffs. “I offer the boy the chance of a lifetime, and he asks why? Because boy, I have seen you fight, and I know how deep loyalty runs in Stark blood, I will not worry for her safety if you are at her side. Besides, she is…fond of you.”

His heart sings, pushing all worries and tortured thoughts aside. She’s fond of him, his lovely lady is fond of him. “And my father approves, truly?”

“Yes, boy, he does, now will you give me an answer, or will we stand here all night while you ruminate in brooding silence?”

Old Nan’s words fill his head, accompanying the sounds of your sobs, of your pleas for him to promise you, to save you. “I will go.”

Tyrion nods. “Good, now we need to get you knighted, and some better clothing, my daughter shall not be seen with such a rumpled looking sworn-shield.

Jon looks down at his tunic. “I was asleep before this, Lord Lannister.”

“Still.”

It’s a blur, Arya’s anger then tears, Sansa’s distance, Robb and Theon’s claps on his back, Lady Catelyn’s strained smiles, and his father’s genuine one as he kneels before the king to be knighted.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is nearly empty, the bannermen returned to their homes, the servants busy cleaning or helping load the luggage of various royal family members back onto the monstrous wheelhouse Queen Cersei travels in. The sconces lit, his family and yours in a half circle surrounding him, King Robert at the center, Lord Stark beside him, Queen Cersi on the other. Prince Joffrey leers at him, but Jon ignores him, keeping his head bowed.

Ghost sits by his side, a red kerchief tied around his neck, a gift from you, one Jon was surprised Ghost allowed you to tie around his neck. It’s darker than the normal Lannister colors, more crimson than ruby.

He knows you and your father don’t have a personal coat-of-arms, but he has noticed your gowns, and your father’s doublets tend towards darker, more cool toned shades of red and gold. A small act of rebellion, a way to set yourselves apart? He’s unsure, but now he knows he’s part of that act, willing or unwilling.

It matches his eyes. You had said, smiling up at Jon as you smoothed down the fur between Ghost’s ears, the crimson fabric stark against his snow-white fur.

Kneeling before the King, Jon doesn’t feel he truly deserves to be knighted. He has won no battles nor performed any great feat of valor, he has trained, he has studied, he has been loyal, but he hasn’t done anything the bards sing about, or anything detailed in those books Sansa reads.

“Rise Ser Jon, shield of the Lady Y/N Lannister, bound before the gods, and your King.” King Robert commands once his sword has left Jon’s shoulders and returned to its sheath.

He does as he’s commanded and bows to the King before turning to you, bracing himself for the regret in your eyes. Surely this is a jest taken too far, he will look into your eyes, those verdant eyes, bright as spring, and see you realize you’ve made a mistake, see you ready to cast him aside.

“Lady y/n Lannister, daughter of Lord Tyrion Lannister the second son of House Lannister, my sword and shield are yours.” He says, taking a knee once more and finally summoning the courage to meet your gaze.

The persistent voice in his head that whispers how unworthy he is goes quiet. You’re looking at him with such reverence, such excitement, there is no sign of regret or jesting.

All that ran through his mind as he knelt before you now was this: he was not a poet, and he could not call himself a lover. For he did not have the skill with words others did. He could only say that he was yours, even if you did not want him, even if right now you fled across the continent, returned to the South, and cursed his name for all to hear. He would be yours until the day his breath escaped him for the final time.

“I am grateful for your sword and shield, now arise Ser Jon Snow, my sworn sword, my protector.”

When you bid him to rise, addressing him by his name, calling him yours the air that fills his lungs tastes sweet, and he presses his lips to your hand, clasping it a moment too long, evident by Tyrion’s sharp cough.

“I will serve you well, I swear before the old gods and the new, my life is yours.” He says, keeping his voice steady, his face set in an expression he hopes reads as serious but not stern. He’s always had trouble walking that line, finding he often looks far more sullen than he feels.

“As mine is yours, Ser Jon, I entrust it to you.” Your words are clear, ceremonial, and he would easily believe the words are typical of a sworn sword ceremony if not for the way King Robert’s eyes flicker to your face.

The next days fly by, and soon he is standing outside your door, red cloak marking him as a guard of House Lannister, hanging from his shoulders. It’s one that’s not darker than the others, which makes him feel odd. Did you not wish him to match you? Was he not deserving of your crimson fabrics? His armor is new and shined to perfection, his boots new as well, and slightly stiff, his sword hangs at his side as Ghost sits patiently waiting at his feet.

Lord Tyrion exits first, dressed in finery, a small satchel at his side. He looks up at Jon and nods. “Red suits you, do not make me regret this.” Then he brushes past him, heading down the hall and towards the main gates.

You appear next, form wrapped in dark red velvet, a white fur lined cloak folded over your arm, your gown belted with a chain of gold, that accentuates your waist and hips. Your hair is down in a Northern style he finds quite familiar, it looks beautiful on you, framing your face just so.

Jon jerks his eyes away before you can notice his stares and bows his head. “My Lady.”

You smile at him, your bracelets jingling as you reach down and hold your hand out for Ghost to sniff. “Are the others ready to depart?”

“Yes, My Lady, all but Lady Sansa.” He says, offering his arm to you.

You take it and begin to walk through the halls with him, your brows furrowed in concern. “Is Sansa alright?”

He thinks through his words, speaking slowly. He doesn’t want to give you a bad impression of Sansa, you seem fond of the younger girl. “Lady Sansa is…upset at the addition of Lord Theon.”

You snort, then hide your smile with one hand, embarrassed. “She did not expect your father to let him remain here, did she? He is an assurance the Iron Islands will not revolt, if he is not within Lord Stark’s grasp then what danger would he be in?”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. While Theon was an outsider like him, he existed in a space entirely different from Jon. Theon was Robb’s closest companion, the two shadowed each other, fought together, jested, and patronized brothels together.

“I think it is less that he is accompanying us and more that he is to be her guard.” Jon continues, half entranced as the scent of jasmine rises from your hair when you toss it over your shoulders.

“But he is not her sworn sword, so she will not have to spend every moment with him by her side. Besides, it is not as if he is unpleasant to look at.” You say nonchalantly, as if you two are simply friends having a casual stroll, your lips quirking up as you bite back a laugh.

You have perfect lips, plush and soft looking, stained a light red color by the berries from your morning meal, for a moment he wonders if you would taste of them.

“You find Theon handsome?” The words spill out before he can stop them, and he fights a rising blush when you fix your emerald eyes on him, taking him apart the same way your father did those few nights ago.

“Perhaps…” You stop right as you both reach the gates and turn on your heel, making a show of adjusting the fastener of his cloak. “Why? Do you feel threatened my sworn sword?”

“I—Theon is not a threat; he would never turn his sword against our house.” He cannot stomach the thought, though they weren’t close, he would never doubt Theon’s loyalty. The older boy had proven himself time and time again, in fact he believed Theon would turn his sword on himself before he turned it on Robb.

You pat his armored chest smiling up at him with a mischievous smile, before returning your hand to his arm and beginning to walk through the gate and towards the others. “We shall see how he feels if he and Sansa are stuck in the wheelhouse together for several hours.”

It’s begun to rain, the temperature dropping, and he wonders who will remain on their horse instead of taking shelter inside the wheelhouse. “Will we not ride alongside the wheelhouse? Theon and I?” Jon asks, scanning the crowd gathered outside the gates.

“You may if you so desire.” Your answer is vague, but your grip on his arm tightens and when he sees the assembled groups outside the Queen’s wheelhouse he understands why.

You, Myrcella, Joffrey, and Sansa along with the Queen, and Tommen seem to be relegated to the wheelhouse. King Robert and Lord Stark remain on their horses, the two in deep conversation, their heads bowed towards each other, while Theon sits off to the side looking bored.

Jon has never spoken directly with you regarding your cousin, the eldest prince, but he has seen your thinly veiled contempt for the boy many times, seen the way you shrink back when he becomes overly excited or angry.

You stop on the edge of the crowd, scanning it for your father, a pout appearing on your lips when you see him next to his horse. “And of course Father will wish to ride his horse, but he never allows me to ride alone unless we are within the bounds of Lannister land, so I cannot even use that as an escape.”

“It will be safer for you in the wheelhouse.” Jon says, nodding gratefully at the servant who brings him his own horse.

“For whom?” You grumble miserably as your father climbs onto his horse, ignoring Joffrey’s calls.

“For you, there is no other’s safety I care for.” It’s not a full lie nor a full truth, he cares for his father, Sansa, and Theon’s safety, but he has sworn himself to you, so outwardly your safety takes precedence.

The rain picks up, no longer a sprinkle, and he lifts his cloak, stepping forward to shield you from the rain. You are so much smaller than him, delicate, your hands are soft, your skin unblemished by scars, and you move closer to him, further into the safety of his cloak.

You coo at his words, your lighthearted spirit returning. “Do you care for me Ser Jon? I am flattered, truly.”

He brushes your teasing aside and begins to walk towards the wheelhouse, keeping you within the confines of his cloak. “Please allow me to escort you aboard, Lady y/n.”

You go with him, albeit begrudgingly, your frown reappearing as you draw closer to the wheelhouse. “Ser Jon, can I not ride with you? I promise I am a very good rider, and I will not bother you at all.”

“You know her father has quite the appetite for whores, I would not be surprised he had hired some to give his daughter lessons.” Theon had jested, elbowing Robb as you passed by, heading towards the library tower.

Robb rolled his eyes but laughed, which only encouraged Theon.

“What must it be like to have a lioness in your bed? Do you think she bites as she rides a man’s cock? Are lions not known for their teeth?”

“Their claws, they are known for their claws.” Jon snapped, unable to hear such vile words spoken of you, even if Theon’s questions did spark something in the recesses of his mind.

“Ah, see Jon is in on it as well. She scratches, mystery solved.”

“No, My Lady, I am sorry, but it is not proper.” He says, dropping his cloak and gesturing towards the stairs.

The disappointment in your eyes pierces him through, and he almost gives in, but Theon’s voice rings out from up ahead and he steels himself.

You nod and release his arm, traveling up the steps without looking back at him.

“Lady y/n.” He calls before he can think better of it. “If you have need of me, call out my name.”

You give him a smile and pick up your skirts, your steps looking considerably lighter, until the door closes behind you, and you are lost from his sight.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines

[leewritestoomuch]

Hiii (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Can I request a reader x ryusui where reader and Ryusui sleeping together. Reader wakes up first and contemplates about waking Ryusui with a kiss. Reader leans in only to hesitate centimeters away out of embarrassment. Ryusui opens their eyes and says, 'if you won't do it, I will.' then just goes for it LOLL

I requested the spicy ukyo fic and oh boi it made me feel things😵‍💫😳

Also can I be 🦐 anon?? 🥹

Thank you!!

This is so cute! And Hi 🦐 anon! Nice to see a request from you againnnnn

It’s just fluff, hope that’s what you wanted 😭

You know, I always think of Ryusui when I listen to “Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl.” Lol. I love GOTG Vol. 2, but now I just can’t get Ryu out of my head.

“Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not?” Ryusui x Reader

Admittedly, you didn’t agree to sleeping in the same bed as Ryusui for mere convenience. You could have put a pillow on the wooden floor of the hut beside you, slept there just fine for a night.

You couldn’t even be mad that Homura burning down your hut was still causing issues now. The foundation was worse than you thought, but you’d ignored it for months now, and it crumbled while you were away. It’d be dreadful if it weren’t for the fact that your crush had quickly offered up his place.

So here you were, a little too close to him than you probably should be as the morning light illuminates his face. His eyes are shut, his mouth just lightly ajar. The light makes his tanned skin almost glow. And you notice, despite hearing rich people are usually pale for their complexion with less freckles from inside jobs and such, that he’s got freckles littering his cheeks. Quite a few, and honestly, you find it quite cute. Your fingertips ghost over them, almost touching his skin, but not.

He must have had a good skincare routine before because there isn’t a blemish in sight somehow, even now. You wondered how he kept it that way in this world, but you brush it off and you dare to brush your fingers through his blonde hair. His hair is smooth and soft, and you find it hard to not almost be jealous, maybe even pissed at him for being so perfect. Was it rich people shit, or was it him? You didn’t know.

His hair is soft, so you dare to brush your hand over his cheek to see if his skin is just as soft. To your joy, it is just as soft. You can’t help but smile at how beautiful of a man he is. You’re almost jealous of him, but something besides that is occupying your mind. Your desire, as he would call it, to be with him.

You can’t help but want to wake up like this, but closer, every morning. Feel his soft skin on yours as his arms around wrapped around you. It’s the dream. And it’s not like he doesn’t like you, no, he loves you. He’s made it known, but he loves everybody (even Tsukasa). So you can’t help but feel he can’t be yours in a traditional sense.

He doesn’t seem the type to tie himself to one person, and that makes your heart ache. You hate that you let yourself expect anything, or that you can’t help the way your eyes are pulled down to his lips. You hate the way your mind begs the question, “are his lips as soft as his hair? As his skin?”

You stare at them for a moment. At least, visually, you couldn’t find any signs of chapped lips or anything. So far, so good, but you want to feel them. You lean closer, but you know you shouldn’t just take what you want. So you go to pull away when his eyes crack open, scaring you a little.

He smiles a shit-eating grin, “Are you gonna kiss me or not?” He leans up a little bit. “If you don’t, I will.” He says, pulling you closer. You gasp as you’re suddenly mere centimeters away from him, noticing his eyes locked on your lips before it seems like he prys them back up to your eyes, “Can I?”

You nod before you feel his lips, as soft as you imagined, brush over yours. He pulls your bottom lip between his lips as his hand comes up to hold the back of your head. You’re shocked, your eyes fall shut, and you let yourself let go so he can lead. He’s an ambitious kisser, despite it being your first kiss with him, so he leads you to let your mouth fall open, his tongue slipping past to just barely graze your lips.

You can taste him when your tongues finally meet in the middle. You realize you’ve never enjoyed a kiss this much before as you relish in the way he tastes. He pulls away slowly and softly, clearly admiring your features as you both break apart.

And now you don’t know what you two are, but you’ll leave that conversation for another time, you figure as you feel him pull you back in.

[voidscape-o]

She lost. Lost everything. Again. Her precious treasures will never enjoy sunlight on their dough again. A bird with ripped off wings can't escape a stone cage. And Smoked Cheese is here. Oh what she wouldn't do to put him somewhere safe.

🐅What is your command? 🔥Hm… Grab the red one. 🐦‍🔥Don't touch him! 🔥Or what?! You are more resilient than I thought. Crumbling you will be my greatest pleasure! But first.

Burning Spice grabs Smoked Cheese and pulls him towards himself.

🔥I want to see him crumble first. I wonder what kind of pleas will you scream when I CRUSH HIM!

Golden Cheese shouts as she can't reach her last treasure in Burning Spice's grip, his hold getting tighter and tighter until- CRACK! The crumbs that were Smoked Cheese once fall to the ground, light as snow. Her treasures. Nothing but dust in the wind that carries him away and away. She can't lose them again. Not again. Not to him. Not to her. With the remains of her strength, she finds power to make one last earth spear. Nutmeg Tiger Cookie pales as she stares at her god.

🐅Burning… Spice Cookie?

He is silent, a crooked smile streches across his lips. The Great Destroyer… Got destroyed. He almost looks relieved. No one even saw when Golden Cheese escaped the cell, too preoccupied with Burning Spice's injury, until she reached to the Soul Jam, that more than willingly floated into her arms. With no Soul Jam to power his, now crumbling body, Burning Spice fell onto the ground.

🐅Burning Spice Cookie! 🐦‍🔥I wouldn't worry for him if I were you. After all, you dared touch my treasures. Hm… Not perfect, but you should suffice for now.

Nutmeg Tiger Cookie didn't even had time to react as her body crumbled. When Smoked Cheese opened his eyecings again, he was alive. He was sure he…

🐦‍🔥Good morning, Smoked Cheese Cookie. 🧀Golden Cheese Cookie?

Is it? She looks different. And what is that floating next to her? When he looks at his hands, they are… redder?

🧀My Queen- 🐦‍🔥Let's go home. My treasures are waiting.

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Reaper Cheese Cookie - Beast of Creation

☀️Reaper Cheese Cookie thinks that everything has at least some potential. Some things are already perfect, so she just takes them for herself, some require her skilled hands to mold them. ☀️After she defeated Burning Spice and took his Soul Jam for herself, she discovered an ability to mold anything into whatever she desires, with an exception of living creatures. They must crumble first. ☀️She made new bodies for her most loyal subjects with pieces of Burning Spice's army. ☀️Burning Spice himself was turned into a new pair of wings for the lustrous Reaper Cheese Cookie. ☀️Burning Spice is kept alive by her as a single eye, as a punishment for trying to take what is hers.

I am not waiting for the other two beasts to interact with their ancient, I already have an idea that is too far from canon.

♥️ Hollyberry Cookie and Eternal Sugar Cookie found common ground and instead of trying to kill each other they just became friends. ♥️ Eternal Sugar doesn't leave queen's side. Even when she goes to sleep. ♥️ Guess Hollyberry's passion was able to light a tiny flame in Eternal Sugar's heart.

⚜️ White Lily is just dead. She did have a beast and Dark Enchantress going after her. ⚫️ When Silent Salt got the Soul Jam and Dark Enchantress the body, she was struck by their sword. ⚫️ After dealing with both cookies wishing their Soul Jam, Silent Salt took course to Spire of Truth and Deceit. ⚫️ When they arrived Hollyberry and Eternal Sugar was already there, looking for Pure Vanilla, who hid in the spire.

🌕 Why is everyone coming here?! First Dark Cacao, now Hollyberry! 🌑 Don't forget Sugs! 🌕 Uuugh! Are you calling them here?! A loud knock reverberates through the spire. 🌑Oh, Salty is here too! 🌕Shadow Milk Cookie! 🌑I told you to call me Milky. 🌕 Please, why are they here? 🌑 Can't tell until you say my name. 🌕… Milky, why are they here? 🌑I am so glad you asked, Vanilly! Oh, but I need our friends to hear it too. 🌕Wait! Silver Vanilla controlled by Shadow Milk, runs down the countless stairs and out of the door. 🌑 FRIENDS! Hollyberry raises her shield, but Eternal Sugar places a gentle hand on her shoulder and she lowers it. ♥️ What is this all. 🌕 That's exactly what I asked. ♥️ Pure Vanilla Cookie! You there?! 🌕 As you can see. 🌑 Yeah, yeah, later! I see you made friends, Sugs! ♠️ Yeah… Good friends… 🌑 And I see my plan is all done then, Salty?! They only nod. 🌕 What plan? 🌑 To crumble Dark Enchantress, of course! ♥️ So she is no more? 🌑 Nope! 🌕 White Lily is free… Pure Vanilla's heart was overjoyed. 🌑 Nope. What does he mean? 🌑 You see, Dark Enchantress would've betrayed us! Can you believe it?! So one by one, my friends, got new bodies and went after their missing parts to crumble her before she can crumble us, yet none successeded. Besides Salty, of course. It was their mission to regain their Soul Jam and ultimately crumble Dark Enchantress when she combined with White Lily's part. So… 🌑 White Lily got crumbled alongside her. His White Lily is gone? For good this time? 🌕 You… 🌑 What about me? 🌕 It's all your fault. You started this! 🌑 Oh no no no, Vanilly. Dark Enchantress started this, I finished this. Put an end to her plans! I deserve some praise and applause. Silent Salt and Eternal Sugar applaud to which Shadow Milk bows. 🌑 Thank you, thank you. 🌕 Is this why you called them here? ♥️ I came by myself actually. I… Dark Cacao is looking for Dark Choco Cookie. And after he became Pale Cacao he is set on fighting. As we know the two didn't part on good terms, I thought… Maybe you could hide Dark Choco? You survived your encounter with Pale Cacao after all. 🌕 … 🌑 How about I send Salty to deal with him? ♥️ And kill more of our friends? No thank you. 🌑 Such low expectations. Shouldn't you two be grateful I got rid of Dark Enchantress Cookie? 🌕 You killed White Lily Cookie! 🌑 In war some sacrifices are to be made. Do you know what would happen if we didn't do this? Want a peek? 🌕 To trust deceit- 🌑 I say this as Knowledge. I swear on my dough. Pure Vanilla doesn't say anything outloud, but Shadow Milk already knows his answer. Fire and destruction all around him. Even Seas are set ablaze. A crown of five gems floats above Dark Enchantress's head. And all their friends are laying unmoving under her feet. How is he supposed to believe something that Shadow Milk showed him? And the worst part is that he knows it's true. Hollyberry is waiting for his answer about Dark Choco. He can grieve later, once he is alone.

🌕 I can hide him. ♥️ Thank you. You know, Golden Cheese has ability to bring back the dead. Maybe she will agree- 🌑 Don't give him false hope. Golden Cheese never forgave White Lily. Plus, her crumbs are those of Dark Enchantress, bring one, bring the other. 🌕 It's okay, Hollyberry Cookie. It indeed was for the best. Would you like to stay? ♥️ No, thank you, Pure Vanilla Cookie. We are currently traveling to Eternal Sugar's lands. 🌕 Okay. You are free to visit on you way back. Hollyberry smiles, before Eternal Sugar grabs her hand and leads futher into Beast-Yeast. 🌑 Your friend trully changed Sugs. They wouldn't leave the confines of their room and now look at them, traveling so far. 🌕 … 🌑 Salty. I know Vanilly said we will hide Dark Choco, but could you take a look at Pale Cacao? Nothing physical, just do what you do best. Silent Salt nods and heads towards Dark Cacao Kingdom. Silver Vanilla looks them in the back. 🌕 What are they best at? 🌑 Listening.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

⚫️Everyone thinks Pale Cacao is looking for his son to kill him, when actually he is looking for him to give him back the Strawberry Jam Sword and to bring him back home. ⚫️Silent Salt helps him find his son, but Dark Choco refuses to use the cursed sword again. ⚫️Silent Salt and Pale Cacao do convince him to come back with them and forge him a new sword. ⚫️Dark Choco was willing to go, because his father apologized and offered him a hug for the first time in forever. ⚫️Both, father and son, blame themselves for their falling apart, so Silent Salt helps them overcome it and be a family they never were. ⚫️After finding his son, Pale Cacao Cookie relaxed a bit with the whole "fight even if you can't" mentality and more of his original Soul Jam colors started to shine through, but his body stayed the same.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

⚜️White Lily Cookie knew of Shadow Milk's plan. Silent Salt told her. ⚜️She agreed to it, still feeling guilt for what she's done. ⚜️ Now she may finally rest free of all blame.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°| . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ • .⋆.˚ ༺☆༻ ˚ . ⋆ . • ݁ . ˖ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ . |°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Now to some design notes.

• Reaper Cheese Cookie is named after Carolina Reaper pepper, but I didn't want to name her Carolina, so I kept only Reaper, plus, it would be too long of a name. • Her hair is fire, cuz she is spice and Sun. • I combined a bit of Burning Spice's design with her epic and default costumes.

All the ancients/beasts have some celestial symbolism and I LOVE IT!

• Dark Cacao clearly has Eclipse symbolism in his gacha • Shadow Milk literally said he lives on the dark side of the Moon • Golden Cheese was based off of Ra, so Sun. • I noticed four-edged stars in Eternal Sugar's hair, which might be just me seeing things, but in Wind Archer's update, where there were Beasts carved into stone, they also had a star above their head, so they have Star symbolism. Also, it is most likely that they will be a girl, but I think it is better to keep our minds open to them being a boy.

Remember Peach Blossom!!!!

• That leaves Silent Salt. I didn't notice any clear celestial symbolism in their design, besides eternal darkness, and you know what is eternal, dark and impenetrable? Void.

You might also notice, Silent Salt has horns, and I'll tell you what. Pre-corruption SS seems to have something on their head, that I interpreted as horns. From that one little peak we got at their sillouete, I see them as a forest spirit of sorts before their corruption. Their design was the hardest to differentiate, since they are so dark, but here is a little chart of where I think their Soul Jam is.

Phew, it was a long post. If you got all the way here, you get a golden star :] ⭐