#why it's such a bad blemish for him

[midnightwind]

hhhhuh there's.... there's a decent chance that a Rook de Riva would have been there when Viago took control of the House.... might have even helped....

[bennetsbonnet]

I think many people take the whole 'Darcy had not looked at Elizabeth properly before insulting her' as canon because it helps to explain what happens later. After all, Darcy finding Elizabeth too ordinary for a dance, and then later doing a complete 180 in a short space of time is absolutely non beliavable, imo

I suppose this is a response to this post about the 'tolerable' comment and why people seek to defend it. Not sure if you're agreeing that Darcy had not really looked at Elizabeth before insulting her (which is debatable, it could be argued as a snap judgment though even that would not excuse him) but regardless, Darcy not immediately being attracted to Elizabeth and subsequently changing his mind is evident in canon.

In isolation, you could say that Darcy's insult at the Meryton assembly was more of a snide remark about not wishing to elevate Elizabeth in the social pecking order rather than a lack of attraction on Darcy's part. However, the text tells us otherwise.

So, while I do think how he can make such a comment and still end up 'bewitched' by her is partly explained by the fact that Darcy hadn't actually looked at Elizabeth properly, and his overarching emotion at that moment was a refusal to have his pride hurt by being seen to be dancing with a plain country lady, who simple country gentlemen (far less illustrious personages than Darcy!) have already snubbed... combined with a snobbish belief that if he did dance with Elizabeth, it would be the most consequential thing that had ever happened to her and she would always be known in Meryton as the lady who danced with Mr Darcy (and we know he could not have been more wrong about Elizabeth, which makes it all the more satisfying)... there is more to it than that.

Darcy admits that he wasn't initially attracted to Elizabeth himself. I tend to believe this is credible, as though Mr Darcy does not always state exactly how he feels, it's reported by another and he does not refute it.

The evidence for this lack of initial attraction is not solely due to his comment at the Meryton assembly. It's found much later in Chapter 45, though evidently reporting on events shortly after the Meryton assembly, when Caroline says:

'... I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, "She a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit." But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.' 'Yes,' replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, 'but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.'

So we have an account from Caroline of Darcy making a joke about Elizabeth's looks and Mr Bennet's lack of decorum, and Darcy seemingly admitting that he indeed did not think much of Elizabeth at first.

Now, I would say that could be excused away as a joke at Mrs Bennet's expense if it had occurred perhaps immediately after the Meryton assembly... but this is clearly after at least a second meeting, which we know happens, as Elizabeth tells Charlotte during the party at Lucas Lodge in Chapter 6 that Jane and Bingley have met 'tolerably often,' that Jane 'saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times, and expands that they have spent 'four evenings' together which 'have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce.' We can assume that Elizabeth and Darcy would also have been present on these evenings.

The joke also is unlikely to have occured Elizabeth stayed at Netherfield and dined with them during Jane's illness, as Darcy had already admitted that appreciated Elizabeth's 'pair of fine eyes' and called her pretty to Caroline, and he did seem to be making more effort with her then (by his abysmal standards).

So, I think it's pretty clear that Darcy indeed didn't think much of Elizabeth initially in regard to her looks. Which I suppose is no great shock, given that Darcy will have been exposed to the crème de la crème in London. But it further demonstrates how dazzling Elizabeth's personality was that she stood out to him. Also, it's no reflection whatsoever on Elizabeth that she didn't stand out at first, because a) Darcy is a snob who finds a reason to dislike almost everyone and b) Darcy would have been used to seeing far wealthier women dressed in the latest fashion trends, with access to better materials than Elizabeth would have been able to obtain from Meryton. So even though he doesn't seem particularly fond of women that try too hard (in his mind) he's still a snob who has a certain notion of how ladies should dress.

The exchange I cited where Darcy finally stands up to Caroline regarding Elizabeth illustrates not just his changing attraction towards Elizabeth, but also it demonstrates his growth as a person as he would've joined in with Caroline's remarks months ago but now he is disgusted by her behaviour. It's one of the many ways, in my opinion, that Jane Austen did an exceptional job of selling his redemption. She did not making him so irredeemable that it is impossible to root for him and think him unworthy of Elizabeth. Both of them were flawed and had to grow as people.

Personally I actually adore that Elizabeth and Darcy were not instantly drawn to each other, (though, of course, not at all how Darcy went about expressing it) as to me it shows it wasn't merely lust at first sight, they both had to work through some things. Plus, given their obstinacy, such a courtship seems, to me, the natural way both Darcy and Elizabeth would have chosen their spouses and ultimately, it also feels like the kind of relationship that you really believe will last. They know each other's flaws and they still love each other regardless. Very romantic and believable, to me!

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"I bet on losing dogs"

ok this is like my first time actually writing anything EVER, and I don't know how to work tumblr or make this aesthetic so bare with me pls!! I keep seeing yandere batfam x neglected reader and I have had so many ideas so I'm giving this a shot! The reader is referred to with female pronouns but you can imagine it different if you want :) Reader is 2 years older than Damian and is 15 at the start of the story. Damian is 13. Dick is around 10 years older than reader, making him 25 right now. Jason is 8 years older than reader, making him 23. Tim is 2 years older than reader making him 17. Cass is 4 years older than reader and is 19. Stephanie is 3 years older than reader and is 18. Barbra is around 8 years older, making her 23! Bruce is around 35-40ish??? All just kinda guesses to make the plot and dynamics more clear, lmk if you have any questions!!

This is the prolouge and it kinda sucks so pls be nice. Hearts and comments are appreciated. If it's bad ignore it, english isn't my first language. Chapter one:, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

You couldn't understand it. You aren't a bad kid, so why were you treated like one? Why did your father treat you like the bane of his existence? Why did your older brothers see you as nothing more than dirt at the bottom of their shoes, a ghost in the manor, a blemish on their picture perfect family of misfits. You tried so so hard to fit in, to be part of the family. You wasted 11 YEARS of your life trying to get noticed, doing activities and hobbies you hated in the hopes of striking conversation with your "siblings". Batman, Bruce Wayne, your "father", ignored you no matter what. He ignored you like it was his job, from the day you came to the manor on your fourth birthday, your mother's death day, to today, your 15th birthday. You saved his life, his and all those other ungrateful losers who you used to call family. Yesterday, you put you life on the line for them, got bitten by that damn snake for them, and they ignored you and told you to walk it off while coddling the girl who suddenly appeared. Never again would you help them, nor would you brush off their mistreatment, not after this betrayal. Not after they took in another girl, a girl your age, the girl who took credit for your heroic act, the girl who bullied you for years at Gotham Prep, the girl who made your life living hell, and called HER family. They choose Tiffany Maverick to be their supposed savior, they would never believe you had the bravery to help them. They chose her to be Tiffany Wayne and scorned you.

You did nothing wrong, from the day you came to the manor you were perfect. Straight A's, no attitude, no complaints and no demands. All you did was try, try, try, and they never noticed.

Richard "The Dick" Grayson, as you and your friends call him, was the world's best big brother to everyone, except you of course! He was your first brother, he was the kid that Bruce Wayne actually wanted to take under his wing. You were 5 and he was 15, he was busy being Robin and then Nightwing. Alfred assured you that Dick adored you, you were his baby sister after all, he was just busy! In later years you realized he was only busy when it came to you. He made time for Damian no matter what, always attended Cassandra's ballet recitals, chatted with Tim and ruffled his hair, and he even dealt with Jason's snarky attitude and biting remarks. Yet, somehow when it came to you, he never had time. Always brushing you off with a shoulder pat and a "Maybe next time sweetheart!" and rolling his eyes when he thought you weren't looking. He's been making time for Tiffany or Tiffybear, as he loves to call her while pinching her cheeks and calling her his favorite little sister, "Don't tell Cass though!" he'll whisper to her. You don't even think he can remember your name. Or that once upon a time you were his "baby bird."

It makes you sick watching her take credit for everything, she's only been in the manor for 6 months and they've all given her more love than they have to you in the past 11 years. She took credit for all your awards, she told everyone she was top of your class, made them "homemade" cakes and muffins. It was all you. She stole everything.

Jason Todd, the red hood, was so mean to you. You used to admire him, looked up to him, and he took all your kind words and gestures for granted and spit them back in your face. Once upon a time, he was your favorite brother, you wanted to be as confident and unshakeable as him, it didn't matter how mean he was now because he was you brother and you loved him. The bond you had before his death was something you couldn't let go of, he was the only one who loved you. When he first came to the manor he was 12 and you came a couple months later. An adorable 4 year old who followed her favorite brother like a duckling. You were 7 when he died. You were 12 when he came back to haunt Bruce and Dick and Tim. You chased after him and tried to resurrect the bond you had for 3 long years. You gave up when you saw them. You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw him and Tiffany sneaking out the manor on a school night, you almost threw up when you saw him strap her on his motorcycle and leave for hours. They came back with shit-eating grins and cupcakes for everyone from a 24hr bakery, everyone except you. The bakery you asked him to take you to months ago. Tiffany saw the tears in your eyes and your clenched fists and she laughed.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, you first saw him after Jason died. Tim, in your 10 year old mind, was trying to steal your dad. Bruce ignored you even more after Jason's death and shut everyone out. Your bond with Tim was non-existent no matter how hard you tried. After you realized he wasn't trying to replace Jason, and saw how he was helping your father heal in ways you couldn't, you tried to bond with him. You attempted to play his video games and ignored his complete disintrest in you and anything that had to do with you in hopes he might come to appreciate you. You brought him coffee after long patrols, asked him about his day, asked to meet his friends, you picked up all his hobbies like hacking, cooking, reading even martial arts and yet he ignored you. You tried to find him in hallways at school, only to be treated like a stranger when you found him. He was embarrassed that you were his sister. You were chubby and awkward and didn't have many friends, he didn't want his cool kid friends to know you were his sister. For 5 long years you chased after him, for 5 years you chased a ghost, and somehow Tiffany captured his attention using one of the gadget-thingys you made in hopes to impress him. She walks the hallways of Gotham Prep with him, a perfect sibling duo, he even had her lunch moved so she could sit with him and his friends. He wasn't embarrassed of her. You watched them get closer in 6 months than you have in 5 years. And it hurt.

But perhaps what hurt most is her newfound bond with Damian. Your baby brother. You tried the hardest with Damian, almost as hard as you tried with Bruce, and yet he chose her while all you got was a sword to your neck and sneers of disgust thrown your way. Damian moved in when you were 12. You were elated, if you couldn't have good older siblings, at least you could be one! That plan went to hell when you realized Damian saw you as less than him. No matter how hard you tried, returned your love with disgust. You tried to show him around school like you wished Tim did for you and he called you " A waste of space and Wayne DNA" and said that there was no way you were of "Wayne" blood and that your "whore of a mother" had to have deceived his father, in front of your two friends and half the school. You could've handled his cruel words if he didn't begin attempting to duel you to become your father's heir. About a year ago, when you tried to hug him he threw you down the stairs and you broke your ankle, you stopped trying with him after that. He was so possessive over Bruce and now that somehow transferred to Tiffany too. You'd feel bad for her if she wasn't eating his obsession with her up.

Barbra, Cassandra, and Stephanie were the "It girls." All practically sisters, they hung out almost everyday and had sleepovers every Friday. They giggled about boys, hook-ups, missions and bonded over everything. You wanted be one of them, you tried so hard to be cool, to be pretty, and they could only see your flaws. You curled your hair and did your nails in hope you would blend with them, you even attempted to be Batgirl at one point. You were quickly denied after Stephanie pointed out that you didn't have the right 'physique' for it. Barbra quickly agreed and said you weren't cut out for it, Cassandra simply looked you up and down. Thats why it hurt extra when they welcomed Tiffany with open arms. Suddenly, she could be Batgirl. She talked to them about boys and bonded with them over girl things. She stole your sisters.

You figured out Tiffany was a spy almost as soon as she came into the manor. Her apperance and ability to act like it was her who saved the Bats from the Joker and his new radioactive snake was not a coincidence, neither was her becoming a vigilante only two weeks after coming into the manor, and neither was you catching her walking out the Batcave with arms full of Batman's weapons and plans. You couldn't believe your luck and pulled out your phone to take a picture, too bad you left the flash on. Tiffany quickly noticed you and tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding when Bruce came into the hallway. You beamed at the sight of him and began to explain what you saw Tiffany doing, only Tiffany was faster. She was quick to blame you for everything, and Batman, the world's greatest detective believed her. She said that you bullied her at school and you were so jealous of her joining the family that you went to steal plans and took pictures to frame her. It was a shitty lie and somehow everyone believed it. You still remember the cold indifference on Bruce's face, the sadness on Alfred's, the look of pure delight on Damian's, the shock on Dick's, the interest on Tim's and the disappointment and disgust on Jason's. Something shifted in you that night. You didn't feel an overwhelming amount of love and longing when you looked at your family, you felt anger. Pure unadultered rage, rage at Bruce for never loving you, rage at Dick for being a liar, rage at Jason for throwing away your bond and cool indifference and disgust at the rest of them.

Maybe that's why your abilities finally formed. Maybe thats why the place the snake bit you that fateful night began to glow as you cried in your bathtub, after being scolded all night and getting body slammed by Damian for trying to "taint his dear sister's image". You had powers now, the agility of a snake, you could eject venom out of your fingertips, you could walk on walls, now you could prove them all wrong.

okayyyy yall this was the prolouge. Again this is my 1st attempt at writing so be nice. If enough people like this I'll put out part one. Hope yall enjoyed and lmk what you want to happen next in the comments!!!!!!!!!

[lolana101]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒

⤷ VIKTOR: SLOPPY SECONDS

⤷ feat. viktor (arcane league of legends)

cw: 18+ , oral stimulation (m), edging, dirty talk, dom! f reader, saliva, nsfw, angst? enjoy!!

“i don’t do this.”

viktor’s accent was heavy against his tongue, his gaze weighted with an unsure haze. his now useless cane clutched in his hand as he stared down at you, between his legs. you knew you’d find him here, working late, jayce long gone. was hexcore even a shared project anymore?

his bad leg dangling over the work bench, his weight crushing the onslaught of papers and tools beneath him.

“i’ve never- done this.”

his breath hitched, as you softly caressed his thigh. a soft, hum arose from your throat in understanding, as you looked fixedly up at him.

“say something.. please.”

the cane clatters against the floor as he hesitantly reached and touched your cheek - a soft poke. did he think you weren’t real? he probably thought of that possibility once; he is always thinking.

“what do you want me to say?”

tour voice was soft, eyes never leaving his. his gaze flickered at the hexcore, the room enclosed in a soft blue hue.

you continued to softly rub his thigh, inching up and up.. you could feel the soft twitching of his thigh, the needy yet silent urges emanating from him. what did he look like voicing those sins?

then again, that’s why he liked you. you could practically read through him. you started to fiddle with his belt, sliding the leather off with practiced ease.

“you’re hard.”

you voiced, slowly rubbing the bulge through his pants. his breath paused, a soft buck up into your hands.

you leaned down, pressing soft kisses against his twitching, clothed need, humming softly. Your fingers slid up to his zipper, tugging it down and pulling away. With his jeans open, you could get a look. a soft dark patch forming as his pre-cum weeps through fabric.

his face was red now, those soft blemishes over his face highlighted with the blue. he looked gorgeous. his mouth was agape, silently begging. I guess he waited enough.

your hand softly jerked at the pretty, pink mushroom tip. his length astonishing, not too thick but freakishly long. your fingers slick with his arousal as he let out almost pathetic whimpers. his eyes fluttered close, his thick brown eyebrows curving at the softest stimulation of your hands. his semi - hard member rose up quickly, your finger slowly pumping, pulling up the shaft until your plant wrapped around his head, then moving down.

leaning closer your tongue swiped at the base, slowly trailing up until you could taste the salty need pouring out from him. he let out a shaky sigh, as your plush lips wrapped around his head, sucking and licking. your tongue swiping curiously at his hot need, your hand still gently stimulating him, though gradually gets pulled away as you take him deeper.

it felt so good, his legs twitching. deeper, is all he wanted. you soon obliged sinking down onto him, until your nose was pressed against the soft hair of his stomach, your throat contracting against him. he smelled good, the soft hairs under his stomach and lower smelled of soft musk. so manly.

“fuck..”

a breathless whisper, as your head bobbed on his throbbing cock, spit dribbling down his base only to get slurped back up. every movement had him twitching, he swore he would cum under the first minute. he couldn’t help it, his hand grasping at your curls, swiping them up into a bun to aid you into drilling his length into you. his dick twitched, heat pooling in his stomach threatening to spill.

“I-i’m..”

In an instant he twitched, though as the pleasure washed over him he let out an uncomfortable whimper, your tongue pressed roughly against the slit, humming. he huffed, staring down at you with pure need. his body was hot, needy. his hips twitching, your fingers moving to softly caress his bad leg easing the achy muscles.

“please..? why..”

you smiled up at him, his thighs twitching, as you kissed his base, sucking on his balls for a little before letting them go with a pop if your lips.

he was begging, you could see it. your wrist flicked at his head again, twisting, the lewd squelching echoing as he stared down at you. He was going to cum again, as he started to slowly fuck himself up into your palm.

he was getting more vocal, those sweet huffs turning into pliant begs, your wrist not moving anymore as you felt a familiar twitch in his base, before your thumb pressed against his tip.

“….f-fuck please-“

he whimpered, staring into your gaze, you were so evil. not letting him cum, not letting him desperately release that sweet orgasm he’s been holding - saving up for.

after a moment you remove your thumb, pressing a soft kiss against his tip before staring up at him, fingers skipping up his chest to grab his tie, hauling him down and pressing a sloppy kiss against his lips.

that taste, fresh black coffee. he chased your lips like a lost puppy, sloppy, licking up the dried drool off your lips, tasting the salty goodness he left on you.

“want me to make you cum yeah? fully?”

you asked, nipping at his neck before letting hip sit back up, your gaze down at your twitching cock.

“please? please please..”

he begged, your name rolling off his tongue, so close to sweet melody. you smiled up at him, before your gaze snapped back down, his hand wrapped around his base, as he pointed his needy dick to your lips.

that thick accent rolled your name off his lips for one last time, as you leaned down. your lips wrapped around him, head bobbing sloppily around his dick. you could hear him moan and groan, his hand sinking ti your scalp to guide your movements.

you were still in control, you both knew it. yet his needy whimpers allowed him to soften you just a little, to let him fuck your throat. his tip hitting the back of your throat, your hands splayed on his thighs. You could feel your own heat growing wet, pussy twitching just from him fucking his brains out into your mouth.

he let out a almost howl, your gaze snapping up at him, your eyes watered as you gaged slightly. you could feel warmth deep down your throat, his pretty pink cock twitching in your mouth. you came a a little too, your clothed clit twitching softly.

“…nng.”

he was still going through the after shocks, poor little viktor twitching, not even having the energy to form a sentence. he eased his cock out of you, It growing soft as he pulls you up, kissing you softly. he whined softly, feeling your hands softly jerk at his overstimulated sex.

“…good?”

“amazing.”

he pants out, nuzzling himself in your neck.

happy thanksgiving y’all !! hope he on my plate 😫please like and follow, and request!!

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[pomefioredove]

for a oneshot how about vil gets sick and reader/yuu (your choice) helps take care of him? :3

o7

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it comes with a fever

type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, took a more unique approach to the sick prompt, would say ooc but this is just how having a cold sore makes you act

"He hasn't left his room all day,"

Epel's still got that uncomfortably tight grip around your wrist. He hasn't let go since he dragged you out of Ramshackle.

"Not even Rook is allowed in. It's... damn strange," he mumbles, disturbed.

You stop in front of the Pomefiore Housewarden's door.

The boy looks at you. "I'd go in myself, but... ah, I'd figure you'd have more luck,"

Which you suppose is his way of saying "Vil PROBABLY won't kill you"

"It's got everyone spooked, Prefect. Like a herd 'a sheep without a sheepdog,"

So, it's up to you. Somehow.

Epel finally lets go of your wrist and disappears before you can ask any questions. Your newly freed hand closes around the door handle.

It's probably nothing, you tell yourself. But if Vil won't even see Rook... there's a slim chance he'll be happy to have you waltzing through the door.

You walk in, anyway.

The room isn't dark or dreary. There are no strange smells or messes. Nothing is out of place, except for the bundle of blankets on the bed and-

FWISH!

You drop to your knees just before a cushion-turned-missile can hit you.

"Get out!"

Definitely Vil. At least he's alive? "You're not supposed to take the name "throw pillow" literally!"

The familiar canto of your voice makes that bundle go quiet and still. And then, from its depths, a loud, uncharacteristic whine. "Don't look at meeeee-"

You can suddenly see why everyone in Pomefiore is "spooked".

"I'm not going to hurt you," you say, as if approaching a wild animal caught in a trap. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" he hisses.

"That's not very convincing,"

And, of course, he knows as much. Vil sighs, and you can see the bundle moving. He pulls out an arm and elegantly drapes it over his head. "I'm hideous,"

Did he get hit by a bus or something? You blink. "You're just sick. It's not the end of the world,"

A long, long sigh follows. The bundle moves again, and a person comes out of it- and if you weren't in his room and responding to his voice, you might not have recognized them as Vil.

He's messy. His hair is tangled and limp. His face is flushed and sweaty. He looks...

"See?" he points to his lower lip.

With the general state of him, you honestly hadn't even noticed the small bump on his lip. You blink.

"...That's what you're upset about?"

He glares. "Don't patronize me. I have a standard to uphold. I can't go out looking like this!"

"It's just a cold sore, Vil,"

"Just?" he crosses his arms. "Just, you say? You're either lucky or stupid. This isn't some common blemish I can cover up with a patch and concealer! This is a personal failure! All the supplements, all the medicated chapstick, and the vitamin C and I still-"

He shudders. "...And it comes with a fever, so if you have any sympathy to give, at least let it be for that,"

You sigh, a weary, but fond smile on your face. "Oh, Vil... let me get you some orange juice,"

He crosses his arms and almost pouts. "And the strawberries in the bottom drawer of the fridge,"

"Those, too,"

.

With your service, Vil eventually calms himself down, though he still lies in bed as if he were dying of something terrible.

By the third or fourth bad Neige Leblanche movie of the evening (making fun of them with you is good for his mental health), it's starting to get dark.

"Seven already?" you mutter, checking the time on your phone.

Vil's eyes widen, and he pretends as if he wasn't staring when you look back. "So?"

"So... I have to go," you say. "I have to make dinner. I have to-"

"You're not seriously going to leave me in this state, are you? I'm supposed to avoid stress,"

You blink. Is he really... He's guilt-tripping you?? You almost laugh- it's endearing to see him so...

...Not him.

"You want me to stay?"

"Yes," he says immediately. He clears his throat, and then: "...For my health. Go speak to Rook, get us takeout."

If you were a worse person, you might have teased him about how cute he is when he's needy... But you also know he's not going to be indisposed for long, and you'd like to survive to see next week.

You smile. "Sure. Can't say no to free food,"

"But no chocolate or nuts, and I'd like something with a lot of lysine, some order of tofu and beans. Ask Rook, he'll know what to get,"

A pause.

"...Thank you,"

He really is quite cute like this. Then again, Vil Schoenheit can pull absolutely any look off.

You head for the door, your hand closing around the cool handle once again.

"And Prefect?"

You turn. Vil hesitates, seemingly warring with himself over something. You can't say which side won, because he only sighs.

"Help yourself to whatever pajamas you'd like. And don't bother asking some dimwitted question about where you're going to sleep. You'll obviously be staying in my bed,"

[umikawa]

a/n: shout out to the song I was listening to, you a real one.

senku ishigami x gn!reader | 1.3k wc, not proofread (thoroughly) | warnings: sen thinks dumbass and idiot are romantic nicknames, lot of intimate touching (not sexual) a sex joke (I find them funny) a bit ooc unfortunately. I love dialogue.

♫ a starry night in apollo bay / rini

“Hey, genius.”

Senku doesn’t turn at the sound of your voice, he’d already deduced it was you the second he heard your footsteps sink into the sand. “Hey, dumbass.”

A light chuckle follows his sentimental nickname for you (he swears by it) and he finds his body relaxing just from hearing it. He watches you from the corner of his eyes, how you hesitate slightly to sit next to him, measuring the distance between the both of you by your hand– he’s sure you’re worrying if it’s too close.

“Hurry up and sit.” He says, looking unbothered per usual. When you don’t, he casts a lazy look in your direction, you know the exasperation is faux to an extent, but the way his brow twitches slightly shows you genuine concern. “You’re worried for no reason whatsoever, idiot.”

“Sorry.” The soft apology makes him scoff, and then in an unexpected move (from Senku, at least) he tugs you down by the hand, huffing when you fall into his side. “You could be gentle, you know?”

He shrugs the shoulder you lay on, a sliver of a frown on his lips when you scoot away. “You could’ve just sat down. But you didn't, so I had to take the initiative.”

“Yeah and practically pulled me into your lap.” You scoff, flicking sand at his leg.

“Bet you’d like that.” He grins, mischief written all over his face. Your hand comes up to his face, shoving his head backward gently, but the act alone is enough to irritate him. “Idiot.” He scoffs, brushing the sand off his face.

“You love me.” The statement rolled off your tongue as a joke, embedded with playfulness because Senku was not the sentimental type. “I’m your best asset.”

“You’re a damn leech is what you are.” You frown— Senku knows you’re faking it.

“You don’t want me to say the insinuation that popped into my head, do you.” The warning left your mouth with a laugh, bumping your shoulder into his.

Senku chortles, returning your action twice as hard. “Oh, I already know it. You know why?” You raise a brow, urging him to continue. “Because I know you.”

Silence followed his words, it hung heavy over your heads, but it wasn’t tense. His eyes are on you, but yours are set on the night sky twinkling above you. Senku takes you in bit by bit, charting every new mark on your face and neck.

A new scar by your eye, that came after you’d exhausted yourself and fell face first into his baskets.

A few new moles and freckles, likely from the sun, he’d have to figure out sunscreen next. He doubts you’d want to put mud on your face willingly.

The feeling of his cold fingers on your chin finally tears your eyes away from the starry night, your lips parting as you look at him. “Senku?”

He shakes his head, laying his palm flat against your cheek. “Just examining.” You nod slowly, eyes darting over his face– he’s not lying but there’s another reason, you’re sure of it. “You’ve got a few blemishes here and there.”

“Gee, thanks. You’re pretty too.” Your words come out with a scoff, and Senku laughs in response. His palm shifts on your cheek, but he doesn’t pull away, instead his thumb begins to brush under your eye, pulling lightly at the skin. “Senku.”

“Just checking. Remember you had exceptionally bad dry eyes?” You hum. “Though I’m sure it was the result of you staring at your phone all night.”

“You wanted someone to talk to at two in the morning, I was there.”

Senku feels his chest tighten. He dismisses it. “Sure, use me as your excuse.”

His fingers travel to your temples, squeezing lightly until you groan and drop your head. “Huh, that’s new.”

“Don’t go acting like you know how my body reacts to things.” You say, slapping his leg. “I get endless headaches from your long, boring speeches about Neanderthals and the Stone Age.”

He pouts, he looks stupid— cute, even. “Because it applies to this world again, we got sent back in time and now I have to make up for it.”

“We.”

“Sure. We have to make up for it.” You shove him again, and Senku shoves you back. He lets his hands get back to work, tilting and turning your head, the way a kid would with their dolls— you slap him when he tries to turn your head too far to the side.

Then he starts to go down. His fingers leave goosebumps in their wake as they trail down your shoulders to your elbows, you’re watching his hands and Senku’s watching you. Noting every reaction, every twitch of your brows, and every shaky breath that leaves your lips.

He holds your wrist, pausing his movements to count your pulse— it’s fast. “Are you nervous?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles at your honesty, nodding his head. “If I did this to you– would you react the same?”

Senku pauses, actually thinking about it. Then he shrugs, “I don’t know.” He retracts his hand, you mourn the loss of contact. He picks your hand up and rests it against his cheek. It already feels warm against your palm. “Go ahead, examine.”

You hesitate at first, crimson eyes locked on you like a hawk, it felt like he was trying to melt you with his gaze. “Your hands are sweating.”

“Shut it.” Senku nods with a laugh, freezing when your hand starts to move down to his neck. Your fingers brush against the stone still stuck in his hair, lightly tugging at the strands around it. “This doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah, it’s an inconvenience sure but, I’m ten billion percent certain it’ll benefit me in the long run.” He gets an uninterested hum in response before your hands slide back up to his jaw.

He looks calm, but his heartbeat is unsteady, he can feel his palm starting to clam up, and his skin feels abnormally hot where your hands are.

Is this normal?

Every brush of your fingers against his skin left a fire, he tries not to catch your eye when his lips part, you’re too focused on them anyway. A shuddering breath comes out when your fingers stop at the base of his neck, you inch closer, and Senku feels his heart stop.

This wasn’t normal.

“Aren’t you ticklish?” His eyes widened slightly at your words, hands coming up to grab your wrists and pull your hands away from him quickly. “How cute. Are you really that ticklish?”

“Don’t even try it, dumbass.” He warns, holding your hands together and away from him. The heat of the moment dissipated slowly, but the rampant beating in Senku’s chest remained.

The crashing waves in front of you take your attention away from him, but Senku keeps his eyes on you– admiring or calculating, he doesn’t know.

Your eyes close when a breeze blows by, he takes it as a chance to scoot closer to you without notice, but you beat him to it. Your head falls to his shoulder, and though his heartbeat skyrockets once again, he lets the puff of faux annoyance out.

He lowers his head, red-dusted cheeks and ears being hidden by the moonlight– he’s grateful for it. If someone saw him in this state, he’d have to come up with some scientific explanation for it to save his ass, but luckily (as much as he could say) he didn’t have to worry about that.

Because it was just you and him.

For now, at least. He’s sure a certain oaf will wake soon.

A content sigh leaves your mouth, tickling his neck. Your hand finds purchase on his arm, and it takes everything within him to not grab your hand and lace his fingers with yours. Because that’s not like him.

“We should go soon,” he whispers, hand hesitantly creeping up your back. “The tide will wash us out if we don’t.”

You hum, the vibrations swarming through Senku’s chest. “Let’s stay for a little while longer.”

Senku doesn’t protest.

Because he wants to be with you for as long as he can.

[sunshineangel0]

loving you, flaws and all (hyung line)

pairing- stray kids ot8 x reader summary- Your skin has never been perfect, and sometimes, the insecurities weigh you down. But each member of Stray Kids loves you in their own way, showing you that beauty isn’t just about clear skin—it’s about who you are. Through soft moments of reassurance, warmth, and genuine love, they remind you that your acne and scars don’t define you. genre- romance, slice of life, comfort, fluff word count- 1,7k (300-500 words each) warnings- mentions of acne, insecurities, self doubt, protective and affectionate stray kids members, pure wholesome content 🥰 an- i was feeling insecure today because of a little flare up so i wrote this. i hope it helps whoever it may need, too. remember, you are perfect no matter how much you brain tells you on insecure days that youre not. maknae line

bang chan

You sat at your vanity mirror, frowning as you traced a fingertip over the red blemishes dotting your skin. No matter how much care you put into your routine, your acne still flared up, leaving you feeling small and frustrated.

The door creaked open, and a familiar warmth wrapped around you from behind. “Why are you looking so sad?” Bang Chan’s deep voice murmured into your ear, his arms tightening around your waist.

You sighed, staring at his reflection instead of your own. “It’s just… my skin is so bad today.”

Chan frowned, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You say that like it matters,” he said softly. He turned you around in his hold, his warm hands cupping your cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You tried, but your gaze dropped. He didn’t let you. Gently, he lifted your chin with his fingers, his brown eyes scanning your face like he was committing it to memory. “I love every part of you,” he murmured, his thumbs grazing over your cheeks. “Your skin, your scars, all of it. None of that changes how beautiful you are.”

Tears pricked at your eyes at the sincerity in his voice. He always knew what to say, always made you feel loved in ways words alone couldn’t.

Chan suddenly tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, if we’re talking about bad features, my nose isn’t exactly winning any beauty contests either.”

You gasped, swatting his arm. “Christopher Bang, don’t you dare insult my favorite nose!”

He laughed, crinkling said ‘bad’ nose as he grinned at you. “See? That’s what I’m saying. You love my nose, and I love your skin. We don’t get to insult the things we love.”

You huffed, but the fight had already left you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he said smugly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another along your jaw. “Now, how about we do some face masks? Not because you need them, but because I need an excuse to pamper you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Only if you wear a head band.”

Chan chuckled, already reaching for them. “Deal.”

lee know

“Stop touching your face,” Minho’s voice cut through the silence, sharp but not unkind. You barely had time to pull your hand away before his cat-like eyes flicked up from his book, catching you mid-scratch.

You groaned, flopping down onto the couch beside him. “I can’t help it. It itches.”

Minho let out a small sigh, dog-earing the page of his book before setting it aside. “And you’re going to make it worse,” he said matter-of-factly. Then, softer, “Come here.”

You hesitated, but curiosity won out. Scooting closer, you watched as he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, barely grazing your cheek.

“I notice you do this when you’re anxious,” he murmured, studying your face like a puzzle he had already solved. “And when you’re frustrated.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You… notice that?”

Minho scoffed, giving you a pointed look. “I notice everything about you.”

Your stomach flipped, but before you could react, he reached for a bottle of moisturizer sitting on the coffee table. Unscrewing the cap, he squeezed a bit onto his fingertips before looking at you expectantly. “Let me.”

You blinked. “You’re seriously going to—”

“Do you want dry skin or not?” he interrupted, arching a brow.

You sighed, relenting as he gently smoothed the cool cream over your cheeks, his touch light, careful. He worked in silence, fingers tracing over each blemish and scar without a hint of hesitation or discomfort. It wasn’t rushed or forced—it was Minho in his quiet way, paying attention, showing care without making a big deal out of it.

“There,” he said after a moment, satisfied. “Now you don’t have to touch it.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering unexpectedly. He was already reaching for his book again, like he hadn’t just made you completely unravel with a simple gesture.

“Minho…” you whispered.

He glanced at you, smirking just a little. “Yeah?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You shook your head instead, exhaling softly. “Nothing. Just… thank you.”

Minho hummed, nudging your knee with his before flipping a page. “Anytime. Just don’t make me do this every day. I charge for my services.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Oh yeah? And what’s your rate?”

Minho smirked, finally looking up from his book. “One kiss per session. Non-refundable.”

Your breath hitched, and Minho, smug as ever, simply went back to reading like he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive.

changbin

You and Changbin had been close for years, but lately, things felt… different. He lingered when he looked at you, spoke to you with a tenderness that hadn’t always been there. You noticed the way he’d absentmindedly brush his fingers over your wrist when you sat next to each other, the way he never let you walk on the outer side of the street, the way his gaze softened when you laughed.

But despite the shift, despite the warmth he always offered, you couldn’t help but doubt what he saw in you.

Especially today.

The two of you were sitting at a café, your drinks resting between you, when you heard it. A group of girls at a nearby table whispering, their eyes flicking toward you. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but some words slipped through—remarks about your skin, quiet giggles muffled behind their hands.

Your stomach twisted.

You stared down at your cup, suddenly too aware of the way your acne stood out under the café’s bright lighting. Gosh. How you hated being in supermarket isles and stores because of that. Its like theyre doing it on purpose.

Changbin noticed. Of course he did.

He turned toward the girls, his jaw tightening. “What did you just say?”

The café noise didn’t seem to drown out his voice, low and sharp like a warning. The laughter stopped instantly.

One of the girls blinked, clearly startled. “Uh, nothing—”

“No, I think you did,” Changbin said, standing up from his seat. “If you have something to say about my girl, say it to my face.”

Your breath hitched. My girl.

The girls stiffened, their embarrassment evident. “We didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” Changbin cut in, eyes dark and unreadable. “But here’s the thing—you don’t know anything about her. You don’t know how kind she is, how smart she is, how funny she is. You don’t know that when she smiles, it makes my whole day better.” His voice softened slightly as he looked at you, but the intensity didn’t waver. “So unless you have something respectful to say, keep your mouths shut.”

The girls mumbled apologies before quickly gathering their things and leaving.

Changbin let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair as he sat back down next to you. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath.

You stared at him, still processing what just happened. “Binnie…”

He turned toward you, the hard edges of his expression softening. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmured. “They don’t get to decide how beautiful you are.”

You swallowed. “You really mean all that?”

Changbin scoffed, shaking his head. “Do you seriously not know?”

Your heart pounded. “Know what?”

“That I’m in love with you,” he said simply, as if it were the easiest truth in the world. “And nothing anyone says will ever change that.”

You blinked at him, completely speechless.

Changbin sighed, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a squeeze. “I’ve been trying to tell you for months,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Guess I just needed an excuse to finally say it.”

You looked down at your joined hands, warmth blooming in your chest, chasing away the doubt. Slowly, you squeezed back.

“I think… I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

Changbin grinned, leaning in just a little, his voice teasing but full of something real. “Good. Because I wasn’t gonna shut up about it anytime soon.”

hyunjin

Hyunjin had been acting weird all day.

You’d caught him staring at you more than once, his lower lip caught between his teeth like he was holding something back (but gosh looked it hot). He was fidgety, more than usual—playing with the rings on his fingers, running a hand through his hair, tapping his foot against the floor.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of stolen glances and unspoken words, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward his art studio.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his grip warm but insistent.

You let him pull you inside, watching as he took a deep breath before sitting you down in front of an easel, a canvas covered with a cloth. His fingers twitched as he hovered near the edge, nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

“I need to show you something,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Your brow furrowed. “Did you paint something?”

He nodded, still not looking at you. “Yeah. But… I don’t know if you’ll like it.” His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Just—don’t get mad, okay?”

You blinked. “Why would I get mad?”

Hyunjin hesitated, then inhaled deeply, bracing himself. With one swift motion, he pulled the cloth away.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It was you.

Every detail—the curve of your lips, the light in your eyes, the way your hair fell around your face. The imperfections you always saw in yourself, the acne scars you had spent so long resenting… they were all there, painted with such care, such softness, it made your chest ache.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Hyune…”

His hands trembled slightly as he stepped closer, his gaze flickering between you and the painting. “I just… I wanted to show you how I see you,” he murmured. “You always look at yourself so critically, but to me…” His voice wavered, his fingers brushing along your cheek, just like in the painting. “To me, you’re breathtaking.”

A shaky breath left your lips. “I don’t know what to say…”

He smiled, small but sincere, his thumb ghosting over your skin. “Then don’t say anything.” His voice was gentle, but there was something firm in the way he looked at you, like he was memorizing the moment. “Just let me love you the way you deserve.”

Your heart swelled, warmth spreading through your chest.

And in that moment, as he gazed at you like you were his greatest masterpiece, you knew—he already did.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[sweethoneyjays]

when you baby them ᯓ★

❀ ◦ paring ◦ enha x reader ❀ ◦ genre ◦ fluff fluff fluff (and a bit of crack) ❀ ◦ word count ◦ 2.3k

❀ ◦ masterlist

❀ ◦ note ◦ back with another banger. personaly riks got me real good for this one (screams) thanks to @lovegreenie for beta reading once again <33 ❀ ◦ taglist ◦ @kristynaaah @beenusflytrap @nari-roll

heeseung ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You had just stepped out of a nice, relaxing hot shower, feeling warm and ready for bed. as you walked toward the bedroom, you spotted heeseung sprawled out across the mattress, one hand on his stomach, the other stretched lazily across his side. his head was tilted back slightly, mouth parted, soft snores filling the room.

Normally, eyes-closed, open-mouthed, slightly-drooling sleep wasn’t cute. but with heeseung?

Absolutely adorable.

You padded over and carefully laid down beside him, curling up into the curve of his arm.

Instinctively, he pulled you close and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“you’re finally done, angel” he mumbled sleepily, his voice low and raspy with exhaustion. the way his arms wrapped around you, so clingy and warm? it was your breaking point in the best way.

You propped yourself up slightly, your face level with his. “did I wake my baby up?” you whispered with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to his nose.

Heeseung smiled, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. you gently stroked his hair, cooing sweetly, “my tired, tired baby.”

“Mmm..” he hummed, clinging tighter like he had no intention of letting go.

You leaned in and began placing kisses all over his face. “mmm… angel” he giggled, trying to turn away but too sleepy to fight back.

“Why is my baby so adorable, hmm?” you teased, giggling between kisses. “my baby. all for me.”

Heeseung groaned playfully and tried to hide his blushing face. when he looked at you again, his half-lidded eyes looked so soft, like he could fall asleep all over again.

“All for you…” he murmured with a sleepy grin. “only for you.”

Then he pulled you back in, holding you close as if you were the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

jay ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Here you were, sitting in jay’s office as he whined and complained about his custom-made guitar pedal having the slightest scratch. he was clearly irritated, but you just found his pouty lips absolutely adorable.

“I just don’t understand how it even got there” jay mumbled, resting his head dramatically on your shoulder.

“Well, you’ve had it for a while. It’s bound to get a few scratches, baby.” you chuckled, fingers gently petting his fluffy hair.

He let out an exasperated puff and sat back up, examining the pedal. slouched in his office chair, brow furrowed, he stared intently at the tiny blemish, while you simply rested your chin on your hand, admiring your ridiculously handsome (and overdramatic) boyfriend.

You reached out and tucked a soft strand of hair behind his ear. jay froze. his eyes flicked toward you, heart fluttering at your delicate touch.

Oh, how down bad he was.

“How long have you had this pedal anyway?” you murmured, fingers idly playing with his hair. a shiver ran up his spine, the sensation sending tingles through him in all the right ways.

“I, uhm… maybe around, like, two or three weeks?” he answered softly, completely entranced by your touch.

“Mmm? that’s already a pretty long time, baby…” you whispered, gently caressing his cheek. “you look so cute when you’re all pouty.” you added, smiling.

Jay looked up at you with those perfect puppy-cat eyes. you couldn’t help but giggle and lean in to tease him a little more.

“Aww, my poor lil baby” you teased, cooing as you pulled his head into your chest. “it’s okay, my pouty little baby, don’t be sad.”

Jay laughed, voice muffled against you. “okay, honey. whatever you say” he grinned cheesily.

“You love it when I baby you” you giggled, pressing a soft peck to his cheek.

“Only because it’s you” he murmured with a giddy smile, before burying his face deeper into your shoulder.

jake ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Here you were, sitting on the couch trying to enjoy your show… trying being the keyword. it was difficult when jake was latched onto your side, whining and begging for your snacks.

Your special snacks. the ones you bought for both of you… except he always finished them too fast.

“Pleeeeaaaseee” jake whined into your side, his limbs wrapped around you like a koala. his face was buried in your arm. “i promise to replace them this time.”

“You said that last time too, yunie. and the time before that. and you still didn’t replace them.” you pouted, looking down at him.

Jake looked up, full-on pouting now, his big, adorable puppy eyes blinking at you.

Irresistible.

Dammit.

You sighed, a small laugh slipping out. “aww, does my baby jakey want the snacks that bad?” you teased, your voice going soft and babyish, like you were talking to a puppy… which, in this case, was basically the same thing.

Jake instantly knew what you were doing and got all shy. he acted like he hated it, but you both knew the truth.

he lived for it.

“You gotta answer me, yunie” you chuckled, gently patting his fluffy hair.

“Yes, please…” he mumbled quietly.

“What was that, baby yun?” you teased further, squishing his soft cheeks between your hands.

“I said please!” he whined, voice high as he buried his red face in your arm again.

You let out a loud laugh at his ridiculously cute reaction. “okay, okay- go get it” you grinned, rolling your eyes fondly.

Jake perked up immediately, bouncing off the couch and rushing to the cupboard like you’d just handed him the key to eternal happiness.

“Happy now, yunie?” you smiled as he returned with your snack in hand, already munching away like a satisfied gremlin.

“No. I’m sad.” he huffed dramatically, settling beside you again. “you were mean to me.”

“Oh no!” you gasped, pretending to be horrified. “should I kiss it better?”

Jake plopped himself down with an exaggerated pout. “yes. yes, you should*.*” he declared with a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

sunghoon ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You were minding your own business in the bedroom when your perfect, handsome boyfriend stepped out of the bathroom.

He looked so clean, damp hair clinging softly to his forehead, body toned, skin glowing under the warm, ambient lamp light.

honestly, how did you even manage to score this hottie?

“You look so good, hoon” you said, propping your head on your elbow as you admired him.

“Oh- thank you, love” sunghoon chuckled shyly, a soft blush creeping onto his cheeks. he knew he looked good, sure… but he always folded at your compliments.

Boy was down bad.

And of course, you noticed that blush right away. so naturally, you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little more.

“My handsome baby, come here” you cooed, patting the empty space beside you.

Sunghoon let out a bashful laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way over and plopped down beside you.

Without hesitation, you clung onto his arm and looked up at him with that teasing smirk of yours.

“Look at you…” you said, resting your cheek against his bicep. “my baby’s so, so good-looking.” You gave him those cute, wide eyes, the move that always, always made him fold.

“Thank you, lovie…” he mumbled, face already buried in his hands as he smiled like a total fool.

You gently pulled his hands away and squished his cheeks between your palms. “such a handsome man” you grinned.

And that? That finished him.

Sunghoon let out an adorably flustered giggle and turned away from you entirely, his back now facing you as he tried to hide the deepening blush.

“Heyyy, where are you going?” you laughed, delighted at his reaction.

“Just... here…” he muttered, trying to calm himself down.

“Aww, you adorable baby” you giggled, wrapping your arms around him from behind in a soft back hug.

He let out a tiny, flustered scream before laughing, squirming a little as he rolled around on the bed with you.

“Only you can make me fold like this” he sighed between chuckles, finally settling down beside you again, still smiling at you.

sunoo ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You were chilling on the couch when your sunshine boyfriend walked into the room… except this time, his vibe felt… different.

He wasn’t radiating that usual cutesy glow. instead, he strolled over with this oddly cool energy and plopped down beside you, throwing a firm arm over your shoulders like he was auditioning for a kdrama lead.

“Hey, babe” sunoo said, flashing a soft smile.

You raised an eyebrow at the nickname, playfully scrunching up your face in confusion.

“You okay? is the weather off or something?” you chuckled, leaning into him. “you feel... different today.”

“Different? i’m doing perfectly fine, babe” he replied, puffing out his chest ever-so-slightly like he was trying to channel a broody action hero.

You saw through it instantly. he was trying to act like one of those stereotypically “tough guy” types- and honestly, it was adorable*.*

“Okay then, handsome tough baby” you teased, giggling as you leaned into his side and rested your cheek against his chest. you looked up at him with a grin. “so, so handsome today.”

“Th-thank you, babe” sunoo chuckled, a soft blush creeping across his cheeks.

You brought a hand to his face and gently caressed his cheek. “my tough, strong baby…”

And just like that, his whole act crumbled.

“AhH, I can’t do this anymore!” sunoo squealed, immediately breaking his cool-guy facade. he wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his flustered face into your neck.

“What happened to my tough-tough baby?” you teased, giggling as you squished his cheeks.

“Being tough is too much work” he laughed, snuggling deeper into your warmth like the human cinnamon roll he truly was.

“I mean, I could get used to big tough sunoo” you mused playfully. “i love every version of you. cute, sexy, sassy, clingy, pouty-”

You went on and on while sunoo just laughed softly, absolutely melting at your affection.

“Thank you, sweetie” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. “i love every version of you too.”

jungwon ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You were watching tv on the couch when your adorable kitty boyfriend peeked his head around the corner, eyes full of mischief, a smirk already tugging at his lips.

You looked over at him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to predict what chaos he was about to unleash.

“Can I help you, wonie?” you chuckled as he stepped fully into view, feet planted wide in an stance.

He just kept smirking.

Uh-oh.

Without another word, he marched up in front of you and broke into the most ridiculous little dance. you raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a snort before finally laughing.

Then he leapt onto the couch and nuzzled his face into your shoulder, letting out a soft laugh of his own.

“Looks like someone has their zoomies” you said fondly, ruffling his hair as he settled down, resting his head on your lap and leaning into your warmth.

You couldn’t help but melt a little.

“You’re so cute, wonie” you giggled, squishing his panting, flushed cheeks in your hands.

His naturally rosy skin only added to how absolutely adorable he looked.

“Why are you so cute?” you squealed, overcome with cuteness aggression as you continued to play with his face.

Those soft, squishy features and that ridiculously fluffy hair were simply too much.

Jungwon giggled, letting you squish and poke to your heart’s content.

“If you keep this up, you might just rearrange my face” he said between laughs.

“How can I not? my baby’s just too adorable” you cooed, switching to gently run your fingers through his hair.

He smiled at you, a soft pink blush rising on his cheeks.

“My cute, cute, cute cat” you giggled again.

Jungwon laughed and teased, “you are so down bad for me.”

You raised a brow. “like you’re not blushing right now?”

“Only blush like this for you” he grinned.

ni-ki ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You and riki were chilling on the sofa, your body curled into his lap, facing him like a sleepy little koala. his arms wrapped around you gently, one hand rubbing slow circles against your back. everything felt calm, no chaos, no noise, just the two of you sharing warmth in the quiet.

You pulled back slightly to take a look at him. his head was tilted back, eyes closed, completely peaceful. undisturbed. and so, so good looking.

“Mmm?” riki hummed, sensing your gaze on him. he cracked one eye open to peek at you, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Admiring your handsome boyfriend?” he teased, his voice low and easy, his thumbs still tracing lazy shapes on your waist.

You brought your hands up to gently cup his cheeks. “well yes, I am. my handsome baby duck” you replied with a cheeky smile.

“Aish, not you too-” he whined, letting out a playful groan. “i’m a puma. P-U-M-A” he spelled, gesturing dramatically to himself.

“But you’re my baby duckie” you cooed sweetly. “you can’t tell me you’re not a duck with those soft, kissable lips,” you added, placing a gentle peck right on them.

Riki groaned and sat up straighter, now eyeing you with seriousness. “look, look. my eyes scream puma. i’m not a duckie.” he pointed at his eyes with a pout.

But you could barely hold back a giggle. he was trying so hard, and yet the tips of his ears were already flushed pink.

“But baby duckie…” you said with a playful little pout of your own.

He let out a soft chuckle and met your gaze… and instantly folded.

His expression crumbled as he threw his head back, covering his face in dramatic defeat.

“Are you not my baby duckie?” you teased again, arms wrapping around his waist as you rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him with your sweetest gaze.

He looked down at you and just melted.

Going completely limp in your hold, riki sighed like a man who knew he was completely owned. his cheeks were a shade of red he’d deny later.

“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, smiling as he hugged you back tightly. “i’m your duckie… just your duckie.”

will never get over this riki T-T

[noctiva]

Inspired by this comment on the first part:

Couldn’t stop thinking about it lmfao so thank you

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Clouded By The Smoke [Pt. 2/Epilogue]

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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Part One

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WC: 3.4k

Summary: Snapshots in time as you try to convince Toby he’s worthy of being loved. A chronological breakdown of his willpower.

CW: 18+ content, sort of detailed sexual content, biting and marking, dealer!Toby, he’s an ass but he’s aware and feels bad about it, drugging, recreational drug use, addiction, drugs other than weed, toxic relationships, codependency, denial of feelings, angsty angst, hurt + sort of comfort, ‘I can fix him’ ass mindset, but it kinda works, reader deserves better

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Acts written here aren’t meant to be endorsed or romanticized - be kind to yourself!

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

-

“Do you remember what I said to you, last time I was here?”

It’s a Monday, or maybe it’s a Tuesday - you’re not quite sure. Days seemed to blur together into one big pile of thoughtless mush ever since you met Toby. But, one thing was certain; you were here again. In his room, swaddled in a blanket as you sat curled up on some lumpy old beanbag chair - staring up at him where he sat at his desk.

It was an old thing. Paint flaking off and chips in the wood, stickers plastering almost the entire thing, burn holes from cigarettes littering the spaces in between. He’s busy, listening to you absently, a cigarette dangling precariously out of the corner of his mouth as he works.

It’s a sight that had made you gut twist the first time you sat close by and witnessed it, but now it was just something you had grown accustomed to. Sometimes, it’s weed, sometimes it’s pills. Right now, he’s sat with a scale in front of him, the hood of his sweater pulled over his head as he measures out scoop after scoop of white powder. One gram each, exactly, and then he’s transferring it into a little plastic baggie - sealing it, then tossing it into the little pile he had accumulated next to him thus far.

You watch as he wipes the excess powder off of the scale with his finger, cringe a little when he swipes it across his gums before brushing his hand off against his pants. So casual with it. Like you were the crazy one for abstaining.

“What you s-said to me?” Toby murmurs back to you softly, raising an eyebrow though he doesn’t look at you. “I dunno. You say a-a lot of stupid shit, hard to keep track.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You scoff, lips twitching down into a frown as you tug the blanket further over yourself. You had only smoked a little bit today, not enough to cloud your mind over, certainly not enough to put your thoughts to bed.

“Not being a d-dick.” Toby snorts, before letting out a soft sigh and finally directing his gaze over to you. He leans back in his chair, the beat down furniture creaking under his weight, eyes half lidded where they hone in on you through the strands of his messy hair. “I also say a lot of d-dumb shit. That’s why we’re so g-good together, eh?” His lips stretch up into a lazy little grin, one hand reaching up to adjust the hood of his sweater. “Just t-two fuckin’ idiots.”

Any other time you would’ve laughed and agreed with him, but not right now. Not when your thoughts were so loud that it made your ears ring.

”Toby.” You let out a soft sigh, your eyes tired as you look at him. Really look at him. The freckles that stain the bridge of his nose and trickle down his cheeks, the scars and blemishes, the bags under his eyes - drooping lids with dilated pupils. Hidden under his hood his hair is knotted and unruly, but it's soft, you know it is. “I told you I loved you.” You don't even try to beat around the bush. There’s no point. You feel like ignoring it would hurt just as much as coming clean.

And you’d swear you stopped time for a moment, with the way he froze completely. His body stiffening, jaw tensing up. Eyes going wide in shock for a moment as he stares down at you. Silent for a few moments before he’s raising an eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

”You re-remember that?” He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m surprised. You were puh-pretty fucked up.”

”I remember because I meant it.” You insist, sitting up a bit, leaning forwards to get closer to him. Or maybe, you were just drawn in by the sweet raspiness of his voice - like a fish snared on a hook, ready to be reeled in. “You know I meant it.”

“No you didn’t.” Again, denying you so easily. Breathed out without an inch of sorrow, like he was just discussing the weather - not the tribulations of your heart.

”I did.” You frown, eyebrows scrunching together. “You can’t just keep denying it like that’ll make it true.”

”Yeah, I can.” Toby shoots you a pointed look out of the corner of his eye before stretching his legs out and using them to roll his chair back closer to his desk. “You d-don’t love me.” Said as a fact. “You wouldn’t even fuck with me at all if I didn’t keep you l-loopy.” He fishes into the front pocket of his hoodie, pulls out that same old grinder he’s had for years, and you let out a soft breath through your nose.

”I would.” You tell him, watching as he unscrews the lid and sets it on his desk. Eyes tracking him the entire time he reaches down to grab the bong that lay in rest on the ground next to his desk. “I’m barely even high right now.”

”Uh huh.” Toby doesn’t sound convinced, his fingers trembling as he scooped up a pinch of herb and packed it down into a bowl. “Well, you should be.”

He doesn’t take the hit himself, just packs the bowl right to the brim then extends the bong out to you - his other hand tossing a lighter into your lap. “Take that, a-and just shut up about it would you?”

And you do.

-

A week later you’re sprawled on his couch. Head on his lap, one of his hands lazily carding through your hair while the other one fiddles with a remote for the game he’s playing on his console. Something low energy, you watch with hazy vision as he places block after block in the Minecraft world he’s been curating for quite a bit now.

There’s a joint between his lips. Puffing on it every now and then just to keep the cherry lit, his eyes focused on the screen before him even as the wisps of smoke obscure his line of vision. He’s shirtless, scars and bruises on full display - things that he never gave you a clear explanation for whenever you asked.

’D-Deal gone wrong.’

’Snagged myself ho-hopping a fence.’

’None of your business.’

You sometimes wondered if he’d ever fully let you in. You always wonder if you’ll ever care that you’re pretty sure the answer is ‘never’.

”Toby.” You murmur to him softly, gazing up at him with hazy eyes. His fingers twitch against your head at the sound of his name on your tongue, before he’s back to moving them through your hair - blunt nails scratching soothingly against your scalp. “I love you.” You try again, wondering if he’ll accept it this time.

And he doesn’t, but close.

”Yeah?” He doesn’t look down at you, just lets out a little hum as his free hand fiddles with the joystick on the controller. The cherry at the end of the joint crackles when he takes a drag, smoke slipping out of his nostrils when he exhales. “What do you l-love about me?”

”You’re sweet.” You hum back to him. “Strong, caring, funny.” His fingers still, and you’d swear his breathing is shakier next time he breathes out. “You take care of me.”

”I make you w-worse.” He corrects you. “I drag you d-down to my level. I don’t know who you th-think I am, but I’m not some fuckin’… Prince Charming.” When he reaches up to pull the joint from his lips, a spot of ash falls right onto your cheek. You don’t even flinch. “It’s bad e-enough you’ve stuck around this long.”

”I like being around you.” You murmur back to him, eyes tracking his every movement when he reaches down to wipe the ash from your cheek, his calloused thumb smoothing against the softness of your skin.

And he chuckles. Soft, mellow, amused.

”You shouldn’t”

But you do.

-

“I love you- Toby, I-“

His fingers dig deep into the soft flesh of your hips, fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents behind now, and surely bruises in the future. His body curled over yours, his chest flush with your back as he presses you down into the mattress. Sweat dripping off of his hair and onto your neck, lips parting in a moan that vibrates against your shoulder.

”I know, I know.” Gritted out like it pains him, his eyebrows furrowed together every time his hips snapped into yours. Actions desperate, needy, selfish in the way he took your body like he owned it. “F-Fuck- I know-“

Your jaw drops slack as drool seeps from your lips and stains his pillow, joining the marks from your mascara that was already smeared there. Sniffling, whimpering, sobbing as his body all but suffocated you - just bordering on the edge of being too much to handle. Overwhelming, disorienting, but he always was. Like those qualities were ingrained into his very essence. “Stupid- So fuckin’ stupid-“ Muttered under his breath, strained and shaky - just barely slipping past your foggy mind. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe, his words were falling on deaf ears.

But maybe that was a good thing, because you probably would’ve taken it the wrong way.

His teeth scrape against your shoulder before they’re sinking in deep - snarling in a bite that has you choking out a broken cry and jolting beneath him. A stinging ache that made your gut twist, and yet it was welcome. You arched into it, fingers curling into his bedsheets. Grip so tight you might just rip them.

Your body feels like its floating, his body heat melting you into a puddle beneath him. Breaking you down like he always did, reducing you into a mess of sweat and tears he’d have to mop up when it was all over. “S-Say it again-“ Gasped out as he feels you twitch around him, clawing at your hips as he pins you down against the mattress. Near punishing in his actions, not giving you even a second of reprieve even as you struggle to breathe through moans and cries. “Again-“

”I love you-“ Right as you cum. The confession dripping with desperation and desire as you tremble and twitch beneath his scalding hot form. Stars in your eyes, vision blurry, tears wetting your skin as you bury your face in his pillow.

And he just knows you mean it.

-

“C’mere.”

You barely even have a second to respond before Toby’s greedy hands are already grappling at you and scooping you up from where you sat on the floor beside him. Pulling you onto his lap so easily, because your body was still so limp and pliant from whatever he had fed you earlier. Your chest is heaving, breathing ragged and uneven, eyes unfocused and hazy when they drift upwards to look up at him.

And for once in his entire life, he feels bad. “T-Too much?” He asks you softly, lifting both hands to cup your face and try to steady you - his eyes honing in on the sight of you. Flushed and incoherent, your pupils pinned right out when he looks into your eyes. You can’t even focus on him, staring through him rather than at him - like you’re not even there. “Fuck, baby..” He’s muttering out softly, smoothing his thumb across your lower lip, wincing when your mouth drops open and drool wets his fingers. “Hey. T-Talk to me.”

”S’fuckin’…” You sway in his hold, lips stretching into a goofy grin as you lean into his touch. “Can’t- Can’t feel my fuckin’ face.” You snort out a little giggle, wriggling out of his hold to press your face into his neck. So loose and sloppy, like you were melting in his lap.

”Y-Yeah, I bet.” Toby hums softly, reaching up to pet your hair softly as you murmur incoherencies against his skin. It’s gibberish. Just a whole lot of nothing, spit out between snorts of laughter and little hiccups. He can feel your heart beating against his, absolutely slamming against your rib cage. “You-You’re alright though, right?” His other arm wrapping around you, cradling you against him - like he was trying to protect you from the world. Though, he was the real danger, and both of you knew that. “Just re-really fucked up?”

“Really fucked up.” You repeat back to him, words slurred and laced with laughter. Skin sticky with sweat, your hair matted to your forehead.

”Let’s get you s-some water then.” He hums, before standing up and bringing you with him. Easily, letting you cling to him like a koala as his hands slip down to cup the backs of your thighs. Through his apartment he walks, kicking a few empty solo cups out of the way as he makes it to his kitchen.

Grabbing a mug out of the cupboard before setting you on the counter, one hand on your waist to keep you steady while his free hand fills it up at the tap. “Open.” As he presses it to your lips, his eyes soft and fond as he feeds it to you. One gulp after another, his other hand cupping your jaw to keep you from swaying. “Atta girl. Th-There you go.”

“Toby.” You slur out once you're finished, nudging the mug away with your face as you gaze up at him. Glassy and unfocused, but they don’t drift from his face. “I love you.”

Toby lets out a sigh, his expression melting just a little bit more. You thawed him. Chipped and cracked at the ice day after day, never giving up on him, even when he put you in situations like this. Looking up at him like a saviour, even when he was the serpent in the garden.

”I love you too.” He only says it back because he’s sure that you wont remember it at all. Something he could get off of his chest, but easily deny if ever confronted. And it hurt him to say, like pulling teeth the way he had to force the words out of his lungs.

Not because he didn’t mean it.

But because he did.

-

“You-You should stop c-comin’ over here.”

Not inside, but on his front porch. The cool evening air tickling your bare skin each time a breeze ripples past. Toby sits beside you, fiddling with a lighter as he toys with a cigarette between his teeth. “S’not g-good for ya’.” A breath, and then; “I’m not good for ya’.”

”I know.” You don’t even try to fight his words. Try to assure him that he’s not nearly as horrible as he seems to think he is. Because he is, and you both know it. “I still love you though.”

Toby lets out a soft sad laugh. Pained, broken in the way it cracks and shakes. It’s not the sweet, honey-smooth sound you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s hollow and strained. It’s sorrow wearing a disguise of nonchalance.

“You’ve g-got to stop saying that shit.” He breathes out, casting you a sidelong glance before taking a drag. Pulling the smoke into his lungs like the burn might just overpower the ache in his chest. “You’re not benefitting anyone.”

”No?” You watch him, chin resting on your palm, eyes tired and yet they still glitter with adoration. “Then why haven’t you kicked me to the curb, if it annoys you so much?”

Why hadn’t he? The answer was easy. He had told you when you were fucked out of your own mind, too stubborn to let it grace your sober ears. Stubborn, or scared? The more he thought about it, the more it was starting to seem like the latter. You were a comforting constant to him. Someone who was always around, even when he didn't ask for it. Never chastising him, never trying to steer him away. onto some better course of life. Just silently accepting. Picking up all of the flaws he laid out for you and cradling them close to your chest.

You were scary. Terrifying. Because you had done what a lot of people had attempted and failed at. You made him want to be better.

And maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad if you had tried to shove the notion down his throat. Act like everyone else, call him a failure and a waste of space. You didn’t do any of that. You didn’t even try. Just you being around had brought it out in him.

He saw what he was doing to you, what he was doing to this sweet precious life. Tainting it, ruining it. Dragging you down into his depths and drowning you, stealing the air from your lungs while you wore a blissful smile.

It made him want to repent. To ask a god he didn’t even believe in for forgiveness.

Not you, because he knew you’d give it to him in a heartbeat and he didn’t deserve that. He deserved to grovel at your feet, to kiss the ground as you walked out of his life.

“You d-do realize that you could do so much b-better, right?” He asks you softly, his voice low - knowing that if he raised it anymore it would crack. “You shouldn’t settle f-for this. Shouldn’t w-want this. No one should want his.”

”You don’t get it.” You hum back to him, hair blowing him the wind. Soft and feathery. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch it. “I don’t want this, I want you. Just you. No matter who you are or what you do.” You watch as his fingers tighten their grip on his cigarette, looking damn near close to snapping it in half. “You could be who you are right now, or you could be some fuckin’ big shot CEO and I’d still feel the same. It’s not what you give me, its who you are.”

And how is he supposed to fight with that? How can he argue when you’ve laid it all out clear as day? Spelling out your devotion in a way he could only ever dream to. Eloquent. Brave. And yet he sat beside you with a lump in his throat, rendering him mute.

It takes him a few moments, a stretch of silence settling down over the two of you as his gaze drops down to his feet. Trying to figure out what he could say to even come close to what you had just told him. Wracking his brain, filing through his thoughts and finding the exact same thing spelled out in every single folder.

So eventually, he has no choice but to spit it out.

”I love you too.”

—————————————————————————

Hi lmfao im back at it with this mess. I just could not get this thought out of my head, angsty dealer!toby has my heart and im forcing you all to partake in this with me 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[ofpd]

1st century roman siege of jerusalem dashboard simulator

🐮 barkamtza

why does this shit always happen to me

#oh my goddd the ONE time it seems like people actually wanna hang out with me. #turns out they meant to invite kamtza instead #everyone hates me and i was SO fucking nice i offered to pay for the party #god i'm so pathetic. kms kms kms #they're gonna pay for this i swear #delete later

0 notes

📜 zekharya-ben-avkolas

Ok so obv it's not ok to sacrifice a blemished calf but the blemish is just on the eyelid? So maybe it's ok? But also and i don't want people to start going around thinking that it's ok to sacrifice blemished animals. But the thing is that if i don't bar Kamtza will tell the Romans we insulted them and that will be bad probably. And like no one likes bar Kamtza anyway will people really miss him..... but ugh neither of these seem like good things to do i don't feel like it's my place to make a decision about this :/

32 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏺neronero

off to war wish me luck! 🇲🇪🏹

🏺neronero

nvm guys. ✡️✡️

🏛 vespasian

my turn lol

53 notes

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport reblogged

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

Hey everyone! These are difficult times, and some friends and I have put together some mutual aid resources for our community to have access to wheat, barley, wine, salt, oil, and wood! More info below the cut. Take care of yourselves! 🫶

Read more

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

fuck

7,235 notes

⚔️ biryonei-yerushalayim

anonymous asked:

Hey, I'm trying to ask this in good faith, and I hope you can take it that way. how can you possibly defend burning our grain stores. I understand that you want to radicalize more people but you're taking things too far. Jerusalem's blood is on your hands.

anon, what you need to understand is that the blame for the carnage in jerusalem lies primarily in the hands of the roman invaders and secondarily in the hands of the rabbis for refusing to resist. would you have told the hashmonaim not to resist their oppressors by any means necessary? just because this is getting inconvenient for you doesn't mean we shouldn't be doing it. it's frankly offensive that you'd imply that we, the defenders of jerusalem, should incur any blame for her current state.

#biryonim.answer #grain storage discourse

231 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael

did anyone else see the "zealot blocklist" going around lmaooo

#how do these liberals expect anyone to take them seriously #do they not have anything better to do.

7 notes

📚 stammaim reblogged

stopbeingpoor-deactivated3830102

ughh why is my servant so incompetent! i deserve the best flour why doesn't he get it...

stopbeingpoor

ykw i'll go get some myself. i'm desperate at this point i gotta do something

stopbeingpoor

EWWWW update: i stepped in something NASTY. this is why i don't fucking go out oh my god im gonna die

stopbeingpoor

gonna throw my gold & silver away for the good of the peasants or whatever it's not like it's any use to me when im literally dying -_-

📚 stammaim

lmao look at this it's exactly what yehezkel was talking about! ur gold won't save you!

#yehezkel #marta b. baitos

162 notes

🕎 yalla-hapoel

🌿 amicus-iudaeorum asked:

Hey, love your posts! They're very informative about the Jewish perspective on this war. I'm just wondering whether you condemn the actions of the zealots? I don't really feel comfortable following someone who supports that.

are you fr.

#if youre seriously concerned about this idt this is the blog for you i fear

28 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael reblogged

📖 ben-zakkai

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️ lol

🛡 goel-yisrael

? what does this mean

🗡 abbasikkara

dw about it bestie

🛡 goel-yisrael

ok 💗 yay 💗

6 notes

👩🏽‍🌾 discoursedumpblog

I've compiled a list of some of the most rabid zealots on this website. Remember, don't engage, just block and move on.

Read more

152 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏛 vespasian

some jew got an audience with me & called me king (im literally not lol thats so disrespectful to the actual king + if i was king then he shouldve met w me much earlier??), i think i should kill him

🏛 vespasian

AND my shoe is being so annoying. horrible day 👎

📖 ben-zakkai

omg just came across this old post

🏛 vespasian

OMG sorry i don't mean it anymore 🙏

14 notes

🫒 a-simple-yid

yirmiyahu tzadak...

#not to pretentiously quote tanakh but literally like. #hashiveinu hashem eilekha venashuva hadeish yameinu kekedem.

3 notes

[targaryenfelikayt]

Little wedding stories. |Boys from horror|

wc: 5, 049 summary: short one-shots about touching, chaotic and sometimes imperfect wedding moments, where love still wins. tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, brideandgroom, soft, domestic fluff, lots of horror romance. Notes: ten days and nights was written especially for you💋

Bo Sinclair.

You were flipping through an old magazine with a hint of melancholy. Today was your last day as a free woman, not because Bo Sinclair had decided to lock you in the garage basement again, but because tomorrow, at the altar, you'd say the cherished "I do." Your friends and family had suggested throwing a bachelorette party with a stripper jumping out of a cake, but you had chosen to spend the night quietly, setting your mind on the right track.

The wedding dress stood in the corner on a mannequin from a nearby tailor's shop Bo had long planned to repurpose. Your shoes and jewelry lay on the vanity, and the lingerie, fit for a real princess (or her sinful version, as your best friend had said), peeked out from a paper bag. You checked everything again, as if physical objects could suddenly vanish, and then crawled back under the crumpled covers.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t have the wedding in Ambrose with guests present, so New Orleans became the only viable option for both of you. The city was the place of your first date: romantic kisses with jazz music and alcohol in your veins. As you played the memories of your life together, the good and the bad, you almost didn’t hear the soft ping of your phone under the pillow.

“I thought you changed your mind about marrying me, gorgeous.” The familiar rough baritone made you smile like a fool as you rolled over to check the time.

“Bit late for backing out, don’t you think?” Laughter followed on the other end, mixed with the distant wail of a police siren.

“That’s not for you, is it?”

“Nah, babe...” he chuckled again, cursing someone in the background. “Wanna come downstairs for a minute?”

Ah, so that’s what this was about: Bo was afraid you’d vanish from his life, running off in a swirl of white fabric. He wasn’t afraid of the electric chair for what he’d done, but the idea that the one person he loved could leave him like everyone else in his life, except his family, that terrified him. Maybe that’s why he proposed so quickly, not wanting you to become part of the sad statistics.

“No, it’s time to sleep. I don’t want a single bruise or blemish on my skin tomorrow, and for that, I need rest. I’m sure my bed here is just as comfy as yours.”

He breathed heavily into the phone for a long moment, long enough to make you anxious. But just as you were about to say something, movement in the corner of your eye made you turn toward the window and there he was.

You almost screamed at the sight of your man at the window. Rushing over on trembling legs, your fingers fumbled with the old latch, trying to open it.

“What the hell are you doing? The last thing I need is for you to break something the night before the wedding!” you scolded him like a misbehaving child.

“I can’t sleep in a bed you’re not in. Check under my jacket.”

“Only after I pull you inside, you idiot.”

Taking in a deep breath of cool air, you started dragging Bo’s heavy form into the room. He wasn’t drunk enough to resist, but you couldn’t expect much help either. Eventually, you managed to get him onto the bed. Your attention was then drawn to his two brothers down below.

“Sorry, we couldn’t stop him. After his second beer, he just started whining about how miserable he was, and your relatives wouldn’t have let him in,” Lester said, waving up to you. Vincent only shrugged, silently apologizing for their brother's behavior.

“It’s fine, just get some rest, and promise me you’ll enjoy the wedding tomorrow.”

You turned back to your fiancé, torn between disappointment and pride that, even in his state, he’d climbed to the second floor like a lovesick hero. Bo pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet from inside his jacket, offering it to you as a peace gesture.

“Sinclair… You’ll go to any lengths to sleep with a beautiful woman.”

“With the woman I love,” he corrected you. “The only one I love.”

Vincent Sinclair.

This morning, the house greeted you with acrid silence that wrapped the whole town. Crickets and dragonflies occasionally broke the strange atmosphere of detachment: you were still part of society, still watched the news, voted in elections, and occasionally went shopping. But as soon as you return to Ambrose, life froze.

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 10:40. At this hour, you were usually already at work, having washed the breakfast dishes and cleaning somewhere in town. Many buildings lacked care: clean windows, cosmetic repairs, or vibrant flowers on the lawn. By contributing to the town’s upkeep, you could avoid thinking about the creepy wax figures, distance yourself from the feeling that through their sclera, Death itself was watching you (or worms slowly devouring flesh). One place that was unbearable to stay in was the cinema and the church. One visit had been enough to make you tremble for a week afterward.

Vincent noticed. He always noticed. After you break down crying in bed from another nightmare where all the figures decayed into rot, he banned you from going there. The longer you stayed here, the more your psyche changed, became flexible to everything happening around you. But it could still break you, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Maybe this and a hundred other situations made him consider holding the wedding somewhere else. Far from Ambrose and its surroundings. Closer to the ocean. Vincent thought about the honeymoon more often than the ceremony itself, if only because it was a valid excuse to get you out of here. After countless arguments with Bo, who kept saying his brother was signing his own death warrant by letting you roam free, you stopped even getting offended. Who in their right mind would choose to live here? Apparently, only you.

You rolled onto your other side, brushing your hand over the empty but still warm spot. So, he had gotten up recently and was probably downstairs already, maybe packing the last of the things or making breakfast.

An excited anticipation took over you, urging you to finally begin the first day of your trip. First stop: the bathroom. Toilet, quick shower, brushing your teeth, and makeup. The man had dug up an old Polaroid and tons of film, promising to collect every precious shot, ones where you’d want to look beautiful. Besides, when else would you feel like putting on makeup while living in an abandoned town?

When you packed the last bag with random little things and headed downstairs, the first thing you saw were the open doors, through which Bo's grumbling voice could be heard. Judging by the coherent conversation, Vincent was nearby, scribbling answers in his notebook with disappearing ink, one of the modern world’s novelties you had introduced, which stuck around, unlike the child’s magnetic drawing board.

Not wanting to interrupt the brothers, you went into the kitchen where their usual breakfast was already laid out: loads of bacon and eggs with fried bread. Breakfast passed in silence. Finally, you washed your plate and stepped outside, mentally saying goodbye to the shelter you were leaving for an indefinite time. You still hadn’t decided how long the trip would last: a week, a month, half a year. It didn’t matter, if you had each other.

Vincent saw you first, hurried to take your bag, and greeted you with a soft kiss on the cheek, before putting on his mask. Bo, on the other hand, looked grumpier than usual.

"Good morning. Looks like everything’s ready for departure." You addressed them both, but your chosen one couldn’t stop smiling, reaching for your hand again and again.

His older brother snorted at that, slamming the hood shut. To him, all this was nauseating romantic nonsense, likely to trigger either vomiting or rage.

"Be careful with the car. I spent a month fixing it while you two whispered sweet nothings in bed about romantic getaways." he said, tossing the keys straight into your hands and stepping aside.

"Is the only thing you care about is the car?"

Bo adjusted his cap, clenching his jaw. He wanted to say a lot more, but Vincent patted him on the shoulder. The two exchanged a look, an invisible bond between them that no one else could feel or understand.

"Grab the tool kit from the garage too, just in case."

Vincent nodded but first led you to the driver’s seat, patting your thigh. Bo clearly just needed an excuse to send him off. As soon as he was out of sight, Bo turned to you and said.

"If I find out you ran off or hurt him, don’t doubt I’ll find you before the cops even know you’re gone."

Your face twisted. Of course. Only he was allowed to hurt his brother.

"If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have waited this long. You need to accept the fact that I want to be with him. I want to try and be happy, however much that’s possible. Is that so hard?"

"You think I believe some city girl would trade a better life for this?" He gestured around. "No way in hell."

"Then you don’t have a choice."

You were silent the whole drive. Hands clenched on the wheel, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes on the window, on the gray fields and sparse trees stretching into the fog like they were disappearing. Vincent watched your profile from the corner of his eye, saw your cheeks still red from the recent fight, betraying more than you wanted to show.

When the car turned off the main road, you stopped at a small gas station, not for fuel, just… to breathe. To give you both space. Vincent circled the car and opened the door, not out of anger, just unsure what to say to keep it from getting worse. He reached out, a hesitant hand, as if afraid his love would push him away. But you didn’t. Finally, he pulled out the notebook.

"Forgive him. He doesn’t know how to be different. I… I didn’t want you to feel unwanted. Especially today."

"It’s not about him," you finally said. "It’s about us. I just… I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your family. It’s not supposed to be like this."

He stepped closer. Cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt. His arms wrapped around your waist, gently, uncertainly. His forehead pressed to your temple, when Vincent felt that if he didn’t hold you now, tears might fall from a face made for museum paintings, not for pain or disappointment. With one hand, he scribbled clumsily:

"I’m not choosing. You’re part of me. Just like he is."

You trembled but embraced him back, holding on tightly, as if only now letting yourself exhale.

"I just… don’t want to be a stranger."

And so, you remained on the roadside, in the dust and wind: two figures hiding in each other, at the beginning of a journey meant to become a new life.

Michael Myers.

The wind swayed the trees beyond the window, sending a colorful swirl of leaves right through the open pane. October had never been your favorite month; it marked the true arrival of cold and endless nights. As usual in the evening, you sat at the table on the first floor, writing a letter.

At first, it seemed like a silly suggestion from your therapist: if you couldn’t speak your thoughts out loud, let the paper do it for you. A small ritual with a strict sequence. Sit down, focus, write, and drop it into the old mailbox, long unused for its original purpose. Thankfully, your house was far enough from the neighbors that you didn’t have to deal with their curious stares.

For a couple of weeks, everything went as usual, the envelopes piled up in their designated spot, and every Sunday, you collected them and stored them in a box. Until they started disappearing the next day. It could have been a group of nosy kids passing by or the old woman on the corner who always peeked out her window when your car drove past. So, you decided to change the timing, hoping to catch the thief and give them a piece of your mind.

Days passed, but you never caught anyone.

One Sunday, while all the neighbors were at church, you threw on a knitted cardigan and walked to the mailbox. Instead of your usual white envelope, there was a new one, slightly yellow around the edges. It made you so nervous and excited that you had no choice but to open it on the spot, forgetting that the person who sent it might be watching from the trees. Inside, there was only a clipped article about national suicide rates. Hilarious.

You never intended to leave this world, you just wanted to let go of the emotional weight. Sitting down to respond, you addressed the stranger directly, explaining that reading someone’s personal diary, even in this form, was unethical at best, and demanded that they stop.

Of course, they didn’t listen. The newspaper clippings were replaced with sketches, cutouts of dresses from women’s magazines (eerily like what you wore that day), and even short letters made from torn-out words. The peak of your strange correspondence came in the form of a ticket to a late-night screening of some old horror movie.

There weren’t just many people that day, there was a huge crowd. It turned out the event was the closing night of a timeless horror film festival, and your seatmates were a college student and a couple of goths. No one approached you before or after the film. You came home disappointed, until the next morning, when you found a brief note in your mailbox thanking you… and a keychain shaped like a blood bag. Very original.

You thought about ending the strange communication, pretending none of it had happened, but… the stranger with the simple signature “M.” read every line you wrote multiple times, always responding with precise questions in return letters. He arranged dates, if they could even be called that, and increasingly sent you small gifts.

A stronger gust hit the window, pulling you from your pleasant memories. Exactly one year ago, on Halloween Eve, Michael revealed himself in the amusement park. Since then, the holiday became not just a symbol of monsters and masks, but the beginning of something far more beautiful.

You were just about to lock the front door when you saw Michael’s figure moving between the tree toward the house. He never made you wait, always arriving at the same time for dinner (one of the hardest human habits to teach him). You opened the door, and he slipped inside quickly, avoiding the attention of any potential passersby, especially since you had made it clear that no one in the neighborhood should be harmed because of him.

“Hi, Mikey, the spaghetti’s still boiling.”

Your lips brushed his cool cheek as you pulled him into the living room, guiding him toward the couch.

“Sorry, I ran out of envelopes. I’ll stop by the post office tomorrow and grab a few for later.”

He nodded, expressionless. After all, this was your personal little ritual, a tribute to the past.

“I wrote down some ideas for our anniversary. You know… a date, and all that. If you want, of course.”

He nodded again, but this time handed you a letter. You felt something inside — could it be that Michael had come up with a place you could go for such an important day? Excited, your fingers tore open at the bottom of the envelope, and everything fell onto the table: a gold ring and three cut-out words:

“Will you marry me?”

Thomas Hewitt.

"Lord Almighty, I look like an unshorn sheep!"

You stared at your reflection in the mirror in horror, as if it were nothing more than a terrible dream. The hairstyle that was supposed to be the epitome of softness and romance had turned into a nest and all because you decided not to waste the morning curling your hair with hot irons and went with countless braids instead.

You and Thomas slept separately the night before the wedding. He was in the basement, due to lack of space, and you were in the familiar double bed. In a place where no one could see the lengths you had to go to just to look beautiful on your own wedding day.

"This can all be fixed. Let's just take a deep breath and calm down."

Your friend, who had taken on the roles of bridesmaid, hairstylist, and makeup artist, received your heaviest glare, one that could either silence or send her fleeing.

"I mean it, honey. The volume will settle down, we’ll take the rest with hairspray, and we’ll pull a few strands back from the front..." She gently led you away from the mirror and settled you onto a wooden chair.

An event meant to be light and joyful was anything but relaxing. First, the thoughts about how to explain to your family the man whose looks and behavior were far from ordinary; then the venue and guest list, which made your eye twitch nervously; and now, the wedding day itself, where nothing was going right. The morning wind had knocked down the arch Thomas built, and Luda Mae decorated, and now your appearance made you question whether becoming a wife was even the right thing.

You were desperately trying not to cry. Where was Thomas? Why wasn't he here? His presence had become so familiar that without it now, you felt even more lost.

"You’re doing great. Want some water?"

Your friend glanced sideways at you as she continued working on your hair.

"I want Tommy."

All she could do was let out a soft sigh. She wasn’t sure how to break it to you gently that your future mother-in-law, despite allowing you two to sleep together under her roof (as she was very eager for grandchildren), had strict old-fashioned views and had forbidden him from seeing you before the ceremony.

"If... if I bring him to you, would that help?"

You nodded quickly, and she had no choice but to give in. She rushed out of the room, and no sooner had the tears begun to sneak back to your beautiful face than a tall, familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

"Tommy!"

Your legs carried you to him the second the door closed. Hewitt wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap, sitting awkwardly on a chair far too small for him. His hand gently stroked your wavy hair as he quietly listened to every doubt and anxious word pouring from your lips.

By the end, when you have run out of things to say, you simply hiccup from nerves while fiddling with a button on his black jacket. He reached over, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the table, and wrote:

"Just say the word and I’ll call off the wedding."

You frowned.

"But that means we wouldn’t be husband and wife. I’m not saying anything like that. Not in this life or the next."

He nodded and added a small line beneath the first:

"That’s my brave girl."

Even if the words were far from the truth, to him, you were always the best girl in the entire universe.

Jason Voorhees.

He did not want you to stay with him. Did not want you and yet craved you more than anything in the world. What could he give you, being a man… a revenant… a what?

He was not a fairytale monster. He breathed, walked, bled, and suffered like any man. Only silently. Only with a machete in hand. His heartbeat, but inside it, there was only his mother: her voice, will.

Until you came along. Originally, your mortal body was supposed to become fertilizer for the local forest. But something changed in him the moment he realized you were not afraid, you pitied him. And you did not break the sacred rules of Crystal Lake.

“Jason? You are so deep in thought again you missed my story.”

The man blinked, coming back to himself: there you sat in the clearing before him, weaving a flower crown and looking at him with loyal eyes.

“Sometimes I think that mask is just there so I will not know whether you’re listening. Are you bored?”

He quickly shook his head, wishing your voice would keep flowing endlessly. Talk about anything, the weather, the butterflies, maybe even the absurdities of the modern world. He had a lot of gaps to fill.

“Great, because I was just suggesting you get fake documents. A friend of mine’s connected to the whole system, so if you ever wanted to leave this place, or… I don’t know, try something new — a passport could come in handy.”

Voorhees tilted his head, still watching you through the slits of his mask.

“Oh, right. Sorry. It’s a… piece of paper. It proves that you are who you say you are. That you have a name, a photo, a place of birth. With a passport, you can travel the country. Or get married. Or just stop hiding.” You laughed softly, setting the half-finished crown aside. “Well, in your case, it’s more of a cover. Not real — fake. But with it, you could be someone.”

He turned his head. Not sharply, just a little, like an animal not entirely understanding what was being asked of it. Too much new information at once. You had already overwhelmed him with a flood of unfamiliar terms; Jason did not always grasp them.

You looked into his eyes or where they would be, and added, gently, as if afraid to scare him off:

“For example… my husband.”

Suddenly, the world fell quiet: birds scattered from distant branches, the wind stilled, the sun slipped behind a cloud.

And then Voorhees looked away, pulled a container of sandwiches from a woman’s backpack, opened it, and held one out to you. A silent cue to drop the topic, at least for a few minutes.

There was nothing left to do but press your lips together and nod in agreement.

If you were to become his wife, you’d forever bind yourself to this place. The last thing Jason wanted was to keep you here, in isolation, in danger. Crystal Lake was his hunting ground. He had always done his duty here. But people could be just as dangerous as he was. And if they found you… well, he knew too well how that story ended.

“We’ll sit down and figure it out,” you offered. “It’ll feel real, even if it’s… pretend. Only if you want it. If not, we’ll act like this conversation never happened.”

Your fingers clenched the bread, as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You lowered your head, not out of fear, but from the quiet anxiety that you might’ve broken the trust of the man you loved with a single phrase.

And then he reached out, and with the pad of his pinky finger, gently touched your bare knee for just a moment.

Maybe.

Voorhees, for the first time, didn’t feel like fleeing back into the shadows. He wanted to stay. Just a little longer. As long as he could.

Art the clown.

A quiet rustling pulls you out of sleep.

Rustle, rustle, rustle.

You crack one eye open, pushing the edge of the blanket off your face: white and black balloons, garlands made of old newspaper clippings with cut-out hearts, dark roses placed in coffins instead of vases. Somewhere, carousel music is playing, like from Silent Hill 3, before suddenly breaking into a screech.

It all feels like one of those strange, feverish dreams.

Art appears, as always, without warning. In a tuxedo, but with an enormous black bowtie… and bloodstains on the collar. Blood has become such a regular feature in your relationship that you’ve stopped asking where it comes from.

He jumps onto your bed, scattering confetti across the unmade sheets.

"Art, you really know how to surprise someone," you say, falling back onto the pillows and rubbing your face.

The temptation to sleep a little longer is strong, but Art is completely against that, he starts tickling you. You twist and turn, bumping your forehead against his chest: solid, cool, with a faint creak of fabric. He doesn’t breathe, but you know he’s far too lively for this early in the morning.

He’s watching you. As always. But this time, it’s not frightening.

"Alright, alright, I’m getting up. What’s the occasion?"

Art suddenly jumps up and points at one of the big balloons floating under the ceiling. Drawn with a black marker are two people: one with a tiny hat, the other in a long dress and veil, both have heart-shaped eyes with little Xs.

"So, it’s a date?" you chuckle quietly, his smile fades instantly.

The clown stares at you, frozen in place. The longer he does, the more unsettling it becomes.

"I was joking, Art, stop."

But he doesn’t move.

"You want to marry me, so you prepared a surprise."

Finally, the clown comes to life again, nodding like a bobblehead. He doesn’t need your consent, just like that day he decided to become a part of your life.

You couldn’t get rid of him, couldn’t say "no", couldn’t hide behind locks or even in a church. Only accept.

The ceremony takes place later in an abandoned amusement park. A clown arch with a sign reading "HAPPILY NEVER AFTER" glows in red neon, smeared —God, let it be ketchup. He leads you to a stage, where the priest is a doll dressed in a vicar’s suit, and the witnesses are mannequins in party hats and outfits made of guts.

It’s all absurd, but you can’t help smiling, he really did try. Maybe his idea of beauty exists in both murder and affection.

When you "exchange vows", he pulls out a notebook and flips through it, finally showing you a single phrase, scrawled in crooked, childlike letters:

"You're art now too."

Pennywise.

You stand in front of the circus tent, pulled straight out of dark literary novels. Robert Grey had a knack not only for dazzling children with his unusual tricks but also for charming women, showering them with so much attention and compliments that they lost their heads, providing the whole troupe with expensive backstage passes just for a few moments of conversation with the owner. You, on the other hand, had always tried to stay far away from this place and everything associated with it, until invitations arrived at your workplace bearing his name: a dark envelope, silky paper, and ink that smelled of caramel popcorn.

History repeats itself.

After that time, Robert unexpectedly slipped into your life, inviting you on numerous dates, lunches, or simple walks, anything to make you happy. The circus was supposed to leave by early autumn, but now it’s October, and he hasn’t even mentioned packing up. Today, there were no calls, only brief messages saying he was busy and would talk later. Then came the familiar letter.

And now, here you are, standing on dry grass, unsure why you're hesitating.

Pulling the fabric aside, you finally take a step into the dimness. The air inside contrasts sharply with what’s outside: dusty, sweet, and stuffy. The half-empty circus, as if pulled from your dreams, is lit by hundreds of candles. Their flames flicker, reflected in old mirrors, where you don't always see just yourself. On the stage stands Robert himself. His hair is slicked back, his black suit perfectly tailored. He stands among red velvet curtains and looks straight at you. There's a calm smile on his face, too wide to be truly human. It's unsettling.

You’ve seen him angry, happy, excited, but never wearing a smile like this.

"Welcome, my dear. Usually, the hall is full of thrilled spectators but tonight is an exception to every rule. Just for you, of course."

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice more members of the troupe emerging from the shadows, watching, perhaps even participating in their director's performance.

"I don't quite understand what's going on, Bob."

He jumps off the stage and approaches you.

"Shhh..." His finger gently presses against your lips, as if that’s completely normal. "Just an unusual date, my style. Now go. We can’t let the star of the evening appear without the right attire, can we?"

The gymnast sisters lead you to a distant dressing room, answering all your questions with a smile, saying that it might ruin the surprise their master had been planning for so long. They work quickly: applying makeup, curling your hair, and dressing you in a silk gown. It clings to your skin like a second layer—dark, with iridescent shades like the inside of a seashell; a sheer cape rests lightly on your shoulders. The moment the delicate fabric touches you, Robert appears behind you, dismissing the girls.

"Aren’t you a wonder?"

Man pins your hair himself, leaving a few strands loose, so he can twirl them around his finger when you're alone later. A ridiculous habit you could never get him to drop.

"I’d love to keep admiring you, but everyone’s waiting. It’s not proper to keep guests waiting too long."

His hand grips your waist slowly but firmly, guiding you out of the room.

"This is a very strange date, Bob. If you wanted to have dinner, you could’ve just said so. I feel like a fool or worse, like a doll that has no say in anything."

He chuckles softly, looking at you as though you’re the only important thing in the universe.

As the red curtain opens before you, you see an arch, the troupe standing with lit candles in hand, and a gentle melody played by a pianist.

This isn’t just a celebration — it’s a performance written just for you.

[mochinomnoms]

Can i ask for some NSFW scenes in the PTM universe?

If your not comfortable with that please ignore this ask

sure! honestly im surprised more people haven't asked yet lol

this is a scene that i am debating will go into the main story or be a side story since i'm not sure where i'd place it. it's not the most explicit but i still consider it nsfw

tag list: @ghousus

How you got even got to an empty classroom was a miracle, seeing as the festival was in full-blown swing.

But you weren't complaining, in fact you greatly appreciated that Jade at least had gotten you somewhere private.

“Aah!”

Especially since you were having trouble keeping quiet.

Pretty sounds! Pretty sounds! Make more my pearl, you're so enticing, I don't think I could control myself if I tried~

Jade ground your hips harder into his own, shuddering as you two dry humped against each other.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, like you were burning up from the inside, like you could feel everything twofold.

Maybe you were.

“Jade! Please, we can't—shit—not here, please—mmph!” He crashed his lips against your own, groaning as you tightened your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

You could practically feel his heart beating through all the layers of clothes, right against your chest, rhythmic pounding the same as your own.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

But it wasn't enough.

Why am I so hot? Why do I feel so, so, so much? Why can't I pull away? I don't want to pull away! But I do—no—yes!

Why was the thought of pulling away from Jade so distressing? Like you could never live the thought of molding your skin with his.

I need—please!

Jade's groans were making you hot and bothered, whining as he pulled away to admire you. At this point, you two were quickly building up a dampness in the fabric between your legs.

“P-please, Jade, I'm—” You threw your head back as Jade pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, freeing a hand to pull at your tie and yanked down your shirt to expose your neck and chest.

Mine. Mine. All mine, mine to hold, mine to take!

Jade continued giving you wet kisses down your chest and navel, bringing his gloved hand to your lips, pressing the tip of his middle finger against the plush skin.

“Bite.”

A scrape of sharp teeth at the skin above your heart, a shudder rumbling through your body, a soft, breathless whine leaving your mouth as you did as told.

Feeling you take the tip between your teeth, Jade tugged his hand out of his glove. Moving up, Jade started kissing the pulse in the curve of your neck, suckling as he dragged his now bare hand into your shirt and down your exposed skin.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

“Mmh, Jaaade—” The curve of your back melted into his touch as he caressed your skin, dragging his fingers against every single bump and blemish he could find.

You felt Jade shiver, moving back up to hover his mouth over yours.

“Say—” You think he almost melted as you almost smashed your mouth against him, hands tugging at his tie in annoyance.

Say my name again, pleasepleasepleaseplease—

“Jaaaaaaade!”

Jade let out a soft, breathless chuckle as you groaned into his mouth and finally yanked off his tie and threw it behind him.

“Mm~” You taste so… “Eager, aren't we?”

You huffed, leaning back to glare at him, freeing one of your hands from around his neck to gesture at your open shirt, falling over your shoulders like a lead in a bad porno.

“You did this,”

And I'm not finished with you.

“You let me.” Taking a deep inhale, Jade's gaze drew over your exposed body. It made you feel hot, the need to swallow the drool growing in your mouth as you watched his tongue wet his lips. Slow and sensual, like he was savoring the flavor on the skin.

Savoring your flavor.

As he continued speaking, Jade gently guided you to lay down on the desk, melting along with you and grinding into you hard, making you gasp.

“That says more about you than myself, does it not?”

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 1

Genre: dark fic, future smut, angst

Word Count: 7.1k

 Chapter Excerpt: “Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/CON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu

_____________________________

Your fingers strum along the chords of the sacred lyre, producing celestial tunes that rise up to the heavens to reach the ears of the gods you’re worshipping through your songs, words of revelation passing through your lips like a prayer as the people of your tribe gather to witness and take part in the ceremony, offering up their own silent prayers for the ones above, wishing for food, safety, a good harvest, an opportune marriage for their children… It all moulds together to encase your song as it moves up to the heavens. 

Usually, you would be lost in it, surrendering yourself as a vessel for the will of the people to reach their gods. That is your role after all. As a priestess, you’re the link between the mortal world and the heavens above and you take your role very seriously. These people have entrusted you to carry their messages to the gods and the gods have entrusted you to deliver those messages, any distraction on your part could result in a failure of this process and the squandering of the people’s goodwill and the gods’ trust in your abilities. 

That’s why you feel guilty right now. You can’t focus your full energy on your job, not when you can feel his heavy, suffocating gaze on you. You look up to the heavens, seeking to gather strength from the stars above to guide you back to that enlightened state of being you usually access when performing the ceremonial prayers, but as your eyes land on the stars, you’re startled to see one suddenly fall down from the heavens in a bright flaming blaze. Your heart stops as you follow the distressing demise, no one else noticing it, all too focused on the song and dance and liveliness that you and your fellow priests and priestesses are putting on for the tribe. 

No one even notices your hands faltering over the strings, blasphemously ruining the perfection of the heavenly song. No one but one. And as the star heads to the earth, flickering its last flames of light as it approaches its demise, it disappears behind the trees, leading your eyes directly to the original source of your apprehension as if it had fallen merely to guide your attention towards him.

But you didn’t require such sacrifice to realise the burden of his scrutiny, you moved through every waking moment of your life entirely absorbed by the feeling of being watched and knowing whose eyes are upon you. 

It’s those eyes that belong to the boy with the long dark hair and even darker gaze. He stands out from the crowd, not for his clothes or jewels or status, but for his attitude of somberness and stillness among the joyful festivities of others which is enough to raise the hairs at the back of the neck of anyone who has the misfortune of noticing him. He stands there unmoving, his heavy eyes locked on you and no one else, and you–under that singular watchful gaze–hit the wrong note, plucking your own heartstring in the process, before you stop playing completely. 

No, this can’t be. You may not know precisely what all of this means but even the unenlightened can recognise such a glaringly bad omen–the star falling out of the heavens to point straight at the ill-fated boy. 

You're jolted out of your spiral when your friend nudges you, shooting you a concerned but sharp look, silently urging you to keep playing, and with widened eyes you quickly pick up your lyre again, looking around to see the concerned and strange looks from the tribes people, and the angry looks of your family. You can’t take your role lightly, not even for a second. You have a duty to your people and every second you’re not joining in the collective song, you’re weakening the prayers and risking their failure. 

You diligently join back into song, but you know your heart's not in it, not when you can still feel his cursed eyes upon you. 

He’s been watching you for some time now, and it wasn’t making only you uncomfortable. Others have noticed it too, and rumours have already started to spread–rumours about his inclination towards you. Some are making fun of you for being the object of desire of the tribe’s outcast–as if it makes you deficient in some way to be wanted by him–while others have started to distance themselves from you because of it, not wanting to be adjacent to the troubling boy even if it’s through the most tenuous connection to you. 

It makes you angry to be so unfairly burdened by the unwanted association with him but you can’t blame them too much. You know where their fear is coming from, and you wish he would stay away from you too. 

It’s not that he’s uncomely. If any of you were to be fair, you would readily admit that he is one of the most beautiful humans you have ever laid eyes upon, his handsome features seeming to have been carved out by the hands of a god… but which one, you’re not sure. A trickster god, perhaps, for the boy’s unrivalled looks that are meant to entice and enthral clash harshly with the unsettling darkness that surrounds him and keeps others away despite that immense beauty that under normal circumstances would have made him one of the most popular eligible young men in the tribe. 

The quiet orphan boy never quite fit in despite his parents having been formidable warriors and therefore much loved and respected members of the tribe. His father’s power and influence at one point even rivalled the current tribe’s leader, a fact that has undoubtedly been the source of the hushed and vile speculation by some of the tribe’s people asserting that that is precisely the reason behind the boy’s parents sudden and mysterious deaths when he was just twelve.

Of course none of it was true. These were just the ramblings of the bored and nefarious, gathered under dwindling bonfires and spouting their ignorant and hateful conspiracies. The leader is a kind and loving man. He would never deprive a boy of his family unjustly.

Just as unfounded are the rumours that the boy himself was at fault for his parents’ death. After all, they failed to bear a live child after him–his mother’s womb becoming a graveyard for multiple of his lost brothers and sisters until it eventually killed her. 

After his poor mother died while birthing yet another departed soul, his father was never the same afterwards. He became cruel and vengeful. He took his grief and turned it to anger–an emotion a warrior was much more familiar with handling. Unfortunately when defending the land and killing the tribe’s enemies wasn’t enough, he turned that anger towards his only son.  

You had felt sorry for the boy to be the subject of his father's anger and resentment. You even went out of your way to be kind to him every time you saw the marks of hate on his body or saw him crying to himself in the woods. For a very brief period, you may have even considered yourselves friends. 

He didn’t appear evil from up close. He wasn’t so quiet and menacing. He was a child like all of you were. He wanted to play and laugh and enjoy himself, and you really enjoyed watching him do that. He was a silly child when you were alone together and for a short while it warmed your heart to see him let go around you. He had a beautiful smile and a tinkling honey laugh. You developed a minor addiction to it and you craved to see it more and more. 

That is how you justify to yourself your traitorous indiscretion of secretly revealing to him some of the magic only those raised under the guidance of the gods should have access to. You couldn’t help it. He had shown such interest in it and you couldn’t refuse to indulge him in one of his very few desires. It wouldn’t do anyone any harm. It’s not like he could ever do anything with that knowledge. Only those chosen and trained by the temple could put that powerful knowledge into meaningful action. 

And so you felt comfortable telling him secrets about the practice that even seasoned mages didn’t have access to–secrets you’d only known by eavesdropping on your own high-ranking parents, and he lapped it all up, pushing you for more and more which you happily provided.

Truth is, you enjoyed divulging such secrets about priesthood to him because despite it being a very respected and esteemed position to hold, it was also incredibly isolating by nature. The arts you’ve learned allowed you to tap into great power meant to help and protect your people, but also necessitated that you guard the secrets to it closely so they don’t fall into the hands of those who have not been taught how to correctly use them, or worse yet, those with ill-intentions. 

Even amongst your fellow apprentices, each of you had your own area of study and weren’t privy to much else. That way each of you would only be skilled at a particular art and that art only lest you become too powerful and think yourself rival to the gods much the same way the great Gija did–an ancient priest so powerful he rejected the rule of the heavens and in his arrogance thought he could bring down the gods and take their place instead. His greed was like a sickness that spread through the tribe and corrupted your ancestors, convincing them that if they directed their duplicitous charges at the heavens, they could fell the gods and rule in their place, revelling in endless riches and heavenly desires, only for the gods to strike him down, leaving him to a fate worse than death and laying waste to your people–turning them from a once prosperous and opulent civilisation to one that is barely surviving amongst the wilderness. 

Many of the secrets of that ancient power were lost then, only a few ruins from that time remain guarded in the heart of the sacred temple and even fewer taught to you and your fellow apprentices in bits and pieces that are intentionally scattered amongst you to prevent another Gija from rising. 

That is why there are now so few priests and priestesses who have been allowed to learn more than one art of magic and why you’re forbidden from sharing secrets about your practice even amongst yourselves. 

But no one in the tribe knew you were meeting him in the woods under the cover of darkness and therefore no one could stop you from divulging all your secrets to him. It was harmless. What would he even do with that knowledge? He’s a warrior just like his parents–not a very good one much to his father’s chagrin, but it meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything with the secrets you were exposing to him even if he wanted to. He did not have the gift. 

Still, he understood your frustrated and disjointed ramblings well–a part of you secretly worried that he may have understood them too well for he would then make off hand alterations to incantations that would help you crack a spell you'd been struggling with for some time or bring you rare ingredients from the forest that were very hard to come by, maybe even dangerous, and would be the missing touch to a potion you’ve been slaving over to no avail. 

You didn’t understand how he knew what was missing each time but you selfishly didn't ask because you didn't want to ruin it. Not when his help was setting you apart from your peers and enabling you to make a mark for yourself as the most promising young priestess of your generation. 

For his part, Beomgyu's eyes would light up every time his help would cause you to advance further in your training. He never cared that he couldn’t claim credit for it in front of others. He would just smile and make you his special wildflower and mushroom soup to celebrate which tasted like nothing out of this earth and made you crave it almost as much as you craved his smile. 

That smile–that cursed smile he would wear as he looked at you while you gushed or complained about your training. He didn’t care, seemingly happy to listen to you talk either way, and your foolish young heart liked to think you could see a special fondness in his gaze. It was a stupid passing fancy of course. You couldn’t possibly consider him seriously, not with the dark rumours surrounding him even then and especially not after his father too passed in a uniquely gruesome way. 

As the story goes, he had been out drinking his sorrows as usual. At some point during the pitch black night, drunk and disoriented, he left the group of men he was drinking with to head towards his abode but he never made it back. He was found in the morning impaled on a spear that had gone through his eye and out the back of his head, his lifeless corpse suspended by it. 

It was deemed an accident, an intoxicated man tripping and falling on top of an improperly stored weapon. There was no evidence of a struggle, and even his own men could testify he was not walking straight when he left them. There was no reason to think anymore of it, they said, but between themselves the people talked… yet another death around the dark child. It scared even you. You knew he hated this father. You knew he had an inexplicable knowledge about magic. You knew many have died around him. And so as the whispers grew stranger and more fearful, and stories of curses and dark magic swirled around, you silently stepped away from the boy, your friendship living and dying under the darkness of the night. 

He tried to seek you out, tried to find out why you were suddenly gone, tried to win you back–but it was difficult for him to get to you when usually you were the one who would go out to meet him in the forest at night, away from prying eyes. He couldn't approach you when you put others in his path and so he tried to express himself through gifts and flowers that he would hide in your home, hoping they would help him gain back your favour.

His gifts were beautiful and precious–a stunning bouquet of wildflowers, an iridescent stone adoring a delicate ring, valuable ingredients for your potions… all carefully thought out and picked just for you which made you feel all the worse for rejecting them but you had to. This had gone on too far and for too long. You had both grown too attached to each other and you needed to end it. He must not think he has a chance with you. It was not fair to either of you so it was best to end it quickly, even ruthlessly. 

And so you threw his gifts away–you cut up the bouquets, scratched the jewelry and burned the ingredients, leaving them out in the woods where you knew he would find them and get the message that you wanted nothing to do with them. 

And he did get the message, for shortly after you stopped receiving any more gifts. The boy fading back into the unknowable abyss where he belongs. For years he stayed there. For years you knew peace–a guilty, lonely peace but a safe, secure one. He wasn't there to light up your nights anymore and you weren’t there to make him smile, but you were also spared the rumours and gossip that had long surrounded him and were threatening to infect you. 

It hurt you more than you liked to admit to lose him but it was necessary. There was just no future for you together and he seemed to finally understand that. 

Until now. Now it seems like those once familiar black eyes were watching everything you do once more, but you no longer had silly fancies about any imagined lost innocence in them. Instead they scare you the same way they scare everyone else, maybe even more. He has grown somber and serious without you. You haven’t seen his smile in years. He has abandoned his family’s legacy of fighting and heroism for the feared but respected path of foragers. It fit him. After all, he was always in that forest doing the gods only know what and now he has made a tenuous but necessary place for himself in the tribe by it, wading into that same forest to harvest or hunt for things and creatures unknown from treacherous regions that no one else dared to wade into. 

As part of the mysterious foragers profession, he has made himself indispensable to your people as they depended on him and his few peers to bring them the rare and crucial supplies that numerous factions of the tribe–the priests included–depended on in order to do their job. And he was the best of them. He could get you anything you had need or want for, no matter how remote or dangerous, for the right price and as long as you didn’t ask any questions. 

This, of course, caused more rumors to spread around him than ever before, the tribes’ people coming up with all sorts of tales about how he managed to find these things and what he had to do to procure them–whispers of dark pacts, evil ceremonies and dancing with demons dominated the imagination of your people, but no one dared to say anything directly to him. Not anymore. Not now that they needed him.  

You on the other hand were scared, not just of him but for him. Every time he would disappear for days on end in that wretched forest, you would wonder if he would come back, wonder if this is the last time you would ever see him as he inevitably makes his last trip into its dreary darkness like many other foragers have done before him. It’s a perilous, lonely life and so many do not make it for long. Yet he does. He always comes back, and you’re always relieved and scared to be met with his handsome face, the shadows under his eyes taking on a new layer of darkness every time.

What does he see when he goes in there? What creatures does he encounter? What horrors does he face? How close does he come to death and how does he manage to outwit it? 

You do not know for you could not ask him. He hasn’t even met your eyes in years following your pointed rejection of him. Even when he would drop off supplies at your temple, he would keep his eyes downcast as if meeting your gaze would reveal all his secrets to you.

Yes, he has avoided your eyes for years, which makes his recent unwavering stare all the more unnerving. Something has seemingly flipped in him overnight and now you’re the one hiding from his gaze that never falls off of you whenever you’re around him. 

You think you know what he wants. It is the summer fertility festival. It’s a time when those like you and him who have just come of age are encouraged to reach out and start looking to find a companion. You have already received multiple gifts from other boys in the tribe, most of them loudly claiming them and boasting about what they have managed to buy or trade or hunt for you. 

But one gift was unclaimed, the most precious of all, nestled in a nondescript wooden box with a delicately carved wildflower on top of it, and inside… inside was a night bloomer, a sacred plant that flowers only one night a year that the ancients would consume to aid in their divination. It is an integral part of your religion, a powerful tool that once upon a time allowed your people to peer into the future and speak to the gods, but after the great Gija rebelled against the gods and was smote down, the knowledge of where to find it and how to harvest it has been lost and so did the flower. 

No one saw it for centuries until it became the stuff of legends to the point that some of your fellow priests doubted its very existence, preferring to view the mentions of it in religious myths as a symbolic tool to signify how close the ancients were to the gods through their strong belief and how they lost that connection when they betrayed them.

Yet there it was, a bloomed flower sitting in your hands. And there can only be one person who could’ve found it for you. 

You should’ve rejected it. You should have given it back to him so he could give it to someone who will take him, but you were too selfish for that. How could you pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity? You would never get the chance to use a night bloomer again and you could not find it in you to do the right thing and return it to him. You needed to find out for yourself if it really was as powerful as all the legends described it. So you eagerly made it into a tea and drank it, ready to use its power to gaze into your future–another sin of yours. You were told over and over again not to use the powers gifted to you for your own gains. They’re meant to be used to guide and protect the tribe and not for your own selfish desires, but once again you couldn’t resist, and maybe that’s why you were punished so brutally.

The visions the flower brought you were horrific. They were twisted and bloody and demented–filled with death and gore and terror. In them, you saw everyone you knew and loved die in the most gruesome of ways. You saw them cry out to you for help as their skin melted off their bones and their eyes leaked out of their skulls. Their charred hands reached out to you, begging you to make it stop but you couldn’t. You could do nothing but stand there and watch–the smoke stinging your eyes and blackening your lungs. You couldn’t even look away or get yourself to wake up. You were trapped in the ugly visions for what seemed like eternity–none of them making much sense to you as visions usually don’t, but the smell of burnt flesh and the anguished cries needed no explanation, and throughout it all you felt watched, like someone or something was doing this just to see you suffer. 

The visions went on and on in a loop until you felt you would be trapped in them forever–perhaps a punishment for your misuse of this onerous gift–but slowly your vision cleared up and you could see the world around you again.

You found yourself burning up, covered in layers of animal fur as your mother tended to your feverish body. You wanted to throw them off but couldn't spare any energy to move your arms. You couldn’t even speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth was dry deathly whispers that immediately got carried away by the wind before they could reach your confused mother's ears. You lay like that, sick and immobile, for days, your muscles stiff as if the fire had burned off all the water in them as your mother nursed you back to health. For weeks after you'd be caught out by a sudden whiff of smoke and your heart would pick up and panic would flood your body. You quickly had to make every effort to cover up your visceral reaction to anything fire or burning as it attracted too much attention and threatened your place in the temple. Nobody wanted a hysteric apprentice to train or a frightened priestess to protect them. You’re supposed to be the personification of calm and strength. You would lose everything if people found out that the mere smell of ashes secretly sent you into a ball of terror. 

So you covered it up. You pretended that you didn't want to run and cower under your covers every time fires would be lit to warm up or make a simple meal. It was ridiculous. It was weak and laughable but you couldn’t help how your body reacted to it, and you could no longer stomach the taste of meat anymore–a bite of the cooked flesh would send you into a heaving and retching mess. You had sworn off it since then, much to the confusion of others and the irritation of your family. They never liked it when you did anything to draw the curious attention of others. You were not supposed to step out of line except to excel in your training. As their only child, your performance reflected directly on them, and they did not appreciate the strange way you've been acting since you had consumed that cursed night bloomer.  

Did he mess with it somehow? That can’t have been what the ancients used. This can't be your future. You refuse to believe it. He must have tricked you somehow. 

Your mother had attempted to enquire about what has happened to you–she pushed and prodded but you remained steadfast in your insistence about it merely being an illness brought about by eating spoiled meat which conveniently explained your newfound aversion to it. She didn't believe you, of course, but you also knew she preferred to be ignorant of anything that would indicate any brewing trouble, a crack in her perfect daughter, only telling you to get yourself together and not do something stupid to ruin your future. It was a clear order. Whatever it is that you had done, you better fix it–it meant.

That’s why you must stop whatever advances Beomgyu is trying to make on you. He can only bring you pain and trouble. Just like right now.

As soon as the prayer is done, you’re strong-armed back to your home by your chagrined family who were less than happy about your embarrassing performance tonight. 

“What was that?” Your father hisses at you as soon as you are tucked away in your shared abode, away from prying eyes. “How could you disgrace us in such a way in front of the whole tribe?”

“I am sorry, father. I–I–” You hang your head down, hesitating for a moment as your tongue falls almost paralysed under the weight of what you were about to reveal. “I saw something fall from the heavens. I saw a star die.” 

You choose to omit the part about the boy. Your family doesn't know about your brief secret friendship with him. They don’t know about everything you’ve told him. They don’t know about the blasted gift you have accepted from him. They can’t know. They might cast you out if they did. 

“What?” Your mother whispers fearfully, a tinge of denial in her voice as if she does not wish to believe you–again hiding away from the ugly truth. 

“It was big and bright and beautiful but–” You gulp, wrapping your arms around yourself to stop your body from shaking at the memory. “But I saw it flickering in the throes of death as it bled across the heavens and crashed to the earth.” You finish fearfully, and that fear latches onto your parents immediately. 

Your father strides towards you and grabs you by the shoulders roughly, face pale. “Are you certain, child?” 

“As certain as death. I saw it with my own eyes.” I saw it pointing straight towards him.

Your father casts you away as if you were stricken with pestilence and paces around the room, passing back and forth in front of the pale and ghastly figure of your mother. 

“Father. Mother. Tell me the truth. Tell me what this means.” You ask hesitantly, not certain you even want to hear the answer. You knew it was bad, of course, but their reactions were heightening your anxiety to intolerable levels. 

“The stars are supposed to be eternal watchers, the guardians of the heavens. If one of them falls then the ranks have weakened.” Your mother explains fearfully, “Something has managed to get in or out of the heavens.”

You shudder. What could that be? And what does it have to be with the boy who will forever be your one regret?   

“Only you saw it?” Your father asks and you gulp. “I think so.” 

“Good. We do not want to cause a panic unnecessarily, especially this close to the climax of the fertility season.” He proclaims, trying to compose himself but the pallor of his face gives him away. “The leader’s boy seems close to making a proposal for your hand.” 

You frown. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now? Certainly, you have been more than delighted to garner Kai’s favour and, prior to tonight, you have not been thinking about much else, but surely this star issue trumps trivial earthly matters of marriage and ranks. 

You know your family is pushing for this marriage to go through and you understand how monumental this would be for your position in the tribe–to marry into the ruling family would raise you to the top of the ranks and bathe you in the riches only available to them, but that does not mean you can neglect your duties as priests and priestesses. This fallen star could be fortelling a catastrophic future to befall the entire tribe and you need to set aside all your selfish desires to protect your people from this mysterious fate.

“But the star–” 

“Make no mention of it to any soul.” Your father cuts you off sharply. “Not until we find out more about it. Your mother and I will consult the temple’s ancient inscriptions. You just focus on winning that boy over. And make no repeats of that disgraceful display today.” 

You look down to your feet. You hadn’t meant to embarrass them. They would understand if they knew about your new shadow, but they must not know. No one must know. He is like a pestilence–anything he touches withers and dies and you will not let yourself be one of the ghosts hanging around him. 

You may not know what this dark omen means but you feel in your heart that it is related to him and you have to stop him. Maybe then you can avert this calamity from occurring.

So you meekly accept their admonishment and warnings, keeping your head down and waiting until your parents are well on their way to the temple before you slip out yourself, following in the direction you know he would be, along a trek you should have never have allowed yourself to get familiar with and are now determined to sever from your life. 

The path takes you out of the settlement and into the dark woods. The chill in the air didn’t suit a midsummer night, and it only grows more frigid once you spot the boy’s hunched over figure on the ground, digging for something with his bare hands. Your heart beats rapidly as you watch him pull weeds out of the ground as if he’s gutting the earth and for a second you consider turning around and running back to the safety of settlement. You don’t know what he’s doing out here at night–the once familiar, sometimes even welcoming forest now a strange and bizarre landscape of terror to you. He could be up to all manner of unsavoury things out here and there was no one around to protect you from him. Maybe you could find a way to speak to him in the morning…

But before your feet can move, he cranes his head back to look at you, his dark gaze rooting you to your spot, and just like that you cannot move a muscle. 

“What are you doing out here, flower?” He asks softly, voice deep and saccharine, bathing you like a fly in honey so you won’t escape. You resent yourself for being so improperly affected by it–still feeling a silent pull towards him despite your better judgement, but how can you convince your eyes to deny his beauty? How can you get your ears to shut away his honey voice? 

What you can do is contort your face into an ugly scowl. He doesn’t get to call you that anymore. You should have never allowed him to get close enough to have affectionate names for you. 

“What are you doing here?” You throw the question back at him, needing answers to quiet your worrying mind and time to gather your courage for what’s to come.  

“Gathering supplies for my soup.” He tells you readily, and your scowl loosens a bit at that. Of course, how can you forget his soup? You’ve tasted it many a times to the point that just the mention of it has a remnant of its memory tickling your tongue and making you salivate at the reminder. “Would you like to come home for a bowl? You haven't had any in ages.” 

You curse yourself for how much you suddenly crave it which is then followed by a sinking feeling in your gut as you question why exactly you’re craving it so much. Yes, it was one of the most delicious things you have had the chance to taste in your short life but why was it so? Did he do something to it the same way he did to the last “gift” he gave you? 

You shudder as you think about the countless bowls of soup he had made for you over the course of your brief friendship and what he might’ve slipped in them. No, you would not like to try strange soups from the strange boy, no matter how much your body craves it. “No, thank you.”

He frowns, looking upset–almost hurt–at the rejection. You would laugh if you weren’t so scared of him. “You don’t visit me anymore.” 

You can’t, however, hold back your scoff at his whiny proclamation, as if you owed him that acquaintance. “It is not proper for an unwed woman to meet strange men in the night.” 

“You meet Kai.” He retorts simply and anger and dread wrap around your cold form. What does he care about Kai? Does he really think he and Kai are on the same standing when it comes to you or anyone else for that matter? Has he forgotten himself? 

“That is not your concern.” You hiss at him, scared that he might do something to ruin your tentative relationship with the leader’s son. He has expressed his interest in making you his wife by providing you with the most luxurious gift during this fertility festival. You would be crazy to turn him down and even crazier to let whatever delusional fancy Beomgyu holds for you ruin your chances with him. 

“Why did that make you angry? Are you letting him do things to you that you know you shouldn’t?” Beomgyu confronts you, expression unnervingly blank. “Are you letting him under your skirts?” 

You stalk towards him, raising your hand up and slapping him, then watching a red handprint bloom across his handsome face. You immediately regret it. You’re now within arms reach of the dark boy and he looks angry. 

Before you can step back and run, he reaches out to grab the arm that you struck him with and pulls you to the ground with him. You try to fight him off, using all your strength to attempt to push him away but that just makes him climb on top of you so he can still your thrashing arms and pin them above your head, his body holding yours down as he presses you against the cold mud. 

He was surprisingly strong despite his lean frame, though you suppose you shouldn’t be so surprised given his warrior background even if he quit that path years ago. 

You stare up at him, his dark eyes almost swallowing up the stars above. You don’t dare speak or move. You just lay still as he uses one hand to keep your wrists above your head so he can free up the other to cradle your face, his muddy hand staining your skin. 

“Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans down and meets your lips with his. They feel unfairly good against your own, fit you too well and you hate it. What is this inexplicable hold he has on you? What has he done to you?

In defiance, you command your body to stay still. You may not be able to fight him off but you won't give him the satisfaction of responding to his unwanted advances. So you just lay there and let him mould your mouth to his. He is incessant but surprisingly soft, pushing and coaxing until you unwillingly find yourself whining lowly, and when you open your mouth to let out a small gasp, he uses the opportunity to press his tongue in. 

He tastes so sweet fruits, honey and milk–all things you remember he loves so much and that you always used to provide for him just to see that smile that you now have not seen in years. 

How is it that he tastes this good? What unnatural magic is he using to entice you? He must be because you could not possibly be this inclined towards him.

Your doubts are further confirmed when you detect a hint of something bitter hidden underneath all the sweetness–a sharpness that prevents you from falling completely into him and keeps you on alert. 

Beomgyu lets out his own small moan as his tongue caresses yours and you should be disgusted to be so engulfed by the dark boy, to let him force himself over the boundaries you have put up to keep him away, but the heat radiating off him feels so good against your goosebumps afflicted skin, his small stuttered breaths and whimpers make your body tingle and sizzle and you have absolutely no control over it. You begin to fear you will be trapped here forever under his spell. 

But when his mouth leaves yours to make its way down your neck, you are allowed reprieve to gaze at the sky above and focus on something that isn't him. That's when your eyes stray to the spot where the fallen star was, naturally drawn to it like a tongue is drawn to a missing tooth, and with the phantom taste of iron in your mouth, you snap out of the spell he put you under. 

What the hell are you doing? How can you lie there and let him slither his way back to you? You're a disgrace. 

Disgusted at your weak self, you use that repulsion to fuel you as you gather all your strength and try once again to push him away, but all you could muster is enough power to unlatch him from your neck, exposing the wet freshly kiss-laden skin to the frigid air and making you shiver. 

He gazes at you with a farce concern as he gently cups your cheek, his warm hand like the soothing touch of honeyed milk to your skin that once again compels you to let your guards down, but his blown-wide pupils and his laboured breathing keep them up. 

“Hey, it's okay. I got you, my flower.” He tries to soothe you, bending back down to catch your lips again, but he only manages to freak you out more. 

My flower? No! You must stop this. 

You bite down on his lip harshly, tasting blood, and he reels back, cursing in pain. “What the fuck?” 

In his shock, you’re finally able to push him off and scramble to your feet. “Stay away from me. I do not want you. I have chosen him so stop whatever the hell you’re doing. I will never be yours.”

He levels you with a dark look, the little bit of blood dripping down his chin making him look even more chilling. “Why not?” He asks bitterly. “I can do good by you. You don't have to pay mind to the rumours about me. You know me.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I do not know and never wish to know you. You are unwell. Stay away from me.” You proclaim with all the conviction and strength you could muster, before you turn around and dart back to your home. 

You didn’t want to give him the chance to challenge you. You do not know what he's capable of and you have disgraced yourself enough already. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you run, and you whip your head around constantly to make sure he isn't following you. You feel as though he is, gooseskin prickling at the back of your neck at the feeling of being watched, but every time you whip your head back, certain you'll meet his dark eyes, you find nothing there. 

Your family is not back when you reach your home which is both a relief and a grievance. You’re glad they are not there to question your whereabouts or your dirty frazzled condition but you do not wish to be left alone in case he comes to find you. 

In order to soothe yourself, you cast a protective spell on a powerful talisman and hold it to your chest, burying yourself under heaps of fur and praying that is enough to protect you from whatever evils linger around the dark boy.  

_____________________________

A/N: so excited for this series, let me know what you think please!

[yurinaa-world]

Hi hello! I love your writing!!

Could I request Aventurine, Ratio, Jiaoqiu, and Boothill with an s/o whose love language is bitting?

"𝑅𝒶𝓏𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓅 𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Aventurine, Veritas Ratio, Jiaoqiu, & Boothill x Gender-Neutral

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a s/o whose love language is biting

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

He’s a romantic guy, words and actions alike, and loves anything you give him but biting was something he didn’t expect at all. Some people have this idea of branding someone with bite marks but you just do it out of your love, that reason alone makes him want all that love since he's a greedy gambler.

Come on, how about he pays you back for it? Forget jewelry this time, how about he returns your love the same way? 

Since you get so joyful when you do it to him, what kind of reaction will you have, flustered? Shocked? Maybe a pretty smile on your face? Who knows until he finds out?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Why so nervous? I'm only returning the favour.”

He's crazy not know why you're so nervous, eyes wide and mouth agape, his face was just inches away from your own. He loved seeing that look on you, it was better than any other expression you could ever make. 

Even better when he leaned into your neck, shrieking the second you felt his teeth nipping into your next.

Before fully sinking his teeth into your neck, leaving a dark red blemish on your skin. It’s absolutely cute! now you're both matching. Forget about matching jewelry or matching tattoos on each other's skin, this was better.

“We’re the only ones matching now.”

💫𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹

He can’t help but lecture you about those things, and open your mouth as well, who knows you might have damaged your teeth from the obsession you have with biting people (him). Horrified when you first bit him, only until you explained it to him that he understood your nonsense but at the same not really…

But he can’t stop you from loving him, can he? Seeing that happy smile on your face when you lean in to bite him on the neck, the blood rushing to his ear while he hides his face with his book.

 Lecturing again but failing since you won’t listen, what will he do with you? Seeing that loving look on your face even when he lectures you he ends up just taking whatever you give me

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Veritas.”

He hears the giddiness in your voice as you poke his shoulder to get his attention off his book onto you, yet to no surprise he already knew what you wanted, a nice chomp on his cheek as usual, he always lectures you about the harm that can come from yet you refuse to listen using the words: “I’m just showing how I love you.” 

“No.” 

And as usual, He shuts you down immediately, not even looking your way which just makes you frown—which is your second tactic, to make him feel bad that he let you do it and if that doesn’t work then onto the third one, guilt-tripping.

“You don’t want my love, do you hate it?”

Shutting his book so fast you could still hear the slam echoing from the walls, staring at you with a determined look in his eyes, at the same time filled with love. “Ridiculous, I would rip my heart from my chest for you just to have the essence of your love.” He speaks blankly as if speaking scientific facts without hesitation or fear.

“If you love me that much, would you let me bite your cheek?” you suggested clasping your hands together as if you were some kind of beggar—you were acting like one—he was staring back at you with the most deadpan look you had ever seen before “You compare my heart to biting?”

“No, but you did say you’d rip out your heart for the essence of my love.” he cocks his brow before sighing at you, putting his book aside, giving you a chance to bite him willfully. You grin so happily at his words of acceptance, leaning in to gently leave a bite on his cheek as if he were dessert sold in the best restaurant in Penacony. 

“Happy now?” 

The tips of his ears were sooo red! He loves to much to stop you.

💫𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

He’s a victim, you’ve made him a victim with your love. At least do something with your teeth, maybe try his cooking, sinking your teeth into his cooking instead of engraving in his skin, leaving such marks that make people look at him funny.

He can’t forget how you love biting his ear—though you’re always gentle with it, like your teeth just graze his teeth, only to close in a little to make it feel like you're biting but it’s always so gentle, instead of pain he could feel the blood rush to his face, hiding behind his fan

Don’t act as if you weren’t the reason he’s like this. Since you like to bite so much, did you know that it’s customary for people to leave bites on their lovers in the Yaoqing, why doesn’t he do the same to you as well? 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

He finally can relax after a long day—he feels his sore body still in pain while sitting down, collar unbuttoned to reveal several bite marks left all over his neck by you. The whole day he couldn’t even dare to think of unbuttoning his collar until he was alone, if anyone saw they would be utterly speechless, and he wouldn’t blame them for what their imaginations would lead them to.

“Jiaoqiu,” 

As if on cue you showed up as if you were reading his mind.

Your gentle voice rang through his ears from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck, before gently grazing his ear with the edge of your teeth, closing down ever-so-gently, like a little mouse in your palms with how easily you left much so flustered over something so small, he can’t help but want to pay back, repaying the love you give the same way. “You’re not too tired, are you?” you worried, acting so concerned for him when you see his ears go flat.

“I’m fine,” sighing in your arms, gently taking your arm around him and biting you gently back. “But I’m starting to get tired from all that teasing from you,” he mutters, turning his head back just to grab the back of your head, and pull you down to chomp down on the skin of your neck. 

“...Jiaoqiu.” you groaned his name, feeling the slight sting from his bite as if he were a vampire instead of a healer, drawing back to open his eyes—the slight of his teeth engraved into your neck made his smile wider, it suited you better then it did him, along with that flustered expression as well.

“Just returning the favour to you. And it suits you quite well.”

💫𝐵𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝒶𝓁𝒶𝓍𝓎 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈"

You're shattering your teeth if you try any part of his body, like I mean you’re chipping or cracking your teeth for sure and he just laughs at your face when you cover your mouth, whining and complaining about the pain. So you're just getting veneers unless it's his face you're biting.

He’s completely touch starved, he’ll take anything you give him affectionately even the bitting, like he just loves it so much, sucks his face is the only place you can bite.

Imagen bitting his face out of nowhere, he just freezes, feeling your teeth dig into his cheek as if you were some kind of a monster, leaving teeth indented into his cheek. Before he just starts smiling like an idiot, you know what! He’s going to show his love too! Let him bite your pretty self.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You just couldn’t resist from just chomping down on his cheek as if his cheeks were like brownies, there wasn't a taste or anything but it just felt nice doing so, even when you left back to find a boothill open mouth and confused that staring back at you with teeth marks into the skin of his cheek.

When you smile back at him with your pretty smile, he can’t help but get in a giddy mood, a cheeky grin placed on his lips as if you had kissed him—but that just might be his every reaction when you show him some of your love.

 ”Now we’re speaking my mother fudging language.”

The expression on his face looked like crazy murderer and lovesick madman mixed—impressive that he was able to do that so naturally—you could hear his gears grinding so fast, maybe even the fans speeding up as well. He looked like he was going jump you, which isn’t too far from what happens in the next moments.

Leaping towards you, pushing you down on the ground, with a large grin on his face—his sharp shark-like teeth, you probably see your face reflecting from it. Just feeling the sharp sting on your cheek, his sharp teeth just teeth unusual dark red engraved into your cheek, leaving you whining and complaining at the pain.

“You know how much that hurts!”

“I was just shownin’ my love, just like you.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[jenneyquinn]

“who do you think you’re impressing with this stuff?”

“everyone. you wouldn’t understand.”

after adjusting his tie, pacifica looks up from dipper’s neck, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. it’s the very first time she sees him without that lame pine tree cap on, so naturally, her eyes aim a little higher.

upon inspecting the brunette’s tufts of hair, she thinks to herself, he definitely doesn’t shower much, trying her best to not react too visibly to the accumulation of sweat. who knows, making him feel more awkward will just make things worse—after all, that suit must be stuffy enough as it is.

so, she remains indifferent as she continues inspecting his hair. despite a lack of showering, she thinks, he’s lucky to have fluffly hair… for a nerd, i guess.

before she backs off completely, walking back into the party to the ‘problem room’, pacifica notices something about dipper’s forehead. a blemish, perhaps? or maybe, a hint of acne.

acne makes sense for him, trying very hard to roll her eyes at the thought, obviously not the type to spare time for proper skin care, geez.

for all she knew, pacifica soon came to the conclusion that from all that sweat… the pores on his forehead being clogged thanks to his brown hair and that hat of his, she wouldn’t worry much about giving away some facial cleanser, mosturiser, and a trip to pick up some ointment (since she never needed any).

yet, before she could start on a list—first, she needed to know how bad it was.

pushing his hair back, dipper feels his whole body go stiff in a flash. what the heck was she doing?

“i don’t have time to give you a total makeover, but the least i can do is advise you on better personal hygiene.”

pacifica answers, which meant that dipper was definitely thinking out loud.

stupid! now that, he whines in thought, but refrains from physically face-palming himself.

when pacifica fully pushes dipper’s hair back, his forehead now bare to her, she observes it, her face remaining indifferent as she focuses on what lies before her. it’s… a big dipper?

behind that poker face of hers, she’s laughing inside; trying desperately to not let the corners of her lips twinge up and succumb to her amusement.

clearly embarrassed, dipper’s face flushes red, but finds himself staying still as he feels frozen under pacifica’s gaze. his doe-brown eyes are only glued to her diamond-hued irises, then glances a bit down to her glossed lips, awaiting the inevitable mean-girl cackle.

“so that’s why people call you dipper.” pacifica points out softly, showing the smallest hint of a grin on her face.

only, it isn’t malicious—dipper notes to himself. amused, yes, but not in a cruel, insulting way.

feeling awkward enough as it is, dipper breaks away from pacifica’s touch, backing himself away and heading towards the door; laughing inorganically.

“yeah, it’s just a dumb birthmark, started going by dipper so no one could tease me about that anymore, heh,” he tries to explain in a single breath, pulling out the third journal to avoid being further burned in her gaze, “anywaysweshouldgoaheadandfindtheroomwheretheghostwaslastspottedright?”

“i don’t think it’s dumb.”

the confession slips pass pacifica’s lips almost instantly, unable to stop the words from spewing out.

now, they’re both pink in the face, both in disbelief of the blonde’s admission.

[girllblogging777]

IN WHICH you force spencer to help you with the only thing he doesn’t know about. makeup.

the video of your makeup routine pops up on your phone, and you press the mic to record the voiceover, a smile on your face “go ahead baby…”

spencer braces himself, rolling his eyes “remind me why i agreed to do this again ?”

“because you love me, obviously” you answered with a shrug, and a tilt of your head.

“right. i do”

you gesture your hand towards your phone, signalling him to finally start talking. internally, you’re giggling, because you once again got him to indulge in your weird little activities he doesn’t know the first thing about.

“ahem, so… hi, hello everyone, whoever’s watching this video of my beautiful girlfriend making herself even more beautiful. i’m spencer… spencer reid - the boyfriend, and i’m supposed to explain what exactly she’s doing in this clip.”

you grin and give him a thumbs up, motivating him to keep going.

“so, she begins by washing her face with some fancy cleanser, which is very important because it maintains hydration, prevents breakouts, exfoliates and removes dead skin, - too many details ? right, sorry.”

he purses his lips when you glare at him, amused.

“then, she proceeds to use some serum, as well as eye cream and moisturiser, which surprisingly works wonders - don’t ask why i know, just… i know. and she also uses sunscreen, as all of you should because, well… it prevents aging and skin cancer.”

but then, the clip shows you opening your makeup bag, and his eyes widen a bit.

“uh, now’s the part where my IQ slashes to 60… this is uh… foundation ? oh no, that’s concealer to conceal blemishes and eye bags she doesn’t have - damn babe, i could use some of that too. now this is foundation ! she puts it on her hand for… some reason, and applies it with a brush… so, that’s kinda like painting-“

you facepalm yourself. painting ? really ?

“wait, why is this so dark ? oh, she’s drawing shadows with a stick… to try to make it look like her nose is tiny and her cheekbones are sharp… baby, you really don’t need that-“

okay, this was really getting amusing to watch, especially because he was analysing the video so carefully, his brows furrowed as he stared at the phone.

“glitter ! liquid glitter… on her cheeks. wait, that’s why you always look so glowy… gives her that ethereal look, you know ? i very much approve of the glitter. oh, and that’s blush. i know that too. but my favourite blush is the one she gets when i kiss her. or the one she’s got right now because i’m very much embarrassing her-“

he’s looking up at you, smiling like an idiot before you point back at the phone.

“right, sorry. i got distracted. baby, who’s even gonna watch that, seriously ? this is some fancy powder… i don’t exactly know what it’s for, but it originates from ancient egypt !”

“spence, come on”

“this is mascara, i know that too… woah, is that some kind of torture device ? hey, what are you doing to your lashes !”

you giggle, covering your mouth as he goes on about the lash curler.

“this is a pencil. for her lips. she uses it like twenty times a day, but i don’t know why. it tastes bad too. oh, and the lipgloss of course, couldn’t forget the lipgloss.”

his words are slowed down, because he’s too busy staring at your lips on the screen.

“uhm… and now she’s spraying something all over her face ? i’m guessing that means we’re done, damn, that was something. thank you for listening, i hope you enjoyed this video because i sure did - enjoy the video, not voiceovering it”

and with that, you take the phone from his hand, pressing the stop button. he lets out a relieved sigh, looking at you with puppy eyes. “how did i do ?”

“not bad at all, spence. but glitter, really ?”

of course, over the next few weeks, the girls at the BAU never stopped teasing him about it. jj kept calling him a “lovefool” and when emily asked penelope for her lash curler, they both warned him “careful, genius, we’ve got a torture device in the room”

okay, makeup may not have been the subject he mastered the most. but he was still glad he had complied and made the stupid video with you, because the smile that had formed on your face back then might have been the most precious thing he’d ever witnessed.

no makeup needed.