#and then expect me to be normal when they interact like this

[noctiva]

Drawing Pins

Eyeless Jack x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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WC: 8.0k

Summary: Your boyfriend Jack always refuses to go further than soft pecks and gentle touches. You know that he wants more, and yet he pushes you away every time. You’re determined to find out why.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, blood and gore, blood kink, cannibalism, Jack may or may not bite a chunk out of you, dacryphilia, size difference, blood drinking, unsafe sex, biting and marking, a lot of blood I am going to reiterate this again, creampie, rough handling, sadism, masochism + masochistic tendencies, reader is kinda insane, loss of control, salirophilia, Jack has a big ol’ cock, we knew this, tummy bulge, no prep, sort of kind of CNC elements, dubious consent maybe, reader has no damn clue what she’s getting into

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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Your boyfriend Jack was an enigma.

You’ve been dating for a while. Had been close acquaintances for even longer. You knew each other well. You knew the exact time every night Jack went out to hunt. You knew that his jaw twitched and his breathing went shallow when he was hungry. You knew that he was a man of few words, but an enviable listener.

You had somehow managed to wriggle your way into his mind - into his space. It was a slow process, he always shied away from you like your presence was to him what oil was to water. He wasn’t rude, wasn’t mean - just avoidant. Like he was allergic to the very scent that seeped out of your pores.

But, you liked him. You were fascinated by him. How his presence preceded every room he walked into, how it lingered in the air after he left. He could silence a crowd with a single word. Bring a victim to their knees with a single noise. He walked the line of human, and not quite. Completely blind, and yet he navigated around effortlessly like he had the whole world mapped out based on scent and sound alone. There was a strength fizzling in his veins that no one got to see unless they were minutes from death. There was a hunger that ached deeper than anything you’ve ever known.

And god help you, you wanted to see it all up close.

Slowly, you inched your way in. Lingering longer than normal after he patched you up. Asked about his day. Tried to hold conversation. You’d bring him back pieces of your own kills, presented like a gift. You’d offer to wash the bloodstains from his clothes, because you knew just the trick to get them out. Your sit next to him whenever it was an option. You made your presence known.

Made him crave it.

And that human part of him that still yearned for connection, oh how it sang at the prospect. Making his willpower weaken more and more with every word you spoke to him. He didn’t think you’d win. He thought you’d catch the hint like everyone else, and leave him to his own devices.

He didn’t expect your persistence. It burned through his resolve like acid.

He tried to warn you. Hoped that he could talk you out of it.

“I know what you think you want, and I promise you that you don’t.” His voice cuts through the air of the kitchen one night. You’re leaned up against the countertop next to him, had wandered in there because you had heard the telltale sound of his shuffled footsteps. Gravitated towards him like you always did. That was what he was trying to remedy. “You think you know what to expect. You think you can mould me into something gentle. You can’t.”

His voice is calm, low, unwavering. Every single word spoken like it’s a universal truth. Something irrefutable.

And yet, you hold strong. Like some unmovable force. Your determination makes his shoulders tense up like he’s bracing for it before you even reply to him. That’s for good reason.

“I’ve never once expected you to be gentle.” It’s immediate. You don’t even hesitate before uttering a sentence that flips his world on its head. You didn’t expect gentleness. Didn’t expect kindness.

And yet you wanted him anyway.

When his shoulders sag, that’s how you know he’s given in. You almost feel bad, with the way he lets out a soft hiss like you’ve wounded him.

But you know you’ve gotten him. You can’t bring yourself to reel it back now.

Your relationship moves just as slow, but you pick up on a few things quickly. He was always stiff, always tense. Always holding himself back. He touched you so lightly it was barely even there. A hand hovering over your lower back. Circling two fingers around your wrist, instead of properly holding your hand.

Kisses that tasted like restraint. Lips moving against yours, but with barely any pressure. Ready to pull away at a moment’s notice. Jaw set. Never letting you fully explore him. Like your saliva was venomous.

His hands twitched like they were aching for more, but he never indulged. He smoothed his fingers over the curve of your hips and the ridges of your rib cage. His breathing quivering as if simply feeling you through your clothes strained him.

He always pulled away before it went too far. Even when you could feel the heat boil under his skin and simmer on the surface. Even when the heavy weight of his cock strained against his jeans, pressing against your thigh like a threat.

He never let you have it. Batted your hands away the moment you reached for his belt. Even when his breathing was so shallow it almost sounded like it hurt. His body taut and begging for relief. He denied himself every single time.

Eventually, you bring it up.

“Why won’t you let me touch you?” Asked as you lean up against him on the couch, his arm draped over the back cushions - just barely grazing you.

“I’m letting you touch me right now, aren’t I?” His voice is soft, rumbling out of his chest and vibrating against your body. Your head rested against him, you can hear his heart beat, and you count each one - a reminder that though sometimes he may not act like it, he is still flesh and bone just like you are. He breathes like you do. Feels like you do. He wants like you do.

You had felt it for yourself. Sometimes you’d swear you could smell his desire wafting off of him. Thickening the air in the room and making your chest heave with each breath. He tried to come off as unfeeling, swore up and down that he didn’t need it, but you knew he did. You knew him.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Those words are proven when you notice his heart rate kick up a notch. His throat bobs when he swallows thickly, his breathing stopping completely for a few seconds.

He stays silent for a good, long few minutes - letting your words hang in the air and taunt him. He did know. But he didn’t ever want to have this conversation. Because he knew exactly how it would go. He knew you.

When he speaks again, it sounds like a tolling bell.

“I can’t trust myself not to hurt you.” Barely above a whisper, and yet it hits harder than a punch. Every word that follows is another blow delivered. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I don’t know what you want me to give you. But what I do know, is that what I can give you would be so much worse than anything you’re thinking.”

You gaze up at him like maybe you can will his sight into existence. Like you could soothe his mind with just the sight of your face alone. “My love leaves wreckage. Carnage. It always has. I take in a way you simply couldn’t fathom. I’ve tried to abide by you. I’ve tried to be careful. But you choose to be ignorant.”

That should be enough to ward you off. He says that with such conviction that there’s no mistaking what it is - it’s a promise and a threat all wrapped up in one big gruesome bow. You should be scared. You should be peeling yourself away from him. Saving yourself before it’s far too late.

You aren’t. And you don’t.

“I’m not ignorant.” You mutter back to him. “I know exactly what you can do-“

“You don’t.” He cuts you off in a tone so sharp it nearly makes you flinch. But all that anger? It’s not directed at you, it curves inwards - pools in his chest like an infestation. “You assume. You fill in the blanks with your imagination. You act like you know me inside out when you don’t.”

You feel him take in a shaky breath, like he’s trying to calm himself. “Do you even know how easy it would be for me to break you? Do you know that every time I touch you, my fingers itch to carve straight into you?” He feels you tense up. He hopes it’s out of fear. “I tried to stay away because I knew it would end in bloodshed. It always does. But you-“ He lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “You’re just so… Sure of yourself. Like you truly believe you could be the thing that soothes what I am.”

You open your mouth, he continues before you can even get a word out. “You can’t. Every moment with you makes me ache. And your scent- Fuck. You know I wasn’t made for this. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Then why?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard Jack sound so desperate. You’ve never heard him plead. Not once. But now? It sounds like he’s begging, grasping for straws. His voice claws out of him with all the conviction of someone who would drop to his knees and pray for the means to finally understand you.

To him, you’re sacrificing yourself.

You know that you are.

“I told you from the start.” You answer back softly. “I never expected you to be gentle. I want you to show me who you truly are.” His jaw ticks. “You may be right - I don’t know what you’re capable of. But I want to learn.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” You sit up, drilling your gaze into his with an intensity you know he can feel. “You say I’m bad with assumptions? You can’t just say that I don’t know what I want as if that’s a fact.” Leaning in a little closer, your proximity makes him twitch - he can feel the heat, your breath, your pulse. Radiating through your body and into his, with a rhythm so steady it makes his mouth water. “I know what I want, Jack. I want you.”

The statement rolls over his body like a wave. The tension in his shoulders tightening, his gut squeezing with a mixture of dread and desire. He can hear it, the brutal honesty dripping off of your tongue - and he feels the warmth of your body trying to coax him closer.

He thought he was stronger than this. He had always prided himself on his composure, his self-restraint, but that was before you.

You had stepped into his mind like you owned it. Held the key to a door he had long since locked, and opened it without even making the hinges creak. You had settled in, made yourself comfortable, smeared your very essence on the inside of his skull.

Jack had been careless. He let the infestation spread. Let himself indulge in small doses, as if it would ever be enough.

In the back of his mind, he knew it would end the same way it always does - with him caving something ugly out of a pristine soul. The only difference here, was that you were welcoming it.

And that was what broke him.

“Say it again.” There’s an edge to his voice now that pricks up goosebumps on the back of your neck - sparks up a shiver that trickles down your spine like water. You know what this is - what that means - it’s the turning point. It’s your last chance to preserve yourself.

“Jack.” You reach down, gently stretching your hand out to take hold of his. Curling your fingers around it, feeling the tremor that buzzed under the surface of his skin. The coolness. The smoothness. Uncanny in the way it was almost too perfect to be human. Like porcelain glaze poured over the sculpture of something gruesome.

It only draws you in more. You watch his ears twitch at the sound of his name. His hand loosely gripping yours, his lips parting as he takes in a shaky breath. You know he’s expecting what you say next. It’s hard to tell if he’s dreading it or anticipating it. “I want you.”

You sealed your coffin with three soft words. Bolted it shut when you gave his hand a squeeze to enunciate your point. And at the exact same time, you land the final blow that sends his willpower into violent disarray.

He stands so quickly it startles you. A gasp tugged from your lungs at the sudden change, before his grip on your hand is tugging you upright along with him. It was easy for your mind to forget his nature when he constantly kept himself composed - but right now, with him towering over you, dark pools of inky blackness narrowing into slits - you knew exactly what he was.

He was a predator. You were just the naive rabbit waltzing around a sleeping wolf.

“If this is going to happen,” His voice is low, warning. “You are going to listen to me.”

His hand leaves yours in favour of reaching for your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt and tugging you closer to him. You have to crane your neck to look up at him, your throat feeling tight as you swallow thickly. “I could kill you. I could injure you beyond repair. Do you understand that?”

Your gut twists. Every atom in your body screams for you to take a step back, your base human instincts banging on the walls of your mind to try and convince you to back away.

You don’t.

“I know.” You murmur back to him, with a tremble in your voice that betrays the fear lurking in your blood.

“But,” He continues. “I don’t want to. So, don’t let me.” His hand dips around, fingers splaying against your lower back - his palm resting there with a firm pressure never once seen from him. He wasn’t just touching you - he was holding you. “If I say we’re going slow, we go slow.” He tells you softly. “If I tell you that you can’t take more, you listen. If I stop, there’s a reason for it.” He dips his head down a little lower, encroaching on the little bubble of space that was just barely keeping you calm. The moment he bursts it, your heart rate spikes. “Don’t sacrifice yourself to me. Let me protect you.”

“Okay.” You manage to get out as your feet carry you closer. Toes brushing against his, the minuscule space between filled with the promise of something more. “I… I’ll listen to you.”

“Good.” Jack hums back to you. Then, he’s taking your hand again. The size of his palm dwarfing yours, electricity buzzing wherever your skin met. “Then come.”

You follow him easily. Feet gliding over the floorboards like you’re walking on water. Out of the living room, down the hallways, the air feeling thicker and thicker the closer you get to his room. He doesn’t say a single word, just leads you to your deathbed like an executioner.

And by the time he’s pushing his bedroom door open, you’re not quite sure what’s screaming louder. The fear, or the desire. “You’re scared.” Jack murmurs softly as he pulls you across the threshold, closing the door with a click that nearly makes you flinch.

You always tried to portray yourself as fearless around him. This unwavering pillar that stood strong even in the face of someone like him. He could always feel it though. The slight tension in your muscles, your pulse fluttering like a bird in a cage, lips trembling like you were expecting the worst.

Right now, you were worse than ever. A nervous sweat beading up on your brow. Each breath short and shaky. Your entire body seized like you were two seconds away from wrenching yourself out of his grip. You were terrified. Cowering. Fighting against your very biology to follow after him - and you’ve never looked smaller.

It was sickening, how much he enjoyed that fact. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, didn’t I?” He asks as he leads you to the bed. Your legs feel like jelly, near tripping over your own feet as you let him tug you along. “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you.” You say it immediately, despite it all. That fact clawing its way out of the thick layer of fear that buried it.

“Do you?” Jack asks softly. “Then sit.”

You do. Near moving on autopilot as you let your knees give out. Sinking into the sheets like an offering, gazing up at him with wide eyes. Like a little fawn, just begging to be slaughtered. “You’re fascinating.”

Jack takes a step closer, then another, standing right before your thighs before he sinks to his knees - hitting the floorboards with a soft thump. “You’re trembling.” He reaches forwards, resting both hands on your knees. “Terrified.” They slide upwards - up your thighs, smoothing over the clothed skin almost reverently. They reach the crease between your hip and thigh before giving a little squeeze - testing the waters, finally allowing himself to truly feel the shape of your flesh beneath his palms. “But you push forwards. Why?”

His hands continue their journey - slowly, smoothing over and gently massaging every inch of skin they come across as they snake up your torso. Under your shirt, feeling your muscles twitch and tense. Feeling the softness of your skin, the warmth of it. Claws dragging, sharpened points of keratin that begged for more.

You’ve never seen it happen, but your body knows a threat when it feels one. He could dig right into you if he wanted to. Sink into your flesh and claw as deep as he desired. That’s what his body was made for. To butcher. To take.

You know he’s barely even trying, and yet each scratch of his claws against your skin already stings. Small little welts forming, painting the journey from your waist up to your chest. Not grazing deep enough to let blood spill, only enough to visualize his presence. “Why are you so adamant on giving yourself to me?” He leans in further, both hands cupping either side of your rib cage as his head dips downwards.

He nuzzles into your neck with a shaky sigh, pressing his nose into your hair and breathing in deep. You feel his grip on you tighten, his jaw twitching like he was holding himself back from tearing straight into you right then and there. Another breath in as he tugs you in closer, his chest flush to yours as his eyelids flutter. You smell so sweet that his next exhale comes out as a trembling moan. Low and strained. Like you were hurting him, just as much as you were bringing him pleasure. “I can feel it, you know?” He mutters softly, lips brushing against your neck as his hands drift higher. “Your body knows you’re in danger. It wants you to flee.”

“But my mind doesn’t.” You let your eyes close as his thumbs graze over the lace of your bra, your stomach flipping with each touch he lays upon you. It’s more than he’s ever given you, and yet he’s still so gentle. The very thing he said he could never be, but he’s playing the part so well for you.

Gently cupping your breasts. Gently giving them a little squeeze. Lips curling into a gentle smile against your skin when you try to bite back a soft noise.

Its almost enough to make you believe that this is who he truly is. But the persisting tension in his body proves otherwise. He’s still holding back. There’s a slight tremor in his voice every time he speaks. A restraint to the touch that just feels so human.

It’s not him. You know there’s so much more within him begging to burst free. A muzzled dog with a leash too tight, wrestling against the rules he had placed. “You can give me more, Jack.” You murmur softly, fighting against your mind to lean into his touch - feeling his fingers twitch as he kneads the softness weighing heavily in his palms. “I asked for it, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He agrees softly, soft tufts of his hair tickling your shoulder. “But I just don’t believe you truly understand what you’re asking for.” Behind your back his hands travel, leaving your chest in favour of going to the clasp of your bra. It’s undone in one swift movement. “I don’t think you can.”

Your bra falls loose, tits spilling out of the confines under the cover of your t-shirt. You let out a soft breath, and swallow that last ounce of uncertainty down.

“Then show me.” You murmur back to him. “Make me understand.”

His body jolts like you’ve shocked him. A hiss escapes through his teeth as his jaw clenched shut - his eyebrows pinching together as his eyes squeezed closed.

You were impossible. You were infuriating.

You were asking for it.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Hands hovering against your sides as a million different thoughts pinged around in his brain. It was hard enough to stay rational on a good day, but with you quite literally begging for him it felt like treading against undertow.

The desire within him was white hot and insistent, months of denying himself all coming to a head as you sat before him like some twisted gift.

A breath. Another. Then he’s moving.

You’re pushed back onto the mattress so quickly it makes you yelp. Even quicker, he gets your shirt and bra both wrestled off in one fluid move. He’s on you in a second, like you had flipped a switch that couldn’t so easily be turned back off.

Caging you under his body, hands grasping at your waist with a strength that almost makes you wince. Claws tearing through flesh like butter, leaving behind scratch marks that seep out crimson the moment they’re slit. You suck in a breath through your teeth, trying to smooth out the evidence of pain on your expression - but it didn’t even matter anyway. Jack didn’t see. He felt.

He felt you squirm and twitch. Felt your breathing stutter and catch in your throat. He felt your pulse beneath his lips when he leaned down, burying his face in the pillowy softness of your bare chest. “I wanted to be better than this.” He breathes out against your skin, a tongue darting out to lap up a stripe of the sweat you’ve accumulated. The taste only makes his claws sink in deeper. “I told you to listen to me. Not to push me.”

Lips part, then teeth are bared. Sharp and dangerous, hovering just centimeters over your skin. An undeniable threat. “Do you want me to hurt you? Is that what this is?”

“I want to know you. All of you.” You whisper back. “Even if it hurts.”

“It will hurt.” His hands drag upwards, bringing with them the blood his claws had pulled from your skin. Smearing it up your abdomen in a gruesome trail, fingerprints of crimson spotting your previously unblemished skin. “It’ll hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt before.” You hate the way those words bring more excitement than they do fear. “You’ll regret not playing it safe.”

“When have I ever played it safe?” You ask him, moving against your better judgement to lift your trembling hands. They trail up his jawline, into his hair, then back again - caressing him with a softness that was such a stark contrast to the fire brewing within him.

One thumb swipes over his bottom lip, making his breathing stutter. Then, it pushes further. Fighting against the tension in his jaw to push into his mouth. You find his teeth - fangs - and you’re really only aiming to feel them. To gauge the severity of the threat. But the moment you even press against one with a sliver of pressure, skin splits. Pricking your thumb and letting your blood drip onto his tongue.

That’s what does it.

Before you can pull away, Jack bites. His body seeming to move on instinct, his jaw locks down onto the digit, spearing it between rows of sharpened teeth. They sink in deep - easily - tearing through flesh so quickly that you don’t even process the pain at first.

But then, you do. And it hits like a truck.

You let out a pained yelp and try to pull back, but Jack’s quicker than you. His own hand flies upwards and locks onto your wrist, squeezing with a strength you hadn’t yet encountered. Like one wrong move would snap the bone beneath his grip like a twig. Forced to just lay there, as he tugs his teeth from your thumb. As he wraps his lips around it and sucks - pulling more blood out of the puncture wounds with a soft growl rumbling in his chest.

You taste like life. Sweet and untainted. Your blood is so smooth and warm as it trickles down his throat, settling into his gut and stoking that flame even hotter.

After a moment, he releases you. Only to bite again.

Straight into your palm this time, tugging your wrist up and bringing your hand right to his mouth to shred through the skin there too. Ribbons of it pulling up under his teeth as he scrapes his fangs against you - a new noise reverberating against you with each drop of your blood that spills onto his tongue and smears against his lips. Each one hungrier than the last.

Even when you writhe and squirm, even as your soft gasps turned to pained whimpers and pleas. Your free hand claws upwards to grasp at his sweater, trying to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Like he could somehow comfort you from the damage he was causing. Nothing fazes him. It’s not a deterrent, it’s fuel. He’s thriving off this - you, forced into the role of prey.

And that’s when it really starts to click. Why he had spent so much time denying you and denying himself. Why he had warned you more times than you could count. Why he used every breath to try and convince you otherwise.

This wasn’t just sex. This was consumption.

He bites his way down your arm when he grows tired of the wilting flesh of your palm. Leaving a trail of scrapes and tears in skin, blood trickling down your arm in long scarlet trails - all of which he chases with his tongue before it can drip onto the bed sheets. He didn’t want even a single speck wasted. If he could tear you clean open and drink it straight from your veins he would, but he still had barely enough sense to know that would kill you.

And he just couldn’t do that. Even if his body was itching for the crunch of your bones between his molars.

His teeth sear against your skin. Dragging down your forearm leaving vertical stripes of red in their wake. Not deep enough to be worrisome, just enough to keep the blood flowing. But only he knows that, not you. He’s banking on you to trust him, like you said you do. “God-“ He slurs against you, saliva mixing with blood to drip down the length of your arm before he laps it all back up. “The way you taste- You don’t even know-“

The tears started to fall long before he started licking and biting his way up to your shoulder. Your face contorted in pain, soft, pitiful whimper slipping from your lips with every touch of his mouth against you. It was more intense than anything you’ve ever known, enough to make you feel dizzy as he finally lets go of your arm - letting it limply fall against his mattress, mangled and shredded. “You know how long I’ve wanted you like this?” He murmurs into your skin. “Since the moment I first saw you. That’s why I stayed away because- Fuck- I knew I’d just end up tearing you to pieces.”

Lips part again, and this time you brace yourself for it - your entire body tensing before he sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. A nice, clean bite. Leaving deep punctures that he sucks the blood from as his hands smooth down your body - painting you in scratches that welt in seconds. “But you wanted this.” Lower, his fingers find the button of your jeans. “You wanted me to ruin you.”

When he tears away from your skin his teeth bring chunks of flesh with them, a gnarly wound left behind that immediately starts to gush. You can’t help but shriek, legs kicking as you feel the vicious sting bloom to life. The burn. The pain that rips through you like pure venom in your veins. You can feel the warmth of your own blood trickling down your skin, pooling in the valley between your breasts before it rolls down your abdomen and settles in your belly button.

Jack had been right. This was like nothing you had ever felt before. Not even close. This felt like being raptured.

It was a shock to your system so intense you could barely even think. Such unbridled agony that it made every part of your brain go off at once - electric signals zapping and whizzing about in an attempt to figure out why you weren’t making an attempt to flee. Your mind was such a jumbled mess, you didn’t even notice that Jack had started tugging your pants off until he pulling them from your ankles. “You said you wanted to know me. For me to show you who I am.” He murmurs softly, hands smoothing up your thighs to hook his fingers under the waistband of your panties. “Do you still want to know?”

A slight tug on the material. “This is your last chance. Tell me you want me to stop.”

Your lips almost form around the words. So dazed and delirious that the option of an escape from this was something that your mind immediately latched onto. Bleeding out on his bed, coated in a thin layer of your own blood and his saliva - this should be your cue to retreat. You knew what he was capable of now. You could leave this with your mind satisfied, and your body still somewhat intact.

But, you just can’t bring yourself to back out now. The pain fizzled through you like a plague - hot, unforgiving, and torturous - and yet the longer you basked in it, the more it started to twist itself into something new. Like your body was adapting, saving you from the agony by transfiguring it into something you could handle.

Something that settled low in your gut. Trickled down to your core. Made your thighs twitch with anticipation under his palms.

Something that made you crave more.

“More, Jack.” You slur out, your tongue feeling heavy as you spit out the words.

After all, you said you wanted to know all of him. You hadn’t done that yet. One prime area still left unexplored, hard and desperate as it pressed against your inner thigh. It wasn’t a new sensation, you had felt it before - the weight of his clothed cock nudging against you. This time though, it was different. Because he was going to give it to you.

“More?” He says it in the form of his question, but his hands are peeling your panties off before you can even nod in response. Losing more and more composure, fuelled by the taste of your blood staining his tongue. “You don’t look like you can handle more.” He mutters softly. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“M’not-“ You gasp out, watching through half-lidded eyes as his one hand slips down lower - lower - four fingers cupping your cunt as his thumb drags against your clit. “It’s-“ A little more pressure, and you’re choking out a broken moan. “It’s just- It’s a lot-“

“And yet you want more.” Jack mutters, his voice a low rumble that makes your hips twitch under his touch. His thumb rolls against your clit, fingers stroking between your folds, just barely grazing the sensitive flesh with his claws in a way that made your abdomen clench. “You really think you can take it?”

You nod, and Jack tuts softly under his breath. “Say it. Say you can take it. Tell me that I can have you.”

“Jack-“ You force your gaze upwards, your vision blurred by tears as they lock onto his face. The sight, though obscured, still makes your gut twist. He’s smeared with your blood. Coating his lips, staining his teeth, dripping down his chin and along the line of his jaw. It stains his hoodie when it rolls down his neck, his chest heaving with every breath, his tongue flicking out to swipe some of it up.

He looks terrifying. Trails of viscous black leaking out of his hollowed out sockets to mix with the crimson and taint it even darker red. Hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, that unblemished grey skin glistening with it - like holding himself back from consuming you fully was a workout in itself.

This was what you had been aching to see. This was him. “I can take it.” You force out. “I need you, Jack.”

He responds immediately.

His sweater is off in an instant. The t-shirt beneath it ripped off even faster - the sound of fabric tearing ringing in the air when he claws catch on it in the rush. Then, to the buckle of his belt, which he undoes so quickly it almost gives you whiplash. He tosses it to the side, the sound of the buckle hitting the floor just barely gracing your ears before he’s already onto the button of his jeans. Then, the zipper. Then, he’s shoving them down his hips and kicking them off in record time.

Like every second that he wasn’t inside you was a sin. Like he was burning up from the inside out, and only you could soothe him. “I can’t-“ He’s gasping out as he grabs hold of your hips, tugging you in close, the bulge in his boxers pressing right up against your core. “I’m trying- I’m trying but, fuck- I need you. I can’t-“

He rolls his hips down against you once, and you can’t help the way your eyes blow wide. The thin material does nothing to disguise him, and now you can really feel what you’re about to get yourself into. To say he was big would be an understatement. He felt massive. Inhumanely large. Hot, thick, heavy, and so achingly hard as he dragged his clothed cock against your cunt - coaxing more wetness out from between your folds.

You felt your walls clench up on instinct, fearful of the intrusion - but not as much as you were curious.

“Jack.” You reach up, biting back a wince as the movement caused the pain in your arm to flare up again - fresh blood gushing from the wounds that had just barely started to congeal. You ignore it, in favour of grasping at his broad shoulders. “I said, I can take it.”

Even if you weren’t quite sure if that was the truth.

Jack was choosing to believe it was, simply because he felt like he was two seconds away from bursting into flames.

He lets out a shuddering huff of breath when he finally peels his final piece of clothing off - completely bare for you for the first time since you’d met. Your eyes trail from his face, to his chest, sweeping down his abdomen, before settling on the prize between his thighs - which he was reaching down to take hold of, borderline choking on air as he lined himself up with you.

No prior stretch. No prep. Just him. Your thighs twitch at the thought. You can’t bring yourself to protest.

“S’gonna-“ His words cut off when he presses against you, swiping the blunt head of his cock through your wetness - lubing him self up nice and slick in an attempt to make this even a little bit easier for you. But even just the girth of the tip had your stomach muscles tensing, your thighs starting to tremble where they lay fallen open around his hips. “S’gonna hurt- I.. God- I don’t know if you can-“

He sounds tortured when he speaks, like he’s fighting against his very essence.

“It’s fine-“ It wasn’t. “I’ll be okay.” Said more to reassure yourself than him. “I want this.” That was the truth.

“Yeah?” Jack all but chokes out, his free hand smoothing down your abdomen - resting on your stomach right above your womb. “Gonna take me so well- I know you are.” His hips nudge a little closer, just barely enveloping the tip in your warmth. “Just gotta stay relaxed. Don’t go all tense on me.”

You’d been tense since the moment he laid hands on you. Your entire body fighting against the situation you had put yourself in. “Take a deep breath.” He tells you, and you do. Quivering and shaky, but you manage. Filling your lungs to the brim and holding it there. “Perfect. Now let it out.”

The moment you do, he’s sinking into you. Not brutally, not harshly - just quickly. Fluidly gliding the entire length of his cock into you in one controlled movement - splitting open your body around him, forcing a path for his cock to slide through.

And you wail.

It’s too much. Far too much. Seeing his dick had been one thing, but actually feeling it? Having his hips flush against yours, one hand on your waist to keep you from squirming? You couldn’t breathe. The stretch was near agonizing. So full it nearly made you feel nauseous - the head of his cock pressing snug against places inside you that had never once been touched.

You’d swear you could feel him in your stomach. Fuck, your lungs. His body forcing yours to mould around him like clay, your walls twitching and tensing as you tried and failed to adjust to the obscene intrusion. “Fuck- You’re tight-“ He hisses out through his teeth, choked out and strained as his nails bite into your skin again - the sting of him piercing your flesh barely enough to distract you from the persistent ache between your thighs. “So fuckin’- Jesus-“

His head ducks down, his nose pressing against yours - and then he starts to move. Dragging his cock against your quivering walls, so tight that you cling to him as he slowly pulled out. Wrapped around him like a glove, borderline suctioning to him like your body never wanted to let him go. “Knew it-“ He gasps, his breath fanning against your face. It smells metallic. “Knew you’d have a perfect cunt- God-“

Rolling his hips back in deep, your entire body jolts. A heady mixture of pain and sick pleasure fizzling through your muscles as he sheathes himself back into you like it was his god given right. Stretching you right back open - claws tearing at the skin of your waist as he starts rocking into you. Blood pooling around his fingers, your cunt gushing around his cock - he’d swear you brought him to heaven. “Sucking me in-“ He groans out, his voice a strained rumble. “Like you were made for it. Made for me-“

He borderline punches a moan out of your lungs every time his hips meet yours. Pitiful, hiccuped noises that rip from your throat on every stroke in. Your hands claw down his back, nails leaving thin pink stripes that pale in comparison to the damage he was dealing upon you. Tears flowing like a faucet was turned on behind your eyes, your desperate pleas watery and slurred - practically incoherent. Your mind completely and utterly wiped. Brain turned into a puddle of goop that seeped out of your ears to join the mess against the sheets.

It’s so much all at once. Pain, pleasure, fear, desire. All coiling together into a teeming mess of emotions you couldn’t even dream to sift through. You couldn’t even think. Jack had stolen that ability from you the moment he sunk into you.

“Feel it?” He mutters against your lips, his teeth snagging on the bottom one and tearing it on contact. Sucking it into his mouth to drink down more and more of that sweet blood you offered to him. Or, that he took from you. “Feel how fuckin’ deep I am?”

He reaches downwards to seize one of your hands, yanking it down to rest against your belly as his hips snapped into yours. Pressing your palm down firmly, making sure you could feel it.

And you do. Your teary eyes go wide, fingers twitching against your own skin as you register the movement beneath your hand. The bulge. Your skin stretching taut every time he sunk in to the hilt, relaxing back to normal when he drew his hips back.

“O-Oh my god-“ The moan you let out is a mixture of morbid pleasure, and complete astonishment. Your brain near breaking in two at the feeling of it. Of Jack moving inside you. Your poor body stretched so thin that his effect on you was visible.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Jack keeps fingers locked around your wrist to keep your hand held right there. Forcing you to really come to terms with it - how much you were taking. How close you were to breaking. “Taking me so fuckin’ deep. Fuckin’ incredible.” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek in an almost affectionate gesture, one that probably would’ve made you swoon if he didn’t choose right then to pick up the pace - his hips snapping into yours, forcing out more and more broken cries out of your lungs. “This what you needed?”

He’s taken you past the point of coherency. The only reply you manage to get out being a series of broken sobs, tears wetting your skin, and his where he’s pressed against you. He lets out a little hum, a sound that vibrates right through you, before his tongue is darting out - lapping up the salt from your skin with an appreciative grumble. “So sweet.”

His hand scraps up your abdomen, tearing new paths of scarlet into your already mangled body before he finds one of your breasts and squeezes it. Kneading it under his palm as he sinks into you over, and over, and over. Getting more insistent with ever movement he makes, like he’s trying to somehow sink in deeper. Needing more, and more, though you barely have anything left to give. “So sweet.” He mumbles again, pushing his face into the uninjured side of your neck. “So sweet, and so soft-“ He gasps, lips parting in a broken moan against your skin - his hips snapping in harder - harsher - spurred on by the feeling of your cunt clenching around him. Like it was begging for him. “And you smell so good- Fuck-“

You probably should’ve expected it, but his teeth tearing into the side of your neck is a shock regardless. Blood spews immediately, splattering against Jack’s face in hot wet bursts - landing on his cheeks, his lips, his tongue. And he’s groaning downright whorishly around the chunks of flesh he ripped from you, swallowing it down like you’ve fed him the finest dessert.

He dips his head down again, swirling his tongue through the pits of the wound, gathering up every single drop of blood that poured from the gouge in your neck. Drinking it all down like ambrosia. His cock throbbing with each mouthful he gulped back.

And it might just be because your body simply doesn’t know how to handle it all, but that searing pain - the ache throughout your entire body, Jack’s cock drilling into you over and over again, stretching you out far more than you should be, nudging against your g-spot on each press in - it buckled you completely.

You barely even get a warning before your release hits you like a train.

The sound that leaves you is more akin to a scream than anything else. It’s brutal, raw, something pulled deep from the depths within you - barely human. Your body seizes around him, limbs twitching, eyes rolling back, your cunt pulsing around his cock erratically as he fucks you straight through it. Lips sucking at the edges of your wounds as he ruts into you, barely even to get proper thrusts in with how much you had tightened up around him. “That’s it- Fuck- You’re perfect. Perfect- So perfect-“

He’s rambling into your neck, grunting near animalistically as his hands pull you back against him. Dragging your battered body against the bloodied bed sheets to meet each and every thrust. Panting against your neck. Drool mixing with blood to dribble down your collarbone and roll down the slope of your breast. “Gonna- Hah- Fuck- You’re gonna take it, right? All of it?”

You let out a gargled whimper, choking on your own saliva as it pools in your mouth - and Jack takes that as a yes.

He barely gets two more thrusts in before he’s pressing in deep, moaning against the gash your neck as his hips finally stutter to a halt. Throbbing inside you with each rope of cum he pumped into your quivering body - his claws sunk so deep into your hips it almost felt numb.

His hips gently rock into you as he rides it out, fucking his seed as deep into your body as he could possibly get it. Only satisfied once you’re so full it starts gushing out around his cock.

Then, he crumples. “Oh, Christ.” He gasps out, just barely saving you from being crushed when his body slumps by propping his elbows up on either side of your head. Sweat rolls off of the strands of his hair in hot droplets, which drip off and hit your chest - chest adding to the mess of fluids you were already smeared with. “I- Fuck. Are you alright?”

That was the question, now wasn’t it? Define ‘alright’. You were dizzy, delirious, every single inch of your body throbbing in pain and stained with blood. You open your lips to speak, but you can barely form a word. You blink slowly, eyes stinging with tears that just haven’t stopped flowing yet.

But at the same time, you feel so light. So satisfied. So… Fulfilled.

Because there were no questions anymore. No ‘what if’s or unknowns about who you chose to give your heart over to. You didn’t have to assume anymore. You knew exactly what he was. “Hey.” Jack gently taps your cheek, forcing your eyes into focus. “Look at me.” You do, but your vision is blurry. You can just barely make him out, but you still see the shape of the man you love. “Fuck- I told you-“ You can hear the strain in his voice, the panic starting to seep in now that the cloud of lust was dissipating. “You- God, this is why I didn’t want to-“

“Jack.” You croak out, your voice hoarse and raw as you lean into his palm. “You’re fine.” You assure him softly. “We’re fine. I’m fine.” You clear your throat softly. “Just- Just a little woozy. And… Pretty damn sore.”

“Sore?” Jack chokes out incredulously. “You… You should be writhing in pain right now.” His hand smooths down your jaw, across your neck - just barely dipping into the pit of one of the many wounds he’d created. “This is fucked- You shouldn’t… You should hate me.”

“Well, I don’t.” You mutter back to him, far too tired to even attempt to fight on this. “But I do expect you to patch me up.”

Jack looks torn, his face cycling through a million different emotions in the span of a second. Shock, horror, fascination - he settles on exasperation, a soft huff leaving his lips as he lets his head hang.

“You’re impossible.”

-

heyyyyy…. how y’all doin’…..

kinda went overboard on this. oh well. oopsies my bad!

[dakusan]

First Claim II

Vampire!Seo Changbin x Reader | neck-biting, desk-fucking, plushie-bribing menace who accidentally imprints and panics

🔞synopsis: You’re a human research intern at Luxe Health—smart, stubborn, and the daughter of one of Chan’s closest human allies. You wanted field access. Real data. Real vampires. You didn’t expect to be assigned to Seo Changbin. Cold. Ruthless. Director of Hostile Containment. And now—completely obsessed with you. One blood-slick riot drill, a desk-breaking tension spiral, and a bar incident later, you’re covered in bite marks, plushies, and an illegal contract that says you’re his. You didn’t mean to fall in love. But then again, neither did he.

💌a/n: HELLO AGAIN. IT’S ME. FIRST CLAIM II IS HERE. This is the part where I was supposed to cool down. Instead, I gave you: morning sex; blood-sharing; soft Changbin™ panic; a contract. If you’re here from Part I… congratulations. You are now fully claimed. No refunds. Am I updating the warnings? No. This bitch is lazy 🙃. p.s. Quackbin is canon. Plushie population now exceeds apartment legal limit. p.p.s. reblog for hydration, bonding rituals, and desk trauma recovery

⚠️ warnings: 18+ / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | oral, penetrative (wrap it up people), multiple rounds | breeding kink if you squint | blood-sharing / vampire biting (consensual) | choking (consensual) | marking / possessiveness / claiming | rough sex → soft aftercare | desk sex, couch sex, morning sex | slight somnophilia vibes (you wake him up riding) | jealousy & territorial behavior | Jeongin trauma (comedic)

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Ride responsibly. Don’t sign anything without checking for plushie clauses.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Guilty — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:10 ⇄ ◃◃ ��Ⅰ ▹▹ ↻

One Week Later

Dating Changbin is…

…unexpected.

Not the biting, not the sex (though Jesus Christ, that alone deserves a docuseries), not even the blood-sharing or the fact that you’ve woken up more than once to him growling in his sleep because he’s dreaming about someone looking at you wrong.

No. It’s everything else.

Like the plushies.

You have sixteen now.

All claw-machine-won. All delivered with some variation of “Tch, I was just bored while waiting for the blood shipment to arrive, shut up.”

Meanwhile he’s standing there with pink dusting his ears, clutching a pastel cat with hearts on its cheeks, refusing to meet your eyes.

Or the fact that every time you yawn, he immediately hands you water, a hoodie, and his lap, grumbling something about “low blood pressure” while pretending he’s not actively nesting.

He still growls at anyone who gets too close. Still does his little eye-glint-glare thing when another vampire so much as breathes in your direction. But then the moment you look tired? Cold? Annoyed?

He’s putting his jacket over your shoulders. Pulling you into his side. Hand on your thigh, thumb brushing lazy circles. Sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he kisses your knuckles and whispers things like:

“Too good for me…” “Mine…” “Won’t let anything touch you. Ever.”

Yeah. Totally normal boyfriend things.

What you don’t know?

Is that he’s been staying up every night after you fall asleep on his chest. Writing. Rewriting. Staring at the draft of a blood doll contract that looks nothing like the court’s usual ones.

No cold clauses. No forced feeding times. No territorial power imbalance.

Just this:

“By mutual bond and willing oath, we acknowledge what already exists: she is mine. And I am hers.”

He hasn’t shown it to anyone. Not even Chan. He’s just… waiting. Waiting for the moment to give it to you. Waiting for you to say yes to forever, without him having to beg. Waiting because even though he fucked you into that couch and bit you like you were already his, the truth is—

You ruined him that day.

And now? Now he’d burn the world just to keep hearing you giggle over another ridiculous plushie.

divider

Somewhere between soft light and sinful moans. Somewhere between domestic bliss and absolute ruin.

You're on top of him—again.

Straddling his hips, thighs snug around him, skin flushed and sticky. His hands grip your waist like you might disappear, like this isn’t the sixth morning this week he’s woken up to you already sinking down on him with a sleepy whimper.

“Baby,” he groans, voice raw, still thick with sleep. “You tryna kill me?”

You just roll your hips, slow and deep, making him curse under his breath.

“Couldn’t help it,” you mumble, dragging your nails down his chest. “You were already hard. Thought I’d help.”

He throws his head back, jaw clenched. “Fuck—you’re not helping.”

You lean forward, pressing kisses along his throat. He shivers when you whisper against his skin: “You love it.”

And he does. He fucking does. He loves waking up to you already warm and wet and wanting him. Loves the way your hair falls in your face as you ride him. Loves the little gasps you try to hold back when he angles his hips up just right.

“Look at you,” he growls, eyes locked on yours, fangs barely peeking out. “So cockdrunk first thing in the morning.”

You moan, fingers gripping his biceps. “You love that too.”

“Damn right I do.”

He thrusts up—once, hard—and you cry out, clutching at him, pulse fluttering under your skin like a prayer.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit like he owns you. Rubbing tight, slow circles that make your thighs tremble.

“Gonna cum on me already, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. “Just like that? First thing in the morning, and you’re already this needy?”

You nod, eyes glassy, mouth parted. “Binnie—please—”

“Go on then, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “Show me how good it feels to be mine.”

You moan—high, broken—hands clutching at his shoulders as your body spirals into that dizzy, unbearable edge. The pressure builds fast and ruthless, his cock hitting deep with every roll of your hips, his touch sending sparks through your nerves.

“Binnie—” you gasp, “I—”

“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw. “I’ve got you.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm hits like a wave—full-bodied, trembling, helpless. You cry out his name, voice dissolving into whimpers as your walls pulse tight around him. He groans beneath you, hands gripping your hips, holding you steady through every quake.

“Fuck—look at you—” he pants, watching you unravel like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever seen. “You’re perfect. You were made to ride me, weren’t you?”

You’re still shaking when he flips you—fast, smooth, hands braced under your thighs as he buries himself deep again, still hard, still desperate.

“One more,” he whispers against your throat, breath ragged. “Let me feel you one more time.”

His hips snap up into you, hard, relentless—his name falling from your lips again, again, like it’s the only word you know.

“God, baby,” he groans, watching the way your back arches, the way your lips fall open in that perfect little gasp. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand slides up your body—slow, reverent—until his fingers curl gently around your throat.

Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding. Claiming. You whimper, pupils blown wide, skin flushed and glistening. Your hands fly to his wrist, not to stop him—but to anchor yourself. His eyes search yours, wild and burning.

He tightens his grip. Just enough to make your breath catch. Just enough to tilt your head back so he can lean in and growl against your throat—

“Fuck, you look so good like this. Getting ruined while you’re choked. My good fucking girl.”

And then he’s fucking up into you again—deep, brutal, perfect. Your body tightens instantly, sparks flaring behind your eyes as the pressure builds once more.

“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he rasps, thumb stroking lightly over your jaw as his other hand bruises your hip. “You’re gonna cum while I’m inside you like this. While I’ve got my hand on your pretty little throat.”

You can’t even speak. Just a breathy, broken whine as you start to shake again, cunt fluttering helplessly around him.

His grip softens the moment he feels you tip.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “That’s it. Give it to me.”

One Week Later

Dating Changbin is…

…unexpected.

Not the biting, not the sex (though Jesus Christ, that alone deserves a docuseries), not even the blood-sharing or the fact that you’ve woken up more than once to him growling in his sleep because he’s dreaming about someone looking at you wrong.

No. It’s everything else.

Like the plushies.

You have sixteen now.

All claw-machine-won. All delivered with some variation of “Tch, I was just bored while waiting for the blood shipment to arrive, shut up.”

Meanwhile he’s standing there with pink dusting his ears, clutching a pastel cat with hearts on its cheeks, refusing to meet your eyes.

Or the fact that every time you yawn, he immediately hands you water, a hoodie, and his lap, grumbling something about “low blood pressure” while pretending he’s not actively nesting.

He still growls at anyone who gets too close. Still does his little eye-glint-glare thing when another vampire so much as breathes in your direction. But then the moment you look tired? Cold? Annoyed?

He’s putting his jacket over your shoulders. Pulling you into his side. Hand on your thigh, thumb brushing lazy circles. Sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he kisses your knuckles and whispers things like:

“Too good for me…” “Mine…” “Won’t let anything touch you. Ever.”

Yeah. Totally normal boyfriend things.

What you don’t know?

Is that he’s been staying up every night after you fall asleep on his chest. Writing. Rewriting. Staring at the draft of a blood doll contract that looks nothing like the court’s usual ones.

No cold clauses. No forced feeding times. No territorial power imbalance.

Just this:

“By mutual bond and willing oath, we acknowledge what already exists: she is mine. And I am hers.”

He hasn’t shown it to anyone. Not even Chan. He’s just… waiting. Waiting for the moment to give it to you. Waiting for you to say yes to forever, without him having to beg. Waiting because even though he fucked you into that couch and bit you like you were already his, the truth is—

You ruined him that day.

And now? Now he’d burn the world just to keep hearing you giggle over another ridiculous plushie.

divider

Somewhere between soft light and sinful moans. Somewhere between domestic bliss and absolute ruin.

You're on top of him—again.

Straddling his hips, thighs snug around him, skin flushed and sticky. His hands grip your waist like you might disappear, like this isn’t the sixth morning this week he’s woken up to you already sinking down on him with a sleepy whimper.

“Baby,” he groans, voice raw, still thick with sleep. “You tryna kill me?”

You just roll your hips, slow and deep, making him curse under his breath.

“Couldn’t help it,” you mumble, dragging your nails down his chest. “You were already hard. Thought I’d help.”

He throws his head back, jaw clenched. “Fuck—you’re not helping.”

You lean forward, pressing kisses along his throat. He shivers when you whisper against his skin: “You love it.”

And he does. He fucking does. He loves waking up to you already warm and wet and wanting him. Loves the way your hair falls in your face as you ride him. Loves the little gasps you try to hold back when he angles his hips up just right.

“Look at you,” he growls, eyes locked on yours, fangs barely peeking out. “So cockdrunk first thing in the morning.”

You moan, fingers gripping his biceps. “You love that too.”

“Damn right I do.”

He thrusts up—once, hard—and you cry out, clutching at him, pulse fluttering under your skin like a prayer.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit like he owns you. Rubbing tight, slow circles that make your thighs tremble.

“Gonna cum on me already, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. “Just like that? First thing in the morning, and you’re already this needy?”

You nod, eyes glassy, mouth parted. “Binnie—please—”

“Go on then, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “Show me how good it feels to be mine.”

You moan—high, broken—hands clutching at his shoulders as your body spirals into that dizzy, unbearable edge. The pressure builds fast and ruthless, his cock hitting deep with every roll of your hips, his touch sending sparks through your nerves.

“Binnie—” you gasp, “I—”

“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw. “I’ve got you.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm hits like a wave—full-bodied, trembling, helpless. You cry out his name, voice dissolving into whimpers as your walls pulse tight around him. He groans beneath you, hands gripping your hips, holding you steady through every quake.

“Fuck—look at you—” he pants, watching you unravel like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever seen. “You’re perfect. You were made to ride me, weren’t you?”

You’re still shaking when he flips you—fast, smooth, hands braced under your thighs as he buries himself deep again, still hard, still desperate.

“One more,” he whispers against your throat, breath ragged. “Let me feel you one more time.”

His hips snap up into you, hard, relentless—his name falling from your lips again, again, like it’s the only word you know.

“God, baby,” he groans, watching the way your back arches, the way your lips fall open in that perfect little gasp. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand slides up your body—slow, reverent—until his fingers curl gently around your throat.

Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding. Claiming. You whimper, pupils blown wide, skin flushed and glistening. Your hands fly to his wrist, not to stop him—but to anchor yourself. His eyes search yours, wild and burning.

He tightens his grip. Just enough to make your breath catch. Just enough to tilt your head back so he can lean in and growl against your throat—

“Fuck, you look so good like this. Getting ruined while you’re choked. My good fucking girl.”

And then he’s fucking up into you again—deep, brutal, perfect. Your body tightens instantly, sparks flaring behind your eyes as the pressure builds once more.

“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he rasps, thumb stroking lightly over your jaw as his other hand bruises your hip. “You’re gonna cum while I’m inside you like this. While I’ve got my hand on your pretty little throat.”

You can’t even speak. Just a breathy, broken whine as you start to shake again, cunt fluttering helplessly around him.

His grip softens the moment he feels you tip.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “That’s it. Give it to me.”

Your body locks up — thighs trembling, head thrown back — and you come with a breathless cry, clutching at him like you’ll fall apart without him to hold you together.

Changbin groans, low and wrecked. His hands grip your waist, grounding you as he fucks up into you, chasing that final push—

“Fuck, baby—just like that—”

You feel him tense beneath you, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. And then he’s spilling inside you with a broken moan, pulsing deep as you flutter around him, still riding the aftershocks of your own release.

Your foreheads touch. Breath mingles. Hearts racing.

Neither of you moves at first. It’s like the world stopped, quiet and golden in the haze of morning light.

Then, softly, almost shy:

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing damp strands from your face.

You nod, eyes still heavy-lidded. “More than okay.”

He smiles — small, crooked, and so full of love it makes your chest ache.

“I should probably let you pee,” he mutters, already reaching for your thighs to help you up.

“Probably,” you whisper. “But also… don’t move yet.”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling you down into his chest again. “Okay. We’ve got time.”

He stays inside you for a while. Just holding you. His thumbs trace slow circles into your hips, grounding, soothing. You’re still draped over him, chest to chest, the rise and fall of your breathing syncing back into something steady. Calm.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and sweetness. “You with me?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Might be dead though. Died a little.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and kisses your temple like it’s instinct. “Guess I’ll have to bring you back to life. Pancakes or toast?”

You laugh, breathless. “Your dick game’s ridiculous and your post-sex breakfast plan is pancakes?”

“You say that like it’s not a dream come true.”

You tilt your head to look at him. His hair’s a mess, cheeks still flushed, eyes full of stars—and he’s smiling at you like you just handed him the sun.

Changbin finally shifts carefully to pull out—so slow, so gentle. You wince, just a little, but he’s already reaching down, checking the mess between your legs with the softest fingertips. “Messy girl,” he teases, but it’s tender. He disappears for a moment and returns with a warm cloth, cleaning you up so softly, so gently, so featherlight, not rushing a single touch.

“You always take care of me,” you murmur, voice a little hoarse.

His gaze softens impossibly more. “Of course I do. You’re mine.”

You think you catch it—just for a second—the flicker of nerves behind his words. Because he means it more than you know.

“You’re mine too,” you whisper back.

And just like that, his shoulders relax. His smile breaks wide. He kisses you again—soft, slow, like a thank you in a different language.

But when he pulls back, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And his hand, still resting on your hip, twitches—like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how.

You tilt your head. “Binnie?”

“Mm?”

“…You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He kisses your forehead. “More than fine.”

But now you know. That slight delay before he answered. The way he’s not looking directly at you anymore.

You squint at him. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Changbin.”

“Baby—”

“No, no, don’t baby me,” you say, sitting up slightly, ignoring the ache in your thighs. “What is it? What are you not telling me?”

His jaw tenses.

“Tell me.”

He hesitates. His fingers tighten slightly on your waist. His eyes flick to the nightstand—just for a second—but you see it. That quick dart toward the drawer he always keeps locked.

“Binnie…”

He sighs. Deeply.

Then, like it hurts, he mutters: “Don’t freak out.”

“…Why would I freak out?”

“You just might.”

“Try me.”

Another pause. You watch his throat bob as he swallows.

“I want you,” he says quietly. “To be my blood doll.”

Silence.

You blink. “…What?”

He finally meets your eyes. No more smirking. No more distractions. Just raw, vulnerable honesty.

“I want you to be mine. Like—really mine. Not just sex and feeding when you let me. Not just crashing at each other’s places. A bond. A contract. A vow.”

You stare at him. And he keeps going, voice low and rushed like it’s been caged for too long.

“But not like the court ones. Not with the feeding schedule bullshit or dominance clauses. I—I wrote a different one. A new one. It’s just… you and me. No control. Just commitment. Mutual. Real.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

He misreads the silence. “Shit, I knew it. Too much, right? I shouldn’t have said anything, fuck, just forget—”

“I want to see it.”

He freezes.

You repeat, softer: “Show me the contract, Binnie.”

He stares at you like you just told him the sky turned violet. And then he practically trips over himself lunging for the drawer.

He pulls out the drawer like it holds the meaning of life.

Because to him, it kind of does.

The folder’s thick. Pages worn at the edges. He’s clearly read and rewritten it more times than he’ll admit.

He comes back to bed without saying anything—just sits beside you, still naked, hair a mess, cheeks flushed with something that isn’t post-sex glow anymore. It’s something closer to fear.

You gently take it from his hands.

The cover page is handwritten.

Blood Doll Contract — Special Version (not like those court bastards. mine is better.)

You snort already. “Binnie—”

“Just read,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

You flip the page.

Clause 1: Bond Acknowledgment This contract serves only to recognize the already existing bond between subject A (Seo Changbin) and subject B (you, aka the hottest human alive).

“We already belong to each other,” he mumbles beside you. “This just makes it official.”

Clause 2: Feeding Rights Subject A is allowed to feed from subject B only: With enthusiastic consent. When subject B is looking especially biteable. Or when it’s Tuesday, because Tuesday is hard. Sub-clause: Subject A promises to be very gentle unless told otherwise, and will always kiss the mark after, no exceptions.

You laugh. “Tuesdays are hard?”

He shrugs. “I’m a Tuesday vampire. Sue me.”

Clause 3: Bed Rights Subject A and B are to sleep in the same bed at least 5 nights a week. Sub-sub clause: Cuddling is non-negotiable. Feet must touch at some point during sleep. Subject A may not hog the blanket (again).

You raise a brow. “So this is revenge for last week?”

“You tried to burrito yourself,” he mutters. “I nearly froze to death.”

Clause 4: Plushie Clause Subject A may continue gifting plushies after successful missions, tantrums, or moments of extreme cuteness from subject B. Sub-clause: If subject B tries to donate or throw away said plushies, subject A reserves the right to “pout until emotionally compensated.”

You giggle so hard you nearly drop the folder. “Is that what that face was?!”

“No comment.”

Clause 5: Eternal Vow (The Real Shit) By signing, subject A and B acknowledge that this bond is not casual, or temporary, or transactional. It is a choice. Made every day. By signing, subject B agrees to let subject A love her in every language he knows—blood, body, soul, and all. And subject A promises to protect, cherish, and honor subject B for as long as the stars remember them.

You blink down at the final page. Your name is printed beside a blank line. You don’t say anything right away. Just look up at him.

He’s silent—nervous, chewing his lip like he expects you to run.

Instead, you whisper, “Do you have a pen?”

His head jerks up.

You hold the folder closer. “I want to sign.”

His eyes widen.

You gently touch the page. “Binnie. Of course I want to be yours. I already am.”

Changbin looks around for a pen, from the same drawer, and hands it to you. You take hold of it, hand moving carefully as you sign your name, right beneath his—the ink still fresh from however many nights ago he first wrote it. You even add a little heart after you write your name.

“You did not just doodle a heart on a legal vampiric contract.”

“Binnie, please, this thing mentions plushies and Tuesdays. You started unserious.”

He groans. “It’s symbolic! It’s a declaration of eternal—”

“Snuggling rights?”

He grabs a pillow and throws it at your face.

You burst out laughing, half-snarled under the cotton fluff, “Assault?! On your legal blood doll?! I will be calling the Court.”

“Go ahead. I’ll just seduce the judge.”

“You are the judge—!”

“Exactly. And I find you in contempt.”

You shriek with laughter as he tackles you back into the mattress, both of you rolling, limbs tangled, laughter punching out of your chests like you’re drunk on something stronger than wine.

Eventually you settle—limbs heavy, hearts loud.

He kisses your temple.

Then your cheek.

Then the corner of your mouth, whispering, “You really signed it.”

You nod, nuzzling into him. “I meant every word. Even the plushie clause.”

“…I knew you’d cave.”

“Cave?” You snort. “I’m riding the plushie train straight into hell. Make me a throne. Out of frogs.”

He kisses you again, full on the mouth this time, smile against your lips. “You’re insane.”

“You’re in love with me.”

“And you just signed a blood contract for me.”

“…Touche.”

You fall into each other’s warmth after that. No pressure, no fangs just yet. Just limbs and laughter and the feel of being wanted so thoroughly that even the paperwork is romantic.

Until you feel his hand drift lower.

And he hums, like he’s thinking something through.

“…You know,” he murmurs, lips brushing your throat. “Now that it’s official…”

You shiver. “Yeah?”

He nips gently—not biting, just teasing. “Wouldn’t mind doing the whole claiming thing properly.”

“Like…”

He grins against your skin. “You. Me. My fangs. This mattress. No interruptions. Eternal consequences.”

You blink. Then grin.

“Well, Judge,” you whisper. “I plead so guilty.”

Suddenly, you're on your back beneath him, already pulsing. Changbin hovers over you, hips rolling against yours. His fangs are out.

But he hasn’t bitten you yet. He’s waiting. Shaking. Worshipping you with every inch of his body.

“You sure?” he rasps.

You reach up, curling your fingers around the back of his neck. “Binnie. I signed the contract. I said yes a hundred ways. Make it a thousand.”

His jaw clenches. His cock slides against your entrance—hot, heavy, deliberate.

Then—his voice, hoarse: “I love you.”

And then he pushes in. You gasp—legs wrapping tight around his waist, hands clawing down his back. He fucks you slow at first, breathless, careful, like you’re breakable.

But you’re not. Not now. Not with him.

“Binnie—faster—please—”

He obeys. Hips snapping. Sweat dripping. His name tumbling out of your mouth like a mantra.

And when he leans in—lips brushing your neck—your whole body tenses.

You want this.

“Do it,” you whisper.

“You’re sure?”

“Do it, Binnie—mark me—make me yours—”

He growls. And then he bites. You cry out, the pain white-hot and fleeting—then replaced by pleasure so sharp, so overwhelming it makes your vision blur. He drinks slow, hips grinding into you deeper, harder, more possessive with every pulse of your blood into his mouth.

He moans into your neck as he drinks, his thrusts becoming ragged, desperate. “So fucking sweet,” he groans. “So fucking mine—”

You clench around him, overstimulated, whimpering, “Binnie—fuck—I’m—”

“Cum for me, baby,” he pants. “Wanna feel you when I fill you—”

And fuck, you do.

You shatter around him, crying out his name as he growls and fucks you through it—his own orgasm hitting seconds later, fangs still sunk into your skin as he spills inside you, claiming you in every possible way.

You both collapse together, sweaty and ruined, his cock still inside, your blood still on his tongue.

He lifts his head, eyes wide with awe, blood on his lips.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.

You brush his hair back, kiss him soft and open-mouthed.

“And you’re mine.”

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie

[overdramaticbaddie]

okokok hear me out this is a biiiiiiiiiiiiit of a reach but I find it interesting anyway (yes it's abt kerdly)

so as we know, when kris picks up noelle's phone after susie throws it; and berdly unknowingly invites kris to go with him, there are two options you can pick: go with him, or just prank him.

What i think is interesting is how he RESPONDS to each option.

Go with Berdly: "K- KRIS!? You... you... the phone, you...!?" "..." "Kris, I have to say. Heh. I am. Flattered." "But if you want my hand... you'll have to fight for it." "On the day of the festival... You, Noelle, Susie..." "The lover who impresses me the most... Will be my date." "Kris, may the best suitor... Epic win." "Good luck."

Wrong number song: "KRIS!? You... you scoundrel!!" "Eavesdropping on my sweet, cartiligienous inner thoughts..." "Hmph. Go ahead and taunt, Kris." "I'M the one Susie and Noelle are falling like dominoes for." "And you know what dominoes means, Kris?" "You're next."

For the wrong number song, he attempts to be smooth and flirts with Kris, saying that they're next in line to fall in love with him. This is similar to an interaction you can have with him in chapter 2, where he basically goes "don't be disappointed kris, but I'm into susie" or some shit; like he thinks kris is flirting with him. This makes sense for his character, since he seems to have a problem distinguishing people being nice from romantic advances.

But what I find REALLY interesting is how that contrasts with when we straight up accept his invitation.

He actually gets kind of flustered, stuttering a little, which i guess is kinda normal for the situation; but the main thing is how he acts like he WASN'T EXPECTING THAT KIND OF THING FROM THEM.

This is strange to me. Like, how do those responses go together? One seems to imply that Berdly thinks that Kris wanting to date him is inevitable, but he acts SUPRISED that Kris wanted to go with him. Like, yeah, he wasn't expecting them to pick up the phone, but he fucking PAUSES and goes "Kris, I have to say. Heh. I am. Flattered." like bro is like trynna process it.

Idk man it's almost like Berdly subconsciously WANTS Kris to like him and while he keeps his ego fueled by thinking everyone is obsessed with him including them he has a biiiit of yearning deep down and it surfaces in an uncomfy way when kris says they'll go with him and he quickly patches it up with "OHO you must FIGHT for my HAND", (also why weren't you considering that when you thought it was just susie and noelle??? Does someone want to feel wanted by a certain human???? hmm????)

Also both dialogues end with a very...... SPECIFIC kind of flirtatiousness he ONLY shows Kris.

With Susie and Noelle, It's pretty much a verbose variation of "You think I'm super hot. Ur cool too ig. I will now grace you with my presence." Which is just an offshooting of how he acts in general, just acting like he thinks everyone can't get enough of him and he's doing everyone a favor by existing.

But with KRIS it's direct. It's an invitation, a challenge, almost.

He's ALWAYS trying to get Kris to engage with him. EVERY TIME he opens his mouth around them it's basically just him trying to get Kris to admit they want him in ANY way. Like You want to join MY side right kris? You WISH you had MY grades and MY gaming skills and just admit you think im cool just tell me im the coolest and smartest and most attractive monster you've ever met because you soooo think that right? RIGHT? TELL ME IM PRETTY!

Like it's crazy how badly he seems to want approval from THEM SPECIFICALLY. How in the beginning of chapter 2 he's jealous of SUSIE. JEALOUS OF SUSIE. FOR BEING KRIS'S FRIEND.

And he's NEVER jealous of Noelle for being friends with Kris.

NEVER jealous of Kris being friends with Susie.

He can't even see that Noelle and Susie are OBVIOUSLY down HORRENDOUSLY for each other much less be JEALOUS of them.

But somebody new is hanging around kris and he gets jealous.

Aaaaannnd then he acts like he has a crush on said friend and rubs that in Kris's face and suggests they're jealous of HER.

BRO.

HOW TF HAS HE NOT FIGURED THIS OUT YET.

[onaswife]

Always yours

Couple: Lia Wälti x reader

AU! Omegaverse, Omega x Alpha.

Note: Sorry for the delay, university evaluations have come out from where I didn't know, so it's a bit of a small thing.

You met your current girlfriend five years ago, when you played against each other in the Champions League. It was your sister who introduced you.

"You can't turn down every opportunity to meet new people, Liten," you sighed audibly. Of the two of you, Caro was the least shy, while you always tended to avoid meeting new people, so you were the first to leave the field and head straight to the locker room to avoid that social interaction.

That day, however, was different. You were going to say hello to Frida, who was your and Caro's teammate on the Norwegian national team, along with Ingrid, who had already joined you.

"You should swap shirts with one of them," Ingrid commented mockingly as she gently pushed you by the shoulder, while your sister laughed happily beside you.

"My second choice was Arsenal, remember that," you replied simply, walking quickly to where Frida was and hugging her. She squealed when she felt your body hit hers, until she recognized you and hugged you tightly.

As you separated from her, you congratulated her on the game you had played.

"Oh, let me introduce you to this girl right here." Frida walked past you and pointed to the girl you had guiltlessly ignored behind you, who was giving you a slightly shy smile. "Hello," her voice sounded low and almost timid, while Frida smiled widely at her side, as if she were introducing you to a puppy.

You stood a little awkwardly in your seat, as you formed a small smile and slowly raised your hand to shake her hand. "Hello…"

"God, does no one know how to say hello properly?" You heard Frida speak, finding it a little difficult to stop staring at the girl in front of you. "Not even a handshake? I understand that a hug is awkward, but at least that's it." Her voice now laced with frustration as she brought her hand to the bridge of her nose, gently pressing it, looking at us out of the corner of her eye.

You nodded slowly as you withdrew your hand from hers, looking anywhere but at her. "Nice to meet you, Lia. I'm Ingrid, and this is Caro, Y/N's sister."

You sighed as you extended your hand toward Frida's classmate, whose name you still didn't know, only that she was very pretty and short, although not as short as some people you knew (e.g., Pina).

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N," you smiled politely as you felt her soft palm against yours, while her fingers pressed against the back of your hand, making you blush. "Nice to meet you, I'm Lia."

After that somewhat awkward moment of greetings, you left your sister talking to Frida, Ingrid, and Lia, while you walked to the tunnel, where Alexia was already talking to Jenni, who was looking at you mockingly.

You grunted as you passed her, already expecting her usual jokes about you and your shyness.

"For such a tall, Scandinavian alpha, you're really shy. I thought you guys took control of everything, you know, like your sister used to say."

A few days later, you received a notification on Instagram, the social network you normally used for collaborations with brands and the like. It was a notification about a new follower, nothing unusual; you received hundreds of those every day, but this one was different.

"Shut up, Hermoso, I'm not in the mood for jokes," you murmured as you passed her.

Liawaelti has started following you.

You stared at the screen that was slowly fading in the palm of your hand, already sitting on the couch, where you had been lying minutes before.

You looked at your phone again, thinking about it. She had started following you, and you didn't follow many people in soccer, just close teammates and your sister.

You felt strange. As you checked her profile, you noticed several photos with her teammate, Caitlin, where they looked very close, along with other posts of Lia with Arsenal, on vacation, or with the national team.

You sighed, leaving the phone next to you on the couch as you leaned back against the backrest, thinking about everything.

"Why does it seem like you're thinking about all the mistakes in your life?" You jumped in your seat when you heard your sister's voice. You opened your mouth to ask her what she was doing there. "I called at least four times before your neighbor came out to scold me, so I let myself in with my keys. Is everything okay?" she asked, seeing you staring at the floor.

"It's okay, I was just thinking that my contract was running out and-"

"Don't even think about it, they want to renew your contract and they're going to," you sighed, listening to her words, as you made room for her on your side of the couch. As soon as she sat down, you leaned against her.

Caro was very protective of you, as was your other brother, Fredrik. They were competitive, they argued, they fought, but unlike you, you were their little sister. They still saw you as that 2-year-old who couldn't be away from one of her siblings because she'd start crying thinking she'd been abandoned, who would sneak into her older sister's room at night because she'd had a bad dream, or who always turned to her older brother when she got a small wound.

A week later, the first text arrived. A simple "hello," but it felt like something more to you.

You were both their favorite child, even though they always denied it in public.

And there you are, four years after that awkward start, now Lia's partner. Not much had changed in those years. You were still playing for Barcelona, ​​Lia was still playing for Arsenal. Both of you were still safe options for national teams, although you did go through a period of injuries, nothing you couldn't handle.

From that moment on, the two of you started talking more, making calls or sometimes arranging outings when their schedules coincided. You stumbled into their lives around the time Lia broke up with her partner, although you never knew, since you didn't want to ask.

That day was special, another Champions League match between you. Your team this year was the favorite to win the competition, but everyone knew Arsenal was coming off a great run in England and from previous Champions League matches. So it didn't surprise you much when, from the bench due to injury, you watched after 90 minutes as your girlfriend's team emerged as champions after 18 years.

It hurt you; you felt a little angry with yourself for not being able to play because of the injury, but you were also happy for your girlfriend.

You approached your team, watching as each of them seemed to want to cry at that moment, just like you. You remained silent, watching the English team celebrate with their coaching staff and fans, while all of you were lost in your thoughts.

It wasn't until the medal ceremony that you were able to talk to Lia. Although you didn't like her, simply because of the person who seemed to be clinging to her, like a parasite.

You clung to your jaw as Caitlin wrapped her arms around your omega's waist and rubbed her nose against your mark, making you instantly angry, not out of jealousy—you trusted your girlfriend—but more out of possessiveness.

You'd always liked that, showing others that Lia had chosen you as her alpha, so you tended to be possessive, so your scent was always present in hers, always leaving your hand on her body, or leaving kisses on her face when she was talking to someone you didn't like.

You approached slowly until you were behind Lia.

"Congratulations, love, I'm glad you won, you deserved it." You watched as Caitlin looked you up and down as she snorted and left, while your Omega hugged you tightly, letting you bury your nose in her neck, marking her with your scent and growling in the process.

"I would have loved to celebrate with you… I don't like playing against you in games like that, one of us always lose more," you sighed at her words, trying not to break down right then and there.

You pulled away, bringing your hands up to her cheeks, squeezing them a little. "You deserve it, so now go and enjoy your victory, champ." You placed a kiss on her forehead and both cheeks before letting her go, walking over to where your sister was, her gaze fixed on the grass. You hugged her, and she hugged you back, sinking into the misery you both felt at that moment.

That night, Lia invited you to the small celebration, but you didn't want to go, so you politely declined. Just because you were angry with yourself didn't mean Lia should be the one to pay the consequences. So there you were, lying in the hotel bed where all your teammates were staying, staring at the ceiling while your mind replayed the exact moments of when you lost your chance to play in the final, the moment the game stopped being your team's, and when they lost, all on repeat.

Until around 2 a.m., you received Alessia's message. She first attached a photo and a message, "Caitlin's drunkenly complaining to Lia. I think you should come over." You instantly got up, grabbed your jacket, and walked as quickly as possible to the hotel where they were staying and where the party was being held, which was less than a 5-minute walk away.

You arrived with your heart pounding. From what you knew, Caitlin was still hurt because Lia had broken up with her. Even though she was in a relationship with another teammate, she seemed to feel entitled to make your Omega feel bad, which you weren't going to allow.

You walked in, looking everywhere, trying to find her in the crowd, while keeping your face as serious as possible and regulating your breathing.

"You didn't take long," you looked to your side, seeing the blonde who had texted you.

"Where is she? Is she still bothering her?" Your voice sounded harsher than usual, even your scent was now more sour.

She just pointed you to a spot a little far away, but close to a corner. You didn't even say goodbye; you just walked up to them with the sole idea of ​​getting that woman away from your omega.

"Am I interrupting something?" As soon as the words left your lips, Lia turned around, her eyes shining at the sight of you and a huge smile appearing on her face. "You came, love," she said before colliding with yours.

As you hugged her, you leaned into her neck, smelling Caitlin's scent. You looked over Lia's shoulder, seeing her frowning at them. Your hand moved down to your omega's lower back, watching Caitlin grow more annoyed, while Lia gasped at the feel of your hand.

"I don't know what your intentions are, but for your own good, I want you to stay away from my girlfriend. She made it clear a long time ago that she no longer wants anything to do with you. Also, respect your relationship." Your tone surprised your girlfriend. She had never heard you be so curt with someone, while you felt so possessive over her, making her legs feel like jelly.

Without another word, you grabbed your girlfriend and dragged her out, muttering insults in Norwegian to the Australian woman who seemed to be cursing you from where you left her.

You reached the outside of the room, letting go of her and gently pushing her against the wall. She moaned as she felt the wall pressed against her back.

"I don't want that girl to flirt with you again. She doesn't understand that you're not hers anymore, you're mine." You pressed yourself closer to her body, biting her neck, hearing her moan your name in a low tone.

She brought her hands to your back, digging her nails into your spine as she gave you more access to her neck. "Mine," you repeated, biting her throat and pressing your hands on her hips, while your leg slid between her legs.

"What else do I have to do to make her see that you chose me? Fuck you in front of her? Let her hear you moan my name while you cum on my cock and not hers? That you always think of me when you cum or masturbate for me?" you said now, moving your hips against hers, hearing her gasp more and more frequently.

"God… love," her voice was more muffled, trying not to be loud and not be discovered. "I'm only yours… only yours…"

She gasped before feeling her back arch against the wall, a sign of her orgasm. You smiled sarcastically against her cheek, placing a kiss there.

"Show me where your room is, darling. I'll fulfill my role as your alpha and make sure everyone understands that I've already marked you as mine… and that I'm yours. I love you," you whispered against her ear, feeling the fabric of your pants stick to your thigh where she had previously rubbed against it. She just nodded, taking your hand and leading you to the elevator, where you started kissing freely.

[edelweiss-buttons]

(I’m watching fantasy high for the first time and I’m starting from the beginning of s1)

“Don’t you try to put a dagger in my heart! I’ll put you in the ground before I’ll let you kill me” “I never would. I never would” my foreshadowing sensors are going fucking haywire what is going to happen (don’t tell me) (I’m blissfully unaware rn)

[theresistanceneverquits]

There’s not enough people talking about how important Stephanie is to Damian’s growth pre-Flashpoint.

Bruce had seen Damian as a beast to be tamed, Tim sees him as a ticking time bomb, and Dick is far better with him but he’s still an authority figure for Damian to combat with. But then he meets Stephanie, a college-aged girl who nobody trusts and he bullies her relentlessly and becomes inseparable from her.

She doesn’t interact with him based on his past, but on what she can see. This 10 year old just threatened to kill her? Wow he doesn’t get outside much. He’s not old enough to have seen Gremlins. What do you MEAN you’ve never been inside a bouncy house before we are fixing that immediately.

They are like cousins to each other. They poke fun at each other for being lame and stupid and Dick has to tell them both to shut up. She doesn’t see him as a project to be molded and redeemed, he’s just a kid with a crappy childhood like her and if he’s nice to her for 5 seconds she’ll do something with him to let him feel like a kid. And he doesn’t look at her and see a liability or a failure or a lost cause, like everyone she’s ever interacted with does. When he’s awful to her, it’s because he’s an obnoxious preteen boy.

And then you get the “there’s room in our line of work for hope, too” scene. Because Damian has gotten to know Steph and he can’t fathom why she’s here. She obviously has had to deal with crap and is still working through being kept on a leash by Nightwing and Oracle, but she isn’t broken like the rest of them are. Damian is surrounded by people who were molded and shaped and torn down and broken to become the monoliths that they are, and then there’s this girl who seems so at peace with herself and is constantly making quips, and it’s so foreign to him.

And she tells him that she’s in his world because she believes people are worth fighting for.

[pizzainator]

I watched Jacks stream oh my gosh...

I thought I could handle a Dsmp stream in 2024 but nope. just- that felt SO much like just a stream that would happen in like 2021. the wandering around falling into random creeper holes, chat telling jack to get philza to help him, and to find michael, the mobs interrupting and how unplanned it all was. unscripted lore my beloved forever and ever.

the way that it's like in tommy and jacks conversation- they're talking about things in character that also relates to (presumably) their feelings in real life. just gosh...

when jack and tommy said their goodbyes and jack looked back at technos house to see the sun rising- like its so perfect in a way that the incidental roleplay always was. Like in the way I know I'm reading into it but it still works and it feels like real life when something happens and you find yourself in that moment and life looks almost like a movie- everything in it's proper place for the scene- but it's all just coincidence. the sun didn't rise because a writer wrote that it would. the sun just rises and falls and the conversation just happens to end at that exact moment.

idk just- I really felt it. It captured the feeling of peak dreamsmp that I've missed so much.

I don't even have a problem with nuke ending personally I think it's perfectly fine as an ending. How I've always seen it is: Everyones been hurt by everyone and violence begets violence so the great final act is nukes that will kill everyone that have all ready been launched so it can't be taken back. Then in the prison tommy sees the early parts of the server through Dreams pov and sees the good that was there at the start and how much that has been corrupted since and he wants that simplicity again (he and dream were even friends at one point) before everything went terrible for everyone. Dream turns his back on his plan that he's been building up to for so long cause what he really wants is the same thing as tommy. for things to be simple like at the start. but it's too late- its too far gone. the nukes have already been launched there's no going back. just the hope that maybe in another world things could've been different.

(also the added context of nuke ending being an elaborate character/relationship/map reset to setup a season 2 that never happened.)

So there's my nuke ending defense lol. I know it wasn't very popular with a vast amount of people and that's okay too.

I think ending something like dsmp was never gonna be easy or satisfy everybody, with how many individual povs there are and storylines. I always expected there to be things left unfinished. (unfinished symphony ;) Even if that's pretty unsatisfying for us viewers. (there's a particular stream I really wish had happened with foolish, dream, and eret)

idk there's a post I always remember when thinking about the ending that was like: "Maybe they couldn't write a happier ending at that time in their lives." (super paraphrasing) obviously talking about techno's passing. it's a bit assumptive but the CC's have talked publicly about how much that has affected them (of course it did). With something like that I imagine giving your minecraft server/roleplay character a happy ending is the last thing on your mind.

Todays stream felt like grief and nostalgia and complicated feelings for a time that has passed but still left it's marks on you:

“are you happier?” “I'm getting there”

like, that just says it all.

[akpaleyreblogs]

I love having roleplayed my way into putting a stupid fucked up love triangle into a game that didn't have one

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Finally worked it up in me to watch Jerma play The Stanley Parable:Ultra Deluxe and I'm only like 13 minutes in of him doing actual gameplay and it's just. No Jerma you're not actually dead, The Narrator is just really salty and dramatic.

[madigoround]

HATE that I can have a mostly normal interaction with someone except for one moment where I did something awkward and it makes me feel like giving myself a lobotomy despite the rest of the conversation going well

[hana-bobo-finch]

Started rereading thg for the probably eighth time in preparation for SOTR’s release next month and Oh Boy the hyperfixation is creeping back up on me

[deus-ex-mona]

rage is a ✨way of life✨

[revvnant]

stewing over how mike wants william to hug him so bad but never asks because why would you, as a man, hug another man ( yes even your family ) and also because he keeps a tally of every time william said no and holds it against him and has made it such a huge thing in his own mind that if william did hug him he'd flinch and what i'm really getting at here is that michael can get to a point where he's so entrenched in a build up of small slights between big fights that he shoots himself in the foot and denies himself comfort, creating a cycle where he constantly craves william's affection but also refuses it every time it is offered, which makes william upset, which makes him offer it less, which convinces mike that his father doesn't love him, which makes him withdraw and refuse affection, which

[muninnhuginn]

made for a forum life. living in a discord era.

[lemonnbug]

😣

[godsfavoritescientist]

Tbh? I still feel so out of my depth whenever I try to write Bill. For whatever reason it doesn't come naturally to me like writing Ford does. Every time one of y'all has thoughts on Bill's characterization or writes something Bill-centric I'm mentally taking so many notes