#yellow background strikes again ...

[gravygranola]

stolen moment

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 5 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 8k

Status: complete; this is the final chapter

Warnings: language, excessive drinking and drunkenness, i did make seungcheol cry just once and i'm not sorry, reader continuing to go thru it, angst, kissing, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, the teeeensiest tiniest bit of barely there ass play do not even LOOK at me i dont know who wrote that, reader says if you demand to be on my island then i am getting OFF the island and we all should have seen it coming

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

October

When your phone rings at 1:20 in the morning, it feels like a stone sinks through your stomach. Some instinct knows what this is before you even read his name on the screen. Like part of you has been waiting since early summer for him to break, afraid of your own reaction, afraid you’ll do the wrong thing and let him.

“What’s up?” you answer, which strikes you as funny, because it’s the middle of the night and you’re half-asleep. Nothing about this is casual - this isn’t going to be a call about grabbing extra beer for Soonyoung’s house. 

“Come drink with me.”

Four words, and you know everything you need to know. The background noise is deafening - thumping, shattering club music and the cacophony of dozens of conversations being carried at a volume meant to rise above the music. 

The words are also slurred nearly past recognizability. 

He’s fucked up. 

Going to him would be a mistake.

But you want to. You want to. 

You’re already moving towards your closet in the dark.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you ask sarcastically, even as you reach the lamp on your dresser and switch it on, casting your room in a low yellow light. You pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater - you won’t be staying at the club with him, you don’t need to dress up. You’ll tell security you’re just getting someone home - they’ll let you through.

“Wish I knew,” he says darkly. “Actually, no I don’t. If I did, I’d go there. Promised my mom no more fights.”

He sounds so gone. Your heart wrings itself out like laundry fresh from the wash, water and blood pouring from it. You ache for him, want to pull him close, want to soothe the hurts. You pull the sweater on quickly. 

“Did you argue again?” you ask, mostly to keep him talking while you get ready. You poke around your room for a wayward sneaker.

He laughs, once, no humor in it. “Worst we’ve ever had. She took her shit this time.”

“Seungcheol,” you say, all pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Come drink with me,” he answers, more firmly this time. He sounds a bit more lucid, like answering your questions tethered him back to now. “I hate being alone.”

You tuck in your laces and grab your keys. “I know you do,” you say softly. “Send me your location.”

As expected, you tell the bouncer you’re just here to get your friend out of there and he lets you inside, even asks if you think you’ll need help.

“Nah,” you say easily. “He’ll come with me.”

It takes some effort to move through the crowd until you reach the bar, but Seungcheol is there, an empty glass in front of him, and his chin propped up on his hand, his eyes unfocused.

You slide in the seat next to him - miraculously empty - and order yourself a beer and a water for him. You don’t talk to him until they’ve arrived, until you’ve watched him down a third of the water.

“Why am I here, Seungcheol?” you ask him, finally, quiet. You’re not sure how much of him is present right now, not sure what kind of answer you’ll get.

But he seems to have come back around since he first called you, because his answer is, “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“Is that why you called me? Because you needed a friend?” you ask. It’s a dangerous question; it’s a dare. It’s a challenge, it’s a first expression of this fucked-up limbo the two of you have tried to maintain. It’s a mistake that you can’t stop yourself from making, the inertia carrying you even when you know you should swerve. 

You’re lucky - he’s not too far gone to know exactly what game you’re playing, and to remember he’s not supposed to play. 

“I called you,” he says, dark eyes flashing up to yours, “because I didn’t want to sit here alone. I wanted to be… with someone good. Good to me.”

The words are unsteady, wobbly, but you think they might still be a version of the truth.

There are a lot of things you could say back to that, and they all jump into your mouth at once. But you’re supposed to be staying off the boat, right?

“Drink your water,” you tell him, and something in your tone must tell him not to fuck with you, because he listens. When you’ve both finished - you, your single beer, and him, the entire glass of water - you tell him, “Let’s go home.”

He rises without a fuss, and you lead him by the hand through the noisy throngs of people and out inside the silent, chilly night. His hand in yours is warm, clinging to you so tightly it almost hurts.

You drive him back to his place in near silence. He only speaks to mutter two-word directions at you - turn left and next exit and this one.

You take his keys from his hand and lead him across the parking lot to his building’s door, realizing halfway there that he’s stopped following you. You turn, finding him standing in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving.

Hesitantly, you make your way back toward him. 

“Cheol?” you venture, and when he turns to you, his face is twisted, a storm in his eyes. 

His voice doesn’t even sound like him - choked and raspy and loud - when he asks you, “Why does she do this to me?” He swipes a closed fist across his eyes, the picture of misery.

You close the space between you and gather him in your arms; drunk and broken, he lets you. You hold him steady as he cries into your shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at your back, like you’re the only thing holding him down in the face of a hurricane.

You hold him as long as he needs, the two of you alone in the middle of the pavement, the night expanding silent and blue around you. 

When he gives a final shaky exhale and loosens his hold on your back, you let him step away, your hands falling to your sides. You watch his face carefully as he roughly scrubs at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

You shake your head, don’t be, but don’t speak. You don’t know the right thing to say; you don’t know if he’s in the right place to hear you.

You’ve never been to his place before, so he leads you inside, taking an unnaturally long time to get his key in the lock. You don’t offer to help, knowing he doesn’t need you to baby him right now, doesn’t need you to make him feel like he can’t do it.

Inside, he clicks on the lights and stumbles through a dark doorway that you assume must lead to his bedroom. You look around for a second - it’s neater than you expected, but looks lived in. There’s a hoodie thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and a lone mug in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. You open a few cabinets until you find glasses, and you fill one with water. Then you follow the sounds of thumps through his still-dark bedroom and into the brightly lit en-suite.

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s not sure where you came from, the toothbrush stilling in his mouth.

“Water,” you explain, needlessly, and he nods, still looking a bit baffled. 

You wait in his bedroom until he flicks off the bathroom light and stumbles out and straight into his bed. You set the water down on his bedside table and back away.

“You good?” you ask. You mean, mostly, are you going to throw up in your sleep, or can I leave? 

He pulls the blankets over his head, then pushes one eye out and looks at your blearily.

“There are three of you,” he says seriously, his low voice muffled by the thick blankets.

“All three of us will be on the couch if you need… help, or anything,” you deadpan.

He’s too drunk to appreciate the joke. That one visible eyeball just stares at you, and then he mutters, “Is it fucked up that I missed you?”

You huff a tiny laugh.

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering. “Yell if you need me.”

He only hums, not really an answer, but you’ll take it. You close his bedroom door behind you and survey his living room. You turn on a low lamp and then cross the room to turn off the brighter overhead lights. You get comfortable, scrunching up the throw pillow under your head and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. 

You thought you’d have trouble sleeping here, alone in a place you’ve never been, but the blanket smells like him, and you feel safe knowing he’s on the other side of the door, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re drifting off.

You’re woken up mid-morning by a body draping itself heavily over your side, then sliding behind you to slip between you and the back of the couch. His arm rests on top of you, his hand on your shoulder.

You giggle before you even open your eyes. “Hello?” you ask, trying to peer over your shoulder, but Seungcheol holds your shoulder tight, stopping the motion.

“You can’t look at me,” he says seriously, his voice sleepy and soft. “I’m too ashamed.”

You laugh again.

“I am seriously so sorry,” he says, still hiding behind you. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you relax against him, smiling despite yourself. The room is lit up brightly from the morning sun, the lamp you had on last night now turned off. “For calling you… for making you come out in the middle of the night… for everything I said… for…”

For breaking down. You hear it even though he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on top of his where it rests on your shoulder. “If I didn’t want to come out, I wouldn’t have. And you don’t need to apologize for… feeling how you feel, or for letting me be there for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is very embarrassing for me,” he mumbles against your head.

You roll over so you can face him, and he lets you. You look up at him, trying to reconcile the sheepish man in front of you to the broken one you saw last night. It occurs to you, as you lay chest to chest with him on the couch, that this is the closest you’ve been since you slept together in July.

You hate how right it feels - no awkwardness, no uncertainty.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” you whisper.

His mouth twists like he doesn’t quite see it the same way. “Thanks for getting me home,” he says, instead of arguing or agreeing. “At… two in the morning.”

You shrug one shoulder, very aware of how dangerously close to cuddling you are, as he places his arm over your back, his hand resting near your shoulder blades. “It makes me happy that you felt comfortable calling me when you needed someone,” you tell him. “I’m glad I could be there for you.” It might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him.

It had - it had made you happy to take care of him the way he’d taken care of you at that resort. It made you happy to be the one that he let in, who got to see him when he wasn’t put together.

It might be complicated, but it’s still true. You’re happy to be here.

You lay there - yes, cuddling, technically - for a little bit, and then you look at him again. His gaze is warm this morning, full of affection and gratitude.

“Hey…” you say, unsure if this is the right move, “I know you asked me to, like, stay out of it. And I’ve been trying to. But… can I ask you something?”

He sighs a little, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. The movement cracks the cuddle, and you push yourself up to sitting. He does the same, so that you’re side to side and upright again. 

“Yeah,” he relents. “I guess you have the right, after last night.”

“Why stay?” you ask him earnestly. “Why keep trying, when all of us - including both of you - know how it’s going to go?”

“Because,” he says darkly, averting his eyes.

“Because isn’t a reason,” you point out.

He huffs, frustrated, but you wait him out. “I just… want to prove that… it could work. That I’m not… so fucked up that it can’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, and his eyes flick to yours.

“I can solve that one for you: you’re not. And it sucks that she made you feel like you are.”

“It’s not all her fault,” he mumbles.

“No,” you agree. “It really isn’t. But, Seungcheol, if a couple works, it’s not about their worthiness, it’s not the universe deciding they’re good enough. It’s about the two people involved, and their willingness to put pride aside and try - to communicate, and make sacrifices, and fight for it. And I know you’re capable of all that - because when you were pretending, you were perfect. More than perfect.”

His face softens, those flickers of anger and defensiveness falling away. You sit in silence, looking at each other, the air between you charged and full of tension so thick you could sink your fingers into it like a ball of dough.

The ugliest part of you, hidden way down deep, rises up and whispers, choose me. 

You hate this selfish voice, hate yourself for wanting this even after everything, but you can’t silence the part of you that’s pleading for him to realize he’s been chasing his tail in circles, to realize that he has an option in front of him that could be great if he gave it a chance.

You force yourself up, breaking the spell, going silently to find your keys and your shoes. 

Still, even as he watches you go, the want claws up your stomach, through your limbs, into your fingertips. 

You pause in the entryway, looking back at him. For a long moment, his eyes stay locked on yours, pinning you to the spot.

You clench your jaw to shove down the words, but they flow through your gaze straight to his anyway.

Choose me. Choose me. Please, choose me. 

From the way he sits still on the couch, you think he must hear your plea. You think he must be considering. You finally break eye contact, giving him a tight nod and turning away. Then you close the door behind you, leaving him alone with the choice.

The next weekend at Soonyoung and Chan’s, Seungcheol isn’t present.

The realization goes through you like ice, your heart skipping and galloping with all the implications of it.

“Ah, yeah,” your brother says, when you ask. “He and Jieun went away for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

You turn away as casually as you can, trying to school your features. The news hits you like a punch.

He and Jieun. He picked her. 

He picked her, and took her away for a romantic trip to solidify it. It makes you nauseous. You’d been trying to accept this truth - that she would always win - and yet somehow you’re still surprised. 

Stupid. Stupid.

Fine, you think, taking a slow breath in to calm your systems. It’s fine. You wanted him to choose, and he did. Now you know for sure. Now it can be over.

And it has to be - over. You can’t do this again. You can’t open up and let him in just to watch him slip back to her again. Not again.

It sucks, but you don’t feel like you can talk to Soonyoung about this. Not because he wouldn’t hear you, or support you. But at the end of the day, Seungcheol has been his friend for a long time - you don’t want to put him in the middle, or in an uncomfortable spot. 

You sit on it for a few days, and then you crack and do something you’ve never done in your whole life.

You call your sister. Just to talk.

“Hey!” she greets you brightly, like she’s pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Which is fair. “What’s going on?”

“Not a lot,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” she sighs, not unhappily. “Jeongwoo is on a work trip until tomorrow night, so I’m sitting here having a sleepover night by myself - painting my nails, binging some Real Housewives, and drinking wine.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say.

“Feel free to join me,” she says, and you hear the smile in her voice. You wonder if you could ever get there - to the point where you’d even consider that offer from her, to the point where you’d want to go hang out with her.

The idea of it sounds kind of nice.

“Maybe next time,” you say, and you almost mean it.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks.

“Seungcheol called me drunk from the bar at one in the morning on Saturday,” you blurt. It bursts from you, unbidden, though you know that unburdening yourself of this was the whole reason you called.

“Oh my god, what?” she breathes. “Did you answer?”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what a silly question that is,” you say, and it doesn’t occur to you that you’re just saying ‘you don’t know me at all’, but you are. “Not only did I answer, I went to pick him up and drive him home, and then I slept on his couch to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

Nayoung swears. “You two are messy messy,” she says, and you laugh, because - yeah. “Where’s his girlfriend?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, that’s an important detail. They had a fight and she turned off her location, which is why he went off the rails at the bar in the first place.”

“Okay,” Nayoung says, and you can almost picture her holding up a hand to stop you. “Back up and start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” 

You do, starting with his phone call that night, ending with his absence at Soonyoung’s last Friday, the indication that he’d taken Jieun on a romantic weekend away, that he’d heard what you’d said and made his choice definitively.

“Oh,” she says as soon as you’re done, the word rushing from her, “he wants you so bad.”

“What?” This is not the reaction you’d expected. This is also the opposite of how you see the situation.

“He got sad and called you,” she points out. “He needed comfort and he turned to you. To me, that says a lot.”

You hum. “I don’t know. He called me because he was drunk and the girl he wanted had him blocked.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think some part of him knew you were a safe place to turn to.”

Someone good to me. 

You let out your breath, frustrated. “What does that do for me?” you demand. “He chose her!”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He’s gotta figure it out sooner or later, that you’re what he wants - right?”

“You’d think,” you mutter sarcastically.

“He’ll be back,” she says, sounding sure. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t think I care, though,” you say. “Even if he did… he’s picked her over me too many times. I don’t want to be his second choice, I don’t want to always wonder if he’d rather be with her.”

“Well,” she says, “I know I haven’t been married that long, but my advice as someone with a very solid relationship - if I do say so myself - is to just ask him how he feels about it… and trust what he tells you.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressed tight together. Because you don’t - can’t - trust him to mean it when he says he’s done with her. He’s switched up on you too many times. He could tell you day in and day out that it’s you, but you will always feel Jieun’s shadow hovering behind you. There’s no way around it.

You think you might hate her, and that makes you sad, too - because it’s not even her fault.

It’s pouring on the night that Seungcheol shows up at your door - the kind of rain that comes down only sideways, soaking your feet, hair, and even through your jeans in some spots in the short time it takes you to dash from your car to the building’s front door.

You’re still wiping water from your face, shaking it from your sleeves, trying to tame your damp hair when you round the corner to your hall and spot him outside your door.

Your stomach sinks immediately, instinct and past experience telling you that he and Jieun fought again, that the merry-go-round has brought him to the come to you for comfort phase of the cycle once again. 

You’re tired - tired of fighting how you feel for him, tired of feeling guilty for wanting someone that’s not yours, tired of feeling pathetic for wanting someone who doesn’t want you, tired of picking him up every time he comes crawling to you low and angry. 

But you approach him anyway - what else can you do? It’s your apartment.

When he turns to face you, you’re so surprised that you actually falter in your steps, tripping over nothing and having to right yourself.

He looks happy - he looks good, and somehow himself in a way you haven’t seen since Nayoung’s wedding over the summer. There’s no storm behind his eyes, no crease in his brow, no heavy weight to the corners of his mouth, no tightness to his jaw or heaviness on his shoulders.

“Hi?” you venture.

His smile crawls across his face, dimples deepening by tiny degrees at a time. It takes your breath away - you hadn’t realized it, but you haven’t seen him happy like this in so long. He’s beautiful. You miss this version of him. 

“Hey,” he says, dimples deepening. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, digging out your keys. “Is everything okay?”

“Very,” he says, emphatically but cryptically. 

You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms.

He laughs, like you’re being cute. It makes you scowl, but it also makes your stomach flutter. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t really a… hallway conversation.”

You give him a wary look and move past him to unlock the door. He follows you inside and hovers behind you as you flick on lights and set down your things. You’re still water-logged from the rain, and you cross into your bedroom to change into something dry. Seungcheol hangs back in your living room, patiently waiting for you to emerge.

“Okay,” you say, “what’s up?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Something crosses his face - uncertainty, maybe. He steps closer, hands reaching for your elbows. You let him draw you closer, into the circle of his warmth, his smell, his solidity. You look up at him, a question in your eyes.

“I have to just say it,” he says, almost to himself, almost like a reprimand. Like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “I want to try with you. I want to do it for real.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. 

“Seungcheol, what?” You’re almost convinced that you heard him wrong, or that you’re misunderstanding what he’s saying. Your brain whirs as it tries to process, to find the slip-up.

He shifts closer, your bodies almost touching, and you tip your head up to keep his face in your line of sight. 

His voice lowers, softens, turns into something private and pleading. “I know we could be good together. Give me a chance to prove it. I didn’t think I could do it, before. But.. I can. I will.”

Somehow his hands have gone from your elbows to your upper arms, your bodies inching closer and closer like drifting continents, coming closer so slowly it’s impossible to see the movement.

You manage to speak, your words stumbling over each other. “But - Jieun?”

He shakes his head. “Gone,” he says firmly. Your stomach swoops, but the feeling of elation is chased immediately by a dark wave of doubt. “For good. I’m not doing that shit anymore. I’m not…” he trails off, thinking, then calls back a conversation you’d had months ago, on a sandy beach hundreds of miles away - “…accepting an ending that’s less than what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe. 

“I want to really try with someone who will actually try with me. I like you. So, please. Let’s try.”

Your heart races so fast that you feel a little dizzy as you consider his offer. You’re afraid of him hurting you again, changing his mind again. You’re afraid of accepting him and then letting him down, making him regret it all. You’re afraid of him becoming just another person who gets tired of you and walks away. 

But your feelings for him haven’t dissipated at all over these months, no matter how firmly you’ve tried to store them away. You want to feel close to him again. Very little in your life has felt as safe as being close to Seungcheol feels. 

You want to feel good again, too.

Your bodies are touching now, his arms fully around you, your faces so close you could kiss him without reaching. 

“Give me a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing your face.

“I’ll give you a night,” you breathe, nearly against his lips. “We can go from there.”

His arms close around you instantly, his mouth finding yours - this was all the permission he needed. You melt into him, hands sliding up his back, already beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, seeking warmth, seeking him. 

The way he clings to you as he kisses you makes you wonder if he’s been missing this, too - if you aren’t the only one whose single dose failed as a cure, only left you wanting.

You peel his shirt over his head slowly, reveling in every line and ridge of muscle as they are exposed one by one. You feel possessive of him, suddenly, want to carve your name across his ribs, want to make sure no one forgets that you were here, that at least for this moment he was only yours.

He does the same, making quick work of the hoodie that you’d just pulled on, tossing it towards the couch. He smirks a little when he spots the lacy edges of your bra - thank god, thank god you’d picked a cute one today - and remarks, “Pretty,” before pinching the clasp open with one hand and discarding it in the same direction that your hoodie and tshirt had just gone.

He kisses you again, hot and deep and seeking, as his hands find and knead your breasts firmly, something possessive in his touch - like, once again, you match. Your knees go a little weak and you lean into him, a wanting sound slipping up your throat and disappearing into his open mouth. 

His thumbs brush your nipples once and the sound turns into a whine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tease, “What? Not enough?”

Never enough, you think. You’ll always want more of him.

“Feels nice,” you tell him, in a whisper.

You kiss him again as your hands fumble with his belt buckle. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, his eyes closing on an audible sigh when you palm him over the black briefs he’s wearing. He’s hot under your hand, a small patch already damp beneath your palm.

“Get rid of those,” he instructs as he steps away from you, pulling at his own socks. He nods at your lower half as clarification and you pull off your leggings, leaving only the matching bottoms to your bra. You hook your thumbs under the edge of the lace, but he reaches out to stop you.

“Leave that,” he says, his eyes shining and devilish. 

He lays you back across the couch and settles between your thighs, all mischief and anticipation, and then he licks a warm stripe up the center of the lace. You reach over your head and clutch at the arm of the couch, trying desperately to keep it together as he hooks a thumb under the lace and pulls them gently to the side, exposing you to the cool air of the room and his own hungry gaze. You moan loud, eyes squeezing shut, as he dives back in.

He slides two fingers into your heat and your back arches as his name slips between your lips. He returns his tongue to you as his fingers open you bit by bit, whimpers and gasps replacing the silence in the room. He grunts when you lose control and buck once, then uses his free hand to splay his fingers across your lower belly to hold you still.

The snap happens before you expect it, almost without warning. The heat blossoms from your stomach down to your toes, and you chant his name as the waves roll through you, demanding your attention. 

“Shit,” he growls, fingers still moving, his mouth an inch away from your pulsing center. “Fuck, I feel you, baby.”

When you finally unclench, the room spinning around you as you gasp for breath, he slips his fingers from you and crawls up your body, his mouth seeking yours. You barely register that you can taste yourself on him; all you can process is the need to cling to him as you come back to earth, the need to know he’s surrounding you, solidly between you and the rest of reality.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, though you didn’t make the decision to beg. He obliges, doesn’t tease you for it, just lines himself up and slides into you in one slow, unfaltering motion. 

Your hips tilt on their own, taking him just slightly deeper; you gasp against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to hold him still, trying to climb inside him. 

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting, his arms caging you in as he fucks in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. It’s a lot, but it’s so good, and it isn’t long before you’re moving with him, meeting each thrust, your legs tangled behind his waist to pull him in closer.

You let go of his shoulders and cup his face with both hands, pulling his mouth back to yours tenderly. 

You think you might be halfway in love with him. That’s been your whole problem all along.

“Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, lips on your jaw.

You pull back and slip two fingers into your mouth, eyes on his as you wet them. You smirk when his face twists, his stroke faltering for just a second, and then bring your fingers between your legs.

“How are you real?” he groans, his pace quickening. You feel yourself shake slightly each time he pushes back into you. 

When he stops, pressed so deep inside you that it steals your breath, you look up at him inquisitively. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

He doesn’t answer your unvoiced question, just slides out of you and stands, reaching for your hands to pull you up after him. He kisses you messily, hungrily, pulling you tight against his body. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hot and slippery against your lower stomach. He ignores this, holding you desperately, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll get ripped away. A detached part of your brain wonders what fear is behind the tightness of his grip.

Then he’s moving with renewed energy, turning you by your shoulders and pressing between them, leaning you over the arm of the couch, one hand sliding down your spine and resting on the small of your back. You cry out wordlessly when he slides into you again, the new position bringing him deeper than before, stars sparking before your eyes. 

He grips your hips tightly, using the leverage to pound into you with a force he hadn’t earlier, or back in July. All you can do is take it, eyes screwed shut, wailing wordlessly and trying to press your face into your arms to muffle the noise. 

“Too much?” he manages to ask you, the words slipped between breaths, his voice tight with effort.

You can’t form an answer, can’t make your mouth shape no, it’s perfect, so you shake your head wildly. You think you might die if he stops.

Seungcheol slows anyway, soothing a hand down your back again, giving you a chance to relax your muscles and take a deep breath. He sets a steady pace, far less brutal than a moment ago, and you reach back to run a hand up the back of his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He reaches down with one hand and tangles his fingers with yours, giving a single reassuring squeeze before dropping them again.

Your thighs are shaking constantly now, and your voice comes out thin when you try to warn him you’re close.

“Yeah?” he croons, and then you feel the gentle pressure of his thumb ghost over your rim before circling it more firmly. 

You lose it entirely; you think you scream. Everything goes white and then staticky. You’re dimly aware of Seungcheol growling your name, pulling out, splattering your ass with strings of hot cum.

You cooperate when he maneuvers you back onto the couch, laying on his back and pulling you onto his front, your hearts both beating wildly against one another, like they’re both trying to break through your ribs and reach the other. 

“Shit,” you whisper, when you feel like you’re in your body again. He chuckles warmly beneath you, reaching up to run a hand down your arm affectionately. 

“You good?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

“Mhm,” you manage, though you’re already starting to feel soreness everywhere - in your hips, between your legs, even in your lower belly. “You wanna shower?”

“Definitely,” he says, and helps you up, follows you into the bathroom. Soaps you up gently, kisses your head while you rinse. It’s frighteningly tender, and you find yourself struggling to look directly at him.

Something inside you feels like you should run.

When you’re dry, he asks you tentatively, “Should I go home?”

Probably, you think. Before I get in even deeper. 

But you’re already in so deep. You haven’t slept next to him in months. You crave it just as much as what you’ve just done. So you tell him, “I don’t mind if you stay. If you want to.”

In the dark, you lie facing each other, your head resting on his mountain of a bicep. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

That I’m not going to be enough to make you stay, you think.

“That I’m going to need to soak in a hot bath tomorrow,” you lie.

You wake up between his arms, your room bright with early morning sun. You let yourself revel in it for only a moment, and then you slip out of the bed as quietly as you can. Silently, you start dressing. 

You’re hunting for your shoes when he wakes, squinting at you adorably, a pout on his face.

“Come back,” he whines, and you almost cave. You don’t answer, and this seems to be what alerts him that something is wrong. He’s fully awake, quickly, his eyes sharp on you as he throws off your blanket and stands.

You step back as he comes closer, and you hate that you recognize a flash of hurt crossing his face.

“I need to go,” you say quietly, and you can hear the cornered-animal fear in your voice, hate that it’s evident.

“Why?” he asks, his voice just as raw as it had been the night he’d cried over her, less than a month ago.

You shake your head, the words in your head scrambled and unfocused. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, trying to step closer again. You let him, this time. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you manage, but your voice is choked, and the second you hear it the dam inside you cracks. You blink away tears and step back from him again as he tries to reach for you. “I just can’t do this. I can’t let you in and then watch you leave for her again.”

His brows scrunch with confusion. “Leave for - who? Jieun? That’s not -”

“You just ended things with her,” you point out, interrupting. “You were away with her on a romantic little trip last fucking weekend. You’re not over her, and every time you think you are you just go running right back and I can’t be the collateral damage even one more time, Seungcheol - please, I think it’ll kill me to lose you to her again.”

“I went away with her last weekend to tell her goodbye,” he says, voice hushed, like he doesn’t want to spook you. “She and I talked for a long time about… us. We agreed - we put that part of our lives away for good.”

You shake your head again, letting this speak for you, because you feel like it would be cruel to say I don’t believe you… even if it’s true.

He steps closer again, finally within reach. He places one hand on your arm, gingerly, like he wants to root you to the spot but knows to tread lightly. “It’s not you or her,” he tells you earnestly. “It never was.”

A scoff escapes you without permission.

“Please listen to me,” he says again. It occurs to you that he could be angry, could be flying to the defensive, could be turning this into a fight. Instead, he’s being gentle - hearing what you’re telling him and talking about it. A tiny part of you is proud, knows this takes effort on his part, knows he’s had to unlearn how he once would have reacted.

“I’m listening,” you whisper. It’s all you can give him right now.

“She and I haven’t really loved each other in… a long time. That’s one of the things we talked about last weekend. We were both just… trying to keep a dead thing alive, because that hurt less than admitting it wasn’t going to wake up. I’m not going to suddenly realize I miss her, or that being with her was better. There’s a zero percent chance of that - less than zero.”

“Less than zero percent can’t exist,” you croak, just to be contrary.

“Well it does in this case,” he shoots back, lips starting to pout a little. “I’m not saying you and I will be magically perfect, but I can promise that if we don’t work for some reason, she will not be the cause.”

You want to believe him - you ache to believe him. 

You wipe under your eyes, trying to get yourself put together. Seungcheol watches your face carefully.

Then he says, very quietly, “We work. You know we do.”

“We worked when it was pretend,” you rebut. 

He says your name, a demand hidden in it - a demand to listen, to hear him. 

“You’re what I need,” he says firmly. “I need someone who won’t rise to the bait if I slip and fuck up and say something stupid. I need someone who wants me to be happy, not just someone who wants me to make them happy. And I want so many things for you - I want to make life easier for you, I want you to feel loved and valued, I want to do all of that for you. I want to do shit for you that I never did before, like double text and call first and apologize even when I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He’s teasing a little by the end, and you laugh through your tears despite yourself. 

“Seungcheol, I don’t know,” you tell him. “How can you be sure?”

He takes your hands, grips your fingers tight. “I want to do this right with you,” he says plainly. “I want you, and I want to really try. The way I feel about you… it makes me want to believe in happily ever after and all that other shit. Being with you makes me feel like maybe it’s not totally impossible.”

As gently as you can, you pull your hands away. “I don’t know,” you repeat hollowly. “I… I need some time to think about it.”

You step away and he lets you, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. 

“It’s not no,” you tell him, the only comfort you can offer him, nothing more. “I just… please, I need to think.”

You leave him in your apartment, don’t even wait to let him out. With shaking hands, you unlock your car and get in, scarcely breathing until the apartment building has disappeared from view.

Then, you drive to your sister’s house.

–

Her husband answers the door, the first time you’ve seen him since the wedding. He looks surprised - understandable, because you’ve never been there before, never ever just showed up, and also it’s probably very clear that you’ve been crying.

He greets you by name, but the shock in his voice makes you feel so guilty that you whisper, “I can come back another time, I can give her a call first -”

“No,” he cuts you off. There’s something you can’t name in his tone. “I’m - I think she’ll be really glad you came. Please come in.”

It isn’t a formal please, come in, that you’d give to someone as a pleasantry. He means, please, come inside and talk to your sister, please, come in so she can see that you came here for her. 

You hear it loud and clear. You wonder if Nayoung has felt as rejected by you as you’ve felt by her, over the years. 

Nayoung rises when she sees you enter the room, her face flashing from surprised to concerned.

“What happened?” she asks, as she rounds the corner of her couch, already coming to hug you.

And you let her. You open your arms and step into her embrace, because despite the way you’d grown up, she’s here now and she’s trying and you think you might like having her in your life.

“I slept with Seungcheol last night,” you tell her miserably.

Behind you, Jeongwoo says uncomfortably, “Um, I’m going to run to the store. I’ll get ice cream.”

Nayoung lifts her head to make eye contact with him over your shoulder and he adds, “And wine.”

On your sister’s couch, you tell her everything - almost everything. The way Seungcheol had disappeared, how you’d assumed he was choosing Jieun for good. How he’d shown up, had asked you to try, had laid his heart out for you.

How you’d run.

It makes you cry all over again. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit through your tears. “I know what I want to do. But there’s so many what if’s…”

“There always are,” she says seriously. “There are no guarantees with love. The question is, do you believe that he’ll really try - that he means what he’s telling you? Or do you think it’s just lines to get you to say yes?”

“Of course I believe he means it,” you say, almost surprised. But Nayoung doesn’t know Seungcheol like you do, doesn’t know how genuine his heart is. “I’m just scared he’ll… change his mind later, or something.”

“No one can promise you forever,” she points out, a little sadly.

“How can you say that?” you ask her. “You’re married. You took a vow in front of the whole family to love each other forever.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “But what I mean is that when you’re with someone… every day is a choice. You’re choosing them over the rest of the world every day that you wake up. The vow Jeongwoo and I took was to keep choosing each other, even if there are days that it’s hard.”

You drop your gaze and run your hands over the cushion of her couch absently. 

“If you’re asking me what I think you should do,” she says, “then I think you should let him try. I’m not telling you to marry him tomorrow. What could it hurt to try dating?”

“My heart,” you answer pitifully.

She reaches for your knee and gives you a playful shake. “But would that really be worse than walking away and wondering if you missed out on something real? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy not to know?”

You think about this question for the rest of the night, even after you’ve gone home again. 

When you let yourself into the apartment, you hold your breath. You know it’s ridiculous, but part of you wonders if Seungcheol will be waiting for you, waiting to make you talk about it.

The door swings open. The apartment is dark, and silent.

You think about calling him, or at least texting him - but what would you say? You’re still not sure what you want. 

Soonyoung texts you the next night - come over for pizza and movie??? pls pls??

You text back, idk. who’s coming over?

He understands the real question, sends back, he’s already here. please come anyway, noona :( chan misses you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hands, and hang your head, wracked with indecision.

You do know what you want. You’d said as much to Nayoung yesterday. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Your sheets still smell like Seungcheol. You want to bury yourself in them, breathe him in. You think just his smell is enough to make your head clear, your pulse calm, your pain ease.

It is this that tips you into making a choice. 

This was never about deciding if you want him. It’s been about deciding if you can trust him to take care of you.

With a sigh, you swipe back to the conversation and tell him, i’ll head over in a bit. 

The scene at Soonyoung and Chan’s is as familiar as your own home. The television screen flashes with whatever game Wonwoo and Vernon are playing, the blue LED lights lining the ceiling’s edges. Your brother’s and Chan’s voices float from the kitchen, bickering. And Seungcheol sits in his usual chair, his dark eyes on you, still and serious.

You freeze in the doorway, caught in his heavy, unwavering gaze. 

The moment stretches. He’s asking you a question without speaking, without moving, and you know that whatever you do next is an answer - definitively yes, or definitively no. 

It’s like the whole world stills around you, waiting to see… what will it be? If you shake your head or turn away, you know it means losing your chance with Seungcheol forever. He gave you grace and time to process but if you turn him down now, he won’t be crawling back.

And maybe that’s the safe option - maybe that’s the option that keeps your heart nice and swaddled, alone on your island.

But you’re trying not to be like that anymore. You’re trying to let people in. You’re trying to give others a chance.

He deserves a chance - and so do you.

You take a bracing breath and cross the room. As soon as he can tell you’re heading for him, a smile lights up his face, and his hands are ready for you, reaching to help you balance as you climb up and side sideways across his lap, your arms looping around his neck.

You hear one of the controllers hit the floor - either Wonwoo or Vernon has dropped it in shock - and then the whole room explodes into protest as you lean in and press your mouth to Seungcheol’s, as his arms wind around your back and pull you in closer.

You hear your brother shout, “Not in my living room!” and Chan’s horrified, “That is my sister!”

You tune them all out; you don’t even care. You want him to know you mean it, that you aren’t scared, that you’re in this as much as he is - for as long as he is.

He’s smiling against your lips and it’s infectious - you’re fighting your smile too, so filled with happiness and hope that you can barely hold it in. 

You break away, beaming at each other.

“All right, all right,” Seungcheol says, flapping a hand at your brother, unphased. “Calm your ass down, we’re done.”

“We’re not done,” you murmur to him, and he laughs, loud. The sound lights you up.

“Okay, we’re not done, but we’ll leave,” he concedes. You stand unsteadily, still laughing, and he leads you by the hand towards the door. You wave an unapologetic and cheerful goodbye over your shoulder and let him pull you into the hallway. 

His hand fits yours, secure and sure, large and warm, as he pulls into a future where you don’t have to be alone to be happy. His hand squeezes yours to punctuate his smile, dimples popping, promising you a wild kind of love - with time. With him.

You think you might want your hand in his forever.

<- Prev

ahhhhhhhhhhhh it's overrrrr!!!! :(

thank you so much for joining me for this series and i hope i'll see you at my next!!

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

There has been requests about getting a full body colour for Kook!Ford, so here he is, in all his beige, white, and brown minimalist glory <3 (THERE’S A REASON WHY HE HAS SUCH A BORING PALETTE I PROMISE)

Stupid colour rambles that are WAYY too in depth and probably mostly far fetched but this is my AU and I get to pick how much over-analysis goes into the characters’ colour schemes, fuck you:

Ford:

Characterised by pale, almost pastel-ish colours to emulate a sort of sick, unhealthy look.

The paler colours add to the illusion of Ford lacking presence, almost disappearing into the background, to convey how his existence often ignored or dismissed by most of the townsfolk.

Without any visually striking or contrasting colours in his palette itself, his own features blend into one another, blurring the details and diminishing any identifiable traits that would have typically identified him as Ford, or even a person (<- if that mindfuck of a sentence make any sense)

Hints of yellow to show remnants Bill's past influence on him. Because I’m dramatic like that.

Fiddleford:

Deep, rich forest greens with golden accents (influences of Bill appearing in his outfit) (I need to hammer Fidds out a lil’ more ngl)

Stanley:

Deep, rich blues and purples (opposite spectrum of yellow, aka. Bill's colour, which means = safety to Ford)

The inside lining of his jacket is vivid red, to reference his original colours palette and as a representation of his past self being hidden underneath the layers of his predominantly blue exterior, colours representative of his new identity (also red = warm and blue = cold)

His colours palette will eventually open up into something warmer on the outside, veering into purple.

Extra notes on his character: Stan (in this AU) is colder and quieter than his canon counterpart. After years of being in the mafia business, and years of running it as well, he has long since learned to mask his facial expressions and master the poker face (*cough cough* resting bitch face *cough cough*). But, his intimidating and serious air does not serve him any favours when it comes to literally anything other than his “work”, his inexperience when it comes to emotions all the more apparent with the twins. He has trouble expressing his feelings outwardly, and despises this part of himself, because it reminds him of his own father. He feels as though he is failing the twins by being too cold and distant, and tries his best to open up more.

Mabel:

Maintains her original colours palette with pink, but has more hints of red in her outfit, similar to Stan’s, particularly around her sleeves (allusion to “wearing your heart on your sleeves.” Yes, I know that it’s tacky)

The red shows she is more inclined to trust Stan, as she is willing to see past Stanley’s exterior facade of cold aloofness to see his “true” colours (good HEAVENS that is disgustingly cheesy to say but idk how else to really word this)

Extra notes on her character: Mabel trusts Stan fully. Perhaps a little too much. She I dolises Stan to an almost unhealthy degree, and is constantly plagued with the underlying fear of somehow losing Stan’s “interest”, as their mother seemed to have lost interest in her and Dipper. Deeply fears being abandoned again, and believes she “owes” Stan for having adopted them. She believes it is her fault that neither of their parents wanted the twins during the divorce.

Dipper:

Maintains original colour palette with blues, but pretty solidly lacks red in his outfit. He serves as the opposite spectrum of Mabel, instead being unwilling to fully trust Stan and takes him at face value.

Extra notes on his character: Dipper does not trust Stan, and is far more hyperaware of what kind of “business” their “uncle” runs. He is mostly worried about Mabel’s slight obsession with pleasing him, and fears that if they don’t behave, Stan might use his dangerous power and influence against them. He is convinced that Stan had ulterior motives to adopting them, cannot fathom what he, a seeming stranger with all the power in the world, could possibly hope to gain in adopting two abandoned children. Even more so, when even their parents didn’t seem to want them.

[marrowkind]

Wanted to take a crack at some Disco Elysium-style portraits and thought I'd pay homage to one of my favorite games, OFF.

Thought process for each under the cut:

Batter - Stark, graphic style to reflect his dogmatic views. More some vague ideal than a human being. His bat serves as a barrier between us, cuts off his head, and is a burden upon his shoulders. He is in profile because he is defined by movement; behind him is only a white void. Pale cyan because it complements red and white, and isn't used for any zone in the game. Faces to the left, aligned with the Puppeteer

Judge - Friendly, trusting body language (back to you). Faint halo since he can be thought of as Zone 0's guardian. He has his zone's colors. Batter casts a shadow over him with a faint cyan light, foreshadowing the end of the game (the bat crossing the Judge's neck). Faces left, aligned with the Puppeteer (also foreshadowing).

Zacharie - Purposefully video-game-y with strange perspective and coloring closest to the game. Pixel edges, the top edge of the dialogue box. He is distant and placing a small barrier between him and the viewer with his arms. Looking up, at his mall location. Centered, neither aligned nor against the Batter or Puppeteer.

Sugar - As a secret boss, it felt apt to keep her in shadow, only catching some of the doorway's light. Rough and spattery to hint at her sugar use, similar to how the drunks are drawn in Disco Elysium. A more sickly yellow to help remove her from Judge and move her a little closer to Enoch (again, sugar). A foe, facing right.

Dedan - Profile, because like Batter he is defined by action. Not afraid to get his hands dirty, facing the meat waterfall (which is red like the boss background). Rougher textures. Painted in the colors of his zone. The clock numbers are a reference to his attacks and a halo for his guardian status. A foe, facing right (you get the idea).

Valerie - Valerie is dead, hence the big X, the rictus-like facial expression, skull-like head, and large eyes clouded with Japhet's color. His composition is the inversion of Judge's. His body is vague; this is not about him. The wings, of course. I found the use of red in Disco Elysium's corpse portraits very striking, so I wanted to do that here. Japhet, acting inside Valerie's body, is wrathful, and this is expressed in the tense body language. You first encounter him in the library, so he gets blue.

Japhet - Honestly, most of this comp was just "how do I get Japhet in frame?" I wanted him to feel massive. He gains the color of his zone from the reflected light from the ground. The music notation is a reference to his attacks. One of these forms his halo.

Enoch - Like Japhet, I wanted Enoch to feel big but also wanted his face in view; these are portraits after all. His attacks are drama terms, so he gets a spotlight. This, combined with the smoke, creates his guardian halo. With the intense orange, I wanted to evoke both his zone colors and its incinerators. The smoke and sooty texture also allude to this. Besides ash, the particles can resemble sugar. I liked the idea of him being so large that much of him is in shadow. Enoch is very menacing (but also charismatic), and I hope I captured that.

Queen - The most complicated. Mortis Ghost drew her with a skull face once, which stuck with me. The moth is from her chapter's title card, it matches how we don't really see her face or eyes. Her hair is meant to evoke the battle screen background; this was clearer when the original comp was more zoomed out (I had matched the silhouette). Her color is black because of her chapter's color scheme, chess (her attacks, she is also acting second), and the opposite of Batter's primary color. There are hints of the zone colors in her hair as she grants all zones her power. Her halo is the sun Hugo drew her as; she is, after all, his god. The cold front light from Batter returns.

Hugo - The most human of them all. The pattern from his room makes his halo and evokes a crosshair. He is centered; he is not a combatant. He is afraid, small, the meat is a small barrier between him and the Batter. The lighting gives him a bit of a skull-like look, his flesh tones are sickly.

Puppeteer - The Puppeteer is a character, narratively. The game needs your participation and acknowledges this. I thought an older computer would feel right, besides allowing for a better monitor reflection. This one's what it says on the tin.

Bad Batter - He now faces right! Oh no! It's just Batter but worse. Violent spatter. If you look back at Batter you might see there is already the suggestion of teeth along his jaw.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🐦‍⬛ All Wrapped Up

All Wrapped Up: When your date with Morpheus is cut short, you are left with his coat and your own thoughts… and a bleeding finger from where said coat bit you. You find out that Morpheus’ coat is very much alive like the rest of the realm.

Warnings: Morpheus’ Coat Fucks You (this is your only warning on how nasty this is), Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: AFAB!Reader x Morpheus’ Coat

Word Count: ~6.4k

You stroll through the Dreaming, your boyfriend Morpheus by your side. The sky above you morphs from a star-studded abyss to a canvas of swirling pastels, the colors melting into each other like ice cream on a hot day. A soft breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers and distant rain. Yet another perfect night to spend with your handsome and beautiful boyfriend.

"You know," you say, glancing at him, "this place could use more flowers."

Morpheus' lips twitch into a barely-there smile. "Flowers? Are there not flowers throughout my realm? What more do you wish for?"

"Gilbert is currently hoarding all the best ones" you huff out in half complaint. "I'm talking about everywhere else in the realm. The places that don't have his super awesomeness."

"And what do you propose I should add?" Morpheus asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe some unique roses? Lilacs? Orchids even," you gesture vaguely, enjoying the way his eyes—currently a serene blue—catch the light. They glimmer so prettily with stars. "Fun and unique flowers that you would never see together. Tulips, birds of paradise, hydrangea…"

"Fun and unique flowers, you say?" Morpheus muses, his voice like a gentle hum in the background of a dream. He lifts a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the ground around you begins to shift. Suddenly, the once bare earth is alive with a riot of colors. Roses in every hue imaginable bloom alongside lilacs, their delicate petals brushing against the striking shapes of orchids.

The air thickens with their fragrance, a heady blend that fills your senses and makes you feel dizzy with delight. You laugh, spinning around to take it all in. "See? This is what I'm talking about."

"Indeed," Morpheus replies, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Anything else you desire?"

Before you can respond, a loud caw breaks through the tranquility. You glance up to see Matthew the Raven circling overhead. "You two look like you're picking out wedding flowers," he comments, swooping down to land on Morpheus' shoulder.

"Do you have something to add, Matthew?" Morpheus asks, one eyebrow arched.

"Just that maybe you should throw in some dandelions," Matthew says, ruffling his feathers. "You know, for variety."

You chuckle, reaching out to scratch Matthew's head. "Dandelions? Really?"

"Hey, don't knock 'em till you've tried 'em," Matthew quips.

Morpheus waves his hand again and suddenly dandelions sprout amidst the more exotic blooms. Their cheerful yellow heads bob in the soft breeze, adding an unexpected touch of whimsy to the scene.

"I have to admit," you say, bending down to pluck one from the ground. "It does add something special."

The Dreaming reacts to every movement and word from Morpheus. The sky darkens slightly as if acknowledging his focus on this moment with you. The colors become more vivid, each petal and leaf shimmering as though made of dreams themselves.

You catch a hint of ozone in the air—like just before a thunderstorm—and it makes your skin tingle with anticipation. It's as if every sense is heightened here: the sound of distant waves crashing against unseen shores; the feeling of soft grass beneath your feet; the sight of flowers blooming in impossible combinations.

Morpheus watches you with those enigmatic eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them. "Anything else?" he asks softly.

"Hmm," you ponder aloud. "How about some bioluminescent fungi? Something that glows when it gets dark. Can't go wrong with a good mushroom."

Matthew caws approvingly. "Now that's an idea! Glowing mushrooms could make this place even more magical."

With another wave of Morpheus' hand, glowing fungi begin to appear among the flowers. They emit a soft light that bathes everything in an ethereal glow as twilight descends over the realm.

Morpheus pulls you closer, your body fitting perfectly against his chest. The feeling is almost overwhelming—his coat is soft and warm, like the comforting embrace of a dream you never want to wake from. You really didn't. His fingers trail down your back, sending pleasurable sensations up your spine.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" His voice is a low murmur in your ear, each word vibrating through you like the distant rumble of thunder.

You nod, drawing your fingers down the lapel of his coat. The fabric feels like velvet under your touch, and the galaxy within it seems to pulse with light and energy. There is even a humming vibration beneath your fingertips that almost echo the coats appreciation of your touch.

"Morpheus," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matthew flaps his wings in agitation from his perch on Morpheus' shoulder. "Come on, guys. Do we have to do this right here?"

Ignoring Matthew's protest, you let your fingers wander further down Morpheus' coat. Each touch ignites a spark of passion that crackles between you both. His grip on you tightens slightly, as if he can't bear to let you go.

"If he does not wish to witness me kissing my beloved," Morpheus says, his eyes darkening with intensity as they lock onto yours, "Matthew is welcome to leave."

The raven lets out an indignant squawk but takes flight, disappearing into the shifting sky of the Dreaming.

He lowers his head slowly, giving you just enough time to close your eyes before his lips meet yours. The kiss is gentle at first, a mere brush of lips that sends a rush of warmth through you. But then it deepens, becoming more insistent as he pours all his longing and desire into that single point of contact.

The sounds around you seem to amplify—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant roll of thunder, even the faint hum of bioluminescent fungi glowing softly in the growing twilight. It's as if every element in the Dreaming is attuned to this moment, enhancing every sensation.

Your hand slides up into his hair, feeling its softness between your fingers. You press yourself closer against him until there's no space left between you. His arms wrap around you tighter still as if he could pull you into himself completely.

As you lose yourself in the kiss, your hand continues its journey down Morpheus' coat, the fabric smooth and cool against your fingertips. You can feel the coat almost react to your touch, a subtle vibration that seems to echo Morpheus' own desires.

Your fingers brush against the edge of one of his coat pockets, and without thinking, you slip your hand inside. The interior is surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the outer fabric. But then, something sharp bites into your finger. You pull back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Morpheus' eyes snap open, darkening from their serene blue to a concerned silver. "What is wrong?" His voice is soft but filled with an urgency that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blink in confusion, glancing down at your finger. A drop of blood wells up from a tiny puncture wound, bright red against your pale skin. "I... I think something bit me," you stammer.

Morpheus frowns deeply. He takes your hand gently in his own, lifting it to inspect the wound. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies the small drop of blood. Without warning, he brings your finger up to his lips and slides it into his mouth.

The sensation is electric. His lips are warm and soft against your skin, his tongue soothing as it laps at the wound. You shiver as Morpheus' tongue glides over your finger, each lap sending a tingling sensation straight to your core. The warmth of his lips contrasts sharply with the cool evening air, creating an intoxicating mix of sensations that makes it hard to focus. His eyes, now a deep, mesmerizing silver, lock onto yours, and you feel the world around you blur into insignificance.

The faint taste of iron lingers as he continues to lick the small wound, his movements slow and deliberate. It's almost as if he's savoring every drop of your blood. You can hear the soft sound of his tongue against your skin, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic noise that seems to echo in the stillness of the Dreaming.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally releases your finger. The wound is gone, not even a scar remaining. You flex your hand experimentally, marveling at the seamless healing.

"That was... weird," you murmur, pulling your hand back.

Morpheus' lips curve into a slight smile. "My apologies if it caused you discomfort."

You shake your head, brushing it off. "No, it's fine. Just unexpected."

He straightens, his expression shifting from concern to something more reserved. "I must return to my duties," he says softly.

Your heart sinks at his words. The thought of him leaving, even for a short while, fills you with a sense of loss. "Already?" you pout, unable to hide your disappointment.

Morpheus chuckles, a sound like distant thunder rolling through the night sky. He reaches up and slips off his coat, the fabric whispering against itself as it moves. The galaxy within it seems to pulse with life as he drapes it around your shoulders.

The coat envelops you in warmth and comfort; it’s like being wrapped in the night sky itself. Well, you are wrapped up in a galaxy.

"Wear this," Morpheus murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "So I will be with you until I physically return."

You snuggle into the coat's embrace, feeling its gentle hum against your skin—a soft vibration that echoes Morpheus' own being. The fabric is impossibly soft, caressing your body like he truly is wrapped around you.

He cups your cheek with one hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I will not be long," he promises.

You watch as Morpheus disappears into the ever-shifting landscape of the Dreaming, his silhouette blending seamlessly with the twilight. The weight of his coat around your shoulders is comforting, like an embrace that lingers long after the person has left. With a deep breath, you turn and begin to make your way back to the palace.

The path ahead winds through a forest of bioluminescent trees. Their leaves emit a soft, otherworldly glow that illuminates your way. The air is filled with the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional distant call of nocturnal creatures. As you walk, the sound of your footsteps mingles with these ambient noises, creating a symphony that feels uniquely alive.

The palace looms ahead, its grand spires reaching up to touch the star-studded sky. The entrance is guarded by three majestic creatures—a Gryphon, a Wyvern, and a Hippogryph—each one regal and imposing in its own right. They nod at you as you pass through the gates, acknowledging your presence with silent respect.

Inside, the palace is a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, each one more fascinating than the last. You wander aimlessly, letting your feet guide you. The walls are adorned with intricate tapestries that seem to move and change as you look at them, depicting scenes from countless dreams and nightmares. It was hard to be bored in the dreaming, but you really just wanted to spend time with your boyfriend!

You make your way through the winding corridors of the palace, each step echoing softly against the marble floors. The air is cool, almost refreshing, carrying with it the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. The palace itself seems to breathe around you, walls shifting subtly as if alive.

Finally, you arrive at Morpheus' private chamber. The door creaks open with a whisper, revealing a room that feels both infinite and intimate. Soft starlight filters in from the high windows, casting gentle shadows across the floor.

Stars float lazily in the air, tiny orbs of light that shimmer and pulse as if they hold entire galaxies within them. You reach out to touch one, and it flutters away like a shy firefly before coming back to hover just above your fingertips. Its light is warm against your skin, sending tingles up your arm.

You wander around the room, brushing your fingers against the floating stars. Each one responds to your touch with a soft hum, a melody that seems to vibrate through your very being. It's like touching pieces of Morpheus himself—fragments of his essence scattered throughout his sanctuary.

As you explore, your gaze drifts down to the coat pocket where something had bitten you earlier. The memory of that sharp pinch makes you pause. Curiosity gnaws at you as you slip your hand back into the pocket cautiously this time, but all you feel is the warm, velvety lining.

"At least I have you to cuddle with," you murmur to yourself, a small smile playing on your lips. "Morpheus' coat is better than no Morpheus at all."

A warmth spreads through your body and you snuggle your face into the neckline of the material, enjoying the way the galaxy feels against your skin. You make your way over to Morpheus' bed and climb onto it, sighing as your hands and knees sink into the cloud like mattress.

The scent of Morpheus lingers on the sheets—a mix of stardust and midnight air that fills your senses and makes you feel even closer to him. You curl up in his coat, pulling it tightly around yourself as you nestle into the soft bedding. A nap would do nicely until Morpheus returns.

You wake with a start, the sensation of fabric skimming across your skin pulling you from the depths of sleep. Your eyes flutter open, and you find yourself staring up at the shifting, pulsating galaxy that adorns Morpheus' coat. It's draped over you like a protective cocoon, its warmth seeping into your very bones. But something is different this time.

The coat is moving, its fabric undulating with a life of its own. You gasp as it begins to slip beneath your clothing, the smooth, velvety material gliding effortlessly over your skin. The sensation is both startling and arousing, each touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

Your shirt is the first to go, the coat's sleeves tugging at the hem until it's lifted over your head and discarded. You try to sit up, to grasp at the fabric and halt its progress, but it's as if the coat anticipates your every move. It wraps around your arms, pinning them to your sides with a gentle but unyielding pressure.

"Hey!" you protest, a mixture of amusement and alarm in your voice. "What do you think you're doing?"

The coat doesn't answer, of course. Instead, it continues its slow, sensual exploration of your body. You can feel it tracing the contours of your chest, the touch as intimate as a lover's caress. The fabric seems to have grown impossibly softer, its movements deliberate and teasing.

Your breath hitches as it trails lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. The sensation is maddeningly erotic, a blend of ticklish delight and mounting desire. You squirm, trying to escape the coat's insistent advance, but it only tightens its grip on your legs, preventing any chance of retreat.

"First you bite me, and now you want me naked?" you murmur, the words coming out in a breathless whisper. The coat, of course, offers no response, save for the continued slide of fabric against your skin. "I don't think so!"

You thrash against the coat's hold, your heart pounding as the fabric tightens around you, holding you fast. It's an odd sensation, the feeling of being trapped yet cared for, dominated yet cherished. Despite your initial protests, there's a part of you that's intrigued, a small voice whispering that you should surrender to the coat's desires.

With surprising gentleness, the coat lifts you off the bed, suspending you in midair. You're aware of the cool air against your skin, the vulnerability of being so exposed. The coat's grip on you shifts, and you feel it deftly unhooking your bra. The fabric slides away, leaving your chest bare to the night air and the coat's lingering touch.

Your breath catches as you feel the coat's fabric against your nipples. It's a strange, intoxicating sensation that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. The coat caresses your breasts with an almost reverent touch, the fabric stroking and fondling with a lover's skill. You can't help the soft moan that escapes your lips, the sound echoing through the silent room.

The coat's attentions shift lower, and you feel it tugging at your pants. You're powerless to resist as the fabric peels away, leaving you clad in nothing but your underwear. The cool air teases your newly bared skin, and you can feel your arousal growing with each passing second.

As the coat continues to caress your breasts, you can't help but think that it's savoring this moment, relishing the feel of your soft, yielding flesh beneath its touch. The fabric moves with purpose, each stroke and caress sending shivers of pleasure up your spine.

Then, without warning, the coat vibrates against your skin, a subtle but unmistakable affirmation. It's almost as if it's communicating with you, confirming your suspicion that it wants—needs—this connection just as much as you do.

The vibrations are maddening, a constant, thrumming reminder of the coat's desire. You can feel it resonate deep within you, stoking the flames of your arousal even higher. The sound of your own breathing fills the room—harsh, ragged gasps that mirror the intensity of the sensations coursing through you.

Your body responds to the coat's ministrations with an urgency that's both startling and undeniable. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your underwear clinging to your damp skin. The coat's fabric teases your sensitive nipples, each brush sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt.

You're lost in a sea of sensation, your body moving instinctively to meet the coat's touch. The fabric strokes and fondles your breasts, the movements deliberate and maddeningly skillful. You can feel your arousal building, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

The coat's vibrations grow stronger, more insistent, as if it can sense how close you are to the edge. The sensation is overwhelming, a constant thrum of pleasure that leaves you gasping for breath. You're aware of the wetness between your legs, the slick, aching need that demands fulfillment.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, the coat's touch becomes impossibly gentle, a soft caress that brings you back from the brink. You're left hovering on the edge of climax, your body trembling with need as the coat holds you suspended in midair, caught between ecstasy and anticipation.

"Oh come on," you whine, tugging on the fabric holding your wrists. "Don't tell me you're gonna tease me too! Morpheus is already a bastard when it comes to teasing, I don't need both of you being mean to me!"

In response to your plea, the coat seems to hesitate for a moment, as if considering your words. Then, with a newfound determination, it resumes its careful exploration of your body. You feel the fabric gliding over your hips, dipping into the crease where your thighs meet your body, and then it's slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. The sensation of the fabric against your most intimate area is surprisingly erotic, and you can't help but moan as it begins to move with purpose.

The coat tugs gently at your underwear, peeling it away from your damp skin. You feel a rush of cool air against your wetness, a stark contrast to the warmth of the coat's embrace. The fabric slides down your legs, leaving you completely naked and exposed in the coat's grasp.

You're lifted higher, your body suspended in midair as the coat positions you for its next tantalizing move. The sensation of weightlessness adds to the surrealism of the moment, amplifying the erotic sensations that course through you.

Then, without warning, the coat begins to rub between your legs, the fabric soft and insistent against your sensitive flesh. You gasp as it finds your clit, the rhythmic motion sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. The vibrations grow stronger, the coat's purring growing louder as it busies itself with your wetness.

The sound of your arousal fills the room, a slick, wet noise that mingles with the coat's purring. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric as it moves against your skin, the subtle whisper of the galaxy that forms the coat's lining. It's a symphony of sensations, a cacophony of sound that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

The coat's movements grow more insistent, the fabric rubbing against your clit with a maddening rhythm that leaves you gasping for breath. You can feel the orgasm building within you, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

Your body responds instinctively to the coat's touch, your hips moving in time with its rhythmic motions. The sensation of the fabric against your most sensitive area is exquisite, a blend of friction and warmth that sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

The coat's purring grows even louder, a constant thrum of pleasure that resonates deep within your core. You can feel your arousal growing with each passing second, your body tensing as the orgasm draws nearer.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, the coat's touch changes. The fabric between your legs begins to pulse, the rhythm matching the beating of your heart. It's as if the coat knows exactly what you need, exactly how to push you over the edge.

The sensory overload is too much to bear. Your body tenses, and then you're falling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries echo through the room, a testament to the ecstasy that courses through your veins.

As the waves of your climax wash over you, your body convulses with the intensity of the sensations. Your legs are thrashing, feet twisting in the air as they seek purchase on something—anything—to ground you in this moment of pure ecstasy. Your arms pull against the coat's embrace, the fabric tightening around your wrists in response to your struggles, holding you fast as it continues to lavish attention upon your trembling form.

The coat, sentient and eager, is greedily drinking up your release, its fabric writhing and pulsing against your most intimate areas. Each spasm of your cunt sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, and the coat seems to absorb every tremor, its vibrations harmonizing with the rhythm of your orgasm.

You're acutely aware of the erotic sensory details—the wet, slick sound of the coat moving against your drenched folds, the way your breath hitches with each wave of pleasure that crashes over you, the feeling of the cool air against your heated skin. The coat's fabric is like a thousand tiny fingers, each one caressing and teasing and coaxing you towards greater heights of pleasure.

The erotic sounds that fill the room are almost as stimulating as the physical sensations. The wet squelch of the coat's ministrations, the ragged panting of your breaths, the soft whimpers and moans that escape your lips—all of it combines to create a symphony of desire that resonates with the pulsing of your blood.

"Oh god," you strain out, your body falling slack. That was an incredibly explosive orgasm. All from the coat. The coat, however, seems far from finished.

Its fabric begins to move again, slithering down your stomach in a series of slow, deliberate waves. You can't help but squirm as it traces teasing patterns on your skin, each touch sending little shivers of sensation coursing through you. The coat purrs in response.

You can feel it trailing along the insides of your legs, a soft, ticklish touch that leaves you gasping for breath once more. The coat's purring grows louder, a constant thrum of pleasure that seems to echo your own rapidly beating heart. Always thirsty it seems.

As your breathing begins to steady, the coat's fabric continues its unhurried exploration of your body. It caresses your thighs, your stomach, the soft swell of your breasts. Each touch sends ripples of pleasure coursing through you, a reminder that the coat is far from done with you.

You feel the fabric shift, a subtle movement that draws your attention back to the apex of your thighs. The coat's touch is gentle yet insistent, its fabric teasing your sensitive folds with feather-light strokes. You can't help but moan, your body responding instinctively to the promise of more pleasure to come.

But then the fabric between your legs begins to change, to grow and harden into something entirely different. You gasp as you feel the unmistakable shape of a phallus emerging from the coat's inner lining, its size and girth enough to make you catch your breath.

"Wait," you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. "That place is for Morpheus."

The coat seems to hesitate for a moment, its fabric pulsing against your skin. And then, with a sense of inevitability, the phallus continues to grow, its length pressing against your entrance with an insistence that leaves you both exasperated and intrigued.

"You've got to be kidding me," you mutter, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "First you strip me, then you make me come, and now you want to fuck me? You're a coat, for crying out loud!"

In response, the coat vibrates, a low, rumbling purr that vibrates all the way through your cunt. It's almost as if it's chuckling at your incredulity, its fabric shifting against your skin with a maddeningly sensual rhythm.

The phallus nudges at your opening, the blunt tip slick with your own arousal. You can feel it teasing you, pressing just slightly into your warmth before withdrawing once more. The sensation is both startling and arousing, a tantalizing promise of what's to come.

You're aware of the erotic sounds that fill the room—the wet, slick noise of the coat's phallus moving against your drenched folds, the soft, needy whimpers that escape your lips with each teasing stroke. You hate how delicious the sounds are. The coat purrs in response, the vibrations adding another layer of pleasure to the sensory overload.

The phallus nudges at your entrance once more, and this time, it doesn't withdraw. You feel yourself stretching to accommodate its girth, your body yielding to the coat's insistent advance. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting that leaves you gasping for breath.

"Oh," you gasp out, your hips twitching and your pelvis muscles twitching from the stretch.

As the coat's phallus begins its slow, inexorable push into your body, you can't help but gasp at the sensation. It's thick and warm, a solid presence that fills you in a way you've never experienced before. Almost tentacle like, worming around against your clenching walls. The fabric of the coat's inner lining is soft against your sensitive skin, a stark contrast to the firmness of the phallus that's currently buried inside you.

You arch your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as the phallus continues its exploration. It seems to be searching for something, its movements deliberate and unhurried. Each slight shift sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, the sensation both startling and intensely arousing.

The erotic sounds of your coupling fills the room once more—the wet, slick noise of the coat's phallus moving inside you, the soft, needy whimpers that escape your lips with each thrust. You can feel the coat purring in response to your sounds of pleasure, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the mix.

You're acutely aware of the erotic sensory details—the feeling of the coat's fabric against your skin, the warmth of its body as it holds you close, the scent of your arousal mingling with the musty aroma of the coat's inner lining. It's an intoxicating blend that only serves to heighten your pleasure.

The phallus inside you seems to be growing larger, its girth stretching you in the most delicious way. You can feel it pressing against your vaginal walls, each movement sending ripples of pleasure radiating through your body. The sensation is overwhelming, a constant thrum of pleasure that leaves you gasping for breath.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the rush of blood a rhythmic counterpoint to the thrum of the coat's purring. Each pulse of your heart sends a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins, making your skin flush and your breath come in short, sharp gasps. You're so attuned to the sensations that every twitch and shudder reverberates through you, a testament to the coat's mastery over your body.

And then, just when you think you can't possibly get any more aroused, the coat's phallus reaches a depth within you that makes your breath catch in your throat. You feel it probing against your cervix, a gentle nudge that sends a jolt of sensation straight to your core. Your eyes widen, and a startled gasp escapes your lips. "N-no," you stammer, your voice tremulous with a mix of desire and trepidation. "No. That place is for babies, not...not this."

In response, the coat's phallus vibrates, a low, rumbling sensation that reverberates deep within your belly. It's an acknowledgment, a silent affirmation of your boundaries, and the phallus withdraws slightly, avoiding the no-go zone with newfound respect. The change in sensation makes you gasp, and your hips jerk in response, the movement involuntary and desperate.

The vibrations increase in intensity, the coat's phallus humming with a steady rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel your body clenching around the thick intrusion, your muscles fluttering in time with the coat's purring. Your toes curl, and a series of soft, needy whimpers escape your lips, the erotic sounds mingling with the wet squelch of the coat's ministrations.

As the coat's phallus begins to move within you, your body responds with a rush of moisture, welcoming the thick intrusion with a slick warmth that makes each thrust an exercise in erotic sensation. The fabric inside you is velvety soft, yet unyielding, each stroke a delicious friction that stokes the fires of your arousal. The coat's movements are deliberate and measured, a slow, steady fucking that leaves you gasping for breath as it claims your body as its own.

The slithering galaxy that lines the coat's interior wraps gently around your throat, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. It tightens slowly, a sexual choking that sends a thrill of fear and arousal coursing through you. Your eyes widen, and a gasp is torn from your lips as the fabric restricts your airway just enough to heighten your senses without causing harm. The loss of control, the helplessness of your position, only serves to intensify the pleasure that's building within you.

Your body clenches around the coat's phallus, your inner walls fluttering in time with the rhythmic tightening of the fabric around your throat. The dual sensations are overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you writhing in the coat's embrace. You can feel your orgasm building, a slow, inexorable tide that threatens to sweep you away.

The room fills with dizzying and erotic sounds—the wet, slick noise of the coat's phallus moving inside you, the soft, needy whimpers that escape your lips with each thrust, the subtle rasp of fabric against your throat as you struggle to breathe. The coat's purring grows louder, a constant thrum of pleasure that seems to echo your own rapidly beating heart.

You're acutely aware of the sensory details—the feeling of the coat's fabric against your skin, the warmth of its body as it holds you aloft, the scent of your arousal mingling with the musky aroma of the coat's inner lining. It's an intoxicating blend that only serves to heighten your pleasure.

The phallus inside you seems to grow even larger, its girth stretching you to your limits as it plunges into your depths. You can feel it pressing against your g-spot, each movement sending jolts of sensation straight to your core. Your toes curl, and a series of soft, needy whimpers escape your lips, the erotic sounds mingling with the wet squelch of the coat's ministrations.

As the coat continues to fuck you, the fabric around your throat pulses in time with the thrusts, a rhythmic pressure that sends you spiraling towards the edge of ecstasy. Your vision begins to blur, stars dancing at the edges of your sight as the combination of sensory overload and restricted airflow push you closer to the brink.

Your body tenses, and then you're falling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries echo through the room, a testament to the ecstasy that courses through your veins. The coat's phallus pulses within you, drawing out your climax until you're left a quivering, gasping mess in its grasp.

As the waves of your orgasm begin to recede, the coat gently releases its hold on your throat, allowing you to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The phallus inside you softens, retreating back into the fabric of the coat's inner lining.

The aftershocks of your orgasm softly ripple through you and the coat's fabric shifts, its touch changing from demanding to soothing in an instant. You feel its fabric stroking your body, a gentle caress that traces the contours of your skin with a lover's precision. The sensation is both comforting and arousing, a reminder of the pleasure it's capable of bestowing upon you. So much better than it biting you.

"Can we cuddle now?" you mumble, your voice soft and sated. The coat seems to understand, its fabric tightening around you in a warm, comforting embrace. It lowers your body back to the bed as if you were the most precious thing in the realm.

You snuggle against the coat, your fingers gripping the lapels while your body still trembles from the intensity of your release. The scent of your arousal is heavy in the air, a musky aroma that mingles with the musty scent of the coat's inner lining. You can feel your juices leaking from your body, a slow, sticky trickle that slides down your inner thighs. Another mess you were going to have to clean up.

The coat, ever eager, seems unabashed by your wetness. Its fabric shifts between your legs, the tip of its phallus emerging once more to lap at the moisture that pools at your entrance like an eager tongue. The sensation is startling, a cool, wet touch that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through you.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom, each beat a staccato reminder of the pleasure that still courses through your veins. You're breathless, your chest heaving with each ragged inhalation as you try to regain some semblance of control over your body. But the coat, it seems, has other plans. Greedy for your pleasure.

"I can't," you protest weakly, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm exhausted."

The coat ignores your plea, its fabric shifting against your skin with a maddeningly sensual rhythm.

The tongue laps at your entrance, slurping up the remnants of your orgasm with an eagerness that borders on voracious. You can't help but squirm as it traces teasing patterns on your skin, each touch sending little shivers of sensation coursing through you. The sound of the coat's ministrations fills the room—a wet, squelching noise that's almost as arousing as the physical sensations.

"Please," you beg, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and trepidation. "It's too much."

But the coat is relentless, its tongue delving deeper into your folds with each passing moment. You feel yourself stretching once again to accommodate its girth, your body yielding to the coat's insistent advance. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting that leaves you gasping for breath.

You roll and writhe on the bed, your body twisting and turning in a futile attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations. The coat's fabric tightens around you, holding you aloft as it continues its erotic assault. You're trapped, completely at the mercy of the sentient garment that seems intent on wringing every last ounce of pleasure from your exhausted body.

"Stop," you plead, your voice breaking on the word. "I can't take any more."

The coat, however, seems determined to prove you wrong. It knows you, knows your limits. Its tongue plunges into your depths, pressing against your g-spot with a precision that only serves to heighten your arousal. You can feel your body clenching around the thick intrusion, your muscles fluttering in time with the rhythmic thrusts.

Your fingers grasp at the sheets beneath you, clenching as your makes rake against the soft fabric. You can feel the coat purring in response to your sounds of pleasure and writhes of ecstasy, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the mix.

Your body tenses, and then you're falling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries echo through the room, a testament to the ecstasy that courses through your veins. The coat's tongue pulses within you, drawing out your climax until you're left a quivering, gasping mess in its grasp.

As the waves of your orgasm begin to recede, the coat gently releases its hold on you. Exhausted and sated, you collapse onto the bed, your body still trembling from the intensity of your release. The sound of your ragged breathing fills the room, a stark contrast to the silence that follows.

And then, just as you're on the brink of unconsciousness, you feel the coat's fabric shift against your skin one last time. It wraps itself around you in a warm, comforting embrace, a silent promise of protection and care. You snuggle against the coat, your fingers clutching at the fabric as sleep claims you at last. About fucking time.

The last thing you hear before darkness takes you is the soft, rhythmic thrum of the coat's purring, a gentle lullaby that lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Date Published: 7/4/24

Last Edit: 7/4/24

Morpheus Masterlist

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 09 Chapter 09 | fractured harmony⌟

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The feast was in full swing, the grand hall once again filled with laughter and life. The air was warm and heady, charged with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread, mingling with the sweet aroma of honeyed fruits.

It was a jolly atmosphere—joyful, vibrant, alive.

You found yourself among the musicians once again, your hands moving rhythmically over a small djembe drum, the deep, resonant beat echoing through your body.

With every strike of your hands on the drum's taut skin, you could feel your heart matching its tempo, drumming in sync with the pulse of the music. The rhythm was infectious; your whole body seemed to pulse along, your face flushed from the heat and energy of the room.

There was something about being a part of this collective sound, this melding of melody and percussion, that made the moment feel almost sacred, as if all the troubles of the world had temporarily vanished in the warmth of the hall.

You watched as the others played their instruments—lyres, flutes, and tambourines—all weaving together in a tapestry of sound that filled every corner of the room. Your fingers ached from the constant motion, but the smiles on the faces of those around you were more than enough to keep you going.

The music built up to a joyous crescendo, and as the final notes echoed, the song came to an end, leaving you breathless and grinning.

You took the opportunity to step away, your skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Making your way towards the long table at the side, you grabbed a goblet of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat.

You paused, leaning back against one of the stone pillars, your gaze wandering across the grand hall as you took a long sip.

The sight before you was beautiful—almost like something out of a dream. Penelope and Odysseus sat close together at the head table, the queen's eyes warm as they rested on her husband.

Every so often, Odysseus leaned over, his lips moving close to Penelope's ear, whispering something that made her smile. She swatted playfully at his chest, her laughter ringing out—a sound full of genuine happiness that made your own heart swell.

It was a simple, tender moment, yet it spoke of the love and resilience they shared, even after everything they had endured.

As you finished your drink, you heard the musicians striking up another tune. The lively notes filled the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched several servants—both from Ithaca and Bronte—begin to laugh and cheer, pairing up to dance.

There was something beautiful about the sight, the way the house colors blended together, Ithaca's blue and gold intermingling with Bronte's green and yellow. The servants moved with an easy grace, their feet tapping in time with the beat, skirts and tunics twirling in flashes of color.

The laughter, the cheer, the music—it all seemed to weave together, filling the room with a sense of unity.

Just as you were about to move and head back to the musicians, you spotted Telemachus making his way over. His eyes met yours, and an easy grin spread across his face, one that you couldn't help but mirror.

You smoothed down your clothes absentmindedly, flattening your hair as a flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you. Your heart beat just a little faster, a mix of anticipation and nervousness making you fidget.

Telemachus had always made it his mission to catch a dance with you if time permitted, and tonight seemed to be no different. You couldn't help the giddy feeling that welled up inside as he drew closer, the warmth of his smile making everything else fade into the background.

But just as he was about to reach you, a flash of green and yellow entered your field of vision.

Lady Andreia intercepted Telemachus, her bright grin unmistakable as she placed a hand on his arm, her fingers curling gently but confidently around his sleeve.

Without waiting for his response, she tugged him toward the center of the room, where the others were already dancing.

Telemachus hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes flickering back to meet yours, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but there was a twinge of something in your chest, an unfamiliar emotion that you couldn't quite place.

You watched as the princess pulled Telemachus into the line of dancers, their movements quickly falling in sync with the lively beat of the music. The prince spun her effortlessly, his laughter mingling with hers as they joined in the swirling dance.

Your gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, that odd twinge deepening in your chest as you took in the sight—the two of them moving together, their colors blending amidst the blues, golds, greens, and yellows that filled the hall.

It was a beautiful scene, and yet, it left you feeling strangely hollow.

With a soft sigh, you turned away, forcing a smile as you made your way back toward the musicians. The music was still playing, the notes joyous and bright, but for the first time tonight, it felt as if you were on the outside looking in.

☆

☆

All throughout the evening, Lady Andreia had remained close to Telemachus, her laughter echoing above the music, her presence unwavering. She danced with him, her smile radiant as they spun together, her fingers brushing his arm in fleeting touches that seemed both innocent and intentional.

They moved as if they had known each other forever, and it left little room for anyone else to join in.

You tried to stay focused, to keep the beat steady with the musicians, your hands drumming over the small djembe until your palms ached. The rhythm was your anchor, something that kept your thoughts from drifting too far into that uncomfortable twinge that seemed to grow each time you caught a glimpse of Telemachus and Andreia together.

He tried, a few times, to break away—to come find you and drag you into the dance—but each time, Andreia was there, her bright smile and laughter cutting in before he even reached you.

Eventually, you decided it was easier to stay put, to let the music carry you through the evening and to ignore Telemachus' fruitless attempts to catch your attention.

It was better this way, or at least, that was what you told yourself.

You poured all your energy into the music, the notes carrying you forward even when your heart wasn't quite in it; your fingers grew sore, your body ached, but you refused to let the fatigue—or the strange, unfamiliar feeling gnawing at you—show.

The music was your refuge, the only thing that made sense in the swirl of emotions you couldn't quite name.

By the time the last of the guests had gone, the hall was quiet, save for the clatter of dishes and the soft murmurs of the servants as they tidied up.

You worked alongside them, your movements automatic—stacking plates, wiping down tables, sweeping away the remains of the night's revelry.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances toward the center of the room, where Telemachus and Andreia had danced. The memory of them spinning together, her hand resting on his shoulder, his smile bright and carefree, made your heart twist painfully.

There was a heaviness in your chest that you tried to ignore, shaking your head as if that would somehow rid you of the thoughts that kept creeping in.

Once the work was done, you walked with the others out of the now empty hall, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor.

You exchanged quiet goodbyes, your voice almost lost in the stillness of the night, and then you turned, splitting off from the group as you made your way towards your room.

The night was calm, the air cool against your skin as you stepped into the outside.

The sky above was clear, the moonlight showering down, bathing the courtyard in a silvery glow. The chirping of insects filled the quiet, a gentle hum that seemed to wrap around you, a reminder that even in the stillness, life continued.

The path to your room was familiar, and you moved slowly, your eyes tracing the patterns of moonlight on the ground, your thoughts drifting.

The ache in your chest hadn't lessened, but out here, beneath the open sky, it felt a little easier to bear.

It was quiet. Peaceful. A stark contrast to the noise and warmth of the hall, to the laughter and music that had filled the air not long ago.

And yet, even in the quiet, your mind thought about Telemachus, about the way his eyes had searched for yours, the way Lady Andreia had pulled him away.

You shook your head again, as if to clear it, and quickened your pace.

It was late, and you were tired. Tomorrow would be another day, and perhaps, with the morning light, things would feel different.

So instead of focusing on such churning thoughts, you focus on the sound of your footsteps, the feel of the ground beneath your sandals, the glow of the moonlight guiding you forward.

The night was quiet, and for now, that was enough.

You were nearly halfway to your room when you heard your name called, the sound breaking through the stillness of the night. The voice was familiar—soft, yet insistent—and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart giving a small, unexpected leap.

Turning around, your eyes widened slightly as you saw Telemachus jogging towards you, his figure illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon. He was a sight, his hair a little tousled, cheeks flushed from the exertion, and something about the way he moved—hurried, purposeful—sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

"____," he called again, his breath a little heavy by the time he reached you, but his eyes were bright, a soft smile spreading across his face. He looked down at you, his gaze gentle, and for a moment, the weight that had settled in your chest seemed to lift, just a little.

"May I escort you the rest of the way?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of warmth, his eyes searching yours as if hoping for an invitation.

Before you could respond, his hand reached out, taking the djembe drum that hung by your side, lifting it from your shoulder with a careful touch.

You blinked, and then smiled, nodding. "Of course," you said, your voice softer than you intended, but it seemed enough for him. Telemachus returned your smile, his own soft and genuine, and with that, the two of you began to walk.

The silence that fell between you was comfortable, the kind that needed no words; you could feel the warmth of the prince beside you, his arm brushing against yours every so often as you walked. The djembe hung at his side, and his fingers tapped against it absently, keeping a gentle rhythm as you moved.

You found yourself glancing at him from the corner of your eye, the moonlight highlighting the curve of his jaw, the softness of his expression, and something inside you softened too.

He looked ahead, his gaze focused on the path, his features calm and relaxed, and there was something about the way he walked—steady, unhurried—that made you feel at ease.

It was as if, for just this moment, all the confusion and the uncertainty from earlier had faded away, leaving behind only this—just the two of you, walking side by side beneath the moonlight.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you looked ahead, letting the quiet wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

The night seemed to hold its breath; the only sounds were the soft crunch of your footsteps against the path and the distant chirping of crickets. You could hear the rustle of the olive branches above, swaying gently in the breeze, casting dancing shadows on the ground as the moonlight filtered through the leaves.

The air was cool, crisp against your skin, yet the warmth of Telemachus beside you seemed to make the chill almost pleasant, balancing it out in a way that made you feel content.

Telemachus cleared his throat softly, the sound breaking through the quiet but not disturbing it—more like adding another layer to the stillness of the night. He looked down at you, his eyes soft, the corners of his lips turning upwards. "Did you enjoy the feast?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as though he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to break the peaceful silence.

You turned your head towards him, meeting his gaze, and a bright smile spread across your face. "I did, my prince," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of excitement as you recalled the vibrant festivities. "It was wonderful—the music, the dancing, the laughter. It felt like, for just a moment, everything was right again. Everyone seemed... happy."

Telemachus nodded, his expression softening, the lines of tension easing from his face. "It was," he agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Bronte was surprisingly pleasant. The people were warmer than I expected. It was nice, having them here."

At the mention of the neighboring kingdom, you felt your smile falter just a little, your heart giving an odd, uncomfortable twist.

You nodded, forcing the smile to stay on your lips, pressing on despite the unease that flickered within you. "Yes, it was," you agreed, your voice quieter now, a touch of something unspoken lacing your words.

You looked ahead, focusing on the path, on the way the stones seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, trying to push away the feeling that tugged at your chest.

You could feel Telemachus glancing at you, his gaze lingering, as though he could sense the shift in your mood, but he said nothing, choosing instead to remain in the comfortable silence, letting the moment stretch between you.

And for that, you were grateful. Grateful for his presence, for the warmth that seemed to radiate from him, for the way he walked beside you without question or pressure, just there, solid and steady.

After a few more moments, Telemachus gave a soft chuckle, his voice lightening the mood. "I think I made a fool of myself on the dance floor," he admitted, shaking his head, a sheepish grin forming on his face. "I haven't danced like that in a long time."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound escaping you before you could stop it. You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "You weren't that bad," you teased gently, your smile widening. "In fact, I'd say you were quite impressive—though maybe not as graceful as Lady Andreia."

Telemachus groaned playfully, rolling his eyes. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone holding a hint of self-deprecation. "She certainly made me look better than I am." He paused, glancing at you with a sly smile. "Though, I do think I would've rather danced with you instead."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading across your cheeks. You looked away, hiding the smile that tugged at your lips, feeling a flutter of something light and hopeful bloom in your chest. "Perhaps next time, my prince," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Telemachus hummed in agreement, and you felt his arm brush against yours, a gentle touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

The two of you continued walking, the soft crunch of your footsteps filling the silence as the path narrowed; the ground gradually shifted beneath you, the soft crunch of gravel transitioning into the smooth tiles of the palace floor as you entered a different part of the building.

Telemachus walked you all the way to your door, neither of you saying much—the quiet had settled between you like a comforting blanket, one neither of you wished to disturb.

When you reached your door, you paused, turning to face him, your eyes meeting his. The moonlight bathed his features in a gentle glow, softening the lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you filled with something unspoken, something tender and fragile.

Telemachus gave you a soft smile, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gentle, almost hesitant touch, as if testing the waters. "Goodnight, ____" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with warmth.

You swallowed, your heart pounding, and offered him a small, genuine smile in return. "Goodnight, my prince." Your voice was equally soft, the words carrying more than just a farewell—something unspoken that hung between you, lingering in the air.

For a moment, it felt as though he might lean closer, as if the two of you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn't quite name. But then he pulled back, his smile still in place, and nodded once before turning to walk away, his footsteps fading into the night.

You watched him go, your heart still pounding, warmth blooming in your chest. When he finally disappeared from view, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, leaning back against your door. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you rested your head against the wood, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Your heart was racing, your cheeks warm, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the feeling—the hope, the warmth, the quiet thrill that seemed to spread through you.

It was like a secret, something just for you to hold onto, a memory to carry with you.

Finally, with a sigh, you pushed yourself away from the door, opening it quietly and stepping inside.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon filtering through the small window. You moved slowly, setting your drum down in the corner, your fingers lingering on the wood for a moment.

You shrugged off your shoes, your fingers deftly undoing the laces before placing them neatly to the side. Your eyes scanned the dim room, and you quietly moved to take off the rest of your attire, folding each piece carefully and setting it on a chair.

You splashed your face with water from the basin, the coolness making you shiver slightly, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of your flushed cheeks.

Finally, you slipped into your nightclothes, letting out a content sigh as you settled into your bed; you were knocked out the moment your head hit the pillow.

The dream was unlike anything you had ever experienced—a strange yet beautiful vision that seemed to blur the lines between fantasy and reality.

You were sitting in a seemingly never-ending field of flowers, the sun shining down warmly, bathing everything in a golden glow. The flowers danced around you, vibrant colors stretching as far as your eyes could see.

You wore a flowing white dress, its fabric catching the breeze, and your feet were bare, the earth beneath you soft and comforting.

You were humming softly to yourself, the tune light and carefree, your hands busy weaving a flower crown to match the one already resting atop your head. There was a sense of tranquility, of freedom, that seemed to fill you entirely, making your heart swell with joy.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across you, interrupting the sunlight, and you looked up, a smile already forming on your lips. Though the figure was shrouded in shadow, somehow, you knew them—an innate familiarity that made you feel safe, comforted.

The man bent down, his presence filling the space around you with warmth. His hand reached out to cup the bottom of your face gently, and his touch was like sunlight itself—soft, warm, and deeply comforting. You found yourself closing your eyes, leaning into it, savoring the tenderness. His thumb brushed against your cheek, a touch so soft it almost tickled, and you could feel your heart fluttering in your chest.

The man leaned closer, his warmth enveloping you as his lips brushed against your ear; you shivered as he whispered your name—a low, soft voice that sent a thrill down your spine.

" ____, my love."

The words were filled with so much warmth, so much affection that it made your heart swell almost painfully. His presence was comforting, his closeness like a soothing balm to your soul.

You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his hand cradled your face like you were something precious, irreplaceable. The warmth of his touch seeped into your very being, making you wish for the moment to stretch on forever.

You leaned into him further, your heart pounding with something that felt so pure, so unguarded, and as his fingers brushed against your jawline, you could almost feel the promise in that simple touch—a promise of love, of devotion, of something far beyond what words could convey.

And just as you began to turn your face towards his, your eyes still closed, your lips parting slightly—

When your eyes opened, the dream was gone, replaced by the soft light of dawn breaking past the horizon, filling your room with its gentle glow.

You blinked, disoriented for a moment, the warmth of the dream still lingering in your chest, the sensation of his touch still vivid.

With a sigh, you rubbed your face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream as you slowly pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air brushing against your skin.

You could still feel the echoes of that strange, beautiful vision as you stood, stretching, and began to prepare yourself for the day ahead.

☆

☆

Throughout the morning, you couldn't help but notice that Lady Andreia was still on Ithaca.

You had seen her once or twice after she had gathered her brother's body, and you had assumed she would leave promptly after, but she and her entourage had continued to stay. She was particularly present around the royal family, her presence lingering like a shadow.

Most noticeably, she often stayed close to Queen Penelope.

At first, you assumed it was simply a formality—a gesture of goodwill to stay and converse with the queen after everything that had happened. But as the hours passed, you saw Andreia with Penelope often, their heads bowed together, sharing whispers and laughter.

There was an ease between them that seemed to grow, as though they were beginning to find comfort in each other's company.

It was nearing lunchtime when you were bringing a tray of fruit and freshly baked bread to Penelope. You made your way through the corridors, the tray balanced carefully in your hands.

The closer you got to the queen's chambers, the more you could hear the soft murmur of voices.

When you entered, you found Penelope and Andreia seated by the window, sunlight streaming in, casting a warm glow over them. They were chatting animatedly, their smiles bright, their conversation filled with an ease that made you pause.

Penelope looked up as you entered, her expression softening. "Oh, ____, I'm sorry," she said, a gentle apology in her voice. "I forgot to tell you that Lady Andreia would be joining me for lunch today."

You nodded, offering her a small smile. "No trouble at all, my queen. I can bring more," you said politely, already making a mental note to fetch another tray.

But Lady Andreia shook her head, her red hair catching the sunlight as she smiled warmly at you. "Please, there's no need. I feel like I'm intruding as it is," she said, her tone light, though there was a sincerity beneath her words.

Penelope waved her off, her smile growing. "Nonsense. You are a guest here, and it is our duty to make you feel welcome."

You busied yourself setting down the tray, your hands moving with practiced ease as you arranged the dishes, making sure everything was in place. You tried to keep your mind focused on your task, but you couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

"I must say," Andreia spoke, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness, "Ithaca is truly beautiful. The landscapes, the people—there is a warmth here that I have never known elsewhere."

Penelope smiled at her, tilting her head slightly. "It is home," she replied, her voice filled with a quiet pride.

Andreia sighed softly, her gaze drifting out the window. "Bronte is beautiful too, in its own way," she continued, her voice thoughtful. "But it's different. The mountains are tall and covered in mist, and the forests are dense, almost impenetrable. Our people are strong, but they lack the openness I see here. Everything in Bronte is..." She paused, searching for the right word, "harsher, I suppose. Our winters are long, and the sea is often angry, but there is beauty in its wildness."

You couldn't help but glance at her as she spoke, her eyes far away, lost in her memories. There was a sadness there—a longing for something. It made you pause, your hands hovering for a moment as you listened.

Penelope reached over, placing a gentle hand on Lady Andreia's. "Every place has its own beauty," she said softly. "And I am glad that, at least for now, you can find some warmth here with us."

Andreia looked at Penelope, her eyes softening as she smiled. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice filled with sincerity.

Then, after a small pause, she added, her tone shifting slightly, almost wistful, "The people here respect you deeply, my queen. It must be a great comfort to have such loyalty from those around you. And King Odysseus... his presence must also be a great source of strength for you. His reputation alone speaks volumes."

Penelope returned her smile, her expression warm but also slightly curious. "It is a blessing," she agreed, her eyes meeting Andreia's with genuine fondness. "One that I do not take for granted. Odysseus and I have been through much together, and his return has brought a balance I did not realize I needed."

You watched the exchange, Andreia's eyes lingering on Penelope with something like longing—perhaps admiration, perhaps something else, a yearning you couldn't quite understand.

She smiled again, though there was a weight to her words. "The tales of his cunning and strength—seeing him here, in person, makes one understand how such legends are born." The way her words hung in the air, filled with both warmth and something more complex, made you uneasy.

You finished your task, stepping back and offering a polite bow before making yourself scarce.

You couldn't quite place the feeling that lingered in your chest as you walked away—a mixture of curiosity and something else, something you couldn't quite name.

A/N: ugggghh, the way i wanna jump right into meeting hermes, lololol but alas plot gosta be made, but the brightside is at least the buildup will be magnificent; double ugggghhhhh cuz tell me why i'm literally writing this so-called group paper for one of my classes by myself?? we in college, these people too grown not to know how to write a fucking paragraph, but lemme stop before i start ranting 😩😭 so i do apologize if update are really really reaaallllyyy weird because i'm working + schooling 💔

[tia1a]

K. Bakugo x reader.

Reader has a quirk called chaos control. Your quirk and storyline is based off the character shadow from the sonic universe but ofc not the exact same.

PART 1, DESCRIPTION AND BACKGROUND UNTIL PRESENT TIME.

Y/n can teleport, fly, fire bolts of energy - chaos spears, and blast giant explosions - chaos blasts. Because of the strength of the quirk you also have enhanced speed, strength, stamina, durability and combat. When I say enhanced speed, I don’t mean it lightly either.

Y/e/c eyes turn red when you activate your chaos energy, so they glow red a lot of the time. And y/h/c hair has natural red highlights in them.

You have to wear limiter rings around your wrists and ankles to control the chaos energy, and your shoes were specifically built for you, air gliders.

For 50 years you were frozen in time. Too strong to kill but also to valuable.

This was before quirks were common, you were kept as a science experiment. And your only friend, another guy with a quirk, you never knew his real name, you were both given names there, he was named sonic. You were named shadow. You never forgot your real name, y/n, but he decided he didn’t want to have the name given to him by a family who didn’t want to fight for him.

His quirk was enhanced speed, you were fast but he was the fastest being in the world.

The were brothers who frequented at the lab too, you never knew why but the younger one - yoichi shigaraki and his older brother, his older brother only went by shigaraki, and they were related somehow to the doctor, you never knew if it was because they also had powers or because they wanted to work in the same field, but you never cared to ask.

Yoichi was nice to you and sonic, he took you out of experiments when he could, snuck you food, played music. He became someone you could trust.

One day, tests were being run on you and your built up energy caused an explosion in the lab, taking multiple lives, the military immediately shut it down, sonic was killed before you, just like everyone else.

For 50 years you were trapped in stasis. Every single day replaying the memory of your only friends being shot.

When you woke up, you fought every military guard who came at you and escaped the prison to the closest city. Meanwhile, in the new surroundings, cars crashed around you as you stood in the middle of the road taking in the city, being cooped up in the lab most of your life you never realised how bright cities were.. how different they looked to the movies you watched.

A group of ..heroes? Came to the area. They looked abround your age, 16/17 with two older guys, one with long black hair and a long scarf around his neck, the other with blonde hair sticking up like a bunny. But they were with the military, they wanted to put you away again. You began to hover above ground and your eyes glowed red,

“Who are you? Why are you destroying this city young lady?” The blonde bunny hair man shouted up, his extremely muscular arms now resting on his hips. The ones your age stood behind him.

“The ultimate life form.” You tilted your head, examining the people before you, their faces twist in shock hearing what you said.

“What does that mean?” The older man with black hair asked.

One had green hair and a green costume, one with spiky blonde hair and a black and orange costume, one girl with pink skin, and one boy with yellow hair and a black lighting strike through it.

“Your a colourful bunch.” You glare down at them.

“..you don’t know who we are?” The pink one cocked her head.

“Your just wasting my time. Walk away, before you get hurt.” You clenched your fists, feeling your energy begin to build up.

“Easy there young lady! We don’t want to fight you.” This man raised his arms, seeing how you were just a kid, you didn’t know where you were or who anyone was, you just had a lot of ..anger.

“Yeah speak for yourself.” The spiky blonde one grumbled,

“Not now young bakugo.” He whispered.

“Why don’t you stop throwing cars for a second and come down to talk.” The man with long black hair shouted up,

“You all came here to hand me back to the same people who trapped me. There’s nothing to talk about.” You turned around,

“I’ve had enough of this angsty bullshit. How about we talk with our fists.” The boy referred to as ‘bakugo’ leaped up using explosions, his companions shouting for him to stop..

You teleported in front of him, grabbed the hand he’d brought forward to attack and twisted it. He practically growled, then, while still in the air you teleported everywhere around him punching and kicking him about before blasting him to the ground, you threw him so hard the ground broke when he collided with it.

“No way..” the green one muttered,

“Looks like bakugos met his match.” The yellow one with the black stripe added with wide eyes,

“She’s kinda cool” the pink one whispered, so the pros wouldn’t her her.

The green one and the teacher with long hair ran to him, clearly beaten.

You hovered in the air for a moment before blipping to the ground.

“Who is this girl..” the green one muttered again,

“Hey, you can’t take us all at once.” The yellow one smirked, charging lighting around his arms.

Soon enough him, the pink girl and the buff man were all in the ground the same way ‘bakugo’ was.

“Okay she took us all at once.” He spoke almost slurring and fell back down.

Beginning to hover again you look behind you “don’t try to follow me.”

—

Hours later back at UA, the pro heroes were having a conference.

You were a threat to Japan yet no one knew who you were, what your motive was and you were confused about everything around you.

“With her powers of teleportation, her speed, and those blasts.. she seems to be invincible. We need to get her on our side and make her realise all for one is lying to her.” All might says at a conference.

“That could be used for good. This is the first we’ve ever heard of her, yet we don’t even know her name.” Midnight mumbled.

“I’ll try to see if I can find anything out about her tonight and I’ll report back tomorrow.” Aizawa mumbled,

—

“You should have seen the way she handled bakugo, all might, Mina and Kaminari… it was like they meant nothing to her. It was insane.” Izuku rambled to the others in his class.

“What did she look like?” Ochako asked,

“She had y/h/c hair but with red streaks here and there, and whenever she used her quirk her eyes went red. It was strange. But she was really pretty.. and looked about the same age as us so I don’t know how she ended up the was she did. But she didn’t even know all might..” he rambled on again,

“Wait what do you mean she didn’t know all might? Everyone in the world does, has she been like ..living under a rock or something?” Sero asked,

“She didn’t know any of us. She didn’t recognise the city, nothing. But she hits hard that’s for sure.. I felt kinda bad though, she was dark and broody ..it was sad.” Mina pouted.

You were the talk of Japan. But nobody knew who you were. Except for AFO. Now he could use this to his advantage, and only the wielded of one for all could tell the truth about yoishi, and who really started the attack.

—

[speed-world]

Hello may I request a one-shot of stormbringer cookie meet a Kratos or Kratos like reader.

Plot: it's basically just the story of Kratos like reader deleting a entire Pantheon and home, leaving it, finding a new one to live in, finding love again, having a BOI, etc but instead of meeting Thor or Odin they meet the sky god that somehow knows about them.

A/N: I figured it would be nice to incorporate another continent of Earthbread into this story, instead of only Crispia or Beast-Yeast, for the background of this Y/N

Your life never really had been acquainted with peace or happiness, it was the complete opposite. Pain, suffering, destruction, death, just a few to list of the horrible features your life has brought memories of. It is also all that you left behind in your former home, which had been completely changed because of you.

The way you destroyed the former Pantheon over Wholegrania reformed the continent, giving birth to its locations like the Bloody Jam Mountains or the Death Swap; points of interest that went under different names until you arrived. “God killer,” “Ghost of Wholegrania,” the “God of War,” just a few monikers given to you by the legends of your tale. Yet despite it all, you found a way to change.

You left Wholegronia for a new home in Crispia, slowly started a new family from the one you lost, and retired from your vengeful god-murdering days. However, leaving the ruined continent for Crispia, starting a new - somewhat domestic - life, and even other cookies to care about, can never truly erase your past. And some cookies wanted to make sure you knew that…

Sound asleep in your bed, in a home isolated in mountains, you were suddenly rocked awake by the crackling of thunder and lightning outside. Your son was concerned as well, and you knew this wasn’t some ordinary thunderstorm. Someone was here, for you or for your son - you didn’t know which - but you weren’t going to lie around to find out.

The storm only raged more furiously, cracking a hole through the roof as you stepped out to see what force was beckoning you. Bold and vibrant yellow strikes of lightning violently flowed around a figure a few feet from your door, wielding what appeared to be a large spear.

Y/N: “WHO ARE YOU?!”

Your shout towards the cookie didn’t phase her in the slightest, only making her brandish the fullness of her weapon at you.

“Can I come in? …….. I have berry juice.”

Y/N: “You would not find me good company.”

“Oh…I’m sure we’ll find lots to talk about.”

The entire time you stood protectively in front of your son. This cookie was obviously a deity, how dangerous you couldn’t tell yet. Reluctantly, you decided to entertain her, motioning for her to come inside after whispering a few words to your son.

As she approached you, you started to mentally note her appearance. She nearly towered over you, hair flowing and sparking occasionally, and her clothes seemed relaxed; entirely in contrast to the commanding presence she was bringing. You stared down each other for what felt like eons without speaking, until she finally walked inside.

“Nice place…”

You didn’t respond aside from motioning to where she can sit. After you both took a seat at the table, you placed your weapons down as a sign of peace. Your son came and placed cups on the table, which the “guest” would fill with her berry juice. She tried offering a cup to your son, which you silently, yet firmly, denied by forcing her hand back down.

“….You could’ve told me before I poured.”

Y/N: “Why are you here?

*sigh* “Just uh, being polite.”

The tension between you two was immensely thick. In spite of the somewhat civil conversation so far, it couldn’t be helped to think that something was going to happen.

“You seem like a calm and reasonable cookie…….are you, a calm and reasonable cookie?”

Y/N: “If the moment calls for calm.”

“I’d say the moment calls for calm, yeah?”

Y/N: “……No.”

She only raised a brow and shrugged, huffing in disappointment to your response. Standing up and looking to the wall, she tapped her feet impatiently.

“Heh, you’re direct, straight to the point. That’s what I still like about ya, what’s left of ya, at least...”

Y/N: “….You know of my past?”

“That ‘Ghost of Wholegrania’ thing? Yeah. So much for a retired ‘God of War,’ when you barge into a place you’re not from with different rules than your own. You think you can come here, become a parent, get a clean slate? That ain’t how it works.”

Her back was still turned away from you, no doubt disrespectfully. You didn’t even respond to what she had to say, her words had made it very clear of her intentions. Without a word, you pulled your axe into your hand, and she chuckled as she heard you summon it.

“Haah….”

“‘Bout time.”

In a flash too quick for you to react to, she struck you into the skies with her spear nearly piercing your head. You were about to be in for quite a revealing fight, for her and for yourself. If she knows your past like she claims, then she should know what you are capable of. However, the same can’t be said for you, and you’re about to find out in the worst way…

[gravygranola]

batman continues to be slightly different every time I draw him so I wanted to do a full body to get my own design down outta my head. purple inner cape is a new addition to the rotation

[anything-pov]

ok so have you ever seen Gilmore girls

cuz i want a Criminal Minds AU with Gilmore Girls

JJ is a single mom and Reader is a diner owner where she visits every single day

Enjoy 😊

The Diner 🍟

The boys were wild with back to school jitters, Michael bouncing in the passenger seat, Henry chattering in the back about pencil cases and which back pack made him ‘look the fastest.’

JJ, single mom and exhausted FBI agent, just smiled and let them run it out. She’d promised them dinner. A treat. Something fun before school started again and schedules got tight.

She didn’t say it aloud, but she needed it too. The diner was tucked behind the block across from the FBI building.

It had red leather booths, warm yellow lighting, a pinball machine that hadn’t worked in years, and a specials board written in swooping, crooked chalk.

It smelled like grilled cheese and cinnamon sugar and comfort. “Welcome to Y/L/N’s!” came a voice from the kitchen window, “Sit wherever you like! I’ll be right out!”

JJ’s eyes flicked toward the voice, catching just a glimpse of a woman with a backwards hat, tight grey tee hugging broad shoulders, and arms flecked with faint scars.

The woman disappeared again before JJ could get a good look, but Henry was already tugging her toward a corner booth.

They ordered burgers, milkshakes, and a shared plate of curly fries. It wasn’t long before the owner came out with menus and a crooked smile.

“Hey there! I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice was low, a little gravelly, “I own the place. Kitchen is short tonight, so you’ve got me for waitress duty too.”

JJ looked up, and for a moment, the world paused. Y/N was striking. Buff, sure. But it was more than that. There was kindness in her eyes, a warmth and gentleness.

She was flushed from the kitchen heat and had a tiny pen tucked behind her ear. “You’re doing great,” JJ said, her smile from ear to ear, “I’m JJ. These two are Henry and Michael.”

“Burgers and shakes for the back-to-school crew?” Y/N grinned at the boys, “You got it. I’ll throw in a couple extra fries… on the house. That okay, ma?”

JJ laughed, “More than okay.”

- - -

The next day, after the school drop off and a soul numbing few hours of paperwork at the BAU, JJ found herself standing in front of Y/L/N's again, her heels clicking softly on the pavement.

She told herself it was because she hadn't packed lunch. Not because of the waitress/owner with the soft, shy smile. Y/N looked surprised but pleased when JJ walked in.

"You again?" She teased, "Didn't peg you for a repeat customer so fast." Y/N smiled, straightening the chef's apron she had on. "I'm very persuasive when it comes to curly fries," JJ told her, sliding into the same booth as yesterday.

“And I didn’t get to say thank you properly. For being so sweet to the boys.” Y/N shrugged, wiping her greasy hands on the apron, "They were cool kids. Plus, you looked like you needed a break."

JJ blinked, "I did." Their eyes lingered. A beat a little too long.

Lunch was quiet, full of little glances and laughter. When JJ left, Y/N handed her a to-go coffee, hazelnut, just like the blonde liked, and muttered, "Come by whenever. I mean that."

Three days later, JJ came by after work. The diner was closing. The windows were steamed, the floors mopped. Y/N let her in anyway. JJ was in slacks and a blouse, hair falling from its twist.

Y/N had a flannel tied around her waist and was barefoot. “You hungry?” JJ shook her head. “No. I’m...” She faltered. Y/N tilted her head. “Then why’re you here?”

JJ stepped forward, took Y/N’s face in her hands, and kissed her. Y/N’s hands hovered at first, unsure, respectful, reverent, until JJ deepened the kiss, tugging her closer by the hem of her shirt.

Y/N made a soft, breathy sound, then wrapped those strong arms around JJ’s waist and lifted her gently up onto the counter.

They made love right there on the counter, laughter and soft moans echoing off the stainless steel and the warmth of an old radio playing in the background.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was electric and messy and sweet. Afterward, JJ lay on her side in a corner booth, Y/N pressed to her back, brushing kisses along her shoulder blade.

They’d kept things simple. JJ came by after work. Y/N texted pictures of goofy food creations. The boys had no idea. Garcia and Emily were suspicious. Reid noticed JJ smiling more.

One night, two weeks after their kiss, JJ arrived with a takeout order, dinner for Y/N for once. She found Y/N on the rooftop of the diner, sitting on an old blanket under the fairy lights strung along the railing.

“You brought me food?” Y/N teased, grabbing the bag. “You’re always cooking. Figured I owed you.” JJ smiled. They ate sitting hip-to-hip, sharing fries and stealing bites.

Y/N wiped her hands on her jeans and shifted, nervous. “JJ?” JJ turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“I like you. A lot. More than I planned to. More than I thought I should. And I was wondering if… you’d want to be my girlfriend.” Y/N finally got out, her hands shaking with nerves.

JJ smiled, cupping Y/N’s cheek with one hand. “God, yes.”

[thornsnvultures]

syrup & honey

eddie munson x plus size!fem!reader

summary: eddie needs a place to stay on Halloween night and your window's always open

cw: 18+ nsft, smut, vampire!eddie, afab!reader, flirty!eddie, oral (fem rec), breast play, fingering, p in v sex, blood drinking, creampie, cheesy fluff, steve makes a background appearance as eddie's blood dealer of sorts, 2.7k words

"Can't sleep?"

Eddie's voice is quiet, just barely heard over the rain pouring outside. You look up from your book at your open window. Eddie's perched on the sill, his long, black coat is drenched and dripping on the floor.

"C'mon in Eddie," you sigh, closing your book. You turn on the lamp next to your bed, soft yellow light filling the small space. Eddie happily jumps in and makes for your bathroom where he sheds his coat, dropping it in the tub with a wet splat. At least he has the sense to not throw it over your couch. Again.

When Eddie appears again he's shirtless and you can't help but roll your eyes. He's rubbing at his damp curls with one of your towels, his lithe muscles bunching and stretching. He's flexing on purpose.

"Why are you here?"

"What, I can't drop in and say 'hi'?" Eddie tosses the used towel in your hamper across the room and plops down on the chair by your bed. Your studio apartment feels so much smaller when Eddie's here, all stretched out on your bargain furniture. "It's Halloween, babe. You should be out partying. With me." Eddie grins and his teeth flash in the light of a sudden lightning strike.

"It's miserable out there, Eddie. I'm not getting all dressed up in a slutty little costume just to get cold and wet," you huff, pulling your comforter up over your tits. You shouldn't have said slutty. Shouldn't have taken your bra off either. You knew Eddie would stop by, it's why you left the window open. But now you were cold and you felt... exposed under his hungry gaze. The way he looked at you in your sleepshirt, like he was picturing you in an assortment of terrible costumes that left nothing to the imagination.

"I'm sure I could've warmed you up, honey," Eddie practically purrs, leaning forward on his chair, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him like it's the only thing keeping him from reaching out and grabbing you.

"What you can do is sleep on the couch. Just close the curtains before you lay down."

"Right," Eddie chuckles and leans back on the chair. "Wouldn't want you to wake up to a pile of ash on your couch. It'd take you weeks to vacuum it all up." Eddie bites his lip with one long canine. "Are you sure I can't help keep you warm, honey? You look awfully cold."

"You never closed the window. And this is a twin bed. Not happening."

"So if I got you a king sized you'd let me in?"

"Not what I said," you shook your head.

"How 'bout a queen? A full? It'll be full of us, that's for sure." Eddie slams the window shut and winks at you and suddenly you're not so sure letting him stay the night was the best idea. You feel claustrophobic with that window shut tight.

"The only thing that's full is you. Full of yourself."

"Oooh, good one, honey." Eddie plops down at the foot of your bed. You move your feet out of the way just in time before he flops backwards and crushes them. Eddie stretches out like a cat, groaning long and loud.

"Eddie quit it," you kick him with your foot. "You're getting my sheets all wet."

"Not the first time these sheets have been wet though, huh?"

"Oh my god, Eddie, shut up." The pillow at your side bounces off his stupid grinning face when you chuck it at him. "I was trying to be nice when you asked for a place to stay for the night. If I knew you were gonna be a little shit about it, I would've said no."

"C'mon, honey," Eddie pouts, sitting up. "We've been friends for how long and this is how you treat me?"

"Eddie, I've only known you for a month!"

"Exactly! And look at how close we've gotten in such a short time," Eddie smirks as he crawls up the bed. You can't take your eyes off his, bright red and glowing. How his teeth shine in the moonlight like pearls. Before you know it, Eddie's knees are bracketing your hips, caging you in with his arms, with you flat on your back.

"Eddie," you caution. "What are you doing?"

You gasp when Eddie leans down and presses his nose to your jaw, nudging it and turning your face so he can breathe you in. You feel him shudder, his hair still dripping around your face. Eddie presses a kiss to your jugular, just light enough that you're not sure if you imagined it. But then he does it again. And again.

"Let me taste you," Eddie whispers into your skin. "I know you'll taste so sweet."

"Eddie," you push at his chest like you don't want this, like you're not aching to feel the hot, wet suction of his mouth on your skin. Like you haven't been dying to know what it was like since Steve introduced the two of you at his bar downtown, the one Eddie was trying to get you to go to tonight.

"Don't make me beg, honey," Eddie groans and licks a stripe up your thundering pulse. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Your grip on your blanket loosens with every soft kiss and lick Eddie presses to your skin. When you arch up into his touch you ask yourself if you're really doing this, letting him touch you like this. You've never... been with someone like Eddie. Before you met him all you knew of his kind was violence, stories you hear on the news, homicidal maniacs and sex perverts. Eddie was one of those two for sure, but he'd never hurt anyone. Not unless they asked. Were you asking? Would you let him just like you let him in?

It seemed your body was answering for you, slick between your thighs, nipples pebbled in the cool air. It was October and your super still hadn't turned the heat on. Without your thick blanket the room would be unbearable, but you could barely feel it. Eddie was radiating heat. He tore the blanket off of you and you could feel it everywhere. Every inch of him surrounds you like a balm to soothe your goosebumps away.

He must've fed before he came here. You hoped it was from the secret bar stock and not one of Steve's other patrons. Though, why that bothered you so much you didn't know. Eddie didn't owe you that. You weren't his. He just wanted to play with you, roll around in your sheets for the night. See if you tasted as sweet as his nickname for you. And you were fine with that, really you were.

You gasped as Eddie tugged up your sleep shirt, his warm hands traveling up your hips to your waist.

"Can I?"

You're moving your body before the word "yes" even falls from your lips. Eddie pulls your shirt all the way off and he's on you before it even hits the floor, kissing down your neck, to your chest. His fangs lightly scrape your skin, scratching at you like a cat pawing at a closed door, begging to be let in.

Eddie takes your nipples in his mouth, flicking his tongue over one tight bud before moving to the other until you're writhing under him. Your hips lift with every nibble and tug, grinding against the obvious bulge in his too tight jeans.

"Eddie, please," you tug at his hair, unsure of what you're begging for. You just need more, something harder and faster before you scream.

"Shhh, I got you." Eddie's warm hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing your spit slick peaks as he kisses you. He's careful not to knick you with his teeth, all lips and tongue, devouring you in a way you didn't expect him to tonight. Not that you were hoping for him to- who are you kidding? You've wanted him since the first night you saw him.

You're panting when Eddie pulls away, inching down your body, mapping out a trail of kisses and bites along the way. The groan that rips from his chest when he pulls your panties down stops you from instinctively trying to close your legs. You're nervous, being looked at like that. Like Eddie's a cartoon dog and you're a pie someone left on a window sill. But his hands push your thighs open. You want to let him in, need to let him in, so you let him spread you wide. He kisses your thighs, up to your knee and back down again on both sides until you're begging again. You can feel his warm breath on your center, your head thrown back as your hips roll, trying to entice him to just put his mouth on you already.

"You're so pretty, honey. Knew you'd be pretty," Eddie mumbles, more to himself than you, and kisses your clit. He rubs it with his tongue, delicious little flicks that have you gasping and tugging on his hair.

"So fucking wet for me," Eddie groans and spears you open on his tongue. And, god, yes you are. Soaking his face when he slips a thick finger into your cunt, dragging an orgasm, then another, out of you with his mouth suckling on your clit.

Those big red eyes of his stare up at you, watching you as you cum, shaking and gasping for air, your whole body seizing. Eddie's fingers work you through each one, not stopping until you're pushing him away, begging him for a break. His face is soaked in your slick, dripping from his chin.

"Did so good for me."

You sigh as Eddie kisses your thighs, still watching you. His pussy soaked fingers reach up to tweak your nipple, grinning when you gasp.

"Can you be good for me again? I know I just ate," Eddie winks and you roll your eyes, too sapped of energy to smack him. "But those blood bags Steve keeps stocked for me aren't enough. I need the real thing."

Your tummy flutters. He didn't feed from anyone else tonight. It shouldn't make you feel giddy but it does. You nod your head pulling Eddie closer to you by your legs around his back.

"If I'm letting you bite me, then I need you inside me, Eddie."

"Fuck. Yes, anything you need, honey, I'll give it to you." Eddie fumbles with his pants, chucking them off a little too hard when they get stuck on his foot.

You laugh when he pounces on you again, settling between your thighs. He peppers your face with kisses and you can still smell yourself all over him but you don't care. Your laughs turn into moans as Eddie ruts against you, his cock sliding between your folds, bumping against your sensing clit.

Eddie sits up on his knees, dick in hand as he tap, tap, taps the head on your clit.

"Can I come inside?" Eddie smirks.

"You're so dumb," you laugh. "Fuck me already, Eddie."

Eddie smiles, one fang catching on his lip, as he slides in. You try to relax as Eddie eases his way in. He's not crazy long but he's thick and he knows it, taking his time stretching you out inch by inch.

"Oh fuck," you shout when Eddie rubs at your clit to help ease you open.

"That's it, honey. Take it all. I know you can. Look at that pretty, little pussy swallowing me up. Fuck," Eddie groans. "Once I'm all the way in, I'll take what I need. I don't think I'm gonna last, honey. Squeezing me so fucking tight."

Eddie's so focused on your pussy, you just stare at him. Your eyes lidded and hazy, you can't help but wish it could be like this all the time. Like he could be yours. All sweaty and shiny in the moonlight. Pale skin and tattoos and strong fingers that know just how and where to touch you like he was born to do it.

Finally you feel it, his hips meeting yours, and you swear you've never felt this full in your life. It sits in your chest, telling you that this feels so, so right.

Eddie lays flush with your body, not crushing you, just holding, rolling his hips into you with delicious little thrusts that send shockwaves up your spine.

"Relax for me," Eddie whispers as he kisses down your jaw. He tilts your head to the left, your jugular exposed. He kisses you there over and over until finally you feel his mouth open wide, his hot breath on your neck. It's quick, the pain. You only feel it for a flash before it's gone and then you feel nothing but ecstacy. You come with a shout, clenching around Eddie's cock and clawing at his back, leaving trails of red on his pale skin. It's like nothing you've felt before, but at the same time you have. You've felt his lips, his tongue, working your clit, sucking your folds, drinking every drop of your juices, and it feels much the same. Devouring you. His tongue lapping up everything, drinking you deep until he's groaning into your flesh.

"Cum inside me, Eddie," you plead, as Eddie's thrusts get sloppier, more frantic. "Please, Eddie."

Eddie pulls off your throat and cums with a shout, burying his face in your shoulder as his cock kicks, his balls emptying inside you in wave after wave.

Eddie stays there as you rub his back. You almost don't want him to pull out. He's tenderly licking your neck, stopping the flow of blood before it ruins your sheets.

"You taste so fucking good," Eddie groans.

"Which? Pussy or blood?"

"Both," he sobs dramatically into your chest. Eddie sits up and smiles at you, licking his lips. His chin is covered in a mix of blood and pussy. It's a little disturbing, but honestly, not as bad as you thought it would be. You shudder when he pulls his softening cock free, feeling his release ooze out.

"Fuck that's a lot of cum," Eddie says in awe. You whine and bat his arm away when he tries to push it back inside.

"S-stop, too much."

Eddie uses the same towel he used earlier to clean the both of you off and washes his face in the bathroom sink and closes your heavy curtains before coming back to you.

"Thank you, honey," he hands you a bottle of water and slides in behind you, pulling you to his chest. "You ok?"

"Just a little sore."

"Thanks for letting me in," Eddie says as he snuggles in closer. "And I don't just mean-"

"I know," you laugh and elbow him in the ribs.

"I want to keep seeing you," he says.

"As friends?"

"Is that what you want?"

You think of Eddie waking around your apartment, being here when you get home from work, reading in bed with him at night, going to Steve's together. It's not going to be easy with his... schedule but,

"No, I want you. I want... us. You drive me crazy, but I like being with you, Eddie. I don't want this to be a one time thing. Or friends with benefits."

You roll over and look at his deep, red eyes.

"Do you want me too, Eddie? For more than just, this," you wave your hand between the two of you.

"Of course I do," Eddie takes your head in his hands and kisses you. "If you said no I'd still come over here and bug the shit outta you until you said yes," he grins.

"Creeping at my window at 2am?"

"Like you weren't up touching yourself waiting for me," Eddie teased, nipping at the tip of your nose. "I saw what you were reading before I came in."

"Oh please," you push at his chest, your face heating. Eddie wobbles, nearly going off the side of your twin. He catches himself, cackling because he's right.

"Next time I come knocking on your window you can give me a show, yeah? Or you could come out with me to Steve's and we can defile his storage closet. Maybe the bathrooms."

"Shut up!" You laugh hitting Eddie's chest as he tugs you close.

"You've thought about it haven't you," Eddie kisses your cheeks, your jaw.

"Don't start, Eddie," you gasp as he licks the tender flesh where he bit you.

"I'm not starting," Eddie shrugs and pushes you onto your back. "I'm continuing. Never said I was done with you."

~~~

~~

~

🖤🎃 happy halloween!!<<

[quitealotofsodapop]

Just imagining, in a world where Wukogn wasn't immediately trapped in the scroll of memory after Azure freed the rest of the Brotherhood, he'd have some things to say. I'm thinking TMKATI au post Wu is Wikong reveal

Wu: MK... who helped you get me out of there?

MK: Oh, this only friend of yours. Called himself the Azure Lion?

Wu, immediately going pale as a ghost: Azure Lion!? MK, please tell me you didn't listen to him or make any deals!

Pigsy: What? Why would it be such a big deal? He's your friend isn't he?

Wu: Azure is anything but a friend! He's the reason I was trapped on the Furnace and under the Mountain to begin with, him and his rebellion!

Tang: Uh, what? But all the stories say it was because of the Havoc you caused!

Wu: The Peach Festival I crashed and ruined was hardly important enough for Heaven to do what they did to me, even with the pills and immortal peaches and wine I had stolen. It was just the catalyst. I was still a cub back then, a stupid, reckless cub who was impressionable enough to trust the wrong person. And then Azure had left me to take the fall for the rebellion he had started! Whatever you do, don't trust Azure!

Tang, taking in the implications: ...I'll kill him.

+Bonus:

Even if Azure did not realise it himself, he had built Wukong up in his mind to be the matyr of the Rebellion. And when Wukong surrendered, rather than die for it, Azure became convinced it was a great betrayal.

There's even hints of Macaque recognising/suspecting this sort of manipulation all the way back during their carefree Brotherhood days. There's a split second in "New Adventures" just after Azure convinces the others to make Wukong the leader of the rebellion, when Macaque is clearly unhappy/thinking about the situation. The only reason he doesn't speak out then and there is because Wukong seemed so sure of it. We see a similar look again just before they head out on their first attack.

And of course there's the memory Tang wanders into in "Court of the Yellow Robed Demon" thats very telling;

Peng: "Wukong is a traitor! He'll end us the first chance he gets!" Yellowtusk: "Yes. The Stone Monkey is unpredictable. Now he's thrown his lot in with the Celestial Host, there's no telling where his true allegiances lie." Peng: "You're characteristically quiet, Macaque!" Macaque: "I just think we should consider all our options before we—" Peng: "What's to consider? Wukong's made his choice. I say we strike him down now while we have the chance!"

The Trio are discussing attacking Wukong for aligning himself with "the Celestial Host" [i.e helping Tripitaka on the Journey so he can do parole] - the memory taking place within Camel Ridge.

Macaque's reaction brings up a super interesting twist to the story told in JTTW. Was the whole plan of disguising himself as Wukong and taking the scriptures not his own? Did the other three or an unknown villain working in the background insist he do so? Did he do it to stall Wukong so that his best friend/mate did not fall into a trap from the rest of the Brotherhood? Did Macaque die trying to give Wukong another option less the Monkey King risk being captured or worse at the hands of his former sworn brothers?

Macaque recognised that *something* was super wrong in how the Brotherhood treated Wukong, especially how Azure directed the situation. But being the same, barely-a-cub, age Wukong was at the time, Macaque wasn't sure/confident enough to speak out about it.

And ofc this whole thing with the Brotherhood would come to a boil in the TMKATI au when Macaque and Wukong are having their Big Fight.

Wukong/Wu had long since recognised that Azure was grooming/manipulating him for the fall, but isn't sure why he tried attacking him afterwards. Macaque is a bit proud in a "I told you so"-way and says that Azure had expected Wukong to *die* in the war as a matyr rather than live as a prisoner.

Wukong: "Why didn't you say anything!?" Macaque: "I was as young and stupid as you were! I only wanted to see you happy!" Wukong: "Oh yeah! Like you did when you left me under that mountain!" Macaque: "You weren't exactly grateful for the company at the time." Wukong: "Uh, need I remind you that before I was imprisoned, I had just spent 49 days being broiled alive!? I wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. You could have atleast tried to visit me after a few years!" Macaque, uncharastically quiet: "I wanted to..." Wukong: "Huh?" Macaque: (*goes silent and leaves the room*) Wukong: "Wait! Mihou! What do you mean "you wanted" to!?"

note: Tang is accidentally privy to this convo cus he was in the stairwell when it started and got nosey. Then he kinda gets kidnapped by a baby bull demon before he can ramble his discovery to Pigsy and/or Sandy.

Wu gives the clipnote version of events to the gang as he's trying The Big Stupid, and they are horrified. The Monkey King, one of the most infamous tricksters in folkore, was ultimately a groomed teenager at the time of his punishment! And the Macaque was in the same boat, just more cautious...

When things are said and done - Wukong and Macaque go out of their way to tell their kids to always be wary of powerful people who put you on a pedestal. Perhaps not delving into their personal history (they are Normal Demon Parents™ afterall), but using the story of the Monkey King and his Brotherhood as an aesop. The Monkey King had many friends who thought he should lead them, but they shrunk away for whatever reasons when he chose to live and not die in heaven.

MK thinks its the saddest "superhero backstory" ever.

So when S4 of TMKATI comes about and the memory curse gets loose...

Azure Lion: "Ah, Monkie Kid-" MK:

Legit the only reason Azure is able to get away unscathed is because he's the only one who knows how the Scroll works and MK and the rest of the babus want their parents back.

Red Son is on standby (fire ready) outside the Scroll in case Azure tries some sh-t. But of course that doesn't last long.

Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy: (*released from the scroll. Sees Azure Lion*) All three: "YOU."

Then again this is all with the idea that someone else was additionally pulling the strings to ensure the demons downfall...

[biblical-chronicles]

Forbidden frequencies

____________________________________________________

where an unsuspecting Noel ends up with Albarn's sister, to the dismay of both Damon and Liam.

____________________________________________________

The bell above the record shop door jingled softly as Noel Gallagher stepped inside, shaking off the chill of an autumn afternoon. The place had a kind of hidden charm, tucked away down a narrow ginnel like a secret only the dedicated could uncover. The handwritten “Open” sign swayed slightly in the breeze outside. Inside, the smell of old vinyl, wood, and dust filled the air, the faint strains of Abbey Road playing from a crackling speaker overhead. Noel exhaled slowly, tension melting from his shoulders.

This was his kind of place—no frills, no nonsense, just walls of records and the occasional nod from someone else who understood the quiet reverence of a good tune. No one here cared who he was, so long as he didn’t bend the sleeves or skip the queue.

He meandered through the aisles, fingers flipping idly through racks of records. There was no rush, just the occasional pause when a familiar cover caught his eye. He stopped at Never mind the bollocks, pulling it free to admire the striking neon sleeve. He was about to tuck it under his arm when he noticed you a few feet down.

You stood in front of a Beatles section, holding what seemed like a first press copy of Rubber Soul. Your fingers trailed lightly over the cover, and there was a thoughtful little crease between your brows. Something about the way you handled the record—deliberate but confident—caught his attention.

“Good pick,” Noel said, the words slipping out before he thought better of it.

Your head turned sharply, eyes widening just a fraction before softening into a smile. “Oh, thanks. Hard to go wrong with the Beatles, though, isn’t it?”

“Unless you’re one of those nutters who reckon Yellow Submarine beats Please Please Me,” he quipped, his lips tugging into a smirk.

Your laugh was quick and warm. “God, no. I’ve got standards.” Tilting the record toward him, you asked, “This one a favorite of yours?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. “Masterpiece, that is. Melodies are something else. Proper record for those nights when everything’s gone to shit.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, yeah? What’s a lad like you got to brood about?”

Noel chuckled, sensing the tease. “Oh, the usual. Love, life, and trying not to strangle me brother.”

You laughed again, the sound drawing a grin from him. “Fair. And you? This your favorite?” He inquired.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Depends on the day. Sometimes it’s Revolver, sometimes Sgt. Peppers. Today? This one just feels right.”

“Good instinct,” Noel said, nodding approvingly. “Though if you’re in a deep-cut mood, you can’t go wrong with The White Album. That’s chaos done right.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, and you leaned in slightly. “Exactly! It’s messy, but it works. Like everyone’s throwing ideas into the air, and somehow they all land perfectly.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how excitedly you’d summed up what he’d always thought. “Spot on. It’s like it’s alive, y’know?”

You smiled, and for a moment, the two of you stood there, the noise of the shop fading into the background.

“You’ve got good taste,” you said, gesturing at the record in his hand. “What’re you grabbing?”

Noel held up his record. “Bit of Sex Pistols. Can’t go wrong with a bit of punk.”

Your smile widened. “Can't say yer wrong, but Rotten did leg it when McCartney appraoched him, so what was that for a punk?”

Noel’s grin turned genuine. “You know yer stuff. Most people don't go after the deeper stories.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” you quipped, the hint of a challenge in your tone.

He chuckled. “Reckon you’re not. What else are you picking up?”

You gestured to the small stack under your arm. “Bit of Sabbath, some Led Zeppelin, a Yes album I’ve been meaning to check out for ages.”

“Eclectic,” Noel said, raising an eyebrow. “Not many people with range like that.”

You tilted your head, feigning a modest shrug. “You calling me special?”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, his smirk softening slightly.

The conversation flowed easily after that, topics shifting from music to gigs to the state of modern radio. Your wit was quick, matching him word for word, and he found himself fumbling once or twice which was a rarity for him.

Eventually, you glanced at your watch and sighed. “I should probably go before I spend my entire paycheck here.”

“Smart move,” Noel said, though a pang of reluctance crept into his voice.

“Nice meeting you Noel, was it?”

“Yeah. And you?”

Your smile turned playful. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

You gave a small wave and disappeared out the door, the bell jingling faintly behind you.

Noel lingered for a moment, staring at the spot you’d just vacated. “Idiot,” he muttered. “Didn’t even get her bloody number.”

A few days later, he was nursing a pint at the Top of the Pops awards. The usual chaos of flashing cameras, egos, and far too many people crowded into the space made the atmosphere feel almost suffocating. Liam was beside him, ranting about something he couldn’t care less about. He kept half an ear on Liam’s rambling, but his gaze was elsewhere, drifting across the room with a lazy, detached air.

And then, his eyes landed on you.

You were standing by the far side of the room, looking quite relaxed despite the glitzy surroundings. You were mid-laugh, your glass in hand, and the way you held yourself made it clear you were in your element. Noel froze for a moment, his drink halfway to his lips.

“Oi, Liam,” he muttered, nudging his brother, but not tearing his eyes away from you.

“What now?” Liam grumbled, clearly irritated at being interrupted.

Noel jerked his chin toward you. “That girl over there. You recognize her?”

Liam followed Noel’s gaze, and his face lit up with a wicked grin. “No way. That’s the bird from the shop that you've been on about, innit?”

“Yeah,” Noel muttered, already regretting pointing you out.

But Liam was already on a roll. “Oh, mate, you’re mad’ for her, aren’t ya? Look at you, all shifty. Noel Gallagher, lost for words—this is priceless.”

“Will you shut it?” Noel snapped, his cheeks flushing despite himself.

Liam wasn’t deterred, still grinning. “Hang on—wait a minute.” He squinted again, his eyes narrowing. “Is that… is that not Albarn’s sister? Y/N?”

Noel blinked, his stomach sinking. “What are you on about?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, that’s Damon’s sister,” Liam said, looking far too pleased with himself. “Seen her around with Blur’s lot before. Bloody hell, Noel. That’s messy even for you.”

Noel groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Liam said, leaning in conspiratorially. "And let me tell ya, if Albarn finds out, he’ll go off his bloody rocker, mate. I’m not buzzin’ about the idea either, to be fair. You don’t go mixin’ with the other lot, do ya? We are like royalty here, y’know what I’m sayin’? So yeah, I’d think twice about that, Noel. Might be some trouble you don’t wanna get into."

Noel glanced back at her, biting the inside of his cheek. She did look a bit like Damon now that Liam had mentioned it, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Chemistry like theirs didn’t come around often, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away because of some band rivalry, and Liam's not so sober rant.

“Can’t choose your siblings, can ya?” he muttered under his breath. “Look at me and you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam shot back, but Noel ignored him, already stepping away.

He made his way through the crowd, trying to be casual but feeling his pulse quicken as he neared your table.

You spotted him before he even spoke. Your eyes widened slightly, recognition dawning, and a smile spread across your face.

“Noel! Hi,” you said, setting your glass down on the table.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, slipping into a smirk. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just trying to survive the madness,” you said, gesturing around at the chaotic room. “What about you?”

“Same,” he said, leaning in casually against the edge of the table. “Thought I’d step over and say hello. Fancy a smoke?”

You hesitated for just a moment, then your smile grew. “Yeah, give me a sec.”

Noel nodded, then turned to head toward the exit. He didn’t look back—trying to play it cool, but his pulse was quickening, and he couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at his lips.

Back at your table you were scrambling to reach for your bag as quick as possible, yet just as you wanted to leave Damon appeared by your side.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but tense.

You turned to face him “What was what?”

“That,” Damon said, gesturing toward the direction Noel had gone. “Why was he talking to you?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “He just came over to say hi. What’s your problem?”

“My problem,” Damon hissed, “is that it’s Noel Gallagher. You know exactly what he’s like.”

“And?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “We were just talking. Calm down, Damon.”

Damon frowned, his frustration mounting. “You shouldn’t be talking to him. Trust me on this.”

You only shook your head, brushing him off. “I’m going outside. I need some air.”

Before Damon could respond, you slipped through the crowd and walked towards the exit.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, a refreshing change from the claustrophobic heat inside. You spotted Noel immediately, leaning against the wall a little way down the pavement, a cigarette already hanging from his lips.

He looked up as you approached, his gaze steady but soft.

“Thought I’d lost you,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not a chance,” you said, pulling a cigarette from the bag you grabbed earlier.

Noel raised an eyebrow as you held it between your fingers, clearly waiting for a light. Instead of fumbling for a lighter, he leaned forward, the tip of his cigarette glowing as he inhaled deeply.

“Here,” he said, tilting his head slightly, holding the burning end close enough for you to light yours from it.

You stepped closer, leaning in, eyes locked on his as you inhaled allowing for the cigarette to catch the flame. For a moment, you lingered there, feeling the faint scent of smoke mixing with his cologne.

“Thanks,” you said softly, leaning back and taking a slow drag.

“No bother,” he replied, his voice low.

You stood there for a moment, the sounds of the city humming faintly in the background. There was something about the way you looked at him, your gaze warm but curious, it made Noel feel completely at ease.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” he asked, taking a drag from his own cigarette.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again after the shop,” you admitted, your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Funny,” he said, exhaling smoke. “I was thinking the same.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, the same unspoken rhythm you’d had in the record shop taking over. Every laugh, every sideways glance felt charged, like there was something electric in the air between you.

Noel was just starting to feel comfortable—too comfortable—when the door behind you slammed open.

“Oi, Noel, you got a fag or what?” Liam’s voice cut through the night, loud and unmistakable.

Noel sighed, already fishing for his pack. But Liam froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing as they landed on you.

“Oh, for—what did I just tell you?” Liam said, pointing accusingly. “I warned ya, Noel. Warned ya!”

“Warned him about what?” came another voice, sharp and angry.

You turned to see Damon standing in the doorway, his expression thunderous.

“Knew I couldn’t trust you,” Damon said, stalking over. “What’re you doing out here with him?”

“She’s just having a smoke,” Noel said evenly, though his jaw tightened.

Damon ignored him, glaring at you. “You shouldn’t even be near him. I told you.”

“And I told you to calm down,” you said firmly, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Liam interjected, stepping closer to Damon. “Who d’you think you are? Telling me brother what to do?”

Damon whirled on Liam. “Stay out of it, Gallagher. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It bloody does now, doesn’t it?” Liam shot back, puffing out his chest.

Before anyone could stop them, the two were shouting at each other, their insults escalating with every exchanged word.

Noel sighed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.

You glanced at him, your lips twitching into a grin. “Fancy sneaking off?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Noel said, smirking as you reached for his hand.

Fingers intertwined, you slipped away unnoticed, leaving the chaos behind you.

You and Noel didn’t stop moving until the shouting from Liam and Damon faded behind you, replaced by the low murmur of distant conversations and the occasional clink of glasses from a nearby bar. You turned a corner, ducking into a quiet ginnel, the chaos of the club left far behind.

Noel took a deep breath, his lips twisting into that signature lopsided smirk. “Well, that was a bit of a disaster, wasn’t it?”

You chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Disaster’s one word for it. You alright?”

“Me?” he scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sound, love. Used to Liam mouthing off at everyone. Not sure your brother’s got the stamina to keep up with the master, though.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “Damon’s always like that. Gets his knickers in a twist over nothing.”

“Well, I reckon I'm gonna make his knickers twisted like never before” Noel said humorously, leaning against the wall, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You’re not wrong,” you admitted, stepping in beside him. “But don’t take it too personally. He just thinks he’s looking out for me.”

“Bit late for that, innit? Considering you’re already out here with me.” His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it—like he knew exactly what kind of trouble he was getting into.

You glanced over at him, feeling a smile creep onto your face. You didn’t need to speak for a second; the laughter in the air shifted to something quieter, more intimate. You caught your gaze dropping to your intertwined hands, and for a moment, neither of you had let go, your fingers still locked together, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Noel noticed your gaze and followed it, his smirk faltering just a bit before he started to pull his hand back. “Oh—shit. Sorry—”

Before he could move too far, you caught his hand, stopping him with a gentle tug. “Don’t be,” you said, your voice softer now, your thumb lightly brushing over his skin.

Before Noel could reply, you were closer, your free hand lightly brushing against his arm, and then your lips met his.

For a moment, he was completely still, surprised—then, like it was second nature, he tightened his grip on your hand, pulling you closer. His other hand found your waist, steadying you as you both fell into the kiss.

It wasn’t slow, not really. The heat between you was instant, the kind of kiss that had been waiting to happen for far too long. The world around you seemed to disappear entirely as he deepened the kiss, the sharp taste of smoke and alcohol mixing with the cool night air.

You kissed him back, the pressure building, hands wandering as the night stretched out like it could last forever. His lips were demanding, yet there was a tenderness there, as if he was trying to make sure he wasn’t pushing you too fast, too hard. But you didn’t want slow.

The kiss deepened again, no hesitation now—just the two of you, tangled together in the ginnel, with only the sound of your breath and the pulse of desire filling the space between you. Noel’s hand slid lower, pulling you flush against him, his fingers splayed wide as if he couldn’t get close enough.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Noel didn’t pull away, his forehead resting lightly against yours. He grinned, but it was different now, more genuine than his usual cheeky smirk. “Didn’t see that coming,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with surprise and something else—something deeper.

You let out a soft laugh, still catching your breath. “Neither did I,” you said, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

“Not that I’m complaining” he added quickly, his smirk returning with a new glint in his eyes.

You laughed again, louder this time, the sound making him smile wider, his hands still lingering on you. For a moment, you just stood there, caught up in each other, the rest of the world and its noise slipping into the background.

Noel’s grin softened, and for the first time in a while, there was something in his eyes that wasn’t just mischief. Something real.

"You're trouble," he murmured, the words just a whisper against your skin.

“Only for you,” you shot back, your fingers tracing his jaw, an unspoken promise hanging in the air between you.

And just like that, you both knew: This wasn’t over, and both Liam and Damon had to come to terms with that.

__________________________________________________

I am dead tired, but hope you lot liked that. Got a couple more lush stories about Noel to bang out this weekend so keep an eye out xx

[strawberrystepmom]

senku x f!reader. reader has a background in agriculture. reader is referred to as princess in jest and the unpacking of the reason it upsets reader follows. reader and senku are both 25. post canon au where he and the other ishigami village settlers find a small settlement in california. robert is an oc created specifically for the au. wc 1.7k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune as always

“You and Gen have a lot in common.”

Snorting at Senku’s words, you dab at the droplets of sweat on your hairline with the back of your gloved hand. He hasn’t been superbly helpful weeding the carrot patch but at least he has been decent company, the two of you working in parallel worlds and occasionally exchanging remarks about what you’re doing. This is generally how things just go when you’re together.

You won’t go so far as to say that you enjoy him, you barely know the man who stepped foot on shores not far from where you are now a little over a month ago, but it’s pleasant to have someone around who will listen to you ramble about whatever has been on your mind. You don’t judge him and he has never judged you, a silent mutual understanding that people will be people, the thread that ties the two of you together.

It doesn’t mean he isn’t observant, though, and he’s all too apt to share said observations with you.

“Why do you say that? Is it because we are both charming, hilarious, and beautiful?”

Senku chuckles while you wipe your free hand on your pants. Very glamorous, you think and laugh to yourself quietly. The sun hangs high enough in the sky you know it’s midday and you offer small waves to everyone who passes by you, smiling big enough people can see it even from a few feet away. You don’t have to do this but you go out of your way to do it, something that always strikes Senku as funny.

“Humble, too.” The scientist remarks and you look up at him, noticing he’s jotting notes away in a leatherbound notebook he swiped from the medical barn.

He has a makeshift ink pen, an invention of his own making, and he’s jotting down thoughts of how to improve the settlement. Watch towers, another well, perhaps mechanized farming equipment to keep you from having to do as much heavy lifting as you do.

“So you agree?” He chuckles again at your words and keeps scribbling, raising his brows. “You know I don’t point out the obvious, princess.”

The recent nickname makes you scoff but your cheeks warm. He heard the village doctor and navigator, two of your closest friends, call you the name in jest and he couldn’t possibly let it go considering what an apt descriptor it is.

“Don’t call me that, it’s bad enough that they do.” Sighing, you reposition your sunhat before leaning down to dig up another weed. “There’s nothing princess-y about me.”

Tossing a carrot down, you decide to rest a moment and sit down next to him in the yellowing grass. The weather is still moderate and pleasant but six weeks from now, it’s likely a small blanket of snow and frost will cover the world and your plants in the process so time is of the essence with the less hearty members of the settlement garden. You feel Senku looking at you but don’t entertain him by glancing back, situating yourself and stretching your legs out in front of you.

“No?” Senku shoots back and you groan, laying back in the grass and closing your eyes. He looks over you and shakes his head, placing the notebook on his thighs where his legs are crossed. “Let’s be honest with ourselves here. If this were thousands of years ago, you’d be in a big tower in a pretty dress waiting for some muscle-brained knight to come and slay a dragon for you.”

You want to be offended but you’re instead curious about what exactly makes him feel that way and how it relates to you and Gen at all.

“What do you mean? I can take care of myself and have managed to do it pretty well so far.”

Senku shakes his head. He can tell you aren’t offended thanks to the lightness in your tone and he appreciates that you don’t read between the lines considering there are none when he comes to him. He says what he means and you listen to it appreciatively.

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying you inspire that kind of action in people.” He shrugs. “Think about the stories I know you used to read. A princess never has to ask for devotion, she simply gets it.”

Raising a brow, he meets your eyes and glances further out in the distance where one of the villagers he brought with him, Ginro, slumps in the fields while pulling weeds. The blonde man keeps glancing in your direction and waving before tilting his face downward to make sure you notice that he’s doing what you asked him to.

“I’ve never seen Ginro work so hard,” the scientist sniffs and you laugh louder than intended, bringing your hand to cover your mouth to stifle the noise.

“Not very fair of you to start with the easy target, Ishigami.”

He snickers and looks across the settlement, seeing if he can spot any of the others he has brought with him that have been more than happy to assist with anything you ask them to. You flash a smile, flutter your lashes if you have to, and shit seems to get done. It’s how you did things before you were petrified too.

“I overheard Hyoga arguing with Robert about being the one to escort you on the next foraging expedition.”

Thinking about the white haired man you feel a little uncertain of yourself and you look away. You find him extremely handsome despite his evasive nature and the two of you have only had a handful of conversations but he’s surprisingly helpful when necessary, you simply go out of your way trying to avoid asking for his help because he makes you nervous. Robert, on the other hand, is an issue that has followed you even thousands of years into the future (pro tip: don’t get petrified and then depetrified near a man harassing you in a club) but he insists on being your personal security whenever he can.

You make a note to genuinely contemplate trying your luck by asking Hyoga personally to accompany you but for now, you turn your attention back to your spiky haired companion.

“No you didn’t. Besides, we haven’t even planned a trip before winter even though we need to make one.”

Senku purses his lips and continues to look around the lands surrounding him.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Considering his question for a moment, you hum and tilt your head. He hasn’t lied to you but this specific instance feels like a stretch.

“So you heard Big Mouth Bobby mention me and now I’m a princess? Seems like that criteria is a little unfair.”

Senku shifts where he sits and stretches his legs out in front of him to match your position. You shade your eyes from the sun with your palm and look up at him to find he’s glancing over his shoulder at you, shaking his head.

“You seem to think I’m telling you that it’s a bad thing people like and want to be liked by you.”

Shrugging, you settle back against the grass and kick your feet gently. He watches your every move and you feel observed and viewed rather than enjoyed, something about him that always makes you squirm despite yourself.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Senku smiles.

“I’m always right.”

You laugh and shake your head, shutting your eyes to keep from being further intimidated by his weighted glance. If he has any other assessments he’s clearly going to keep them to himself so you press forward, sun warming your face while you speak.

“I don’t get how that relates to me and Gen being similar though. Is he a princess too?”

A chuckle from your companion. At least you can always make him laugh even if you know your other charms won’t work on him. Looks have no effect on Senku nor do fluttering lashes or cute, coy smiles - he judges people off of their character only and you admire the depth it takes for him to do so.

“Oh yeah, that.” He picks his notebook back up and begins scribbling again. “You’re both very persuasive and understand people better than they think.”

Giggling, you sigh contentedly and even Senku finds himself a little bit drawn to the sound. You are charming and sweet and funny and perhaps a bit too honest beneath the slightly self deprecating humor you use to keep people from knowing who you really are. Even Senku can acknowledge all of these things - they’re true, after all. Proven and quantifiable.

“Well, thank you. The power of people skills can never be underestimated in a world where half of the people you meet want to kill you and the other half probably want to kill themselves because we don’t have social media to numb their brains.”

Again with that too honest humor. The scientist shakes his head and scribbles down a doodle for the vision he has for the tower he’s going to build in the coming weeks, halfway between your fields and the little cabin you call home. It’s the perfect position to see the entire settlement and he assumes the only reason you don’t have one yet is that you’ve lacked the people to assist with making it.

He may not be a muscle-brained knight, saving you while you sit forlornly in a tower, but he can be the genius that builds the tower you’ll help create the future society all of you will someday live in from. It’s a far more noble cause if you ask him.

“Keep it up.” He adds simply and you shield your eyes from the sun again, opening them to meet his. You offer a thumbs up and a grin and he shakes his head.

“I am going to tell Gen you called him a princess, though.”

Senku scoffs and leans back, still glancing down at you.

“Well then you’d be lying and it isn’t good to lie, now is it?”

You sit up, ready to argue back and forth but you’re interrupted by Ginro calling your name from a distance and approaching you, three carrots in his fist. Senku rises to standing and reassuringly pats your shoulder with the hand not holding his notebook.

“Looks like your savior is on his way, princess.”

You sigh, shaking your head and waving the scientist goodbye when he parts, watching him leave before plastering on your best persuasive smile and greeting Ginro exuberantly.

[jozor-johai]

I noticed a little subplot happening in the background of ADWD, and I’m wondering if anyone has any theories on where this is going. I have my own theory, which I'll explain in full at the end, but is essentially this: I think that GRRM is placing these Dothraki khalasars strategically along the Rhoyne and telling us about them in ADWD so that if Dany commands the loyalty of the entire Dothraki in TWOW, she'll already have loyal armies in place right by the Free Cities, rather than having to wait transport troops anywhere—even though the Dothraki aren't a threat now, the Dothraki will be in place to attack the Free Cities while the Free Cities have sent all their armies to fight Dany's forces at Meereen.

I'll explain my reasoning, and where I think GRRM is putting the pieces into place here—under the cut, since it's a slightly long post with maps.

We first hear of Dothraki along the Rhoyne in ADWD Tyrion III:

“Griff means to strike downriver the instant we are back. News has been coming upriver, none of it good. Dothraki have been seen north of Dagger Lake, outriders from old Motho’s khalasar, and Khal Zekko is not far behind him, moving through the Forest of Qohor.” The fat man made a rude noise. “Zekko visits Qohor every three or four years. The Qohorik give him a sack of gold and he turns east again. As for Motho, his men are near as old as he is, and there are fewer every year. The threat is—” “—Khal Pono,” Haldon finished. “Motho and Zekko flee from him, if the tales are true. The last reports had Pono near the headwaters of the Selhoru with a khalasar of thirty thousand. Griff does not want to risk being caught up in the crossing if Pono should decide to risk the Rhoyne.”

As a reminder, Dagger Lake is where the Rhoyne in the east meets the Qhoyne in the west to make the full-force Rhoyne that we know and love.

Illyrio dismisses any reason to be concerned with these particular Dothraki, and perhaps he is right. But we do get our first preview into the concerns of Khal Pono, and the premise of Dothraki along the Rhoyne. Are they doing to be placated by gifts, like Illyrio says? Or is something different afoot?

Next we get an update in Tyrion VI, by Selhorys.

Haldon Halfmaester explained. “On the way down from the Sorrows to Selhorys, we thrice glimpsed riders moving south along the river’s eastern shore. Dothraki. Once they were so close we could hear the bells tinkling in their braids, and sometimes at night their fires could be seen beyond the eastern hills. We passed warships as well, Volantene river galleys crammed with slave soldiers. The triarchs fear an attack upon Selhorys, plainly.”

Another reminder for geography, Selhorys is significantly south from Dagger Lake. Like, further than King’s Landing is from the Trident. Once again, we have this concern: will Khal Pono cross the Rhoyne for Selhorys?

That concern is brought up again in Tyrion VI:

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.” “You have Dothraki outside your own gates,” Haldon said. “Khal Pono.” Qavo waved a pale hand in dismissal. “The horselords come, we give them gifts, the horselords go.” He moved his catapult again, closed his hand around Tyrion’s alabaster dragon, removed it from the board.

As predicted by Haldon in Tyrion III, here is Khal Pono across from Selhorys. We hear that Qavo is unconcerned with Khal Pono, despite Haldon’s concerns.

This might be a bit of a meta opinion, but whenever someone is as flippant as Qavo is being here, expect them to be wrong. They definitely aren’t going to go away with gifts, Qavo is totally jinxing it—that’s my prediction.

Then we get another update later on, in The Lost Lord:

Haldon’s horses did not please him. “Were these the best that you could find?” he complained to the Halfmaester. “They were,” said Haldon, in an irritated tone, “and you had best not ask what they cost us. With Dothraki across the river, half the populace of Volon Therys has decided they would sooner be elsewhere, so horseflesh grows more expensive every day.”

By this point, they’re in Volon Therys, which is only barely outside of Volantis—think roughly the distance between King’s Landing and Duskendale, for comparison. And here, too, there are Dothraki on the other side of the river. Are these the same Dothraki, are they traveling south at the same pace as Tyrion/JonCon? Or is this yet another khalasar? We haven’t heard any update from Qohor, and this is the first time that we’ve unexpectedly encountered a khalasar—are they here to meet with the Volantenes about Meereen, like Dany’s advisors fear? Or are they here for another reason? Is it possible that Illyrio and Qavo are wrong?

The last update we get is in ADWD Victarion, when he captures a ship from Myr heading for New Ghis and Yunkai:

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

Unfortunately, this is stale news for both Victarion and we the readers—this is like a snapshot back to Tyrion II/III, when the Golden Company broke its contract and started marching east, and when we first heard about the Dothraki on the Rhoyne in my first quote.

However, despite this being a snapshot back in time to old news, I wonder about GRRM’s choice to include this again so close to end of the book—is this a reminder for the readers about these Dothraki on the Rhoyne? We’ve learned why the Golden Company marching ended up being important, could this passage from Victarion be a reminder of these tidbits of news because they will continue to matter moving forward?

I am doubly interested because it’s in this same book, in the very midst of all this talk of Dothraki on the Rhoyne, that we hear the tale of a previous time the Dothraki came. This is back in ADWD Tyrion IV, between the reports of Motho and Zekko on Dagger Lake and before the talk with Qavo about Pono. I’ve bolded the relevant sections, because it’s long, but left the rest for context.

“The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruins remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, and some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years.”

Maybe this wasn’t just to set the stage for the Volantene elections, but to remind us that the Dothraki can come out of the east to wreak havoc…. when the Free Cities are weak. And boy, is Volantis looking undefended right now: the Golden Company is gone to Westeros, other sellsword companies have gone to Meereen, the Volantenes have sent their fleets to Meereen.

Before I continue, here’s a map of the locations of the Dothraki khalasars along the Rhoyne:

Why we should care

We can be almost certain that Dany has to return to Vaes Dothrak to visit the Dosh Khaleen. Though we don’t know for sure if Khal Jhaqo’s forces are going to outpower Dany and Drogon, Dany is already envisioning the future where she returns to Vaes Dothrak when she sees Jhaqo’s outrider at the end of ADWD:

One rider, and alone. A scout. He was one who rode before the khalasar to find the game and the good green grass, and sniff out foes wherever they might hide. If he found her there, he would kill her, rape her, or enslave her. At best, he would send her back to the crones of the dosh khaleen, where good khaleesi were supposed to go when their khals had died.

Of course, we ought to already have known this from Dany’s vision in the House of the Undying:

Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed.

If Dany was truly seeing her future—and I believe she was—then we know we will inevitably be seeing her return to Vaes Dothrak to accept the homage of the Dosh Khaleen.

However, this creates a bigger problem: we need Dany to get to Westeros, and potentially have time to also reach both Volantis and Pentos (though whether or not Dany will actually go either of those places is purely speculation, however well-founded). Vaes Dothrak is in the entirely opposite direction from where she is now—that would be heading east, away from Westeros, not closer to her end goal.

For some readers, this isn’t a concern: we might trust Quaithe, who reminds Dany that:

To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.

Some readers, though, wonder about the time and ability for TWOW to contain this storyline within its time. GRRM is realistic about how long travel time takes, which is great for the realism, but presents immense logistic problems.

Dany doesn’t need to worry about the time it takes to travel long distances as mucha as she used to—if she can begin to control Drogon, she can fly around at will. However, that’s only her; if Dany does gain the allegiance of the Dothraki at Vaes Dothrak, how can she actually leverage that in a meaningful way when they’re constrained to horseback? While the AGOT timeline is largely unclear, we can use Dany’s pregnancy to at least be sure it takes months to get from one side of the Dothraki Sea (in Dany III) to Vaes Dothrak (in Dany IV). Does Dany have months to mobilize Dothraki from one side of the Sea to the other?

With the Dothraki along the Rhoyne, though, she doesn’t need to wait for anyone to ride across the sea. Conveniently, they’re already there. If there’s some way to send a message that the Dosh Khaleen have decreed that the Dothraki will follow Dany, that she is the Stallion Who Mounts the World, then she has a ready-made army just waiting for her word to cross the Rhoyne after all, and take the Free Cities. Then Dany can fly over there on her own and just meet them.

I know we’re all looking forward to Dany taking Volantis, so I don’t want to propose something too contrary, but how about this: sicne we’ve been hearing all through ADWD that there are a ton of Dothraki already in place, conveniently for story purposes, ready to accept their regular gifts… or perhaps ready to act if, for example, word came that the Stallion Who Mounts The World has come after all. That might speed things up a bit. We know Volantis is only weakly defended, we know there are Dothraki outside of Selhorys, Qohor, and Volon Therys. Dany has spent five books searching for home and finding one among the people she’s freed. Maybe this is how she makes sure it’s the Volantene slavers who don’t have a home to go back to this time.

[fountainpenguin]

Secret Life finale highlights for me:

- "My strategy: Kill Skizz and Tango. Will happen at some point... Or, just maim them and watch them die in a corner." - Scar

- Scott on Grian's loyalty: "I have never seen a man drop a pair of sunglasses faster in my life [than last season after Joel died]."

- I think I reblogged someone's speculation weeks ago that at the dawn of final session, everyone's task book would just say "Win Secret Life." Congrats to them for Apollo's gift of prophecy.

- Martyn's beat of pause before saying to Joel "Welcome to the Out of Context video."

- At the start of the season, Etho said Joel was the first one he wanted to kill because "He's cheeky." When Joel is asked who he wants to kill, he says "Etho." Glad you're enjoying your rivalry, boys, smh...

- Joel, once again giving into his Shrek origins, watching Bdubs' wool globe go up in flames and chirping "My world's on fire; how 'bout yours?"

- Tango does not break his "pathetic death" curse. Just blipped out of existence. Love that for him.

- Spitting, crying... BigB panics and flees into his creepy backrooms for safety. Immediately vanishes into the tunnel maze. Scar pursues and skids to a halt because he hasn't seen it yet and is thoroughly creeped out.

- Scar coming up to surface and trying to describe how BigB disappeared. Martyn looks down at where they're standing and is just like "Oh, that's the backrooms." Mental image of Scar as that meme that goes "The. what."

- Scar describing BigB as a sneaky squirrel. "Squirrel" was the name of BigB's horse in Double Life.

- Joel's anxiety about entering a Nether portal on the final episode, specifically because of how he and Etho perma-died in Double Life

- Whatever was going on with Martyn flinging ender pearls up the ladder seconds before he died

- Additionally, people in the background commenting that they think Martyn's teamed up with Cleo and the only reason he was near them was an attempt to bear down and kill them

- Scar to Bdubs, watching Cleo and Etho from a distance: "Look at this- Mom and Dad are bringing their new ugly stepson to meet us, Bdubs." /camera pans to the warden chasing them

- Bdubs tells Scar that Cleo said he was her favorite son and Scar IMMEDIATELY, without responding or even waiting for Bdubs to finish his sentence, jumps a wall and books it to Cleo to confirm... Mental image of him swinging dramatically over it with one hand, his shawl billowing behind him

- Scar chases Cleo while they're both being pursued by a warden, asking her if he's her favorite son. Doesn't let up until she assures him she "just said it to keep Bdubs happy." what is wrong with the Clocker family.

- Joel somehow pulled off a beautiful PVP kill on Skizz despite having only 2.5 hearts

- In earlier episodes, Joel had people say "The florist sends his regards" on his behalf before striking. Before killing Skizz, he says "Scar sends his regards" since Scar really wanted to kill Skizz but bequeathed the fight to Joel instead.

- Scar trotting up to Etho and Cleo, who are watching him from a cliff, and announcing "I am not up to anything nefarious!"

- Scar's weird spiky wall design is really pretty

- slkdjfskldjfsklj?!?!?!? I had a bullet point on this list that said "Honorable non-finale mention to Scar getting both the Green and Yellow kill on Etho this season" but now I see I need to correct that:

- Shout-out to Scar killing Etho - in Etho's front yard - THREE TIMES this season. Etho rushing back to his base, tripping over his feet and saying "I'm going home, everybody- I'm dying at my home-"

- Scott to Scar: "I went down to BigB - to get him - and I see what you mean; he does just talk his way out of things so you feel bad; you just leave him." / Scar: "That's why you don't let him speak. You just inner monologue. You start talking about Star Wars so you can't hear his charms."

- As Scar drives his sword into Cleo, he says "Good-bye, Mom- This is for you telling Bdubs [he's your] favorite." Geez, dude. Scar killed both his parents; this family is a mess. Bonus points for Joel fumbling in the background like "Oh my gosh- Scar, you savage-"

- I watched multiple POVs until I was caught up to the standoff between Gem & The Scotts vs. The Mounders... So picking up from there with Scar's POV b/c his is the one I randomly started with today: I love how Joel basically went "I am once again throwing caution to the wind and charging into battle with a murderous Red rage in my eyes and no one behind me" like he ALWAYS does.

- Bdubs and Scar decide to back him up... Amazing.

- Scar has gotten 4 kills (Tango, Etho, Cleo, Impulse) and he was super close to getting BigB as well before Scott sniped the kill. Geez... The man is vicious today. During Limited Life, Grian made a comment that went something like "Of course Scar is only destructive / successful when I'm not on his team" and honestly? Yeah...

- Pearl begging Scar to kill her- Pearl warning Scar that if she perma-kills Gem, she'll go up 10 hearts- Scar refusing, insisting that he doesn't want to turn on her because it feels lame...

- Scar got Gem, he got Gem... GeminiSlay is DOWN!

- SCAR SWEEP WITH THE BOW!!

Oh my goodness, I saw his episode title ("Can Villain Scar Win?") and the words that went through my head were "Welp, that's a spoiler that he's dead." I see I was wrong.

GG, SCAR WIN!!! Man who wanted so desperately to have friends, only to trip and fail time and time again... GoodTimesWithVictor!!

My heart, Scar letting that zombie knock him down to half a heart... playing up like he didn't just watch the lightning bolt mark Pearl's demise. He wanders, calling out to Pearl, asking where she went... quietly giggling and muttering to himself as that zombie pushes at him... GG, Scar. GG.

My goodness, is this the only time we haven't seen the winner die in their perspective? Scar slams that success button for winning the game, gets 5 hearts, turns back, and that's it... That's the game. End scene.

What a LAD!!