#and over time that's mostly stayed the same

[onethousandrbirds]

The following excerpt has been edited for length and clarity. 

Interview highlights:

Michel Martin: Good morning, senator. We are so very sorry for your loss.

Sen. Amy Klobuchar: Well, thank you, Michel. And our state mourns this incredible woman. She was such a strong speaker. Even some of the Republican legislators have called her one of the most consequential speakers in Minnesota history. Mostly she was just a delightful person. I got to know her. We were both moms in politics and campaigning door to door with little kids. And I just saw her grow and come into this incredible power that she had and that she used so well for the good of our state and the country.

Martin: Thanks so much for sharing those memories. Investigators are calling this a targeted killing. They say the suspect had a hit list or several. What are you hearing about the motive? And do you think that there's an ongoing threat to you and other officials in Minnesota?

Klobuchar: This is an ongoing threat to elected officials overall, not this particular man. One of the things that came out yesterday is there actually were multiple lists. It wasn't just one list. We learned from federal law enforcement, for instance, that I was on another list with lawmakers whose names haven't been made public. I know NPR has not been calling this a manifesto, probably for a good reason. It was a collection of documents which contained multiple lists and other things about issues. We also know abortion providers like Planned Parenthood were on the list. So the ongoing threat is, first of all, they've got to finish their investigation, get the charges done, do everything right so this man never gets out again. Secondly, we in Washington, throughout our country, people who are engaging in this rhetoric that has inflamed an already difficult time in our country have to look at the mirror, people who are posting things on social media that people actually start believing and then acting out on it. So, my hope is in Melissa's memory, and her incredible work, that people are going to reassess how they act in politics and how they treat each other.

Sponsor Message

Martin: Do you see any evidence of that? I mean, even among some of your colleagues who have been making certain claims about the person's motives, for which there's no evidence. Do you see any evidence of that, that people are willing to reconsider the way they conduct their public speech and the way they conduct themselves in public life?

Klobuchar: Well, when I get back, I'm going to talk to those colleagues. I can tell you that much. But in Minnesota, we did a joint statement — every member of our delegation, from the most conservative to the liberal — that said, 'We speak with one voice and condemn this politically motivated violence.' There's been an increase from 2016 of 1,700 threats against members to last year, Michel, over 9,000 threats against members. And we're seeing the same thing in the judiciary.

Martin: You also lived through the January 6th attack on the Capitol, and you've been in public life for decades. And, forgive me for asking, but it does make me wonder whether this causes you to rethink your desire to stay in this?

Klobuchar: Not one bit. I just believe when I talk to people during these last few days in my state, in Melissa's memory, I hope that it doesn't cause people not to run, because we need people in office like her. We need people who are willing to get things done, willing to take tough votes and make decisions that are best for this country and willing to actually bring down the rhetoric. Yes, we need more security and that's got to be a priority, but a lot of this is making sure that people who cherish our democracy actually stand up for our democracy and run for office.

The Democratic party will not even bother to save themselves. They will not save you, listen to those who actually want to who were deemed “radical/ fae left.” This country is far right as that targeted assassinations are not treated as a dire warning sign by the “Opposition party.”

[solarstranger]

a/n. been seeing a lot of pregnancy/baby fever fics these days and while i'm all for the father versions of our blorbos and breeding kinks (lmfao), i'm someone who just can't see myself becoming a mother for multiple reasons. reposting this drabble from april for my girls who feel the same way. hope y'all enjoy this! (1.6k)

c.w. slightly heavy themes, references to abortion.

this wasn’t supposed to happen.

sneaking another glance at the stick in your right hand, it takes every ounce of the little energy you have left after what has been an arduous day at work to stay upright on your cold, bare feet.

it’s ridiculous—you know that—but you still find yourself blinking once, then twice, as if doing so as deliberately as you could would make the tauntingly faint yet present second line disappear before your eyes.

you tamp down the panic—or bile, you don’t fucking know—that’s rising to your throat, while your gaze remains fixed on the pregnancy test.

which reminds you.

you’re shaking.

why are you shaking?

…right, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

jesus. is this the pregnancy already at work? the brain fog that they say plagues a good percentage of women carrying a—fuck, you can’t even say it—fetus?

whatever answer was lying in the deep recesses of your brain doesn’t get to see the light of day, because your head snaps up in attention when you hear the telltale turning of the keys at your front door.

shit.

frantic, your eyes dart around the bathroom, before ultimately landing on the boxes containing the three different brands of pregnancy tests you hastily bought from the drugstore on the way home. you grab for them in record time, stuffing them behind the rolls of tissues on the shelves above the toilet. it’s not the perfect hiding spot, but it’s good enough—at least until you muster up the courage to tell katsuki the truth.

katsuki.

god. what’s he going to say?

“babe?”

—aside from that.

“over here!” you barely manage to call out, shoving the stick into your pocket.

the faint sound of footsteps grows from a subtle pattering to loud thuds as the man approaches, and you find yourself waiting with bated breath—one that you release not so inconspicuously the second he emerges by the door, a perplexed expression decorating his sharp features.

“what’re you doing here?” he asks, voice gruff, although he doesn’t wait for a response before pulling you in for a hug. despite your fried nerves, you find yourself relaxing in his arms as the heady smell of the body wash he keeps at the agency fills your lungs.

“had to pee,” you answer—half-truthfully—against his chest, keeping your body plastered against his firm yet warm frame. and, for a brief moment, you forget the predicament you were just in—safe and content in his presence—

right up until you feel a hand slide down to caress your side, and despite yourself, you stiffen.

you don’t have to look up to know bakugou’s frowning.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his tone riddled with hurt but mostly caution. it pains you to hear him like this—you promised yourself you’d make him feel as secure with you as you are with him—but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

and when you don’t respond nor move: “look at me.”

now, you were never the kind to deny him of anything—even if you wanted to at times—so you do.

excruciatingly slowly, but you do.

suddenly, you’re thankful bakugou’s gripping onto your waist, because you’re certain you’d collapse from the sheer intensity of his stare if he wasn't. you try to smile in an attempt to reassure him, but your mouth only wobbles awkwardly as tears start to well in the corners of your eyes, causing bakugou’s frown to deepen even further.

“baby,” he mumbles—coaxes—the softness juxtaposing against his earlier sternness. your eyes flutter closed for a moment as a scarred hand shoots up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, before returning to where it’s taken residence at your hips.

you take a shuddering breath.

you don’t know what takes over you, but what you end up blurting is—

“promise me you won’t get mad.”

at that, bakugou’s eyebrows furrow. “the fuck?”

—which, if anyone can believe it, is a valid response.

because sure, bakugou’s been frustrated with you, sometimes even exasperated—although that rarely ever happens—but never mad. he once said he couldn’t find it in him to direct any of his anger toward you, and he’s never said anything truer.

and you know that, which is why you don’t know why you even said that thing just now. but you have no idea how else to preface what you’re about to tell him, let alone soften the blow.

when something tells you he’s not even going to take it as a blow…

“remember when i asked you to buy me some painkillers to prepare for my period?”

“…yeah?”

you gulp, fisting his shirt. “that was over three weeks ago.”

the crease in his forehead doesn’t let up. “okay?”

sighing, you close your eyes.

fuck it.

there’s no turning back from this one.

“y/n, what are you trying to—”

“i still haven’t had it,” you cut in. and when bakugou only blinks at you, seemingly shell-shocked, you finally say it.

“i’m pregnant.”

realistically, it must have only been around a minute that passed with neither of you uttering a word, but the silence that ensues feels like an eternity, as a whirlwind of emotions dances across bakugou’s face—emotions that you don’t even dare try to pinpoint.

it takes him another beat to seemingly gather his thoughts together, before clearing his throat that you think has gone dry in flat-out surprise. his gaze then darts down to your stomach, and you have to stop yourself from reflexively touching it, even as he looks back up at you.

and when he does speak up, the first thing he says is—

“are you sure?”

to that, you only nod reluctantly, gingerly taking out the stick from your pocket for him to see. you pass it to him, continuing as he examines the red lines. “i took three. all different brands.”

“and each one came out…?”

“positive, yeah.”

you watch him as he nods—more to himself than at you—before placing the device carefully on the sink. you can practically see the gears in his head turning as he straightens up to face you, expression betraying how hard he’s thinking about this.

and fuck if this ends up biting you in the ass, but damn it—you need to know.

so you ask.

“w-what—” you start, pausing to cough, and bakugou’s quick to lean in and rub soothing circles at your back. you wave him off with a grateful look a moment later, to which he takes in stride as he steps back, gazing at you expectantly.

“i was just gonna ask,” you rasp hastily, fighting the tightening sensation at your throat. “what are you thinking right now?”

“about—”

“about this,” you supply, rubbing your stomach absentmindedly. “us. pregnant.”

bakugou hesitates. “i’m thinking about how you are—”

“i’m not asking about me. i’m asking about you.”

there.

you said it.

and you don’t know where else to chalk it up aside from his general acuity, but it only takes a second for the plain bewilderment that etched itself across bakugou’s face to morph into palpable realization. you stare at him as he sits in the implications of your question, and even more so as he struggles to find the right words to say.

finally, and after what feels like ages, bakugou settles with five simple words:

“you know what i think.”

and with those words comes an avalanche-like weight crashing on your shoulders, and before he can continue, you beat him to it. say the two things that instantly flooded your mind the instant you felt a wave of unfounded nausea earlier this morning.

one: “i’m not ready, kats.”

and, two: “i don’t think i’ll ever be ready.”

to your un-surprise and chagrin, bakugou merely nods and takes your hands in his, as if he’s been expecting this. “that’s okay, babe.”

“no, it’s not,” you argue, although you don’t wrangle away from his grip. you need to make the most of the contact you’re blessed enough to have right now, especially given what you’re about to say.

shaking your head, you let your eyes droop to your entangled hands. “it’s not too late, kats,” you whisper, “i’ll understand if you want to break u—”

“don’t.”

“but—”

“don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” bakugou growls.

you look up, and it takes everything within you to not break down at the sight of your boyfriend’s face.

“i told you,” he begins, his hold on you tightening, “you know what i think. but i want what you want. and—”

“but your dream of—”

“—and, there’s nothing i want more than to be with you.”

and at that, you can’t help it—you whimper as the tears you’ve been desperately holding finally stream down your face, and you don’t resist—letting yourself get scooped up in bakugou’s arms and into a crushing embrace.

“…i’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt after a few beats of comforting silence, his strong arms wrapped tightly around your torso.

“there’s nothing to be sorry for,” bakugou mouths against your head.

“i wanted to be everything you could ask for,” you admit quietly.

shamefully.

and you know it’s going to take some time—some time to come to terms with falling short, with not meeting important expectations, especially with the person you love.

but then bakugou says something under his breath, and somehow, you get the feeling that everything’s going to be okay.

“you already are, baby,” you feel him smile. “you already are.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags��are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[slutsenpai]

omg I've been exploring through ur content lately and i really like the way u write can i request angst of bllk boys where their s/o died especially (itoshi brothers, karasu,chigiri,kaiser) and whatever u like

love your work 😭😭♥️

hiiii omg thank u :3 I’m not caught up in the manga so I don’t know much about michael, and I don’t remember much about karasu so I’ll write rin, sae, chigiri, and reo if that’s okay ! I like the idea of angst for reo because he has no chill lol. and full disclosure I don’t have much experience writing angst but I’ll try my best !

ブルーロック ⊹˚˖୧ without you ◞♡ itoshi sae, chigiri hyōma, itoshi rin, mikage reo

blue lock boys and how they deal with losing you

tw : death, angst, grief, substance abuse

— THOSE WHO MOVE ON.

⊹˚˖୧ sae

his personality doesn't change much at first, but he becomes even more cold and distant as the months go on. it starts to concern his friends, family, and teammates, but he refuses anyone's help for years until it starts to really impact his soccer career.

he becomes even more difficult for teams to work with. he's lucky that his soccer skill outweighs the impact of his professional relationships.

and not to get too sad but you asked for angst, so ... I feel like sae would be the most likely of these four to turn to substances after his s/o dies. he's too conceited to admit that he needs help, but he needs the distraction.

constantly goes through photos and videos of you, but usually stops when he gets to the point of tears.

alcoholism and being a world-class athlete don't really mix well, and it takes teammates, coaches, management, and therapy for him to recover.

he's overall just a bit more reckless now; he worries about his future mostly for the money, yeah, but he doesn't have anyone to take care of now, so he doesn't really give a fuck what happens to himself.

drinking, partying, lovers, some betting and gambling here and there.

sometime in his thirties, he eventually settles down with someone else but it's not the same, of course it's not. it's mostly just for public appearances and how fucking lonely he is, anything to fill that void. the emotions aren't as intense, the conversations aren't as meaningful, and the sex is nowhere near as good. it's just not you.

however, he realized that he needed to start getting his life together again. he still thinks about you daily, and the heartache never goes away completely.

sae visits your grave about every half year, and always on your birthday.

⊹˚˖୧ hyōma

he isolated himself at first but eventually opened up to his close friends. he took a lot of time off from professional soccer, the most out of the four on this list.

heartbroken would be an understatement. every aspect of his life just feels wrong without you. eating, sleeping, grocery shopping, attending events ... it all just feels off.

I’ll be honest, he cries a lot. he isn’t ashamed about it, though. he’s trying to work through his emotions and knows that he eventually needs to get help once he’s ready.

he starts to rely on his friends and goes to therapy, which he wasn't used to; but he knows that it's what you would want for him.

his friends and family don’t avoid talking about you and you’re not a “touchy subject.” chigiri encourages them to think about you and reminisce on all of the memories. you’ll always be a part of him.

he does end up dating someone new, but he really has to force himself. his mother and sister were so worried about him, and he's trying to move on to ease their concern.

still wears your wedding ring for almost two years. the new girlfriend is not happy about it, but when she brings it up, chigiri snaps.

“what, so insecure that you’re jealous over someone who's dead?”

it causes an argument, but he ends up putting it in the safe a few months later, mostly so people don’t assume he’s married to his current girl. she stays with him for the money, but he never proposes.

hyōma visits your grave every week at first, so he can talk to you and be alone. as he starts to heal, it's about every four months going forward.

— THOSE WHO CAN’T MOVE ON.

⊹˚˖୧ rin

he ends up being completely listless and closes himself off even more from people than he was already. he never stopped wearing his wedding ring.

rin is enough of a loner as is. when he finally found you, he knew that there could be no one else for him. it would be impossible for him to move on.

his family is worried about him, but he's always been this way, really. they're not going to push him to start another relationship.

he relies on soccer and working out to distract himself. constantly blaring music through his headphones so he can't think, working himself to exhaustion every single day. no breaks, no women.

being exhausted and always wanting to sleep usually backfires though, because he almost always dreams about you. usually nightmares because of how much he misses you, but he feels so relieved and content when he has a nice dream.

as the years go on, the nightmares subside and the good dreams are much more frequent.

rin visits your grave about every month or two, depending on how he's feeling and what his soccer schedule is like. always excited to share his achievements with you, and he can still imagine just what your voice sounded like and how proud you would be.

⊹˚˖୧ reo

losing you completely devastated his life. he moved in with nagi after it happened; you were the one thing that was more important to him than his best friend, and now you were gone. and nothing could undo it.

he kept all of your belongings at his house, except anything that your family wanted. he couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. he brought some of your jewelry, books, perfumes, and plushies to nagi's place. reo's own home now sits cold and unlived.

I kinda feel like he would slut himself out in an attempt to ease his pain. he was lonely, vulnerable, and attractive. he would fuck friends, acquaintances, randoms — some of which he didn't even know their names.

reo still wore his wedding ring except on nights that he was looking for hookups. even when he did have it on, it's not like that stopped most people who were trying to get close to him for his money, anyway.

nagi would try his best to support reo, but they were both pretty awful at communicating their emotions. reo relied on nagi to a toxic extent, becoming even more possessive over his friend now that he didn't have you to care for.

on really bad nights, he'll cuddle up with nagi and cry into his chest for hours, even years after losing you. luckily reo doesn’t drink often, or these nights would be even worse.

reo visits your grave for most holidays or whenever he’s feeling lonely, always making sure that you have a fresh and pretty bouquet that reflects the seasons.

⟢ @slutsenpai ⟣ // masterlist // navigation

notes. thank u for the request, nonnie! I hope that u like it :) likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated!◞♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason.

[xoxolaw]

Haiiiiii💖💖i REALLY LOVE your seong je fics can i request one identical to the six feet away smoking one but this time the reason is because he likes her and havent confessed leaving the girl confused why everyone around her mostly thugs avoid her when shes tge type to pick fights out of pure annoyance with them, i’ll leave the ending to youu😼💖😘😘

-sorry i didn’t word it that well🥹but i hope you get the gist

+ 𝗦𝗜𝗫 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗜𝗦 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘

in which, he likes her, but instead of confessing, he quietly commands everyone else in the Union to stay at least six feet away from her—not to protect her, but because he wants to be the only one close to her.

+ 𝗚𝗘𝗨𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗝𝗘 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

It started gradually.

So gradually she didn’t notice at first.

The first time someone stepped out of her way, she thought it was a fluke. Maybe they just had good reflexes. Maybe they didn’t want trouble. She did have a bit of a reputation—short fuse, sharp tongue, quicker fists.

But when it happened again the next day—then again, and again, and again—it stopped feeling like coincidence.

Something was wrong.

Because Kanghak High wasn’t a kind place. It was crawling with Union lackeys and wannabe thugs who usually had no issue bumping into her, cornering her in the hall, laughing when she shoved back.

But now?

They saw her coming—and moved.

Like she was a fire they weren’t allowed to touch.

She even tried to pick a fight with one of them just to test it.

A guy twice her size had brushed her shoulder at the stairwell. Normally, that would've led to an elbow to his ribs and some choice words.

So she squared up, glared at him, snapped, “You blind or just stupid?”

But instead of smirking or pushing her back, he looked… nervous.

And he backed off. Fast.

“Nah, I—I wasn’t tryna start nothin’, alright?” he mumbled, hands raised like she had a gun pointed at him. “Sorry.”

Sorry?

Since when did Kanghak apologize?

She turned, heart pounding, catching the way the guy glanced over her shoulder—

And froze.

Because behind her, leaning casually against the railing, was Geum Seong-je.

Watching.

✮⋆˙

He was always watching.

From the edge of the cafeteria. From the rooftop railing. From the shadows in the gym. Always chewing gum, always too still, always looking like he was waiting for something.

She used to ignore it.

Used to roll her eyes and chalk it up to typical gang-boss arrogance.

But lately?

The stare felt heavier. Thicker. Like the air shifted when he was around.

And now people moved around her like she had an invisible bubble—and Seong-je stood right outside it, arms folded, smirk twisting at the corner of his lips.

Always close enough to see her.

Never close enough to touch her.

But no one else even dared to try.

✮⋆˙

She heard the phrase one day—accidentally, through a half-open classroom window.

“Don’t go near her,” someone said. “Seong-je’ll rip your face off.”

She held her breath.

“Yeah, I’m not kidding. He said six feet minimum. Anyone breaks it, they answer to him.”

Her heart thudded.

Six feet.

A goddamn radius like she was radioactive.

A territory.

✮⋆˙

Later that day, she found him alone on the outdoor basketball court, the sun bleeding gold over cracked pavement and chain-link fences. He was shooting hoops lazily, sleeves rolled up, eyes heavy-lidded and sweat glistening on his neck.

“You made a rule,” she said, marching up to him.

He didn’t stop playing.

Just caught the rebound one-handed and turned toward her with that same unreadable expression.

“Did I?”

“You told everyone to stay six feet away from me.”

He tossed the ball to the ground. It rolled lazily to the fence.

She stepped closer.

He didn’t move.

“They act like I’ve got a bomb strapped to my chest,” she snapped. “Even the Union’s freaks won’t look at me for more than three seconds.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t laugh.

Just stared at her like she was the problem he’d been trying not to solve.

“And you,” she hissed, stepping into his space. “You’re always right there. Watching. Like a dog on a leash you tied yourself.”

Still no response.

Her voice dropped. “Why?”

And that’s when he moved.

Not fast—not rough—but deliberate. Slow enough to make her heart stutter. His fingers brushed her wrist, and her whole arm went still. She didn’t know if it was the touch or the audacity of it that left her breathless.

“I don’t want anyone else near you,” he said quietly.

She blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t want their hands brushing your shoulder. I don’t want their eyes following you down the hall. I don’t want them breathing the same air you do if I’m not there.”

Her throat dried.

“That’s not—” she tried, but her words failed.

He stepped even closer, a breath away, and now she could smell the sweat on his skin, the faint bite of spearmint gum on his breath.

“I don’t like sharing,” he said.

“You don’t even have me,” she whispered.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

“Yet.”

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

hope you enjoyed it!!

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@sunnyophelia @atztrsr @snoopsyka @cayrelyra @symphonies-of-poenies @ghost-reine @ginaaaa29 @gacktsa @inom17 @coffee-ii @dna-black-and-blue @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @kyungjunnies @changbinkisser @mishh2728 @0waves2earth @ashayein @janjoonty @ineed-myspace @loveg4lore @itzcandy

[mullermilkshake]

I’ll run towards you in any life

Part 26 <- Part 27 -> Part 28

Jinwoo sees you open up to him fully.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Pregnant!reader Tags - Heavily pregnant reader, Smut, Pregnancy sex, P in v sex, Creampie, Vaginal sex, Fluffy stuff, Lactation kink, Breastfeeding, Riding, Orgasm

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Song I wrote this to >>>

Once Jinwoo moved your pregnancy pillow to the other side of the bed, he took in your smile as comfort.

“Is that more comfortable? I’m not sure why we didn’t move you sooner, so you’re not staring at a wall all night.”

He rested his head on the pillow, you did the same, your pregnancy pillow in between like a bridged gap in a synapse behind his eye, twitching intermittently whenever a flicker of something interrupted his memories.

“Yeah it is, I can actually see you now.” You smiled and shrugged. “I’m not sure, I never asked.”

The sunlight filtered in through the window, highlighting sections of your hair in a lighter shade he’d hadn't noticed until now. The scent of your shampoo had rubbed off on the bed linen from last night, if Jinwoo breathed it in enough times it would put him to sleep. He would have let it happen too had his mind not been focused on how submissive you came across to him. Did you always just take him at face value? Did he expect you to just accept it, to nod your head and go along with it?

Jinwoo didn’t remember you, just an echo, something of the woman with no face in his memories. But surely you would have had some fight in you, not to just roll over and take it?

You were pregnant, he understood the hormones and how much you were going through, but he did wonder if there were times that you’d put him in his place, or told him off because of something he did when he wasn’t supposed to or apologetically fumbled the ba over something important.

“You should, y’know? Ask me if there’s something bothering you, or something you want to change. I’d be more at ease knowing you were too.”

He didn’t think for a second it was just your comfort that put him on edge all the time, the uneasiness of knowing nothing and wanting everything back as it were but to be the better person he knew he was.

A little jiggling feeling tickled the base of his spine and threatened to unravel, he clutched at the yarn desperately before it could loosen entirely. But he couldn’t tell why he was doing it.

“Okay, I will. I mean, we’ve had our fair share of spats, mostly me having a moan because you went and did something you shouldn’t have.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” You fiddled with the edge of the duvet cover, looking at a random spot on the wall. “You told Hae-in that I was pregnant with twins, knowing how she felt about you.”

Shit, did I? Hang on, I remember Hae-in feeling that way.

“Oh…”

You snorted. “Yeah, oh. It really knocked the wind out of me, it was like you did it on purpose. To be honest, thinking about it now, I’m glad you got it out of the way… she really liked you back then and I…” You never made eye contact. “I’m glad you stayed with me.”

“Me too.”

Jinwoo would have allowed himself to get lost in your eyes when you finally did look at him, something he found himself doing each time he looked at you. He wanted to understand how your mind worked. The almost-love confession, the little anecdotes that he replayed in his mind over and over to visualise what his life with you would have looked like before.

He remembered every raid, every association meeting that dragged on longer than it should have, dining with the Chairman and sipping on whiskey he didn’t like the taste of that left a bitterness on his tongue. He remembered each visit to his mom and Jin-ah on his own and the types of dinners he ate there.

Yet he just couldn’t remember you. 

Trying wasn’t acceptable. He needed to succeed, and before he could even try, the front door knocked.

“Oh, that could be the take out.”

“I’ll get it.” Jinwoo hesitated to climb from the bed and turned back to you, offering his hand out. “Need a hand?”

“Yeah, please.”

He got off and came to your side to aid you, holding your hands tightly for support. The twins could essentially come any day now, every twinge and sharp shooting pain down the side of your belly could have been the start.

Any time now.

“Thank you.” You stood and watched him, eyes locked and innocent.

Oh yeah, twenty four hours with you was beginning to really take its toll, but Jinwoo was enthralled with it. With you. Every second passed pulled him closer into your orbit and he was beginning to lose interest in grabbing a space helmet to breathe with.

You took that breath away more and more each time you were close.

She’ll be the death of me at this rate. My heart is beating so fast and I want to say something, but all I want is her lips- 

The door locked again, harder this time, forcing Jinwoo to retreat and open it before he ignored whoever it was and closed the bedroom door to drown it out.

Upon opening it, Jinwoo blinked away visions zipping behind his dry eyes. Thoughts on a faceless, pregnant woman running off with Jong-in into the stereotypical sunset, hysterically giggling in amusement while they moved out of sight.

Jinwoo knew he hated Jong-in, he just didn’t know the full extent of it. But if his thoughts were anything to go by, he had a clue, at least. He gripped the door handle until his hand shook, a possible involuntary reaction perhaps?

Who knew, all it did was cramp his hand up and he couldn’t let go.

“Jong-in, are you alright?” You asked at the door clinging to Jinwoo’s arm.

“I am.”

He did his damndest to appear less tired, straightening himself out in a t-shirt and jeans. The man always wore a suit, this was just unsettling. He looked like a... proper dad, not a guild master.

“Hae-in’s finally gone into labour, but it’s a long way from being over for her. She’s doing good, but it’s taking its toll. I’m just coming back for a shower and get a few of her things she wants.”

“What if she has the baby before you get back there?”

A reasonable concern from you. When that time came, Jinwoo wouldn’t leave the room for anything. He guessed that’s what set him and Jong-in apart.

Jong-in shook his head and wearily ran his hand through his hair. “They said she’s only one centimetre dilated, so they expect it to be a while before there’s any progress.”

“But…” You were more agitated. “What if it happens all really quickly and the baby just falls out and you aren’t there to catch-���

“Alright, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves…” Jinwoo squeezed your hand to reassure you, though he wasn’t sure how much it actually worked. “I doubt a baby would just fall out, and I doubt even if it were the case that both of our babies would just slip out. I don’t think that’s how it works. Hae-in should be fine.” He wanted to suppress his chuckle, but the way you looked up at him and helplessly clutched his arm in your grasp made it so.

You were so adorable.

“But it’s a possibility.” You had him there. He couldn’t argue with that.

“Okay, it’s a possibility, but you’d have to be pretty unlucky to have two babies fall out of you. And I’ll be there to catch them if they ever did, alright?”

“Alright.”

Jinwoo would have melted into your gaze had he not been self aware, he didn’t care that Jong-in was just standing there while he batted away any lewd thought that graced his brain.

Everything had come in so quickly, that Jinwoo found his body reacting to you in ways that he never expected spending no more than a day with you. He watched you sleeping for a while last night, listening to the natural rhythm of your breaths, chest rising in an easing pattern.

His body wanted you, it was obvious by how you got out of the shower and he had to excuse himself because he’d gotten hard just seeing your skin wet and the towel draped over you that didn’t cover your baby bump anymore.

Jinwoo wanted you. How could he just ask when he didn’t remember you? He’d slept with you obviously, otherwise the twins wouldn’t exist. Though he was starting back at square one, the awkwardness and the fact he’d only spend twenty-four hours with you.

It felt wrong, but it was all he could think about.

“Ehem.” Jong-in cleared his throat.

“S-sorry, Jong-in.” We’re you thinking the same as Jinwoo? Your cheeks flushed. “What do you need us for?”

“I was just stopping by to say, if you wanted to come by later, I’m sure Hae-in would appreciate it. She’s a lot better these days, but she’s still so paranoid. I think it would help her if she knew that there were other people she trusted there. I can call you when things calm down a little. I have a feeling we’re in for a long night, so…”

“Okay, we could do that- Jinwoo, we can do that, right? We were meant to go to your mom’s for dinner, but I’m sure she won’t mind us going tomorrow?”

He desperately wanted to say 'no' immediately, to shoo Jong-in away and live in this comfortable bubble he’d found himself in. He couldn’t do all that though without consequences, could he?

“Yeah, of course. We’ll come by later.”

“Alright then, I’ll call if anything changes.”

“Thanks Jong-in, good luck with everything, send Hae-in our best wishes.”

“Bye.” Jinwoo closed the door immediately.

His brain should have been vacant, he should have waited for the takeout and sat down on the sofa to eat it when it arrived, maybe watching a movie in the process and wolfing down the delicious aromas.

It’s what he should have done.

Yeah, that was the right move.

Not kissing you behind the closed door, sweetly caressing your hair and handling you gently like you were made of fine china. He moved as close as he could, your pregnant belly pressing against him practically excited him, he did that, you allowed him to put not one, but two babies into you. He should have stopped and thought about the ramifications of his actions, to just ruminate over what he had already lost.

He didn’t, too overcome with his own wants and needs, a little release like a pressure pot the longer he touched you, made you feel good like he’d been wanting to. His body melted into you like putty and perfectly holding each spot on your body like he was meant for it. Your little exhausted sighs and moans of relief sang to his ears, cradled them and smoothed them over to satisfy his urges.

He wanted you. And he could tell you wanted him too.

His first time all over again with you, this time, he wouldn’t forget. Jinwoo refused to forget.

It was as though a silent, unspoken rule presented itself between you and him, kissing and exchanging fluids at each other's lips. 

’Go to the bedroom and make love to the mother of your children.’ 

And so he took you there, no words uttered, no movement misjudged, nothing out of place and all slotted in together as it should have. Again, there was a familiarity, Jinwoo’s body reacted the way it was meant to and more.

More.

More. 

Jinwoo slipped your clothes off, being sure to take care around your belly. You were beautiful, natural and just plain angelic. Naked skin contact set his whole body alight, itching with a sensation he couldn’t recall ever knowing or realising.

Possession.

You were his. You were his. You were his. And making sweet love to you solidified that in any life, any scenario or trouble, it was obvious that his body was yours. Yours alone, in any alternate second in this world that he’d find himself back to you.

He couldn’t remember, but that did not mean he never recognised that in some way, you were meant for him and he for you. It was how every time you touched him, he reacted to it, sensitive to the natural vibrations of your body against his, your sweet little noises only he heard and it forced him to evolve.

To be possessive.

No one else could see you like this. Ever. 

“I love you.” He said, the three words slipping past his lips unknowingly and with ease.

Sitting on his hips, hovering over his hardened cock, you couldn’t be more beautiful if you tried. A goddess. A higher self that even an angel could not replicate.

“I love you.” He repeated it again, his own discovered mantra.

At first, you said nothing, you didn’t move or make an attempt to arouse him. You just sat there, holding your belly and rubbing absentmindedly with your thumbs.

“I love you too, Jinwoo.”

That look, a calming yet petrified gaze down on him, as though to say, ‘even if you don’t remember, we’ll make do with what we have and enjoy it.’ 

Hearing it before he made love to you couldn’t have caused the connection to become more spectacularly infinite. Jinwoo’s body started connecting to his brain, the faceless woman still unidentified, but the overflowing emotions brimming with obvious sensations from his time with you before electrified his fingertips, trembled his legs and hitched his breath so he couldn’t breathe properly.

He fucked into you slowly, agonisingly sensual in a way you’d never forget what he could do for you. In and out of your drenched, swollen pussy, so close to the end and ready to do the most remarkable thing any human could ever do.

Your breasts were so swollen, leaking, begging for a release Jinwoo hadn’t had an opportunity to try before to his knowledge. Your response when he made a seal with his lips around your nipple told him everything. Because there was no response, like it was second nature by now.

Jinwoo had done this before. And he loved it.

Sweet soy, caramel, buttery on his tongue, each drip made his cock twitch. Each suck brought him as close to you as humanly possible, a connection he doubted he even had before his memories of you up and vanished.

It almost made him want to weep.

“J-Jinwoo…” You whimpered, grasping on to his hands for support, laced fingers with a voice that barely choked out, so weak and delicate.

Jinwoo kept his rhythm, switching sides and continued to suck on your milky nipple, taking each drop you gave him. You were close, he could guess that, or like his body knew, he didn’t change pace or technique besides licking your sensitive nipple every so often until your breathing changed.

You were about to come, Jinwoo wanted to come too.

He’d been holding it back because he wanted you to enjoy it and be comfortable, no words, just silence and understanding. He wanted to take the pressure from your breasts and fill himself before he filled you.

Your grip squeezed just like your pussy did and you came, trying to stifle a moan but failed. It was so sexy, yet guttural, clenching him so tight it caught Jinwoo up in the moment and he let go too, releasing himself inside you for the first-not-first time.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said, barely.

“I love you.” Your only coherent response.

And once you and he came down from that all inclusive high you both rode on, Jinwoo pulled you in for one long, lingering kiss. He felt for the babies, his other hand caressing your cheek, one happy moment.

Possibly the all time favourite so far if he could remember the rest. But that was a matter for another time.

“I love you too.”

Jinwoo helped you up, ready to take you to the bathroom to freshen up, maybe a joint shower for a more sensually romantic time together before leaving for the hospital.

“I think we needed that.” You stretched, rubbing your back and pulling your robe off of the back of the door.

“Yeah, and it was perfect- what’s wrong?”

You just stood there, looking into space behind the door, your robe pooling at your feet for no reason. “Jinwoo… I think my water just broke.”

Part 26 <- Part 27 -> Part 28

AHHHH IT'S HAPPENING!!!

Okay, so I know I was going to make sure the labour was unaffected by plot, but the things I have in store, I really need it for the plot, so for the who don't wish to read the labour, I shall do a brief run down of the chapter in the one after as to not leave anyone out. I realise that labour can be very traumatic and don't wish to trigger anyone even though the tags are there.

We're almost there and will find out what the babies are and their names, I'm so excited!!!

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @kamiliora

@yessirr7 @qmabailor @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

@minkuro @misakicchi @lovingyeet @soft-dots @gina239

@sabrina-senpai @tsukimoon-chan @afkmylajah @livelaughlovekuni @keiva1000

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[smutmind]

I'd really love to see more minnie and shuhua for when it doesnt fit, if you'd be so kind of course.

Thank you very much!!!!!

When it Doesn't Fit ft. Minnie (ANOTHER FLUFF)

I don't know why Minnie fits these fluffy ideas. HAHA

The bell above the café door chimed at exactly 7:02 a.m., just like it did every weekday.

Minnie glanced up from behind the espresso machine, already smiling. She recognized the stride before the man even reached the counter—sharp, measured, always in sync with the ticking wall clock. Marcus. Dark coat, darker expression. A tall drink of don’t-talk-to-me.

“Morning,” she chirped, slipping a fresh post-it onto the side of a to-go cup. The ink was still drying.

Marcus eyed the cup like it had personally offended him. The sticky note read: "Even strong coffee envies your focus."

His jaw ticked. He took the cup without a word. No tip, no smile. Just the same quiet nod and a turn on his heel.

Minnie’s lips pursed as she watched him disappear into the rain-slicked street. “Someone’s allergic to serotonin,” she muttered, half to the steamer wand.

Over the next week, the post-its got bolder. "Your suit called. It wants a day off." "You look like you wrestled stress—and won." "Smile. No one’s watching. Except me."

Marcus never said anything. But he never stopped coming, either.

It was Thursday night when the weather turned. Wind pressed wet leaves against the glass. The café lights glowed honey-gold in the gloom. It was Minnie’s closing shift—slow, quiet. She was wiping down tables when the door creaked open.

He was soaked.

“Didn’t expect you this late,” she said, tugging her oversized cardigan tighter. “The coffee machine’s still hot, if you want.”

Marcus nodded once, brushing water off his coat. “Black. Usual.”

She fixed it, fast. No post-it this time—just a curious glance as she handed him the cup. He didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned against the counter, his fingers curled tight around the paper warmth.

“You never smile,” she said softly.

He looked at her. Really looked. “I don’t have time to smile.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

“I’m working to prove something.” He paused. Rain lashed harder against the windows. “That I belong where I am. That I’m not just some lucky hire. That I’m better.”

Minnie studied him. His stiff posture. The faint crease between his brows. She wanted to smooth it with her thumb. “That’s a lot to carry,” she murmured. “No wonder your shoulders are always tense.”

The lights flickered once.

She jumped. “Ugh, I hate power outages. Please don’t let it go out.”

“You afraid of the dark?”

“Only when it’s storming and I’m alone in here.” She tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. “Don’t suppose you’d… stay?”

Marcus hesitated. The rain thundered like a hundred tiny fists against the glass.

“I can’t leave anyway,” he said finally, glancing at the flooded sidewalk. “Storm’s too heavy.”

“Then it’s settled.” She padded to the back room and returned with a spare blanket and a couple of overstuffed floor cushions. “Welcome to your first café sleepover.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is this standard protocol?”

“No. But I figure if I’m stuck here, I’d rather not be scared and alone.”

Marcus sat, stiff at first. Then a little less. They sipped lukewarm coffee and listened to the storm. She talked. He listened. And somewhere between lightning strikes, the silence between them softened.

Rain threaded like silver needles across the café windows, blurring the world outside.

Minnie curled her legs beneath her on the cushion, clutching her lukewarm mug. The space felt smaller now. Not because it was tight, but because Marcus stayed. Still. Present.

She’d never seen him still.

“So,” she said, voice lilting, “what’s the deal, Marcus? You’re always suited up. Always tense. What do you actually do when you’re not glowering at espresso?”

He looked sideways at her, lips twitching faintly. “Real estate. Commercial, mostly. Downtown properties. Warehouses, corporate spaces.”

“Figures.” Minnie smirked. “You’ve got the energy of a man who sells buildings like chess pieces.��

He gave a soft, tired huff. “It’s more paperwork than people. Lots of big egos in small rooms.”

“You ever like it?” she asked, chin resting on her knee.

“I like being good at it.”

The rain thickened. She could feel the air growing damp, cold curling around her toes.

“What about love?” she asked softly, without teasing this time. “You ever like that?”

The shift in him was instant. His shoulders locked. The silence that followed felt like something sharp, stretched between them.

“I don’t mix well with...that,” he said flatly. “Too many expectations. Too many cracks to fall through.”

Minnie blinked, her smile dimming. “Sorry. That was—too personal.”

He exhaled, slow and hard. “No. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.” His voice softened. “It’s just… hard to explain things that didn’t end well.”

A heavy pause hung between them. Neither knew what to do with the sudden chill in the air.

Minnie rubbed her arms, shivering a little. “This place gets freezing after nine. Never noticed it until I wasn’t moving.”

Marcus glanced at her, then at her thin cardigan. His jaw worked, conflicted. “Do you want...?”

She hesitated, then gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah. If you’re okay with it. Just a little warmth wouldn’t hurt.”

He shifted closer, slow and careful. His arm draped over her shoulders—awkward at first, then less so when she leaned in instinctively. His body radiated heat like a furnace.

They said nothing. The thunder softened. Her head rested gently against his chest.

And for the first time since either could remember, the quiet didn’t feel empty.

The wind howled like it had bones to rattle.

Marcus’s arm around her helped, but Minnie was still shivering. Her knees knocked gently against his thigh.

“You’re cold,” he said quietly.

“I’ll live,” she muttered, teeth nearly chattering.

He gave her a look. Then stood, pulled off his tailored coat, and held it open. “Come on.”

She hesitated. “That’s like... a thousand-dollar coat.”

“Only eight-fifty.”

She squinted up at him. “You’re really gonna argue luxury while I’m about to freeze to death?”

He sighed and moved to wrap it around her himself, muttering something about stubborn baristas. But as he pulled it over her shoulders and adjusted the lapel, his hand slipped—just slightly—brushing the soft curve of her chest.

She yelped.

He froze, hand mid-air. “Shit—I didn’t—oh my God—I’m not—”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, did you just—?”

“I was adjusting the—coat,” Marcus stammered, face already flaming. “I didn’t know you weren’t wearing—uh—something more.”

She looked down, then up again, biting her lip. “It’s just nipple patches. I hate bras on night shift.”

He blinked, hard. “That’s—information I didn’t expect to have at this hour.”

A long beat. She held the coat closed with a grin curling at her lips. “Marcus,” she said sweetly, “you’re sweating.”

He wiped his palms on his slacks. “I’m just trying to not get arrested.”

She tilted her head. Her voice dipped lower. “What if I want you to act like a pervert around me?”

He stared at her, genuinely stunned.

Minnie didn’t flinch—just smiled, a slow, dangerous thing.

Marcus swallowed, visibly. “That’s... not helping.”

She laughed, warm and full, curling into the coat like it was her armor and his doom.

“I’m teasing,” she said, finally. “Kind of.”

Marcus wasn’t breathing.

Outside, the storm began to lighten, but inside the café, tension flickered—half humor, half heat—across every inch of shared space.

Minnie blinked up at the ceiling. “Well, look who decided to rejoin society.”

Marcus stood, brushing off his slacks. “Lights are back. Rain’s dying down. Guess we’re free to return to capitalism.”

She stretched, the borrowed coat still draped around her like a cape. “We should close up, then. You sure you want to help? Wouldn’t want to steal you from your very serious, life-saving spreadsheets.”

He grabbed the mop leaning against the counter. “I’m just making sure you don’t frame me for anything.”

She arched a brow. “Frame you?”

“I was alone with a woman, in the dark, after hours. I touched something I wasn’t supposed to. That’s at least a misdemeanor.”

Minnie cackled, nearly dropping a stack of chairs. “Touched something? You brushed my boob like a panicked librarian reaching for a banned book.”

He paused, jaw twitching. “That is... uncomfortably accurate.”

They finished in record time—laughing, bumping elbows, trading glances that lingered a little longer each time.

By the time they stepped outside, the rain had softened to a mist. Marcus offered his umbrella, holding it just high enough to cover both their heads.

The sidewalk gleamed wet under streetlights, and their steps fell into an easy rhythm.

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” Minnie said softly, the city quiet around them.

“I’m still just trying to keep myself out of prison,” he replied, deadpan. “Imagine the courtroom sketch: barista claims emotional damage after unsolicited warmth.”

She bumped his arm. “You’re not nearly as scary when you make jokes.”

“Don’t tell my clients,” he said. “They pay extra for the scowl.”

They stopped at her building. The entry light buzzed faintly, illuminating the curve of her cheek as she turned to face him.

Minnie stood on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—just warm enough to make him forget what words were.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “For staying. For not being... well, who I thought you were.”

Marcus blinked. “Who’d you think I was?”

“A suit with legs and no soul.”

His laugh came out surprised, almost boyish. “Ouch.”

She smiled. “You proved me wrong. A little.”

He cleared his throat, unsure what to do with his hands. “Guess I’ll see you at 7:02 tomorrow?”

“I might start opening at 7:01,” she teased.

“Rebel,” he said, eyes crinkling.

She slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind her—leaving Marcus outside, still warm from her kiss, still smiling like an idiot under his umbrella.

The bell above the café door stayed quiet.

Minnie checked the wall clock. 7:01. Then 7:03. Then 7:07.

The cup with the next post-it stayed untouched on the counter. "You made silence louder than coffee. That’s a skill."

She sighed and peeled it off. Stuck it to her apron instead.

Marcus didn’t come that day.

Nor the next.

By Thursday, she’d stopped prepping his order. The cups felt lighter somehow. The café too bright. Too yellow. Like a stage light waiting for the actor who missed their cue.

“Miss your boyfriend?” her coworker Teela asked, elbow-deep in croissants.

Minnie blinked. “He’s not—he’s just a customer.”

“Uh-huh. Who you let spend the night in your shop, gave your blanket, and kissed.”

“It was on the cheek.”

“That’s a gateway cheek.”

Minnie smiled faintly but didn’t argue. Instead, she stared out the rain-speckled window, her breath fogging the glass.

She didn’t know his number. Didn’t know where he lived. Didn’t even know his middle name. But every morning, 7:02 came and went without Marcus. And that… hurt more than she’d expected.

The weird part? It wasn’t just missing his face or the way he stood like his suit was military-issued. It was missing the version of herself that came alive around him—sharper, braver, louder.

And now, the mornings just… felt beige.

She wiped the counter one extra time and tucked the latest post-it in her pocket.

Just in case he ever came back for it.

The rain came down like a verdict.

Minnie locked the front door early, her nerves coiled tight as the sky growled. Thunder rolled deep and mean, rattling the glass. The café lights flickered—again.

“Not tonight,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. “Please not again.”

The storm had a way of peeling her open—too many memories, too much silence, too much dark.

She gathered the cushions from the back, her cardigan already wrapped twice around her. The idea of another night alone in the dim cafe made her chest feel tight.

Then the bell rang.

The door—still unlocked from her forgetful hands—squeaked open, and there he was.

Dripping, coat clinging, hair damp against his forehead.

Marcus.

Minnie froze mid-step, heart thudding like it wanted out.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her like he wasn’t sure she was real.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he said softly.

Her voice caught. “You—you disappeared.”

“I got pulled into a deal. Huge project. Took everything.” He stepped in, the storm closing behind him. “I worked from home. Couldn’t break the rhythm. But tonight… I remembered the rain. The power. You in my coat.”

Minnie blinked, heat rushing to her face. “So you came back?”

He nodded. “I needed to know if the café still glowed like I remembered. If you were still here.”

Her breath hitched. She smoothed her sleeves down her arms to hide the tremble. “And?”

“It’s brighter now,” he said. “Because you didn’t forget me.”

Minnie exhaled a shaky laugh. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Another rumble of thunder.

She glanced at the windows, then at him. “I still hate storms,” she whispered.

Marcus stepped closer, close enough to smell rain and cologne. “Do you want me to stay?”

She looked up, eyes wide, vulnerable. “Only if you can keep me warm.”

A smile ghosted across his face. Not the smug one. The soft, slow kind—the one he didn’t know how to wear until her.

He reached for her gently this time, fingers brushing the hem of her sleeve before pulling her in, coat and all.

The storm outside was still angry. But inside, she found warmth in the quiet rise and fall of his breath.

This time, she wasn’t alone.

The backroom door clicked shut behind them, and the storm outside vanished into a muffled pulse.

Marcus turned to face her. Minnie stood barefoot on the worn tile, cardigan falling off one shoulder, cheeks warm and eyes dark.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, edged with restraint.

She smiled, slow and wicked. “I’ve had a month to think about it.”

With one fluid motion, she peeled off the cardigan and pulled up her shirt—revealing two circular nude patches barely covering her nipples. “You left me cold, Marcus,” she whispered. “You owe me warmth.”

He stepped closer. “Yeah?”

“Start here,” she said, pointing at her left breast, “and use your mouth.”

He didn’t ask twice.

His tongue hooked beneath the patch, teasing her skin as he peeled it off, slow enough to make her gasp. The other followed, sucked between his lips until her knees trembled.

Minnie laughed breathlessly, gripping his shoulders to stay grounded. “You’ve got a mouth built for sin, agent man.”

“Show me yours,” he murmured, fingers brushing her waistband.

She stepped back, tugged down her pants—and let her cock spring free, thick, flushed, already twitching with anticipation. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and stroked once, her eyes locked to his. “I get so wet watching men like you grind themselves into the ground.”

Marcus exhaled sharply. “Busy bees turn you on?”

“Stupidly hard,” she grinned. “Something about men who forget they have bodies until someone reminds them.”

He cupped her jaw. “Then prove it. With your tongue.”

She dropped to her knees like she was born for it, licking up the length of him before taking him deep, slow, deliberate. Marcus’s head hit the wall. One hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter for dear life.

“Minnie—fuck—”

She hummed around him, lips slick and wet, the rhythm torturously steady. When she pulled off, saliva stringing between her mouth and his tip, his legs nearly gave.

“I want you inside me,” she said, voice husky, climbing onto his lap.

He was already thick and ready. She guided him to her entrance and sank down, inch by glorious inch, her mouth parting in a moan.

They didn’t move at first—just held each other, eyes locked, breath shared.

Then she started to roll her hips.

Slow. Deep. Fucking luxurious.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel—unreal.”

Her grin was all teeth. “And I haven’t even started yet.”

Minnie braced herself against his chest, her thighs trembling as she sank another inch onto him.

“God,” she panted, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so fucking big—I can’t… I can’t take all of you.”

Marcus groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping her hips. “Yes you can,” he murmured. “You’ve got it in you. Let me help.”

He shifted beneath her, tilting just right, guiding her hips until she slid deeper. Minnie gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

Her voice cracked on a moan. “Holy shit, Marcus.”

He kissed her—rough and wet, stealing the air from her lungs. Then he pulled back and whispered, “Suck my tongue.”

She did—mouth open, tongue curling around his, riding him slow and deep as the kiss turned filthy. Each bounce stretched her wide and full. His cock rubbed her just right, grinding up into her until she was cursing against his mouth.

“I missed this,” he growled, lips brushing her jaw. “Missed your mouth. Your sounds. The way you move.”

“You didn’t even text,” she teased breathlessly. “Just vanished like some kind of overworked ghost.”

“Maybe I needed another storm to wake me up.”

She laughed, bouncing harder now, sweat dotting her temple. “You’re lucky I’m weak for workaholics with stupid pretty mouths.”

He grabbed her ass, thrusting up to meet her strokes. “And you’re lucky I’m a man who respects a woman who knows how to ruin my sanity.”

Their bodies clapped in rhythm. Wet, messy, perfect.

Minnie cried out as she came, her cock twitching between them. The pleasure rolled through her like thunder, hot and deep and shaking. She sagged against him, gasping into his neck.

Marcus wasn’t far behind.

“Where?” he asked, voice strained, desperate.

She looked up, eyes burning with mischief. “I want it like my favorite order.”

He blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Hot. Strong. And in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, pulling out fast.

She dropped to her knees again with a practiced hunger, lips parted and waiting as he stroked himself, groaning hard—

—and spilled across her tongue in thick, salty bursts, his name half a gasp in her throat.

Minnie swallowed, then licked her lips. “Mmm. Better than espresso.”

He collapsed back against the wall, chest heaving.

“Rainy nights really are your thing,” she added with a wink.

He reached down, cupped her jaw, and laughed.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Maybe,” she said, rising up to kiss him, “but you’ll die warm.”

---

Sunlight bled through the café windows, golden and unmerciful.

Minnie stirred first—blanket tangled, skin warm against Marcus’s chest, limbs still draped over him like he was furniture. Her back ached. Her thighs... ached more.

She blinked up at the ceiling, then to the clock.

“Oh no,” she whispered, slapping his chest. “Marcus. Wake up. We’re so screwed.”

He groaned. “You said I could die warm, not early.”

“It’s eight-forty-seven. I was supposed to open at seven-thirty.”

As if on cue, a knock rattled the backroom door. “Minnie?” came her boss’s voice, laced with suspicion and half-amusement. “You alive back there?”

Minnie froze. Marcus sat up fast enough to nearly knock over a box of stirrers. “Shit. Shitshitshit.”

They scrambled. She pulled her pants on inside-out. He yanked on his wrinkled dress shirt and tried to fix his tie, only to realize it was Minnie’s. She tossed it back with a snort.

“We’re walking out there like adults,” she whispered.

“We just had backroom sex loud enough to steam the espresso machine.”

“Then we’re walking out there like actors.”

She paused, snatched two sticky notes off the counter, and stuck one across her forehead, the other across his.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Costume drama. Just roll with it.”

The door creaked open.

The owner, a petite woman with an immaculate apron and a dry sense of humor, stood with one eyebrow raised.

Minnie walked out first—barefoot, hair wild, post-it on her forehead that read: "I regret nothing."

Marcus followed, post-it on his chest: "Just here for coffee (and poor decisions)."

The owner clapped once. “Well. I was wondering when this would happen.”

Minnie blinked. “Wait—what?”

“You’ve been leaving those thirsty post-its for months, sweetheart. You think I can’t read?”

Marcus flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not fired, am I?”

“You don’t even work here.”

“Still. Good to know.”

She waved them toward the counter. “You’re lucky the regulars haven’t arrived yet. Fix yourselves. Then fix some coffee.”

Minnie turned to Marcus as they moved behind the counter, faces red, grins helpless.

“That was the worst walk of shame in history,” she said.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he replied.

They bumped hips. Made two coffees. Shared one kiss over steaming mugs and silent promises.

Sometimes, love didn’t arrive with fireworks or fanfare.

Sometimes, it walked in late, soaked in rain, wearing a frown.

And sometimes, it left a post-it that said everything without needing to explain a thing.

[stormcloudzz]

Okay okay if I may ramble a tad..

First up we got Re'virr! The most "literally just a guy" you ever did meet :3

He's a cathay khajiit, and my Dragonborn's (Dar'rasha) adoptive father, along with Brynjolf, who he has a bit of a.. situationship with? Not sure if that's the right term.. But the two of them go way back and constantly make dating jokes to the point where I don't think anyone knows if they're actually joking or not, themselves included.

He's a thief, and while he used to travel around a bit here and there -scamming people and selling the stolen goods for profit- he's since settled down and stays mostly in Riften, working his stall, still selling stolen goods and using his charm to welcome customers and sell them shit for crazy marked up prices.

Next up is Sol!

He's an alfiq who currently works for the Dark Brotherhood! He uses the fact that most people of Skyrim don't know the difference between an alfiq and a house cat to his advantage to get away with a lot of crime and murder. (I'm kinda toying with the idea of giving him a title, a kin to "the terror of Dawnstar" or something to that affect because of how much shit he stirs up.

But his creation was actually just born from me waking up at 3am with A Vision of a silly orange cat who kills people and I couldn't rest until I drew him lol so he was born from that.

He actually joined the Brotherhood sort of by accident, in a way. He joins after the events of the Dark Brotherhood questline where the remaining members are staying in Dawnstar. One of the newer members heard about the guilds old family pet spider, and so when they saw a "stray cat" walking around Dawnstar, they decided to take him to the Brotherhood as their new "family pet". He could have very well put a stop to this at any point and tell this guy that he wasn't a stray cat, but he wanted to see where this would go, and he also never complains about free food and housing. He's done this jig a thousand times over by this point.

The Brotherhood's leader (my Dragonborn Dar'rasha) was out for a while at this point, but Nazir let him stay around because why not. (A decision he comes to regret as Sol loves to be a little shit and causes all sorts of problems). He keeps up the act of "family pet" for a few weeks, before Dar'rasha comes in eventually with more orders for murders (he runs the Brotherhood more like a tired manager, than a crazed killer tbh). But he see's Sol he doesn't bat an eye, as he is also a khajiit, and simply assumes Sol is a newly recruited member and starts giving him a list of contracts to carry out. That's when one of the other members walks in, wondering why their guild leader is giving contract orders to their pet cat- But then the act was up and Sol is allowed to stay in the Brotherhood as an actual member of the Brotherhood. But of cause he continues to pull all sort of shit on his new family members.

Next is Ko'dah!

He's an alfiq-raht who attends the College of Winterhold, and is friendly rivals with J'zargo. The two of them both study in destruction magic, so they have a lot of fun working together, while at the same time trying to one-up the other.

Unfortunately they haven't been developed much beyond that point, but hopefully once I get to writing about the College itself for my story/timeline I'll be able to give them some more love..

And last, but not least, Kesvirr!

They are a cathay, and is actually Dar'rasha's cousin! They grew up together in the same caravan and acted basically like siblings growing up, but when their caravan was attacked, neither of them knew the other had survived, with both of them escaping in unknowingly different directions. They grew up for the rest of their childhoods and into adulthood, not knowing the other was alive.. It isn't until the day where Dar'rasha assassinated Vittoria Vici and makes a mad dash through the city of Solitude to escape the guards, when Kesvirr, who was walking down the street, see's this black blur rush past them and out of the city. It isn't until later when they think on the moment, that the assassin looked an awful lot like what their cousin what have looked like all grown up.. (I wish I had more but that's all I've got planned out right now! But I do want them to have a proper reunion again one day, I promise!)

(Man's so underdeveloped I haven't even drawn him yet.. I just used a picrew for this image of them for now)

That's all the OCs I have (for right now) that aren't the games main character. And Yes they're all (obviously) khajiits. Because I love them dearly..

I actually have... So many OCs for Elder Scrolls lol (legit like a whole family tree, going up in the generations to my HoK) but these are the main ones for now.. And yes they are all, somehow or other, related (even if they don't know it).

Like-

I'm not kidding pfft and I actually have plans to expand it even-

But I'll stop the rambling for now :3

My fellow Elder Scrolls oc havers, PLEASE tell me in the tags/reblogs about your non-DB/HOK/Nerevarine ocs. Tell me about your Just Some Guy, your guild member/master, your secret third thing. I wanna hear about them all!!!

(bonus points if you reblog with art)

[conclover]

Mr. Tenna x GN! Reader | Static Hearts Part 5

Previous chapter

Summary: As time goes on, you begin to enjoy this new routine with Tenna, and his love for you only grows. However, just as you start to appreciate all the attention and gifts he gives you, another side of him begins to show…

Warnings: Yandere Tenna, mentions of sex and masturbation, fluff (why is that a warning?!)

Notes: Get ready for the next chapter... it’s going to be smutilicious! (um...)

Word count: 3K (more or less)

Tenna’s cheeks were flushed, his screen still damp with sweat, and his shirt clung to him at the chest and under his arms, but you didn’t mind at all. He was glowing with happiness, and it was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. The faint flicker of the still playing romance movie lit the room just enough to create a cozy atmosphere, casting lazy shadows over the couch where you lay wrapped in each other.

“Heh…Tell me something,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach the corners of his screen. “What’s got someone like you tuning in to someone like me?”

You looked at him through your lashes, letting the silence linger just long enough to think of something that would melt him.

“How could I not?” you said, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re beautiful even when you’re not trying to be!”

“Oh, sweetheart!” he laughed, fanning himself with one gloved hand. “Keep talking like that and I’ll need a commercial break to cool down!”

He leaned in and brushed his nose against yours, then your cheek, nuzzling with exaggerated affection. It tickled just enough to make you giggle, and when you tried to turn away, he only tightened his arms around you, holding you firmly against him.

“Don’t you go slipping off now,” he whispered, grinning as he pulled you closer. “You’re under contract, sugar. That makes you mine. Didn’t you read the fine print?”

“I don’t remember signing any—”

His nose continued its playful assault, earning more laughter from you as he nestled closer. The feeling of him was stronger now. His warm skin, the faint musk of his cologne, and the salty trace of sweat wrapped around you like a blanket. His body still buzzed with the intimacy you’d just shared, the glow of euphoria laced with something gentler, like a longing for touch that went beyond desire.

He paused for a moment, taking you in like you were the most precious thing in the world. There was a quiet awe in his expression, as if the world had shrunk to this couch. It was like he was still caught in the gravity of this new reality you shared, still craving every inch of you. Not just your body, but your whole being.

“I love you…” he murmured tentatively, almost looking away the moment he said it, as if worried of rejection.

Tenna, we just met today, sweetheart...

All I know about you is that you’re a goofy pathetic man who couldn’t help telling a live audience how turned on you were over a bit of whipped cream landing on me.

And you get hard from getting a few compliments.

Also, you’re trying to be romantic… while still wearing the same pants from earlier?

Oh! And let’s not forget how you lose it over the tiniest things... fangs out and everything. Adorable, but mostly terrifying. Work on it, okay? Mike sounds great, but I’m pretty sure he’s not exactly licensed for this kind of therapy.

And I’m not sure you even know how to form a real connection without forcing the other person to stay by your side.

But hey, who am I to judge? I mean, all captors have their little quirks, right?

“I love you too!” you exclaimed, desperately hoping he wouldn’t catch the hint of forced enthusiasm in your voice. But you had to say it, because if you didn’t, he’d make sure you did. It was probably somewhere in the contract you didn’t even remember signing.

“YOU DO?” he cried, practically springing off the sofa with the kind of energy only a love-struck lead in a cheesy romcom movie could muster. “Well, folks, we’ve got a winner! It’s me!”

The sheer size of him made the room seem small in comparison. He took your hands gently and before you even had time to react, he was lifting you effortlessly from the sofa.

His gloved hands slid around your waist with an almost protective strength, yet there was something strangely tender in the way he held you.

In a fluid motion, he spun you around with the kind of enthusiasm that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. You were caught in the whirl of his excitement, your feet barely touching the ground as he twirled you, his long legs moving with surprising grace for someone so ridiculously tall.

“I love you so much,” he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion as he drew you closer, his screen glowing with affection. 

He kissed your cheek, then again, and again, each kiss lingering just a little longer, until it felt like he was savoring every second with you.

“So, so, SO, SO MUCH!” he murmured again, and then he couldn’t stop.

He kissed you everywhere. Your jaw, your chin, your lips, your temples, your nose, your forehead, your eyelids. His long, pointy nose bumped into your brow, nearly poking your eye as he nuzzled in, utterly oblivious in his adoration he didn’t even notice.

You laughed as he continued, relentless in his devotion, trailing kisses across your face like a man who feared he’d never get the chance to do that again. 

Just when it seemed he was finally done, he eased you down gently beneath him with that same love-struck expression. You thought the moment was settling, the storm of affection quieting. But then, without a word, he took your hand in his and lifted it to his lips. Slowly, he began pressing more kisses there along your knuckles, your fingers, your palm, the tender inside of your wrist… as if he still hadn’t said I love you enough.

He planted one final kiss on the back of your hand, the exaggerated smack resounding like a playful proclamation of affection. He drew in a deep breath, a grin stretching so wide it nearly spilled off the edges of his screen. He looked completely smitten. It was unmistakable. He was falling for you. But how? Why? He hardly knew you... Right?

“Well, darling,” he declared, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “How about we keep this fantastic date rolling? The night’s just getting started!”

But as his head dropped to his pants, still damp from the frantic intimacy you had shared, his confident smile faltered. 

“After I, uh... take care of this little situation…” he muttered, his voice faltering as he glanced at the mess. 

His hand instinctively reached up to idly play with one of his antennae, the motion calming him as you looked at his wet spot. Now that his form had shrunk and he wasn’t as large as before, the dampness was even more noticeable.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he said, regaining his composure with a quick flash of determination, like a performer about to step onto the stage. “I’m about to transform this look into something that’ll knock your socks off!” 

His gaze flickered to the now cold plates and the movie, a spark of excitement returning as he clearly geared up to dive back into the real plans of the night.

“Keep your eyes on the screen, sweetheart,” he said, flashing a playful smile and pointing at the TV. “I’ll be right back, and trust me, you won’t want to miss the next scene!”

Before closing the door, he placed a hand over his lips and blew you a kiss, the gesture as exaggerated and heartfelt as only a hopeless romantic could manage. 

You rolled your eyes with a reluctant smile, the warmth of his gesture lingering in the air. With a dramatic sigh, you reached up, imagining the kiss floating through the space between you, and cupped it gently between your hands. You pressed it to your cheek with exaggerated care, trying to keep your face straight, though the urge to gag at the sweetness of it all almost made you break into laughter.

What an idiot.

A cute idiot, at least.

The door closed with a soft thud, but you could still hear his giddy love-struck chuckle echoing down the hallway. 

You weren’t sure which gods to thank for, but you didn’t escape to explore further. Just as you let out a breath, the door swung open again, and there he was, rushing in with a sense of urgency that made your heartbeat quicken.

He placed one hand on the couch, the other reaching out to gently cradle your head, his touch betraying a worry he couldn’t fully mask. When he held you, his face softened with a wave of relief. You were still here. Still watching the movie. Still waiting for him, as if nothing had changed. In that moment, he felt foolish for ever doubting you would go anywhere.

“I forgot something very, very, VERY, important!” he exclaimed, as though he were about to reveal the biggest prize of the night. 

Before you could react, he gently guided your head toward him and planted a smoldering kiss on your cheek, leaving a slick lingering imprint like he couldn’t bear to let you go for even a second.

He stood back up, clasping his hands together dramatically, before turning his attention to the TV and then back to you, just to make sure you were real, still there and still his.

…

The days slipped by in a surreal blur… or had it been months? You couldn’t tell anymore.

Tenna’s obsession with you only grew more intense. You might have expected the glittering novelty of the so-called honeymoon phase to fade into something gentler and more stable. But Tenna wasn’t like other people. No, his fascination with you only grew the more time he spent by your side.

Every quirk you revealed, every quiet laugh that escaped you, every sweet glance you gave him only fueled his adoration for you. And when you were apart, even briefly, he craved you even more, like the absence physically pained him. But he didn’t allow much room for distance. Almost every day, you found yourself on set, immersed in the fantasy world of his endlessly running television programs, seated beside him as his beloved co-host. 

You could feel the spotlight’s heat, the hum of the cameras tracking your every movement, and the eyes of the ever smiling audience fixed on you like painted dolls. But none of it compared to Tenna. His attention was the most intense of all, as if he was afraid that if he looked away, even for a moment, you might disappear. 

To the viewers, whoever they were, you were a perfect team. But to Tenna, you were far more. You were the heart of his story and the star of his private fantasy. The show was just the stage on which he could keep you closer to him. Sometimes, he would step aside entirely, watching you from the crowd with rapt attention, his smile gleaming like an overzealous fan as you took center stage.

There was never a dull moment with Tenna. He anticipated your moods, catered to your whims, and flooded your world with gifts. Little treasures, gadgets you didn’t know existed, indulgences you hadn’t realized you craved. Some things were beautiful, some ridiculous, some utterly useless. Who on Earth would need a lifetime supply of goopy slime?... But all of them were chosen with such fanatical devotion it was hard not to feel flattered. Worshipped, even.

He spoke to you in words so sweet it was intoxicating. The way he looked at you like you were the only person left in the universe. You had begun to enjoy it. The attention. The rhythm of the production schedule. The illusion of purpose and of control. There was something magnetic about it all, something strangely addictive. Tenna’s world wrapped itself around you like a soft blindfold that was just thick enough to keep reality at bay.

You sometimes found yourself wondering why the two of you hadn’t crossed that final line. You hadn’t had sex yet. Well, if you don’t count… that time. But Tenna dismissed it completely, brushing it off with a crooked smile and a wave of his hand. A slip, he’d called it. Like a scene that wasn’t supposed to be filmed. 

He insisted on doing things properly now. 

You can’t put the cart before the horse, he said. 

He insisted on following the precise beats of a romantic comedy. Step by step like the gentleman he claimed to be. He wanted the buildup, the anticipation, the perfect arc.

As he put it, the big moment has to be earned!

He really tried. Even when you tested him and pushed him to see how far his so-called standards would stretch. You teased him about that time he creamed his own pants. And, well… you’d walked in on him more than once, pleasuring himself to one of your shows, the ones where a little more skin was on display. Pathetic. 

But you liked it. You liked him. You liked how, even when he was barely keeping it together, he still knew where to draw the line. And somewhere along the way, you started to understand the rhythm of it too, the slow burn, the step by step, the dinner and flowers type of deal. Now, the reward felt like the grand prize. Like something worth waiting for.

However, even if you said you were fine waiting, he couldn’t stop the gnawing, ugly twist in his chest every time you smiled at someone else. Lately, you’d been talking to more of his staff, laughing a little too easily, drifting just a little too far from him. And that didn’t sit right with him.

Why would you go talk to Lanino, of all people, when you could be spending that time with him? Why? Why would you even look his way when he was right here? Wasn’t he enough?

He knew Lanino’s reputation. Everyone did. A shameless flirt, always sniffing around someone new the second things cooled off with Elnina. Just like a dog with no leash. And you hadn’t been touched in a while and you were starved for some… bed action. He knew that. He thought about that constantly.

That wasn’t going to happen, right? You wouldn’t fall for someone like him. You wouldn’t let that weather boy put his hands on you, would you? No. You wouldn’t.

His fists clenched, and his teeth ground together with sharp pressure, like he was trying to bite back the thoughts clawing at his mind. He was just imagining things. That had to be it. Just paranoia. You were his. You said you were fine waiting. You promised. And promises weren’t meant to be broken.

He had to check for himself. Just in case. No, he wasn’t jealous. Of course not. This was just a little… investigation. That’s all. A harmless investigation. Nothing more. Just making sure everything was fine. Just making sure you were fine.

And there you were. Near the vending machine. With him.

That sunny, smug faced waste of space. Grinning like he hadn’t already burned through the same relationship three times this month alone. Like he had any right to be that close to you.

Had he offered you something? A drink? Refreshments? How dare he. And you accepted? Nooo…

You were laughing with him. Leaning just a little too close for his liking. Like he was someone special. Like he meant something to you.

Tenna’s screen flickered, the edges glowing red with a loud rising hum of static. He barely noticed it. His focus was locked on the way Lanino reached out mid sentence and placed a casual hand on your arm.

He touched you. And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. You simply smiled.

No. No, no, no. No. NO! 

Something deep inside Tenna snapped like a frayed wire. His screen buzzed violently now, fine smoke curling from the corners. He couldn’t hear what either of you were saying anymore. Just the sound of his own thoughts reassuring him that you were his, not some disposable side character’s distraction.

“Sweetheart!” Tenna called out, voice bright as a bell, forcing a loving smile as his tall frame cast a long shadow over the both of you.

You looked up and even if he was trying to seem cheerful, something in the way his smile twitched and pulled just a little too tight made your skin crawl.

“Tenna, we were just getting—”

“Finished?” he interrupted, chipper and loud. “Amazing news!”

His voice was still sweet and singsong, but the way his screen glitched at the edges and his smile strained made it hard to tell if he was pleased or furious.

“Yes, I was just about to get back into the program,” you said, the words stumbling out.

You glanced toward Lanino, hoping for some kind of support, but he was already gone. 

Sunny bastard.

“He’s not coming back,” Tenna said flatly, his tone dropping the second he noticed you were alone with him. “Don’t worry about him…”

He stepped closer with a heavy stride that brought him directly into your space. Then he bent down slightly, just enough to level his glowing screen with your eyes.

“Tenna?” you whispered, unease prickling at your neck as you noticed the way his display flickered, blinking in and out, dimming like a faulty bulb. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, clasping his hands together with a plastic sounding snap. “I just have to make a few last minute changes to the show’s lineup.”

The smile was back, but this time, you could see the calculation behind it. He was already thinking. Already planning something. A punishment? A reward? It was hard to tell.

“Oh, um… do you want to go over it now? I’ve already prepared—”

“No need for that,” he cut you off again, voice laced with false cheer. “I think it’s better if I don’t ruin the surprise!” 

With a sudden sharp snap of his fingers, the world around you blurred, the sound slicing through the tension with an unmistakable finality. 

“Wha… Tenna—” you barely whispered, the word melting on your tongue.

He caught you before you hit the floor, one arm slipping beneath your legs, the other steadying your head against his chest.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his smooth voice drifting through the haze like a lullaby. “Don’t fight it. Just a little nap. When you wake up... you’ll love it. I promise.”

Your vision wavered, your limbs growing heavy as if the very air had thickened. You fought to stay conscious, but the pull of sleep was overwhelming. 

His breath ghosted against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words slower now, almost apologetic. “I’ve been so selfish, haven’t I? So stupid. You’ve needed me... and I was holding back. Taking things slow, trying to be gentle… But that’s over now. I’m going to make it right. You’ll see.”

Gloved fingers brushed your cheek with unbearable delicacy, lingering just beneath your eye like he was memorizing the curve of your face. Then, with agonizing slowness, he traced the line of your jaw, down to your throat, and back again. His touch was so gentle it almost made it more difficult to stay awake.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed. “Just mine.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was Tenna leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a heartbeat too long, and when he pulled away, his smile gleamed with something soft and unhinged at the same time.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice laced with something raw and trembling. “And when you open your eyes... I’ll show you how much I’ve been holding back.”

[marigold-hills]

your hands; mine (stalker Remus AU) part 3

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 4

Sirius lives in a first floor flat in a building with no lift. His body is a weight Remus struggles to carry - tall, broad-shouldered, large enough to contain the presence that is Sirius.

“Knew you’d find me,” he mumbles as Remus manhandles the pockets of his jacket looking for keys.

“Always,” Remus tells him, locating the keys and holding Sirius up with one arm as he pushes the door open. It’s utilitarian, too similar to how he held the body that was no longer a man just ten minutes earlier. He doesn’t let himself think I am touching Sirius. Doesn’t let himself think I touched someone dead. 

Stays right clear of I killed him. 

“You’re a fucking creep.” Sirius’ head rolls to Remus’ shoulder. A bastardisation of an embrace.

Sirius isn’t beautiful right now. His eyes are unfocused and half closed, the lines around them more pronounced with the effort of keeping them open - maybe the effort of keeping himself awake. There’s an unhealthy blush across the bridge of his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbones. His face is slack, mouth parted and his breathing shallow.

Remus knows the flat. Not from this angle - it’s strange from this angle. He knows it through windows and planning permits and building regulation applications. From the doorway, the dimensions seem distorted. Remus feels too tall here, too unwieldy. Like a weed growing through pavement cracks, fast and unwelcome. To be pulled out, roots and all, and discarded.

“Almost there,” he tells Sirius, whose body is no longer cooperating. “Just a few more steps.”

The sofa stands one and a half metres away from the door, backed onto the wall connecting to the bedroom. On its other side is the window facing the bins. Remus has countless photos of Sirius lounging here. Hungover mornings and late night drinks, lazy afternoons. Coffees and dinners and pints of ice cream.

Sirius slumps onto his side as soon as Remus sits him down. Remus has seen him asleep here, but even then he didn’t look as vulnerable as he does now.

There’s always a strength to him. It’s as much a part of Sirius as his very name. 

Ancient Greek: Σείριος, romanised: Seírios, literally: ‘scorching’.

Bright and blazing and alive. 

Remus thinks of the man who took that strength away. For one horrible second he wishes he could kill him again. Slower. Agonising.

But that’s not the kind of man Remus is. Remus knows this of himself: he returns his library books on time. He’s never had a speeding ticket. His cat relies on his strict routines. Now, he has to add another to the list: murderer. He can never think of himself again in the same way as he did before.

He fixes the pillow underneath Sirius’ head. His legs are hanging off the sofa awkwardly so Remus moves them up. Takes the shoes off, left first, laces loosened and then pulled off. Sirius tries to fight him, tries to kick him away. All he manages is a faint spasm of his foot.

“It’s alright,” Remus tells him and hopes it’s reassuring. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. Just let me make you comfortable.”

Sirius’ pupils are blown out. “Get out of my home,” he hisses through an uncooperative set of his jaw. There is the strength. Even now. Even like this. He’s still himself.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Really.” Remus stands by the sofa. He’s towering over Sirius. It feels wrong, so he sits down. “You could have a reaction. You’re in no state to be by yourself. I could try calling James or-“

“No. Don’t get him involved.”

“Then I can’t go.” An awful, awkward silence stretches between them. “I’ll make some tea,” Remus speaks into it and his voice sounds too loud, too grating. “Would you like a cup?”

Sirius doesn’t answer. He looks like he might no longer be present enough to do so.

Remus closes the blinds on the way to the kitchen. He doesn’t want to look at the bins. Sirius closes them sometimes, but not very often. Mostly Remus has free view into the flat. He used to think maybe it was a sign, an invitation. By now he knows better: Sirius isn’t someone to let others dictate how he lives.

The kitchen window looks out onto the street. There’s a little park on the other side, a bit of green and a few benches. Remus sometimes sits there when his knee plays up and he can’t face standing for too long.

Sirius’ favourite mug is on the draining board, where he left it after breakfast. The teabags are in a little moss-green tin. Sirius takes two sugars. Remus takes one. Neither of them take milk.

Sirius is asleep when Remus comes back into the room. His breathing has evened out and deepened. Remus sits down on the floor by the sofa and reaches for Sirius’ hand. Finds his pulse point. Keeps his fingers there, holding out for changes in the steady beating. More Highway to Hell than Stayin’ Alive. 

Remus drinks his tea. Sirius’ goes cold. Time passes.

NEXT PART

✨✨✨✨

Notes:

I cannot overstate this enough do not do this. Your stalker would not be Remus Lupin 😂

tags!

@hoje--aqui

@tealeavesandtrash

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

[karikitdemonrp]

Kagome glanced at the cute scene and gave a small smile while watching for a brief moment. She eventually went back to talking with the villagers to try and get as much information as possible. But there wasn't much left aside from where the demon lived, which was in that dense forest. The priestess sighed softly and thanked the villagers, only to pause and ask about Akimitsu. He lived in the same general direction, the forest that bordered the village but a ways away from the demon which was a bit of a relief.

"Alright," She called which caused Kari and Shippo to slow down to listen. "We have our next destination. First we go meet with Akimitsu, Lady Iori's friend and see if he can help us with this demon and ask if he has a place for us to stay for the night. Later we go confront this demon and see if it has a jewel shard." She informed with a grin, happy things were kind of working out.

Kari blinked and gave a nod. "Kay." She called only for Shippo to nod his head and side eye Kari then swiftly poked her arm.

"Got ya!" He snorted and Kari gasped in slight anger and shock.

"Now THAT was cheating Shippo!" Kari called after the kitsune as he ran off in the direction Kagome was leading, Kari trailing behind but never straying out of sight.

Kagome laughed. "I'm glad those two are getting along so well." She hummed, watching the two get slightly further away only for them to turn around and rush back in a loop. "Don't go too far please. We aren't sure what exactly is lurking in this forest." She said while they ran past her.

"Okay Kagome." Shippo chirped with a smile and confident nod, mostly focused on running away from Kari.

Kari, meanwhile, gave a grin. "We won't!" She giggled, slowly gaining on the kitsune and eventually pat his back. Swiftly she turned on her heel while skidding to slow herself. "Got ya Shippo!"

"GET BACK HERE!" The fox yipped and skid, nearly bumping into Inuyasha as he turned to start chasing Kari. "I barely felt that!"

"My whole palm touched your back you liar!" Kari snorted, looking over her shoulder to get a view of Shippo, Kagome, and Inuyasha for a brief moment and letting out a sigh in relief, happy they were all still there each time she looked.

Inuyasha stood his ground, eyes sharp and ears twitching as he listened to the villagers' whispers—especially the ones Kagome was focused on. The talk of a peaceful demon suddenly going berserk definitely rang a few alarm bells. He grunted low in his throat, glancing at Kagome when she leaned in.

“Hmph. Sounds like jewel trouble to me,” he muttered, eyes narrowing toward the forest path. “We’ll deal with it.” His fingers flexed near Tessaiga’s hilt again, the scent of the village thick in his nose, earthy with a bitter edge of fear.

But before he could sink deeper into thought, a blur of motion zipped past him—followed by another.

Kari dashed around his legs like a determined little whirlwind, her scarf trailing behind, laughter bubbling up from her chest. “Hey—!” Inuyasha started to bark, but he was cut off by Shippo’s yell.

“Don’t use Inuyasha as a barrier! That’s cheating!”

The half-demon didn’t move, just turned his head slightly to follow the chaos unfolding right at his feet. Kari leapt into the air with a move that made even Inuyasha blink—landing in a half-split just in time for Shippo to zoom underneath her.

“Tch… brats,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his voice. The corner of his mouth twitched up just barely.

He didn’t say anything else—just shifted his weight slightly, letting them play as long as they stayed close. And they were. Kari always made sure not to stray too far. Even when she was smiling, he could see the way she kept sneaking glances back at him, like she needed to know he was still there. Still watching.

He was.

“…Just don’t trip over me,” he said dryly, casting a sidelong glance at Shippo. “Or I’m tossing the both of you into the river.”

[y-elleven]

idk if anyone else sees the vision but i dont think bunny would be into a fwb type of relationship with you. this is because it would complicate things (he doesn't trust himself to be able to pull away if he ever comes to know your taste and warmth) and his whole thing is not giving you any expectations because he wants company, not intimacy. so a lot of your tension pre-relationship is mostly psychological. and it fucks with your head so bad.

bunny won't kiss you, but he'll let you take food from his plate whenever you guys grab a meal together. bunny won't fuck you, but he'll listen to all your complaints and whatever gossip you want to share over drinks. he does subtle things to look after you like covering your drink when you slip away to go the restroom and paying for your tab at the end of the night, even if he had teased earlier on that you'll be covering it on your own this time.

but the thing about bunny is that no matter how sweet his actions may be read as in hindsight, the way he acts in the moment won't give you any room to read too much into it. his eyes are steady and mildly amused, always, and his smile is a practiced pleasant curve. his eyes do not soften. they go neither cold nor warm — when he looks at you, there are no expectations in his eyes. he's just your friend, a guy who's not looking for anything but your genuine company. a guy who's not looking at your body at all.

("breaking through the big screen, i'm here with—."

the audio plays on in the tablet propped up against a stack of cups on the kitchen island. it's some random actor's interview, he recalls, that somehow ended up on his autoplay while he washed his dishes and tried to decompress from the day. simple, repetitive motions like this (lather, scrub, rinse, repeat) usually helped him calm down, but lately it's been getting harder and harder to pretend at control like he usually does.

he's been spending more time with you now that it's the off-season. that's probably why. he doesn't have as concrete of an excuse as practice or team meetings to get out of hanging out with you, and it's easier to just say yes than to refuse you anything. you're a walking test of tolerance, you know that? you make him sick, sicker than he's ever been with all your genuine joy and energy, and you make him want to stay sick if it meant being able to stay next to you just a little longer. it's exhausting. hanging out with you is like trying to get over an allergy through exposure therapy. like you're a shrimp and he has the world's worst seafood allergy.

the thought steals a snort from him mid-scrub, a quick sound that he quickly hides behind a cough in the same breath. his stomach roils at how warm the idea made him feel, how easily the thought of you being like an allergy (a shrimp, of all things) he exposes himself to near-daily made him almost smile, and he all but slams the metal cup he just finished rinsing onto the drying rack with hands clenched tight. he stands there at the sink for a while, letting the noise from his tablet flood back into his head before he starts thinking too hard again.

it's still the same interview, he draws a long breath, and the video's nearing its end. he closes his eyes and focuses on the words instead.

"— you need to be a good liar to be a good actor. you're selling a story of something you're not after all. if you want to convince the audience, you first have to convince yourself."

the tap keeps running.)

[vegaseatsass]

Here are some things I loved about Episode 8 Ramilpaytai!

Lipgloss smeared all over both their faces. In my honest but rock solid opinion, this is sexier than any toy in Paytai's side dresser. Thank you thank you thank you The Next Prince for letting Jimmy and Ohm beat the hell out of each other's mouths and cheeks and chins, it is everything 2 me

It IS Paytai's side dresser btw. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Those are Paytai's personal belongings that Ramil gets to pick through like a kid at a slumber party eagerly pulling toys he doesn't have at home out of his friend's closet

But really I love how in past scenes it's been Paytai choosing the toys and offering them to Ramil, but this time Ramil laid out three sequential toys in preparation for their scene, and one of them was a COLOR-COORDINATED BLINDFOLD that matched their COLOR-COORDINATED lace slut shirts.

And that blindfold and those handcuffs were for Ramil! !!! !! ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just as Paytai offers him the collar and the leash, Ramil is the one to initiate when it's his turn to surrender. They trust each other so much, and are so so careful with each other.

I'm assuming longer scenes is not actually their norm (or ours sob rip) because Ramil's life mostly runs on his father's time table, so he took the risk of canceling his entire fencing practice just so they'd have this time to really, really play. He's kind of in renewed honeymoon mode with Paytai right now.

I have seen lots of interpretations of Ramil with the crop so bear with me on a very "this is just, like, my opinion, man" take: For me, the way it read when Ramil put the crop down is that reality punched through their scene and took the wind out of his sails as a dom. So much of this space Paytai has helped him create is about building Ramil up and letting them both but especially Ramil feel like there's one protected place where Ramil has absolute power and can keep them both safe. Imo what Ramil needs is to feel in control and what Paytai needs is to be Ramil's complete focus. So when Ramil remembers the other connotation that whips have in their relationship it punctures his ability to stay in that powerful, in-control place; the powerlessness and pain of real life intrudes and he crumbles. But as much as Paytai loves it when Ramil is in control, when Paytai can let go of the reins in their relationship and just float in Ramil's hands, he also loves it when Ramil is stripped down to his core, raw and needy and vulnerable, espeeeeeecially when what he's shaking and crying about is Paytai. Because again! What Paytai needs isn't for Ramil to run the show but for Ramil to keep his eyes on Paytai. So both his strong, cruel side and his weak, hurt side sate the same obsessively deep craving in Paytai. And I think that's neat. I personally don't see Ramil putting the crop aside as like, okay he articulated a need, averted a bad scene, and has established he's not into whipping Paytai ever, so that toy is going back in the dresser for good. I think they probably have reclaimed punishment, discipline, and physical pain in the past, and will reclaim it all again in the future. For me this was just a window into what it looks like when the unlivable conditions they're trapped in intrude on their attempts to reclaim some control and comfort for themselves, but those attempts are a work in progress, will continue, and best of all, will continue to feature so much experimentation, trial and error, and open-ended play. God I love that they aren't limited to rigid roles but are trying things. I love it so so much.

I KNOW I MENTIONED RAMIL IN THE CUFFS ALREADY BUT: RAMIL IN THE CUFFS!!! PAYTAI KISSING HIS BOUND HANDS!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YO

[kata-the-bee]

An Uncomfortable Wait

Lore Story under cut

Leshy was the first to know that Heket would be coming.

It had been several months since the worm had been indoctrinated into the Cult of Death. It had taken a long adjustment period for Leshy, but with Sitri's help it made the process somewhat smoother.

Somewhat.

The Worm hated the sunlight with everything in his bones, and he still occasionally struggled with navigation. He had learned his way around the cult fine enough, but any trip and fall could completely ruin his sense of direction. Thankfully, Sitri was there to help, though he couldn't be there every second of the day. The cat had a job to attend to as well, and during those hours, Leshy was left to his own devices.

The other cultists mostly steered clear of the strange blind worm, especially after learning just what and who he was. The Lamb was careful but firm in telling those in the cult that Leshy would not be a threat, and that those that retaliated against him would be punished accordingly. Unrest grew at the news, but the next few months of minimal major events helped to ease the wariness at the former god's presence.

Still, Leshy was mostly a loner. The other worms, the former disciples of chaos, they treated Leshy fairly and with a casual friendliness. He would struggle to call them friends, but at least they didn't ignore him in the same way as the rest of the populace. Truly, the only one he would give that title to would be Sitri. They'd grown rather close over the months of living together, and the daffodil colored kitty served as a lone comfort in a isolated existence.

Which is why Sitri became so important after the Lamb broke the news. If this crusade would be anything like what the Lamb went through in Darkwood months prior, then the second youngest would soon be there.

Leshy froze. His sister would be there? The proud and powerful and temperamental frog? Would she be okay? Was her suffering about to end? His mind and body flooded with hopes and fears, joy and dread, all of which coalesced into a growing anxiety he had never before felt in his life.

The Lamb set out right after, or at least the worm assumed so. He didn't care about the details. He only knew one thing right now.

Leshy needed to be the first to be there for her.

He made his way to where the indoctrination circle was. Carefully, he felt at the stone to be sure he didn't get his routes mixed up before moving just to the side of it. He sat down to wait. It didn't matter to him how long he had to, he was not going to miss his sister being brought home.

The sunlight warmed Leshy to levels he couldn't stand, but he refused to leave. Even as the scent of dinner wafted through, he refused to shift, instead electing to ignore the gnawing pangs of his stomach. He'd been through worse and for less important reasons at that. The worm would be here for as long as it took for Heket to appear, even if it would take days or even weeks.

Sitri came just before sundown, seeing Leshy at the stone. He learned of the worm's location from a few other cultists and came as soon as his shift at the medical tent was over. Leshy looked absolutely miserable from the sunlight exposure, but Sitri had no clue why he was there. Why would Leshy willingly stay in a place he couldn't tolerate? Sitri had no clue, but knew that it had to be important. Leshy would never willingly do something he hated for longer than he had to.

The yellow cat sat by the worm to ask his many questions, but hearing the news came as a shock. Another bishop was coming? Sitri had only caught glimpses of the bishops from the brief times they visited the temple of chaos, though he never stuck around to get a good look at any of them. He dared not stay in sight near temperamental and haunted gods.

Hearing that the sole sister was coming only created more questions Sitri wished to ask, but that would have to wait. It could be days until Heket would be here, and Leshy had needs that needed to be taken care of sooner than that. Knowing the worm wouldn't move, well, that just meant Sitri had to fulfill his role of caretaker once again! The cat set off to gather supplies. He knew Leshy wouldn't go home if he had already spent the day in the sun, so there was no point in asking. Instead, it looked like it was time for a camp out!

Sitri went home to grab some blankets, plus the biggest sheet he could find. It wouldn't be perfect, but it should work fine enough for the task at hand. He returned to the stone to drop off the supplies, setting out once again to find some long sticks as well as get some food for Leshy. He was sure the worm hadn't eaten in a while, plus they would need some for overnight, too.

Once Sitri had everything he went back and got right to work, much to the confusion of his blind companion. Why was this yellow cat being so nice? Leshy ate what was given while listening to Sitri tri and get a basic tent built.

It didn't take too long before the "structure" was done. It may not have been the prettiest thing, but hey, Leshy wasn't going to complain about the looks of it. Sitri sat beside the anxious worm under the sheet tent, now not really sure what to say. How does one properly broach the topic of tortured godly siblings? Well, only one way to find out.

"So... what is your sister like?"

It wasn't an easy question to answer. Leshy had no idea what to say. He's seen so many sides of her at so many different points of her life. He may not have been there for her earliest years, mainly because he wasn't actually born yet, but he's seen her go from teen to adult, from young god to proud cult leader to... almost nothing. An echo of what she was, but that was the same for all of them. A disaster, a tortured and twisted awful version of herself that he barely recognized. Even through the sight of his crown's eye he could see only a husk of what she used to be.

The same haunted look must have been plain as day on the worm's face as Sitri was quick to get more specific. Rather than ask what she was like, he instead asked for stories of when they were young gods. Better to try and keep the topic more lighthearted when things were going to soon be much more difficult. There was no question of if. It was only a matter of when.

That question was, thankfully, much easier to answer. Even though it had been ages ago, Leshy could still remember the silly things they had done. Things done as a family... Like when he kept biting Heket, so she tried to eat him in retaliation, and Shamura had to intervene. Or another time when he got stuck in the middle of a massive lake that Heket insisted was just a puddle, and she had to save him. Another time, he tried to sneak up behind her, and she accidentally sat down on him...

The stories went on for all the time it took to help quell Leshy's anxieties. Sitri listened to all of it without interruption except to help steer the conversation back to lighter stories when things became darker. It was one of the most pleasant things the worm had ever talked about, and it marked the first time he has ever opened up about his past to anyone.

As time went on and the sun was far gone, Leshy was finally able to rest his head. The blankets were perfect for the impromptu camping, and soon, the worm was asleep. It didn't take long for Sitri to join him in slumber. The pair awakened to the morning sun, Sitri going out to get food for them both. The day continued with tales of the past only broken by meals, as did the next two.

Things changed the third night when the sound of hoofsteps approached.

(Another long one! I hope that it makes sense and formatting isn't garbage!)

[imsosoheee]

lose my cool, (3)

wc: 3.2k | pairing: artstudent!eunseok x fem!reader (art student) | content warnings: crying (a mental breakdown), lots of angst, soft smut, emotional sex, fluff !, love

pt. 1 pt. 2

you weren’t used to silence from him. even when you ignored him, even when you pushed him away, eunseok always found a way back. a text. a stare. a hoodie he left behind.

but this time, nothing. no messages. no glances. no name blinking on your screen in the middle of the night.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the girl you saw him with. you kept replaying it in your head—her laugh, the way she held onto his sleeve like she had the right to. you told yourself it didn’t matter. but you found yourself checking who he followed. checking his art page. rereading the last message he ever sent you.

see you in class

you hadn’t seen him since.

your friends invited you out. again. you said yes. again. you dressed like you wanted to be seen—hair curled, tiny skirt, lined lips, nothing casual about it. someone flirted with you within five minutes of arriving. he looked good. said the right things. called you beautiful.

you kissed him outside, just to prove you could. but when his hand gripped your waist, you pulled away.

“what?” he asked.

“nothing,” you lied. “i’m just... tired.”

you weren’t—you were hollow.

you went home and sat on the edge of your bed for fifteen minutes before you moved. pulled on one of eunseok’s old hoodies without thinking about it, then you laid down in the dark and stared at your phone. your thumb hovered over his name.

you typed.

are you awake?

you erased it and typed again.

i miss you

erased that too.

you threw your phone across the bed and covered your face with both hands. what the hell were you doing? you had what you wanted: no strings, no complications, just sex and space and silence. but now the silence was unbearable. you curled up under your sheets and hated how cold it felt.

he used to stay after—not always and never for long, but sometimes he’d lie there and trace circles into your back until you fell asleep. you hadn’t let anyone else do that—not once. you didn’t text him that night, but you didn’t delete the drafts either. you just let them sit there—unsent, unfinished, like everything else between you.

you stayed in for the weekend. no texts sent. no stories posted. you didn’t do your makeup. didn’t wash your hair. you wore the same hoodie for three days straight—the one that still smelled like something warm and safe. like him.

your room looked like a before picture. empty cans on your desk, laundry you didn’t fold, notes scattered across the floor like pieces of someone else’s life. you told yourself you just needed rest. but you weren’t tired. you were aching.

you tried to sketch for the first time in a while. the page stayed mostly blank. every time you picked up the pencil, your hand froze. you didn’t know how to draw anything that didn’t feel like him.

his eyes, his hands, his voice. the way he said your name when you were half-asleep. the way he looked at you like he wanted to know what was under all your armor and didn’t mind how long it would take. you put the pencil down, rubbed your eyes and pretended you weren’t about to cry.

you started remembering all the little things: the way he always waited for you to speak first. the way he never touched you unless you touched him first. the way he kissed you slowly—like he was trying to memorize every version of your mouth.

you remembered how he laughed when you teased him. how his voice always dropped a little when he said your name. how he looked at you like maybe—just maybe—he could’ve loved you if you let him. you didn’t let him—you knew that now.

you’d spent so long running from the idea of love that you didn’t realize it had been standing still beside you this whole time. and now you’d lost it. you pushed him away with your hands and your mouth and all the words you didn’t mean. you told him you didn’t care, and he believed you.

you curled up under your blanket, phone clutched in your hand, screen dim. you wanted to text him. you wanted to tell him you were wrong. that you lied. that it did mean something. that maybe it meant everything. but your fingers wouldn’t move.

not yet. not like this.

this was supposed to be easy: you didn’t do love, you didn’t do feelings, you didn’t let people in. but he had walked into your life so quietly you didn’t realize you’d left the door open. and now it was empty again. and you had no one to blame but yourself.

when you saw him again, you didn’t mean to be there. you’d forgotten your headphones in the studio two days ago—left in the corner during a late-night sketch session you barely remember starting. you didn’t want to go back. not because of the walk, not because of the mess. but because it used to be your place. his place. your place with him, and now it wasn’t anything.

you told yourself you’d go early and that no one would be there—in and out.

the door creaked open with that familiar hum—the hinge that always needed fixing, the faint smell of paint and old paper and coffee. you stepped inside, the hallway cool against your skin. your hoodie hung off one shoulder, hair tied back in the laziest way, your face bare.

you looked like you felt: tired, quiet, emptied out. you found your headphones on the far table, right where you left them. beside a few abandoned sketches. one of them looked half-finished. messy cross-hatching. unfinished hands.

you picked it up before you realized it wasn’t yours. it was his. your heart jolted. and then you heard the door open again. footsteps. you didn’t turn around. you didn’t need to. you knew that sound better than your own voice. “yn.”

his voice hit you square in the chest. you turned. he looked—worse than you remembered.

his eyes were darker, ringed with exhaustion. his hair was longer, a little unkempt. he was wearing the same gray hoodie you once slept in, the sleeves still fraying at the edges. but it was his face that wrecked you—because the moment he saw you, something in it cracked open.

“i didn’t think anyone would be here,” he said, voice low.

“me neither.”

silence stretched between you. not awkward, just heavy. you held up the headphones. “i left these.”

he nodded. your eyes flicked to the sketch on the table—the one you were still holding.

“is this—”

“you,” he said quietly. you swallowed.

“it’s not done.”

you looked at it again. soft lines. too much detail around the mouth. like he’d drawn it a hundred times.

“it’s good,” you said.

he shook his head. “it’s not real.”

you looked at him. really looked at him. and you saw it—all the weight in his eyes, the silence in his shoulders, the way he wouldn’t meet your gaze for too long. he missed you. maybe as much as you missed him.

you didn’t know what to say, but you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking. “all of your jackets are still at my place.”

his eyes flicked to yours.

you shrugged, trying to play it off. “i never washed them.”

his expression didn’t change, but his voice did, soft and breaking. “why are you telling me that?”

you stepped forward. “i don’t know,” you said. “i just... haven’t been able to move them.”

the studio was too quiet. his hands were curled into fists at his sides. like he was holding himself back.

“you look like shit,” you said before you could stop yourself.

he laughed—sharp and dry and surprised. he looked like he might cry. “so do you,” he said.

you smiled. it didn’t reach your eyes.

neither of you moved. but for the first time in weeks, the space between you felt alive again. not fixed or healed, but open. and that was enough—for now.

a week later, you broke. it started as a normal day. gray skies, unfinished assignments, silence where his voice used to be. a professor brushed off your work in critique. your group forgot you were supposed to meet. a guy you used to talk to saw you on campus and didn’t say hi and just kept walking.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. you weren’t close to any of them. you didn’t need anyone. but by the time you got home, your hands were shaking. and when you closed the door behind you, your eyes were already wet.

when the rain started outside, you were already grabbing your keys and running out into it—hood down, feet slipping, no umbrella, no plan. just him.

you didn’t knock right away.

you stood in front of his door, soaked through, breathing hard, water clinging to your lashes. it was stupid—you knew that. maybe he wasn’t even home. maybe he didn’t want to see you, but your fingers moved before your mind caught up.

one knock.

pause.

another.

a shuffle from inside. then—his voice. muffled, then closer. “who—?” the door opened, and there he was—soft tee. damp hair. surprise and worry blooming in his expression simultaneously.

“yn?”

you didn’t speak. you just looked at him, and then everything spilled out of you all at once. your chest caved. your hands trembled. your eyes blurred. you tried to say something, anything, but no words came.

he stepped forward instinctively. “hey—wait, what—”

your voice cracked. “i miss you,” and then you were crying—full-body, shaking, soaked-through kind of crying.

he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you in, arms wrapping around you like it was muscle memory. like his body had been waiting to hold you again. “it’s okay,” he said, again and again, into your hair. “you’re okay. you’re okay.”

you weren’t, but with his arms around you, you almost felt like you could be. he sat you down on the couch and handed you a towel. you didn’t stop crying right away. he didn’t ask why. he just sat there with you, letting the silence fill the room, his fingers brushing yours every so often. not pushing. not demanding. just there.

and when your breathing finally slowed, when the worst of it had passed, you turned to him and whispered, “i’m sorry.” his eyes flicked to yours, unreadable and quiet. “i should’ve said it a long time ago,” you added. he didn’t say anything, so you kept going.

“i was scared of feeling too much and losing control. of needing someone.” you looked down at your hands. “but the worst part?” your voice cracked again. “i still lost you anyway.”

he inhaled—deep, shaky. you turned your head and met his eyes.

“it wasn’t just fun. it wasn’t casual. maybe… it was love. i don’t know what it was, but i know it hurt more than anything when you stopped showing up.”

his jaw clenched. “i never stopped,” he said. “you just stopped letting me in.”

you nodded. tears welling again. “i know.”

he looked at you for a long time. then, softly: “so why are you here now?”

you didn’t answer right away. then, slowly, honestly: “because this hurts more. i need you, eunseok.”

he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the day you pushed him away. and then he reached for your hand—not pulling you in. just holding it. and you let him.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

you just sat there—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, the air between you warm and heavy, like something alive. like something begging to be felt. then, quietly, like a breath you’d been holding too long: “can i stay?”

he didn’t hesitate. “yeah.”

you turned toward him. his thumb brushed a strand of hair from your face, slow, careful, like he was afraid you'd disappear again if he moved too fast.

your eyes met, and in the space between you lived every night you touched without talking, every morning you left without looking back, every version of love you didn’t know how to name. “i meant what i said,” you whispered.

his voice came quiet, nearly breaking. “i know.”

you leaned in first, mouth brushing his with a kind of desperation you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now. it wasn’t a kiss—it was a question. an apology. a confession.

his hands found your waist like he’d been aching for it, holding tight, dragging you closer, closer still. and when he kissed you back, it wasn’t soft—not this time. it was unsteady and starved. years of tension, of denial, of longing, crashing open all at once. he kissed you like he was angry at himself for still loving you. you kissed him like it might fix everything you broke.

you climbed into his lap, your soaked hoodie clinging between you, your legs bracketing his hips as if your body remembered this better than your heart did. your hands gripped his shirt like you were drowning—like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

he gasped when your hips rolled down once, sharp and aching. his head tipped forward, forehead pressed to your shoulder, trying to breathe through it.

“i missed you,” he rasped, voice wrecked against your skin.

you breathed his name, whispered into the shell of his ear like prayer, like punishment. his hands slid up beneath your hoodie, warm and reverent, tracing the curve of your back, the softness of your sides. you dragged his shirt off in one motion, letting your hands roam over his chest like you needed to memorize it again.

when his mouth found yours again, it was slower—hungrier. he stood up with you in his arms, lips never leaving yours, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. he carried you to the bed like it was something sacred. like you were.

he peeled your clothes off one by one, kissing the skin he uncovered like every part of you deserved to be remembered. you touched him like you were afraid this was the last time. he touched you like he was afraid it wasn’t.

“you’re shaking,” he said, voice hoarse.

“i’m scared,” you admitted, bare beneath him, heart wide open. his hand curled around your cheek, his thumb brushing a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“i am too.” you let him kiss you through it—through the fear, through the grief, through everything you’d buried beneath sharp words and colder silences. his body settled against yours, every inch of him pressed to you like a vow. you didn’t look away. you didn’t hide.

when he finally pushed inside you, it was slow, devastating—like he wanted you to feel every inch, every second. you gasped his name, fingers digging into his shoulders, hips tilting to meet him.

“you’re okay,” he whispered, “i’ve got you.” and he did—hands steady on your waist, his breath stuttering in time with yours.

he moved like he wanted to map you from the inside out, like he was trying to write the words he never got to say across your skin. your mouths met again and again, tangled in sighs and apologies and the kind of longing that didn’t need language. you told him you were sorry without saying it. he forgave you with his hands.

you wrapped your legs tighter around him, let yourself fall completely. he kissed your chest, your throat, the underside of your jaw, whispering things you couldn’t catch, but felt all the same.

when it ended, you didn’t move.

his chest was flush against yours, heart hammering in tandem. your fingers were tangled in his hair. your breath caught. he looked at you like you were the only person he’d ever wanted to see after the storm, and for once, you didn’t feel like running. you didn’t feel broken. you felt known.

you felt home.

the morning light was soft and gray, pressing faint patterns onto the ceiling. you woke up first.

his arm was around your waist, steady and warm. your cheek rested against his bare chest. his breathing was even—calm in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks.

for a moment, you just stayed like that. you memorized the feeling of his skin beneath your fingers. the curve of his collarbone. the way his hand tightened slightly in his sleep when you shifted. he didn’t leave. he could’ve, but he didn’t. and neither did you.

he stirred when you sat up, blinking slowly , still half-asleep, hair falling into his eyes. “hey,” he said, voice thick and raspy.

you looked down at him. “hi.”

a beat passed. “you stayed.”

you nodded.

he reached up—gently—and brushed his fingers down your spine. it sent a shiver through you.

“how do you feel?” he asked, softer now.

you searched his face for a sign of regret. but there was none—just warmth, and something else. something cautious, like he was afraid to say too much too fast.

“like everything hurts,” you said honestly. “but... lighter.”

his eyes flicked to yours. “lighter?”

you smiled a little. “like maybe i don’t have to pretend anymore.”

he looked at you like that meant more than you’d said. maybe it did.

he made tea. you sat on his couch in his hoodie—your hair still wet from a quick shower, legs pulled beneath you, watching the way his hands moved. familiar, careful. he handed you a mug without speaking. you wrapped both hands around it. “i still have your lighter,” you said quietly. he glanced at you.

“from that night. i almost gave it back a hundred times. but i didn’t.”

he nodded, eyes on the rim of his cup.

“i kept it on purpose,” you added, like it mattered. “i think... i wanted to hold onto something.”

his voice was low. “me too.”

the silence that followed didn’t feel like tension anymore. it felt like possibility. you turned to face him fully. “what happens now?” he let out a slow breath. “i don’t know,” he admitted.

you laughed—tired, but real. “you’re supposed to have all the answers.”

he smiled. “i’m just figuring it out too.”

you reached for his hand. this time, he didn’t hesitate. you linked your fingers with his and squeezed. “can we start over?” you asked. he didn’t speak right away. but the way he looked at you—quiet, soft, sure—said enough.

“yeah,” he said. “we can.”

being with him felt different now—not louder or bigger, just quieter. like a room you hadn’t stepped into before. familiar and unfamiliar all at once. soft morning light, unmade beds, half-drawn sketches on the floor.

you didn’t sleep over that often. not yet, but you stayed longer now. you stayed for coffee. for late-night ramen. for the way he pulled you in absentmindedly, his hand brushing your hip when he passed, like he couldn’t help it anymore. you caught him staring at you in class once. he didn’t look away this time, and neither did you.

it was raining again the night it happened. not heavy. just the soft kind that tapped on windows and made the whole world feel a little slower. you were curled up on his couch, your legs draped across his lap, your face pressed to his shoulder. his fingers traced idle shapes along your thigh. not suggestive. not even intentional—just habit.

you broke the silence first. “do your friends know?”

he glanced at you. “about us?”

you nodded. he gave a half-smile. “some.”

“what do you tell them?”

“that it’s complicated.”

you swallowed. “is it?”

he didn’t answer right away. then: “not to me.” you sat up a little, the room suddenly too quiet.

“what are we, then?”

eunseok looked at you. not flinching. not retreating—just waiting.

so you asked, softer this time: “what do you want?”

he reached for your hand and held it gently, like it might disappear.

“i want something real,” he said. “with you.”

you stared at him.

“i don’t know how to do that.”

he nodded. “i know.”

“what if i mess it up?”

“you will.”

you blinked.

he smiled. “so will i.”

your breath caught.

“but i’d rather mess it up with you than not try at all.”

you looked down at your joined hands. his thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles. no pressure. no push. just an answer.

“okay,” you said. “then i want that too.”

he leaned in and kissed you like it meant something. this time, you didn’t pull away.

you didn’t plan to spend the whole day with him. you’d brought your laptop over that morning, said you’d stay for coffee and maybe sketch beside him while he worked. but one hour became two. then three. and by the time the sun dipped behind the buildings, your charger was stretched across the floor, his hoodie was hanging off your shoulder, and your sketchbook was untouched. you didn’t care. he looked at you like you were the only thing worth paying attention to anyway.

he made lunch while you scrolled through your phone on the couch. nothing fancy—just leftover rice, an egg, and the kind of seasoning packets only college students kept stocked.

you offered to help, but he said you’d burn something. you flipped him off and he kissed your forehead in return. the eggs turned out a little too soft. you told him they were perfect anyway. he caught you smiling between bites and asked, “what?”

you shrugged. “this,” you said. “feels nice.”

he smiled. “yeah. it does.”

after lunch, you sat on the floor with your back against the couch, and he sat behind you, legs stretched out on either side, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. your fingers toyed with the frayed hem of your shorts while he skimmed a reading for class.

you didn’t talk much. you didn’t need to.

he shifted once, just to kiss the top of your shoulder. quick. like breathing. you leaned back into him without thinking.

around six, you both wandered down the street for a sweet treat. you held his hand this time.

it felt strange at first—public. loud in a way you weren’t used to. but he didn’t hesitate, and that made it easier. people didn’t stare. no one said anything.

and when you caught your reflection in the shop window—his hand in yours, your head tilted toward his shoulder—you didn’t look away.

he let you pick out whatever flavor ice cream you wanted, holding it while you took the first bite. you smeared ice cream on the corner of his mouth on purpose. he rolled his eyes and kissed you anyway.

you ended up back on his couch, curled up together under a blanket that didn’t cover either of you properly. the drama you half-watched played reruns, your phone battery blinked red, but neither of you moved.

his fingers traced lazy circles on the inside of your wrist. your voice broke the quiet. “do you remember what that girl at the festival said?”

he blinked. “which one?”

“during the balloon game.”

he smirked. “the one who asked if we were dating?”

“yeah.”

“and said people like us always end up together?”

you looked at him. “do you think she was right?”

he paused, then reached for your hand again—slower this time, deliberate.

“yeah,” he said. “i think she was.”

and you let yourself believe it.

it had been a long day—group work, class critiques, your backpack too heavy with things you didn’t need. he met you after your last class, tea in hand, fingers brushing yours as he passed you the cup. you let him hold your bag while you complained the whole walk to his apartment. he didn’t say much—just smiled, listening like he always did, like it mattered.

maybe that’s what did it. maybe it was the way he let you be tired. the way he made room for you without asking. the way he didn’t try to fix it. you kissed him as soon as the door closed. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t about relief or want. it was quiet and certain.

his hands found your waist slowly. your mouth moved against his like you’d done it a thousand times—but this time, it felt like arriving. he pulled you closer, his touch more assured now, less hesitant. like he finally believed you were his. you guided him back to the bed without breaking the kiss.

he let you take your time.

your shirt hit the floor first. his fingers ghosted over your ribs, your spine, your neck—like he was learning you again, piece by piece. when his lips met the skin just below your collarbone, you exhaled sharply.

“you okay?” he murmured, breath warm.

you nodded. “don’t stop.”

so he didn’t. you moved together, familiar with the other. his touch was reverent, his kisses slow and searching. he held you like he wanted to honor you, because this was never about proving anything. you whispered his name more than once, and he said yours like a promise.

when you finally collapsed beside him, your chest rising and falling in sync, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. you were safe. you were seen. for the first time, you didn’t want to run from that.

later, while he dozed beside you, you slipped from the bed—still wrapped in one of his hoodies, legs bare, hair messy from his fingers. you picked up your sketchbook and sat on the floor in the quiet hum of early evening. you started to draw.

you didn’t overthink it this time—no erasing or sketching over or hesitating. you just let your hand move: his jawline. his lashes. the faint curve of his smile when he looked at you like you were something he couldn’t believe was real.

this time, you didn’t hold back. you finished the piece in one sitting, titling it at the bottom of the page:

lose my cool.

you didn’t show him yet, but you would. because now you knew what it was: not love at first sight. not a perfect story. just something real—messy, quiet, honest.

yours.

a/n: thank you all for reading and finishing my first fic!! this was also my first smut :000 lmk how it was!! i thought it was pretty beautiful... soft and emotional and angsty. i love eunseok... stay tuned for more :)

🔖: @hrtfelt4u @karebearyu @jaellymint @thevirginsuicidenotes

[altocat]

Au where Genesis doesn't start dying until he's 30. Would an extra five years before crisis core change things?

By then, things have changed for the trio. Angeal's been slowly working on settling down AWAY from Shinra, eventually heading back home to Banora for a prolonged sabbatical. He visits Midgar frequently. But he's tired of constant politics and bloodshed, seeking a well-earned rest.

Sephiroth is seeking permanent retirement, but is still forced to fight, the alternative being that Shinra sets him up with a politically designated "mate" in hopes of turning him into a family man, no doubt recruiting the next generation of soldiers. Sephiroth is miserable, growing increasingly dependent on sedatives and antidepressants to get by, pining for Angeal and Genesis, constantly sent off to war because the battlefield away from home is easier than the figurative one in Midgar.

Genesis has risen in the ranks over the years, finally accumulating more and more of an influence thanks to his mounting popularity. Because Sephiroth is growing increasingly more unreliable and moody, he steps up as one of the most prominent faces of the SOLDIER program. He and Sephiroth see each other frequently, but Sephiroth's depression coupled with Gen's increasingly busy schedule is gradually causing them to drift apart. Genesis mostly participates in speaking engagements and gala events, trying to ignore Sephiroth morosely watching him from across the room, Hojo's gnarled hand slithering possessively across his shoulder.

When Genesis gets sick, it's something of a shock to the system for everyone. It comes too quickly for them to process, brought on not by a playful spar between friends but a sudden fall during a crowded press tour. Angeal flies in to see him right away. Sephiroth never leaves his bedside. But Genesis, deteriorating at a rapid rate, can barely process what's going on. Or why Hollander keeps shooing his friends away. It isn't until weeks later that he finally learns the truth. But this time...things are a bit more complicated. Turns out the sickness was always festering inside him for years, just without physical symptoms up till now. He doesn't have much time left. And at the rate he's degrading, there's not much he could physically do now even if he wanted to. He's too exhausted, too tired to be angry, strangely hollow inside.

Turns out, game is fleeting. He'd achieved his dream of glory and popularity. But Shinra seemed to abandon him completely once he finally fell apart. And why not? They're responsible. THEY ruined his life. If he were just a bit stronger, he'd have killed them for it. Destroyed their entire legacy cinder by bloody cinder.

...he supposes he could tell Sephiroth and Angeal. They have a right to know. This concerns them, too.

....

......

.........

He ultimately decides against it. Not when they're looking at him like that, not when they've forced their way through those cold clinic doors just to see him. He's all but lifeless when Angeal leans down to scoop him up in his arms, cradling him against a warm chest. Sephiroth is pressed so close, wedging Genesis between them, trembling violently. No. He could never tell them. Not now. After all...in the end, they were different. They came. They stayed. They...remained.

His comrades.

His companions.

His dearest, invaluable, irreplaceable friends.

Angeal brings Genesis back to Banora to live out what remains of his final days in peace. Sephiroth is forced to remain in Midgar under penalty of permanent incarceration.

He receives the letter from Angeal a few months later.

He is never quite the same again.

[ablobwhowrites]

I got an idea...what if...yanadere cookie run...cookies bring y/n into their world but...y/n is like fluttershy from mlp? Very shy, loves animals, friendly once you manage to coax her out of her shell, a pushover, and coward?

Just I think the yandere cookies would adore that because...well they won't try to escape because cowardly and so on...they will have to shower them with a lot of love so they actually exit their shell...and yeah!

I have some ideas for this but it's mostly idea for appearance wise that can change some interactions with Fluttershy y/n cookie.

I like to think if it's a winged y/n cookie, Y/n would be mostly on ground since their animals are mostly on the ground as they do fly but mostly to help animals or just anyone in need and I imagine when new cookies come to meet them as they are a sensation talked about with cookies, I basically imagine it's that whole scene of y/n just quietly whispering their name while avoiding eye contact and eventually a cookie has to step in a bit cause y/n was failing socially right there and sometimes 'disappears' from the kingdom sometimes to go into their cottage not to far away from the kingdom but is hidden enough to let y/n have their alone time with their animal friends but the only ones who really know y/n's cottage is werewolf cookie and red velvet cookie who come over sometimes for tea or just to be with y/n sometimes.

I do imagine y/n cookie does have freak outs like Fluttershy when they feel like no one is listening to them or something like that. I imagine y/n tends to be in the forest more because they are basically friends with all the animals and cookies panic thinking y/n was kidnapped but their just with their forest friends. Plus since Fluttershy bascially can be friend any kind of animal, I imagine even the half animal cookies, regular cookies, the cake monsters and dragons. For the cake monsters that are not like the cake house it's kinda like the my little pony movie when Fluttershy was comforting that guard that was crying, it's kinda like that but they become y/n's best friends after.

I imagine nutmeg tiger cookie to try and fight y/n at first but then ends up curled up against y/n and purring louder than butter tiger and she is embarrassed being in such a weakened state but she can't deny she loves the attention y/n gives her. The beast are kind the same way but each are different, shadow milk cookie is curious about why he feels this way? Why does he feel so happy and he didn't even crumble a cookie or spread his lies to others to make them fight, it's interesting to him. Burning spice cookie is kinda the same way and seeing how nutmeg tiger cookie was spending so much time outside beast yeast was cause of this cookie? What was so special about this cookie? Until he basically experienced the same thing as nutmeg tiger cookie and he makes a exception for y/n cookie as he likes how this cookie changes something in him that he hasn't felt in a long time. Mystic flour cookie felt comfort from y/n, as that was something she hasn't felt in a long time as this was different as this cookie as she knew these feelings would pass as everything does but she does like feeling this warm fuzzy feeling when being around y/n and seeing true kindness as a small part of her wants to stay in this moment and never let it pass.

Eternal sugar cookie is obsessed with y/n like she is hollyberry but if y/n is unlucky enough to be put into her paradise then she will be by y/n all the time. If y/n sits down know that eternal sugar cookie will have her head resting on their shoulder or lap as she hates having them out of her sight for even a minute and has her sugar angels be around y/n. And if y/n does have wings she slowly has them be covered in syrup that slowly makes it harder for them to escape her paradise until tiger lily cookie ruined it all.

If y/n cookie does have wings, I imagine they does use it often since all their friends both cookie and non cookie are on the ground mostly but they do fly for reasons as like to check on a mama bird they helped to make sure the eggs are okay or to help their friends at the cookie Kingdom with hanging something high up in the sky or to get something in a high up place but they stay on the ground mostly to help the animals at their cottage. The ancients do like y/n as they like the kind nature of y/n but pure vanilla cookie does worry for them as they never speak up sometimes or get to nervous to tell them a issues as he listens to them and even if it's a small thing that y/n may complain about or something like that pure vanilla will try everything to make y/n's worries go away. Hollyberry tries to have y/n come out of their shell by basically doing the one thing y/n hates to do, go to large parties were they no none and they get more nervous because of how many cookies are here and how it feels like eyes are looking at them. Golden cheese cookie loves to shower y/n in treasures as they get a big overwhelmed at how much stuff they bring back to their cottage but try to make use of it as they never had such flashy or golden things like this and do keep it safe in their cottage.

Dark cacao cookie likes the silence they share with eachother as dark cacao likes seeing how y/n always goes outside to seemingly talk to the birds that inhabited the air and he does introduce y/n to a cacao eagle that lives in the ideas as once y/n disappeared in the kingdom and Second Watcher saw y/n outside the walls of the kingdom and was seen to about it be attached by a Dire Creamwolf and when dark cacao cookie rushed to defend y/n, he was confused seeing the Dire Creamwolf on its side resting it's head on y/n's lap like some kind of lap cake hound would but this was a vicious beast who has attacked cookies before but now is acting like a cake puppy to y/n? He is curious about how y/n does this so easily to all animals on earthbread.

(Thats it for my little yap session. Hopefully you you guys like it! If you do please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)