#cause technically this is both......technically...

[demie90s]

Winter Smoke

Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Paige is home for winter break. No practices, no pressure—just family dinners, small town snow, and that one girl who’s always been around.

Genre: SMUT. WLW, slow burn, emotional tension, questioning sexuality, winter break setting, pothead x athlete, domestic vibes, closeted yearning

Warnings: Weed use, internalized confusion, soft flirtation, light physical intimacy (touching, closeness, implied attraction), emotional vulnerability, questioning identity

Word Count: ~ 4.1k

Winter break had the same rhythm every year: Paige came home, parents hosted dinner, folks laughed too loud in the living room, and I minded my business from the basement.

I didn’t mind her being around. We weren’t close—just the kind of familiar that comes from small towns and mutual obligations. Her dad and mine coached together in high school, so technically we’d “known each other forever,” but we’d never really talked. Not like that.

She played ball. I played the system.

They wanted us to be friends, though. My dad always hinting about it, asking me to tutor her in something she didn’t need help with just to get us in the same room. Her mom dropping comments like, “You should bring Paige on one of those study trips you go on, maybe it’ll rub off.”

As if intelligence was contagious.

Didn’t matter. I was too far gone into my own world now. I had my weed, my theories, my books, my silence. I wasn’t even mad about my dad pushing me into academia instead of ball anymore—he got over it. He saw what I did with it. I finished high school early, left with an associate’s before I could legally drink, and now I’m 21 working on a master’s degree while barely blinking. A little weed wasn’t going to be the scandal that ruined me.

So when they pulled up again this winter—her whole family—I didn’t blink.

I was in the basement, like usual. Hoodie on. Socks mismatched. Blunt lit. Some quiet instrumental R&B bleeding out the Bluetooth speaker. I was reading an abstract on cognitive reinforcement while simultaneously plotting which chips I was going to eat next.

And then the door opened. I didn’t look up right away. I already knew. Paige.

“Your mom said you were down here,” she said casually, a soft thud as she dropped down onto the other end of the couch.

“Clearly,” I murmured, barely lifting my eyes from the page. “She send you to babysit me or something?”

“Nah. I just wanted to get out of there. It’s a lot.”

I hummed. “Yeah. That house too full of opinions.”

She laughed lightly, then went quiet. I could feel her eyes scanning the room—my scattered notebooks, the rolling tray, the cloud of sweet smoke hanging heavy in the air.

She leaned back, legs stretched long across the carpet, and asked, “Is that your study routine or your spiritual practice?”

“Both.”

That got a laugh out of her. I liked the way she laughed. It was light, not forced, and just dry enough to tell me she wasn’t as straight as she tried to act.

“You ever try it?” I asked.

She glanced over. “What?”

I tapped the blunt between my fingers. “This. You off-season now, right?”

She tilted her head like she was thinking. “I mean… I’ve been around it. Never really did it.”

“Now’s the perfect time. No games, no drug tests, no interviews. Just you and the void.”

She looked at me, a little too long, and I knew then she was considering it.

“You don’t gotta impress me,” I said. “But you curious. I see it.”

Her eyes narrowed, amused. “You always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re narrating a Netflix show no one’s ready for.”

I smirked, slow. “That’s ‘cause they’re not.”

Eventually, she took it. Sloppy first inhale, a cough, another laugh. She settled into the feeling quicker than I thought. And then came the real problem—we started talking. Like really talking.

I don’t even remember what cracked it. Might’ve been a joke about her old baby photos upstairs or some memory we shared at a fourth-grade birthday party neither of us remembered happening until now. But the laughter settled into something thicker. Slower.

“People don’t really know how smart you are,” she said out of nowhere.

I blinked, caught off guard. “You stalking my résumé or something?”

“Nah, just… people talk. My mom brags about you to everyone. Said you had college credits before you had a prom.”

“That’s true. I skipped prom.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Cause I was gay and bored. And the DJ was trash.”

Her lips twitched like she didn’t know whether to laugh or process the information. “So you’re out?”

“Out? Baby, I was see-through.”

I stretched out further, dragging the blunt to my lips again. She was watching me now. Too closely. Her eyes darkened a little, the haze from the smoke mixing with the curiosity already crawling under her skin.

“And what about you?” I asked, soft. “You ever… explore?”

She didn’t answer immediately. But she didn’t break eye contact either.

“Not really,” she murmured. “Not in a real way.” I nodded. Said nothing. I didn’t need to press it.

She leaned closer. Just a little. Her hand brushed mine on the couch, slow like a test. I didn’t move. Just let the tension sit there.

“You ever think about what it’s like?” she asked quietly.

My eyes locked on hers, and for once, I didn’t say something witty. Didn’t joke. Just let my voice drop into something honest.

“All the time.” There was a pause.

“Can I… try something?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She leaned in. Lips brushed. Slow. Careful. She tasted like nerves and chapstick and a little leftover smoke. And when I deepened it—just slightly—she let out the softest sound I’ve ever heard from her.

That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Cause I knew who I was. On the surface? Calm. Chill. Smarter than I look and twice as calculated. On the inside? Horny. Starving. Ready to fall to my knees and make her forget her last name.

But I held it in. Barely.

Our kiss broke and she smiled, dazed. “That was…”

“Yeah.”

She laid her head on my shoulder. I felt her fingers graze the hem of my shirt. Not sexual. Just curious. But I was holding on by threads.

We’d been like that for a while now—somewhere between silence and casual conversation, like neither of us knew how to say, “Hey, are we gonna talk about the way we kissed and didn’t stop thinking about it for the last hour?”

We hadn’t moved from the couch. Weirdly enough, it held both of us just fine. Just enough room. Just enough quiet. Except now Paige was laying on top of me.

Her legs tangled between mine, her body pressed down in a way that didn’t feel innocent anymore. Head on my chest, one arm hooked lazily around my waist, like she’d done this a thousand times. Her eyes were closed, but she was still talking—something about childhood basketball trophies and how her little cousin found her old highlights on YouTube.

I could barely register a word. Because all I could think about was how her thigh was right there—pressed between mine. Not moving. But not still either.

And I was high. Which made it worse. I don’t get stupid when I’m high—I get hungry. And every slow exhale from her nose onto my collarbone was pushing me closer to losing it.

I bit my lip. She didn’t notice.

Her voice was soft. “He said I looked mean. Like, ‘Auntie, why you look so mad when you play?’ I was like, bro, that’s my face.”

I huffed out a breath. Tried to shift. Tried to be normal. But she moved with me—adjusted her leg without even opening her eyes, and suddenly her thigh dragged right over where I’d been trying not to feel too much.

I clenched my jaw. She still didn’t notice.

“I used to hate watching myself,” she murmured, voice low and gentle against my throat. “Now it’s kinda cool, seeing where I started. You ever feel like that? Like—”

“I have to move you,” I cut in, voice tighter than I meant.

She lifted her head a little, brows furrowed. “What? Why?”

I sat up slightly, forcing her off me and into her own seat like it didn’t hurt. Like it wasn’t killing me to put space between us.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned, leaning closer. I licked my lips slowly, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m trying not to fuck you,” I said calmly. Deadass. Unapologetic.

She blinked once. Then again. And smiled. That slow, knowing smile.

“Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “That’s why.”

“Mhm.”

“You could’ve said something.”

“I did.”

“No, I mean earlier.”

“You were literally laying on me. I could barely breathe. You were talking about youth basketball and I was this close to snapping your waistband and licking your spine.”

She grinned wider, leaned in like she was about to say something smart, and kissed me instead. Not light. Not curious. Firm. Intentional. Her hand cupped my jaw while her mouth moved slow and deep over mine, and I was holding on by a damn thread.

Then she started licking my neck. Not just kissing—licking. Small, warm, deliberate strokes right beneath my ear, and then soft open-mouthed kisses trailing down to my collarbone. And I was still. Frozen.

Not because I didn’t want to touch her. But because I did. Because if I moved, I was going to flip her. Make her cry out. Make her feel every second of what I’d been holding in since she laid on me like that couch was neutral ground.

She sat in my lap now, straddling me fully, rocking just barely. Smirking.

“You good?” she asked in that fake innocent tone, head tilted, lips still swollen from kissing.

I looked at her. Stared. She thought she was winning. Thought she was in charge. But when she leaned in close again and whispered, “Yes…”—that was it.

Everything inside me snapped.

My hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her down flush. The soft gasp she let out told me all I needed to know. She didn’t expect me to take it that seriously.

I kissed her hard—like I was making up for every second I held back. My tongue slid into her mouth like I owned the space. My hands gripped her thighs, pulled her down tighter into me, and I felt the shift in her body—the sudden surrender. The way she melted under it.

“You thought you’d in charge?” I muttered between kisses. She tried to say something cocky. I swallowed it with another kiss.

“You laid on me like I wouldn’t do something about it.”

Her hips shifted. My fingers dug in. She moaned—soft, breathy, and fuck, I wanted more.

I kissed her jaw, her neck, the space just under her ear where she shivered like I found a secret. My voice dropped.

“Girl you got one chance to tell me to stop.”

She didn’t. Her hands gripped my shoulders. She leaned in again, kissed me like she was already gone.

I didn’t ask again. Didn’t need to. Paige had already told me everything I needed to hear—between her eyes, her breathing, her “yes,” the way her thighs clenched the second I kissed under her ear.

And I wasn’t about to waste that permission.

I flipped her slow. Nothing rough—just smooth and deliberate. Her back hit the cushions while I stayed above her, steady, calm, calculated. Her hands gripped my hoodie like she was holding herself together. That wouldn’t last long.

Then I was on her. Hands sliding up under her hoodie, fingertips dragging over bare skin, tugging fabric higher as I kissed down her neck. She lifted her arms, let me take it off, hair falling across her flushed face like some forbidden secret I wasn’t supposed to see.

But I was gonna see all of her. Every fucking inch.

No bra. Just her. Skin flushed pink, breathing shallow, chest rising. I stared. Just for a second. Just to memorize the shape of her. Then I dropped my mouth to her chest—tongue licking a slow circle around her nipple before pulling it into my mouth, gently, then harder, until she gasped and arched up.

My hands weren’t still either. One slid down, thumb dragging under the band of her sweatpants. I felt her tremble when I grazed the front of her, the heat, the way her body reacted instantly. My eyes were on hers the whole time.

I didn’t say anything. I just pulled them down. She lifted her hips to help me, quiet, legs parting slightly, thighs tense. No panties. She knew what she was doing. IM not mad at it.

She always looked so clean-cut. So composed. But here she was, laying back in my basement with nothing on from the waist down, wet and ready, thighs trembling, eyes locked on me like she didn’t know whether to speak or beg.

I dropped to my knees on the floor between the couch cushions. Didn’t rush. Just kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and firm. Then the other. Licked the softness just above where she needed it, blowing cool air across her pussy until she squirmed.

I didn’t tease her long. Not tonight.

I leaned in and kissed her there—deep, full tongue pressure, slow licks that flattened against her clit, then slid lower, tasting her. Her hips jumped immediately.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. I hummed against her. The vibrations made her moan. Then I really got to work.

My hands gripped her thighs and pulled her forward. I spread her wider, licking long and slow—up and down, circling, pausing only to suck her clit gently, then hard enough to make her back arch off the couch. She was losing it already, one hand tangled in my curls, the other gripping the pillow like it could ground her.

But I wasn’t done.

While I ate her, one hand slid back into my sweats—already soaked from how long I’d been holding it in. My fingers rubbed slow circles over my own clit, matching the rhythm of my mouth on hers. It made the pleasure sharper, more focused. Like I was feeding off her sounds.

She moaned louder. Her thighs started to tremble.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, voice cracking.

I didn’t. I licked her like it was my purpose—slow but relentless. I flattened my tongue, sucked her clit again, then moved lower and slid my tongue inside her, moaning softly when she gasped and rolled her hips into my face. Her whole body tightened. She was close. Right there.

I pulled back just enough to say, “I want you to come on my mouth.”

She whimpered. “Fuck. I’m gonna—”

Her whole body jerked. Her legs shook around my shoulders. I didn’t stop—kept licking through it, softer now, coaxing it out of her, letting her ride it. She cried out, breathless, shaky, and her fingers pulled hard at my hair.

I stayed there until she twitched. Until she couldn’t take anymore. Until she pushed at me with a whimper and begged, “Wait—baby, stop—too much.”

I finally pulled back. Licked my lips. Looked at her. Wrecked. Flushed. Breathless. Still trembling.

I climbed back onto the couch beside her, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and leaned in to kiss her neck—tasting her skin, dragging my tongue up her throat slow and dirty.

“You taste so fucking good,” I whispered.

She blinked at me, dazed. “You’re high.”

“And you’re lucky I didn’t eat you through the fucking floor.”

She laughed weakly, still breathless. And then her fingers slid between my legs.

“Ohhh…” I smiled, slow and wicked. “You trying to be grown?” She looked at me.

“Say yes again.”

She hadn’t even caught her breath yet, still folded into the couch cushions, legs slightly open, chest rising in soft uneven waves. Her skin glowed in the low light—pink from heat, kissed red around her chest and throat. And yet she still looked hungry.

Paige shifted, climbing into my lap like the tremble in her thighs didn’t exist. She pushed me back into the cushions and settled over me, straddling me fully, hands on either side of my neck, gaze low and steady. There was something new in her eyes. Bolder. Like now that she knew what my mouth could do, she wanted to see what her hands could make happen.

“You good?” I asked, low.

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” I raised a brow.

But she was already kissing me—hot, slow, and wet, tongue teasing mine like she wanted to reclaim her breath through me. Her hand slid under my hoodie, trailing along my ribs, my stomach. She tugged it up, impatient. I let her pull it off.

She looked down at me now, eyes scanning everything, like she was seeing me for the first time. Then her hands cupped my chest, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I sighed into the kiss, my back arching just a little.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered, voice husky.

I opened my mouth to respond, but she kissed down my neck before I could answer—slow and messy, lips dragging across my collarbone, then lower. Her tongue flicked over my nipple and my breath caught. She smiled against my skin.

“Oh, you like that.”

“Mhm,” I managed. “But don’t get cocky. You still shaky.”

She ignored that, kissing lower. Her hand slid between my legs, over my sweats, slow pressure that made me sigh and grind into her palm.

“You’re soaked,” she whispered, surprised.

“Yeah. You. Did that.”

Paige hummed, dragging her fingers up and down through the fabric. Teasing. She didn’t rush. Didn’t try to prove anything. Just moved with confidence—like she’d been thinking about this longer than she admitted.

She tugged my sweats down, enough to get her hand in, and the moment her fingers slid through how wet I was, she moaned.

“Fuck.”

I grinned. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, dazed, like she forgot where she was. Her fingers rubbed slow circles over my clit while she kissed me again—deep and dirty, moaning into my mouth every time I twitched.

Then she slid one finger in. Then another. I grabbed her wrist on instinct, not to stop her, but to feel it. She started thrusting slow, her other hand gripping my thigh, and her breath got uneven again.

“You’re so fucking warm,” she whispered, looking down at where her fingers disappeared inside me. “I—I can’t—”

And then she froze. Her eyes fluttered. Her legs trembled.

“Oh my god.”

She gasped, sharp and loud, grinding down against me like she didn’t even mean to. Cumming. Again.

Right there. On top of me. Legs shaking, forehead pressed to mine, fingers still inside me but frozen. She whimpered, soft and stunned.

I bit my lip, smiling. “You were saying?”

“Shut up,” she panted.

“No, no, please,” I laughed breathlessly. “You were being in charge. Continue.”

She blinked down at me, red-faced. “I—I forgot what I was doing.”

I gripped her hips and started to move them. She moaned.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Let me help you remember.”

I guided her—slow grind, right over my thigh now, slick and sensitive, her hands on my chest for balance. I kept moving her, small circles, steady pressure, and watched her fall apart all over again.

“You think I needed more than this?” I muttered, voice low. “Just you on top of me, making all those sounds…”

“Stop talking,” she gasped, but her hips didn’t stop.

“I came already, Paige. You know that, right?” Her eyes widened.

“I came while I was eating you.” (Literally a dream of mine.. don’t mind me)

She whimpered, grinding harder. “Fuck…”

“And now you’re gonna come again. Because you turn me on that bad.”

She didn’t argue. She just shook. Collapsed into my neck and came again, softer this time. Just a long, trembling sigh, her breath hot against my throat, body loose and weak and completely undone.

And I held her. Smiling to myself. Because yeah—she tried to be in charge. But I had her. Every. Single. Time.

It was sometime past midnight when we finally pulled ourselves together—sweatpants back on, hoodies thrown over bodies still warm, limbs still a little shaky. We laughed too much in the bathroom while brushing our teeth, hands knocking into each other, grinning like two kids who knew they weren’t supposed to be doing what they just did.

She stayed.

Of course she stayed.

Now we were in my room, the lights dim, comforter kicked halfway off the bed. She laid on top of me, hoodie half-zipped, cheek pressed against my chest like it belonged there. Her thigh was tucked between mine again, but this time I wasn’t grinding—I was too tired. Too satisfied. My hand rested on her back, fingers tracing lazy lines along her spine while she talked soft and slow, her voice fading in and out like she was about to fall asleep mid-sentence.

“You sure I’m not crushing you?” she mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. “You weigh, like, five pounds more than me.”

“But I’m taller. Got broader shoulders.”

I slid my hand down to squeeze her ass. “You’re not heavy, Paige. I lift.”

She chuckled, sleep in her throat. “Okay, hot girl.”

We laid there like that for a while. Comfortable. Quiet. Her breath evened out, her body melted against mine. I didn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

Morning came like a slap to the ego. The sun peeked through my curtains just bright enough to hit Paige’s face. She scrunched up like a cat and rolled off me with a groan, taking the covers with her.

“Damn,” I muttered, dragging my hoodie down.

“Shut up,” she grumbled. “Your bed’s too comfortable. I didn’t wanna wake up.”

“You drooled on me.”

She blinked. “What?”

I smirked. “Right here.” I tapped my chest. “Dead center. Like a badge of honor.”

She covered her face, laughing into her sleeve.

We got dressed in a mess of mismatched clothes. My sweats, her hoodie. My bonnet that she definitely did not need but still tried on for jokes. I tossed her one of my oversized tees to wear under her jacket and she looked at herself in the mirror like she didn’t hate it.

“You good?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just don’t know how to walk out of here like I wasn’t literally—”

“Say it and I’ll drag you back in this bed.”

She bit her lip. “That’s not a threat.”

We made our way to the kitchen like two teenagers sneaking in past curfew—except it was 9 a.m., and both of my parents were already awake.

I should’ve known something was up the moment my mom turned from the stove with that look. That mom look. The one that says, “You think I don’t know, but I know.”

“Mornin’ girls,” she said sweetly, sliding pancakes onto a plate. “Y’all sleep good?”

Paige damn near tripped over the chair. I cleared my throat. “Yup. Great. Comfy.”

“Yeah,” Paige added too fast. “Really good. Slept really… peacefully.”

“Mhmm,” my mom replied, smirking. “Sure did look peaceful when I checked on you two. Cozy.”

I froze. “You what?”

“Oh relax. I didn’t open the door all the way. Just enough to see her head on your chest like a baby possum.”

Paige looked like she wanted the floor to eat her whole. And then came my father. He walked in holding his coffee like a championship trophy, grinning like he hit the lottery three times in one night.

“I knew it,” he said, loud as hell. “I told you, baby! Didn’t I say?”

He turned to my mom, eyes wide. “Didn’t I say, ‘Those two gone end up together. It’s only a matter of time’? Didn’t I say that?!”

“You said it,” my mom replied flatly, rolling her eyes.

My dad clapped his hands together once, loud and proud. “Welcome to the family, Bueckers!”

Paige’s eyes got so wide I thought she might pass out. I dropped my forehead to the table. “You’re embarrassing. Please stop.”

He ignored me completely, walking over to Paige and slapping her on the shoulder like he just drafted her to the Lakers. “I mean this girl right here—man! Best in the league. Smart. Focused. Got a crossover and a sense of humor.”

“She’s sitting right here,” I muttered.

He leaned in closer, whispering too loud to be subtle. “If you break her heart, I’m takin’ your jump shot. You hear me?”

Paige choked on her juice. My mom finally rescued us. “That’s enough, Mr. Hall of Fame. Go fix the screen door like you said you would.”

He walked off still talking. “Three for three! That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Three for three!”

I turned to Paige, deadpan. “You wanna run? Now’s your chance.”

She leaned over, bumped my shoulder, and whispered, “Actually… I’m kinda into it.”

I blinked. “Into what?”

She smirked. “Being yours.”

My heart did something stupid. Like real stupid.

But all I said was, “Better be. You drooled on me.”

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[jaeminify]

kiss, marry, f#%! ☆ na jaemin.

synopsis ☆ within your friend group, haena's father was commonly known as the daddy they'd love to fu— and while you've frequently imagined him treating you more than just his daughter's best friend, you think it starts to manifest itself into reality when haena brings you home and jaemin's eyes linger on your figure a little longer when it's just the two of you with nobody watching.

warning(s) ☆ legal age, jaemin is 20 years older so forty, daddy kink (duh), spitting kink, cum eating, dry humping, semi-rough sex, both are consenting adults! a lot of pet names, jaemin's horny. so are you. yeah

author's note. urmmm lengthy smut one shot that doesn't really make sense so technically not really porn with a plot? idk let me know if u enjoyed this! thinking of making a part two or a sequel or something cause im ovulating and was feeling extra horny for jaemin and this was sitting in my drafts for weeks so now seemed like the perfect time to finish it LMAO sorry if it isn't up to par or as good as my other works <3 reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

"Haena, your dad's a total dilf." Jimin gushes for the second time during your movie marathon with the girls. Haena, who's become numb to the annoying comments, rolls her eyes.

"Jimin's holding herself back from calling him a Daddy." You chuckle, earning a squeal from her. Haena is the only one unamused.

"Jimin, please shut up. He's an old man who's growing grey hair and, is my dad, thank you very much." She replies, annoyed that she's had to repeat herself. "Guys seriously, we're watching cruel intentions and all you're thinking about is my dad? Gross."

You give Haena an apologetic smile, knowing the girls weren't going to stop talking about her dad anytime soon, or ever. Haena's father has been a hot topic ever since he attended her graduation. He was the centre of attention of every single women in attendance and while you did find him attractive, you cared about Haena and respected her wishes to not sexualise her father.

At least, you wouldn't ever do it in front of her.

Two nights after that, Jimin and you are having dinner at a fancy restaurant in town. Jimin having received her bonus pay-check and you finally getting your TA request accepted, you both decided to treat yourselves. Take each other out while you both talked about your accomplishments over the week.

"I can't believe it took Professor Cha ages to read your email. If Jisung hadn't reminded him of the TA opening?" Jimin expresses her annoyance on behalf of you, making you chuckle.

"I know. It's ridiculous, but he saved my ass by asking that question. I'm pretty sure Yuta was the one who asked him to ask, he doesn't speak much."

"That's 'cause he's reserved. Have you seen him at the club? Boy is quiet but knows how to bust a move."

"I know. I'm thinking of signing up for one of his dance workshops— y'know, the one he set up for charity? All donations are going to an animal shelter."

"Ugh, and he's an animal lover too? I swear if I wasn't already head over heels for Haena's dad, I would have a crush on Yuta."

You take a sip out of your drink. It was a mix of Vodka, sprite, and something sweet. It was tangy, maybe a hint of citrus was in it too.

"Are you serious about your crush on Jaemin?" You ask, bewildered at your friend. You've all joked about liking Mr. Na, Haena's dad was named Jaemin, but Jimin actually seemed infatuated.

You couldn't really blame her. He was an attractive man, and it was rare for a forty year old to look that good.

"Serious? No. Definitely not, I'd never do that to Haena, but in another life? Yes. Girl, have you seen his body? I bet he works out when he's not handling court cases."

You chuckle, "You'd think so."

"Hey," Jimin softly tapped your shoulder then pointed at the table behind you. "Isn't that Mr. Na?"

"Okay, Jimin, I know you like him but there's no way he'd be here," You turn around to prove your point but widen your eyes when Jaemin walks in, and he isn't alone.

"He's here. Oh my God— Is he on a date?" Jimin asks, bewildered although slightly amused. You, on the other hand, have a confused look on your face. He doesn't seem too interested in his date, in fact he's looking at the interior of the restaurant instead of her.

"Ugh, there goes my one-sided love," Jimin sinks into her chair, feigning sadness. You laugh at your friend and nudge her feet with your heel. "It was nice while it was lasted."

"Haena's gonna be happy." You smile, picking at your salad. "Do you think she knows?"

Jimin's playful demeanour switches to a much more serious look, both concern and sympathy wash over the two of you as you think about your close friend.

"It hasn't been that long since they divorced, right? Maybe she does." Jimin glances at them over your shoulder again then shrugs, "I hope she does."

"Yeah," You nod and continue eating your dinner together.

The two of you continue to talk about your week; Jimin lets you know she's having an art exhibition for a charity event at the end of this week and you let her know you'll be there. Jimin was an incredible artist who ventured out with local artists outside of university to branch out and make connections.

She's had three solo exhibitions and one collaboration exhibition coming up. Proud was an understatement when it came to Jimin.

After some time, you excuse yourself to powder your face, literally, because you could feel your makeup sweating off you from the bright lights in the restaurant.

On the way back to the table, you spot a figure standing by your table talking to Jimin, who's eager to call you over once she sees you standing from afar.

"Y/N! Guess who came over to say hi," Jimin's eyes were giving you a hint. A glaringly obvious hint that at first was not received very well until you turned your head and saw who it was.

You controlled your face muscles from showing a reaction, only briefly widening your eyes back at Jimin as you looked back at Mr. Na.

"Mr. Na, what a coincidence! Jimin and I were just having a girls night out."

Jaemin is calm and collected, quiet confidence radiating off him from the way he stands. He's quiet, always the polite man he is and gives a kind smile to you and Jimin.

"Jimin's mentioned. I hear you girls have accomplished a lot since your graduation," Jaemin's eyes linger on you, they dart lower but before he gets caught he looks back at Jimin.

"Is that Haena over-exaggerating again?" Jimin asks, earning a laugh from Jaemin.

"I'm sure it isn't at all." He nods his head, "I should get back to my appointment. You girls enjoy dinner."

"Thank you, Mr. Na." Jimin says on behalf of you two.

You're subconsciously playing with the bracelets that adorn your wrists, catching Jaemin's attention. Your hands were right by the slit of your dress that stopped mid-thigh.

You don't notice his gaze on your exposed thigh, talking to Jimin about what dessert to order.

He clears his throat, "Please, call me Jaemin." He says, looking at Jimin then you. "I'll see you girls around."

Jaemin walks away without turning back, giving you and Jimin the chance the gawk at his back. He may be a man of few words but he was a very, very suave and attractive fella.

"God, his voice and that suit. Sign me up."

"Jimin!" You scold as you sit back down in your chair, taking your napkin to rest on your lap.

Jimin and you end up ordering a slice of lemon cheesecake for dessert. Halfway through your conversation you look around the restaurant and lock eyes with Jaemin, who's staring at your table. The two of you look at each other, giving each other a polite smile, then you go back to listening to Jimin.

Before leaving, Jimin and you are getting ready to pay for dinner when the waiter comes over to tell you that it's been taken care of.

Jaemin meets you and Jimin at the receptionist.

"Mr. Na— I mean, Jaemin. Thank you for paying for our dinner. You really didn't have to." Jimin began, speaking of behalf of you and her.

"Nonsense, it was my pleasure." Jaemin says, "Did you two have a good meal?" Jaemin turns to look at you.

You smile, "We did. Dessert was good." You say, thinking nothing of it. Jaemin smiles at your comment, nodding his head to himself.

Jaemin's guest pushes herself against Jaemin's arms, looking upset over something none of you have a clue about.

Jimin's eyes widened when his guest brazenly pushes her breasts against his arm. Jaemin, unaffected by the action, keeps his eyes on you as he nods.

"Do you girls need a ride home?"

"No, thank you." Jimin is quick to say, meanwhile you glance at the glare his guest is directing at you. After saying goodbye, with a confused look, you wave and follow after Jimin.

You barely miss the words, "Why do you keep staring at her?" slip through her lips while you walk out.

A month later you were helping Haena move out of her childhood bedroom.

Yuna was away for holiday, Jimin was caught up in work, so you were the only person aside from Jaemin, to help Haena out. You spent a good chunk of the day packing all of her things with her, then when it was time to load up the things into the truck, the movers and Jaemin took over. That left you and Haena to relax in the kitchen.

"Thanks again for helping me, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Of course," You smiled, taking a sip out of your orange juice. "What are friends for, Haena."

"Darling," Haena looked up from her phone to her father calling her by the kitchen doorway. You ignored the fluttering feeling in your stomach. He was talking to his daughter — who was your friend!

"Yeah, dad?"

Jaemin's eyes flickered to you then back to Haena. He was dressed in all black; black sweater with slacks that suited him perfectly.

"The movers need you to be there since they don't have a key to the apartment. Is your roommate home? You girls need me to drop you off?" Jaemin asked, looking at the two of you.

You got up to follow after Haena but she shook her head.

"No it's okay, I can drive. Yeri won't be back yet so I have to be there. I'll be quick though, Y/N. You can stay here and rest."

"What?" You asked, "I can go with you it's no problem, Hae."

"No, you've helped enough. I don't wanna be at the apartment long anyway, I'm coming back." Haena grabbed her car keys and smiled, "Y/N, just make yourself comfortable. This is practically your second home."

You laughed at Haena's words but hugged her goodbye, telling her you'd be in her room while waiting for her. Most of your things were in her room and you needed to sort out the classroom files on your laptop.

Once Haena left, it was just you in the kitchen as Jaemin walked Haena to her car. You typed away on your phone when you heard a clink of a mug right across from you.

"Coffee?" Jaemin asked, holding up a jug of black coffee which was not unusual, but it was already midday and from habit you remember Haena mentioning Jaemin's spike in coffee addiction.

"No, that's okay. I'm not a fan of bitter things." You politely declined, "Haena mentioned you were getting a promotion, Mr. Na?"

Jaemin smiled to himself as he put the jug away, taking moment to drink his coffee as he leaned against the counter across from you.

"Not really," He said. "I don't really get promotions, I just submit potential applicants who are qualified for the promotions." He informed kindly, "And I've told you to call me Jaemin, Y/N."

"Right," You say sheepishly.

"How has work been for you? Any troubles?" Jaemin asked.

The two of you indulge in small talk until Jaemin gets a call, that he takes in front of you. By the end of it, he's pissed. He doesn't yell, in fact it's impressive that he keeps his cool, but his strict demeanour is almost mesmerising to watch. Jaemin's stern voice triggers a memory.

Jaemin's eyes catches yours while he talks in business, the words don't make sense to you but his actions and his attitude does. Something in your body language shifts that makes Jaemin turn his attention solely on you.

When he hangs up, he tilts his head at you.

"Was there something on me?"

You snap out of your daze and shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"No, Mr. Na." Quickly, you cleared your throat then looked at him seriously. Jaemin matches your stance by titling his head. "The other day, when Jimin and I saw you at the restaurant, did I cause any trouble between you and your... guest?"

Jaemin's eyebrows crease together, then he remembered.

"Oh," Jaemin chuckled. "You didn't cause any trouble at all. Chaeyoung hates when the attention isn't on her."

Your mind fixates on his words. Who was he paying attention to?

"So, you two... serious?"

Jaemin laughs, a hearty one that almost makes you smile. For an older man, he had a boyish laugh — you found that attractive.

"Are you asking for Haena or for you?" Jaemin asked. Before you can respond, he continues, "She was a date. Just one, though. Didn't click very well with her."

"That's a shame." You nodded. "Does Haena know...?"

You supposed it was weird to be talking about love and the topic of dates with your friend's father but Jaemin always treated Haena's friends as adults and if the girls were with you, they'd be prying into his love life too.

There were many occasions where Jimin and Yuna had to be stopped by Haena the last time Jaemin accompanied the girls to a dinner.

Jaemin lips the corner of his lips as he contemplates how to answer that. Haena's mother and Jaemin got divorced recently, this topic could be too fresh to handle, but Jaemin didn't exactly try to hide that he was on a date.

"No." He said, as though it was finalised. "There are some things that are... well, they don't do well if they were known so openly." His eyes stay on yours then very slowly, as if intentionally, he drags his gaze down over your top, back up to your face, lingering on your lips?

"Mr. Na?" You can't help but feel giddy at the look he's giving you, but you don't want to entertain delusional hope. Not that you hoped for him to do something.

That would be crazy, right?

The energy buzzes. You don't know how it happens or what causes it to, but you're certain it isn't you. Jaemin takes three steps to stand in front of you, your nose is barely an inch away from his chest, almost grazing the material of his shirt when you look up at him.

He delicately tucks a stray hair behind your ear, leans in close and almost brushes his lips against your ear.

"Jaemin." You can hear the smile in his voice, yet you still turn to look at him. He doesn't move away, he only watches your expression change into curiosity. "Just Jaemin."

In a blink of an eye he's walking away from you and you're left with an aching feeling between your legs as you grip the marble counter with a sigh.

Jimin would scream if she was here. You, however, try to take your mind off of it while you're doing work in Haena's room.

Time flies by quick the longer you're stuck in your document that by the time Jaemin comes up to tell you dinner is ready, the sun has set and it's a quarter to eight. Haena still isn't home and you haven't gotten a text from her, which was weird.

Haena no matter how busy always kept you in the loop, especially if she was with you the hour before. Or, hours before.

As if to tell you something, it thunders outside and a second later, you get a call from Haena.

"Hey, are you okay?" You take the call as you watch the rain pour from her window. It's too heavy, even if you wanted to drive home, you couldn't get to your car.

"I'm okay! I got caught in the rain and decided to turn back so I'm gonna be staying in the apartment until the rain dies down. You okay at home?" Haena asks, her sweet voice asking out of concern.

"I am, just feels weird to be staying here without you actually here." You mutter to yourself, trying to find your car, but the rain is adamant on the opposite.

"I don't think I can drive home either. I can't find my damn car." You complain, rolling your eyes when Haena laughs.

"I told you to park in the garage. You're just so stubborn."

"Not the time," You groan. "Do you have food, at least? It doesn't look like it's gonna stop anytime soon."

"Yeah, I've got things to cook here. Thank God." Haena moves around in the apartment, "Where's my dad?"

At the mention of Jaemin, your mind drifts back to the tiny kitchen incident. You play with the hem of your sweater.

"Probably somewhere in the house," You say, "I've been in your room the whole time. He probably thinks I fell asleep."

Haena laughs, "Most likely. Look, just make yourself comfortable. You know where your clothes are in my closet."

"I know," You smile, "Call me if you need anything okay? I'll let your dad know where you are."

"Thanks. I texted him but he hasn't replied." Haena sighs, "I'll see you later. Hopefully."

You look at the clock above her bed and frown. It was nearing midnight, you doubt that the rain would rain before then.

"Okay, but be careful."

"You sound like my mom." Haena snorts, "Okay, bye. Love you. See ya, loser."

"Bye Haena." You chuckle, waiting for her to hang up first. Once she does, you stretch your body and make your way out of her room, looking for Jaemin to relay her message.

No matter how long you've been to her house, it was still incredibly massive to you. The foyer was the size of two rooms combined and the living room was even bigger. Usually, Jaemin would be in the kitchen anytime the girls were over, but it was quiet downstairs.

Not wanting to wander around the house without Haena there, you sat in the dining room. Haena always made sure to have little snacks in the house if she had guests over, so you reached out in the middle of the table to grab a granola bar.

You hummed to yourself as you tore the plastic wrapper open, then heard a door closing from somewhere in the room.

"Mr.—" You caught yourself, clearing your throat. "Jaemin?"

Walking into the house from the other side of the hallway was Jaemin. Drenched from head to toe in a white shirt and track pants. You widen your eyes at the sight of his shirt clinging to his skin and hurriedly look up at him, pretending to not have noticed his... attire.

"Y/N," He doesn't seem to notice your embarrassment, instead he's drying out his shirt and his hair with a towel. "I didn't hear you. I was making sure Haena's plants were okay."

Ah, your best friend and her green thumb.

"Admirable gesture, but are you okay? You could catch a cold." This time you weren't bashful or shy, you walked up to him and grabbed the towel to wipe the raindrops from his face.

Jaemin doesn't stop you from doing so. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. He drops his hands to his side and lets you dab the towel against his face, shoulders, arms and body.

You do it without thinking, honestly. You were worried about Jaemin catching a chill because you had caught a cold in the rain and it took weeks to recover. But maybe Jaemin's immune system was much more efficient than yours, right?

Jaemin's hand stops you from going any lower when you start to reach his pants. His grip is strong, but it doesn't hurt you.

Only then, do you realise what you're doing.

"Oh." You say, "Oh my God. Jaemin— Mr. Na. I am so sorry. I didn't even— Oh dear God." You let go of the towel and look up at him, nervous.

Jaemin isn't affected. At least, it doesn't seem like it. But his gaze on you doesn't falter, instead it feels as thought it's stuck on you.

"Tell me, Y/N," Jaemin's voice is low and sultry as he talks to you now, his hand is still on your wrist. He tugs you closer so you're chest to chest.

You're trembling, but not because you're scared. You just can't believe this is happening. You can't believe you're enjoying it.

"Are you scared of me?" Jaemin asks."

"N-No, Sir."

Jaemin tilts his head.

"Do you like being this close to me?" He asks.

"S-Sorry?"

"If you aren't scared of me like you say so, then why, my dear girl, are you shaking in my arms?" He asks, tauntingly. You don't know if you should recoil, but you inch a little closer, subconsciously wanting him to hold you.

He smiles down at you, and it feels like very, very dangerous territory.

"Mr. Na—"

"Uh-uh." He tuts, deciding that since you two were already crossing a physical boundary, he could be more casual. You inhale sharply at the feel of his hand sliding up your waist. "Jaemin, darling." He smirks.

"Unless you like calling me... What was it that you girls were saying— Daddy?"

Your eyes widen at his words, surprised he was even aware that you were talking about him with your friend group. Damn you, Jimin. You silently curse.

Despite the shock, you rub your thighs together and Jaemin has to restrain himself from sliding his hands lower. He wouldn't do it without your consent. Even if you were gripping his shirt tightly, he wouldn't.

"You heard us."

"Hard not to when it echoes in the house, sweetheart." He says softly.

"Jaemin..." Your eyes dart down to his lips and even if the entire situation is wrong, your mind is screaming at you, yelling at you to take this chance. To hold him closer and have him kiss you.

Jaemin does the same, watching your lips say his name then staring deep into your eyes.

"Y/N, I've always thought you were the most genuine out of all of Haena's friends." Jaemin murmurs, close to your lips, "Therefore, if we cross the line here, I'd like to know if you want this."

You pull away slightly, "This...?"

Jaemin smiles, genuine and soft, kind. This is the man you knew under all the hotness and tension.

He glances down at your lips again, "This," His hand trials down to cup your clothed pussy. "This."

You gasp and tug at his shirt, licking your lips at the thought of Jaemin fingering you, of him eating yoh out, of him making you scream his name at the top of your lungs because only he can— you know he could.

"Do you want this, pretty girl? If not, we can pretend it never happened." He whispers, but you're only focused on the way his fingers lightly rub your slit over the cloth of your leggings and it's enough to throw all sensible thoughts, out the window.

"But, before you make your decision I will tell you. I think you're a very attractive girl, Y/N. And you are intelligent, intuitive and too good for any other man." He says, "Haena has mentioned the boys you've seen. None very impressionable, if I may add."

You exhale a chuckle. He wasn't wrong. Even if you didn't find Jaemin attractive, you agreed with his last statement. None of the boys you went out with were ever this forward or assertive. You liked a man who was confident but not arrogant. Many of the men you met were only the latter.

Jaemin's hands on your body anchor you back to reality.

"Tell me what you want," He says lowly. "Let me know what's going on inside that pretty little head."

After a beat, you give in.

Fuck it, right?

"I want you." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I want you, so so much."

"Atta girl," He moans before taking control of the kiss he lands on your lips, capturing the pretty sounds you make from having his arms all over you.

Jaemin is swift in slipping his hands under your leggings, gripping your ass and running a hand up your back just to feel your skin and the strap of your bra. It seems like the thin clothing that's restricting him from feeling you is enough to make him growl.

"Fuck, you're mesmerising." He groans against your lips, hooking his arms under your thighs to carry you in his arms. Naturally, as if you've done this countless of times, you wrap your legs around his middle.

The two of you don't stop kissing, enraptured by the feeling of each other that even a second spent apart drew you crazy. You rolled your body against his, whispering how much you needed him against his lips while he licked your bottom lip, wanting you more and more and more.

He lays you down on a bed, and you realise under a glance that this is his bedroom. The door is close, giving you more privacy but the idea of someone finding you two only arouses you.

God, this was so wrong.

Jaemin's hand slipped under your thong and you moaned out loud, clamping a hand over your mouth.

But it felt so damn good.

"Yeah? You like that, don't you pretty girl? Barely even touched you and you're a mess." He coos, ripping off your leggings and spreading your wetness all over your core. "God, look at you. You're so fucking beautiful."

"Jaemin..." You whine, wanting more from him. His tongue. His fingers. Anything.

"I know," He crawls onto the bed, hovering over you, "You need me, don't you?" He kisses you. "Pretty girl. Pretty little thing just for Daddy."

The sound of his voice calling himself Daddy should not have you this wet, but you were horny and needy and you loved how dominating he was. Only with you. You smirked to yourself, having an idea to stir him up.

You ran your hands up against his chest, wrapping them around his neck and pulling him closer, writhing your hips as his fingers played with your pussy.

"I think Daddy needs to show me how good he is for me."

Jaemin smirks against your cheek, licking a stripe onto your cheek before gliding his tongue into your mouth, giving you the messiest kiss you've ever had with anyone, but you enjoy it. You moan into his mouth when you feel him grind against you. His pants move against your clit snd it feels too good. Too much to handle.

"Ha... Jaemin..." You whine, "Don't want to cum so early." You whimper, "Want to please you."

Jaemin can't help but chuckle as he gets up, missing your warmth around him but gladly helping you up as you get on your knees to suck him off. He's dreamt of it ever since he saw you during dinner. You looked too good in that dress to be sent off home.

"Look at you, wanting to please Daddy. Who knew you were such a nasty girl under that sweet smile?" His question is rhetorical but it makes you clench your thighs together.

You had always had this inside of you. You always wanted more from every one of your partner, sexually, but you had never been comfortable enough to express just how kinky you were. You kept telling yourself that the right person wouldn't question it or make you feel bad about it.

And here you were, on your knees in Na Jaemin's room sucking his cock like your life depended on it.

"Oooh fuck. Easy baby." Jaemin guides, running his hand through your hair and making a makeshift ponytail in his hands. He doesn't thrust into your mouth like any other guy would.

No, he talks you through it, asking you to take him deeper but when you can't, he tells you you're doing a good job. A great job at making him feel good.

"That's it, right there baby." He exhales, lightly thrusting his hips.

You run your tongue over his tip and that's when he loses it. He lets out a yell as he fucks your mouth, making you go crazy with need. You start grinding against his carpeted floor, making him groan.

"Fuck. Come here, sweet thing. I'll make you feel so damn good." He says, barely letting you get up when he scoops you in his arms and throws you onto his bed.

"How do you want it, Y/N?" He asks, "How does my baby like to get fucked?"

At his words you whimper and reach out for him, pulling him in for a kiss as you tug at his pants, desperate for him to lose them and his shirt.

"Baby's needy already, isn't she? Needs my cock, doesn't she?"

"Yes." You whine, "Want you to fuck me, Daddy. Don't care how. Just need you inside. Now."

Jaemin doesn't need to be told twice, but he does himself into you. His cock was heavy on your lips, but having him inside you felt heavenly.

"Oh, my God...!" You moan, rolling your eyes back at his thrust. He was big. Too big to fit in your mouth but he seemed to fit nicely in you, despite the slight pain, you felt like you were on cloud nine.

"Fuck, your pussy's so tight." Jaemin groans, "Taking me in so damn well— You're such a nasty girl, Y/N. Look at you, creaming all over my cock when I've barely done anything. Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

"Jaemin!" You scream out, clawing at his back while he increases the pace of his thrusts. "So... Too... Good..." You're at a loss for words, trying to describe what you're feeling but the sensation is too much.

"That's it, baby." He holds you close as he fucks you, barely pulling out entirely before he thrusts roughly into you. "Shit. You feel so good, Angel."

Jaemin doesn't stop thrusting into you. You lose count after your second orgasm just how long it's been since you guys started, but you don't care. You didn't want it to stop. The storm gets heavier but you're not sure which is louder; the thunderstorm or your screams.

"I'm close, baby." Jaemin moans, gripping your waist as he quickens his pace. You're dazed and too drunk on his cock to barely process what he says.

"Hey, hey," Jaemin leans down and cups your face. "Where do you want me, sweetheart? Need words."

You tug Jaemin close and kiss him, slowly and sensually, savouring the feeling of his lips against yours.

"Wherever you want, Daddy."

Jaemin grunts against your lips and manhandles you, carrying you so he's holding you by your waist. He's guiding your body against him, thrusting in and out with you in his arms and it feels heavenly. You were so entranced by this man, you didn't care what happened after this. You just needed him. Now, tomorrow— You don't think you could move on very quickly after knowing what a night with Jaemin entailed.

"You take me so well, baby. So fucking good, swallowing my big cock." Jaemin grunts, he's riled up and almost ready to cum. You expect him to finish inside of you when suddenly he pulls out, ignoring your protests.

"Next time, Princess. Right now, I need to see your pretty face."

At the mention of a next time, you get giddy and obediently place your face below his cock, hanging your tongue out as he jerks himself off over you.

"Fuck— so pretty. Where have you been all my life." He says to himself but it makes you giggle as you realise you've finally given in to the lust and attraction you had for Jaemin.

You could already feel the guilt clouding over your shoulder, but seeing Jaemin release over you surpassed that. You made him feel this way. He wanted you, and he got you. You felt smug in a way.

"Come here." Jaemin cups your face again, licking at his cum all over your face then finally kissing you. You moan when his tongue enters your mouth, forcefully feeding you his seed.

"You like that, huh?" Jaemin grins, "You know how to make a man go crazy for you, Y/N."

You smile against his lips, lazily kissing him while he massaged your hips, letting you straddle his lap as you both sat on the floor of his room.

When you pull away, you trail your fingers down his chest, openly admiring his toned abs and strong muscles.

"So, there'll be a next time?" You ask coyly, feeling brave enough to openly ask such a question. Especially after that.

Jaemin smirks, grabbing your hand in his to leave kisses over your knuckles.

"Sweetheart, whenever you need me I'll be at your door the second you call my phone." He lands a peck on your lips and carries you to the bed.

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ "Embrace sweetness eternal~" - Eternal Sugar Cookie x GN Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: Prompt is Reader willingly stayed in the Garden cause they're with Eternal Sugar :] No spoilers since this outfit is technically an AU

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

When was the last time the sun shone too hot? When the winds chilled your dough, or a meal came to you that was just a little imperfect? Even the smallest of vices felt a million miles away ever since you'd joined Eternal Sugar in her paradise. Your every wish and whim was catered to, and above all else, the Beast of Sloth was by your side the whole way. She'd hold your hand at every opportunity, whisper sweet words in your ears to soothe your sleep. Truly, it was the perfect home, with the perfect life.

That is until a sharp jolt jostled the cloud you'd been sleeping on. Startled, you sat up, seeing two residents of the Garden giving you a very worried look. "Ah- please excuse us!" The first cried "We simply wanted to play for a bit, and-! The ball...". The two inhabitants looked to where their yellow ball was stuck in the front of your soft, wispy cushion. The warm embrace around your waist suddenly receeded. The weight next to you shifted, a ring of flowers atop pink hair stirring. Eternal Sugar sat up from where she'd been napping beside you, fixing the new faces with a strained smile. "You disturbed our rest... now, how shall we punish you?" She spoke, her tone cold on the edges despite her attempt to sound sweet

The two immediately panicked, one practically throwing themself on the ground to bow "Please forgive us! It was an accident!". The other followed suit, keeping their eyes down "Yes, yes! We meant no harm! It was just-". "Just an interruption to my sweetling's rest" Eternal Sugar cut in. She huffed, cupping your cheeks in her palms, expression turning sympathetic "Are you alright, dearest?~". You nodded, giving her a smile "Of course. Accidents happen, right?" You said, turning to the others with a reassuring smile. Eternal Sugar gave them a cold sideways glance "Yes... they do"

She took in a deep breath, moving her hands to cup yours "If you're sure you're alright, I suppose it can be just a warning this time~ run along now!~". You leaned down, plucking the ball from the cloud and gently tossing it in the direction of the other two. The one on the right caught it, nodding vigorously "Yes! I-It won't happen again, thank you!" They said, before they both bolted away. Once it was fully quiet, Eternal Sugar sighed. She scooted closer to you, tucking you into her side "My poor love~ I bet they ruined such a sweet dream from your perfect little head"

"Ah, it's okay" you said, snuggling up into her warm embrace "I could take another in a few minutes, maybe". "Do you not wish to now?" Eternal Sugar asked, frowning a little in concern. "Not just yet" you hummed "I've got many beauties my eyes wish to see before they close again. Especially you, my beloved". You grinned as you saw a deep pink flush her cheeks, and the fond chuckle that followed. "You're such a charmer, my love!~ How lucky I am to be the subject of your sweetness~"

You chuckled as well, right as she pressed her cheek to yours "If my darling can't rest, maybe we can have a meal together~ I've recently gotten in some of the finest jellies. Won't you try some with me?". "I'd love to" you replied, nuzzling into her face. She pulled back, her arms coming under your legs and behind your back. With a gentle motion, she scooped you up against her chest. "I can make it off of the cloud, dearest" you chuckled fondly. Eternal Sugar spread out her wings, fluttering the two of you upright "Ah-ah-ah! My little sweetling doesn't have to lift a thing, that's a promise I made to you~"

With just a few flaps, her wings carried you both to the grass. You carefully got back on your own standing, kissing Eternal Sugar's cheek after doing so. "You should let me spoil you sometime. I'd love to return the favor" you said. That familiar blush returned, her eyes sparkling with admiration "You truly are the sweetest~ come, my love, I have the perfect spot for us~"

With her hand held in yours, the two of you began walking to your favorite snack spot. The easygoing smile was back on Eternal Sugar's face, making you grin as well. She'd do anything to keep you happy, but your heart longed to bring her the same joy. Here, in this paradise you both share, you made a promise in your mind. The blooming bringer of Sloth will one day allow herself to be spoiled by your hands, you were determined to see to it

[whatsupsonnyboy]

skipping plans | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Morning vibes, messy hair, and endless cuddles — this is what love looks like when it comes to Joe.

wc: 3.5k

warning: fluff, just lots of fluff, smutish (more like mentions of sex and that kind of things)

a/n: Just feeling like writing how it'd feel waking up with Joe in a lazy mood— just laughter, soft kisses, and dreaming about what’s next. Remember this is not a series, but if you wanna read more of this Joe, you can find it here.

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

The sun had barely started its slow climb when you blinked awake, but the weight of Joe’s arm draped across your waist told you everything you needed to know—there was no reason to move yet.

His breath was soft against the back of your neck, steady, warm. You could feel his chest rising and falling behind you, his legs tangled with yours like he'd decided, even in his sleep, that the space between your bodies was unnecessary.

You smiled, eyes still closed, and stretched ever so slightly. His hold tightened instinctively.

“Mmm—don’t,” came his voice, hoarse and lazy. “You’ll make me wake up.”

“You’re already awake.”

“Nope. Dreaming. You’re a very specific dream about cinnamon toast and soft things.”

You laughed, low and quiet. “Are you calling me a soft thing?”

“I’m saying you smell like sleep and sunshine and I wanna keep you here forever, so take that however you want.”

You turned just enough to face him. His hair was a mess—fluffy and ridiculous—and his eyes were still half-lidded with sleep, but the way he looked at you… it was unfiltered. Like you were the first good thing he’d ever seen in the morning. Like the world didn’t start spinning until you opened your eyes.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He smiled, slow and sleepy. “Hi.”

A hand found your hip, then wandered to your back, just resting there, grounding you. You pressed your forehead to his, brushing your nose lazily against his.

“What’s on your schedule for today?” you murmured.

He yawned. “Not a thing.”

“Oh?”

“Stay in bed. Kiss you occasionally. Maybe steal your pillow.”

“Ambitious.”

“Dangerous,” he added, grinning. “You’re the dangerous one, lying here like this, looking so cuddly and not expecting me to do something about it.”

“I don’t mind if you do.”

“Good,” he murmured, already nuzzling closer. “’Cause I wasn’t asking.”

But you both knew that wasn’t entirely true—this softness, this morning, technically wasn’t yours to keep. You both had things to do, places to be… and yet, it felt like the only place you were needed was right there, wrapped in each other’s arms, doing absolutely nothing.

He kissed you—barely there, just a brush of lips, soft and unhurried. His fingers tangled in your hair, tenderly, but his kiss deepened. The warmth of his body against yours stirred something slow and molten in your chest.

Then his phone buzzed, somewhere on the nightstand.

He groaned and buried his face in your neck.

“I hate the version of myself from three days ago for agreeing to that.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, running your fingers lightly down his back. “You could… cancel.”

He paused. Then shifted—one arm stretching across you to grab his phone. You peeked through one eye as he scrolled, blinked, and hit “Call.”

“Mate—hi. Yeah, I’m feeling rough this morning, think I picked up something on the flight. No, nothing bad, just… not at my best. Think I’m gonna have to reschedule. I know. I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip to stifle a smile, pressing your face into his bare shoulder.

“Thanks. Appreciate it. Yeah, I’ll rest up. Cheers.”

He hung up and tossed the phone somewhere it couldn’t interrupt again.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “That was very convincing.”

He rolled over, pulling you into him, nose brushing your cheek. “I’m an actor.”

“Academy Award–winning behavior.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’d lie to the Pope if it meant staying like this for five more minutes.”

 You laughed and kissed him, soft and slow. It could have stopped there. Should have. But the kiss deepened without trying, and soon you were tangled again—hands in hair, fingers under shirts, breathless and smiling.

He didn’t pull away after that last kiss. Neither did you.

His forehead was still pressed to yours, his lips still wet from laughter, from the sweet, from the simple.

“I had the strangest dream tonight,” he said suddenly, voice still hoarse with sleep and you. “I was in high school again. I had to take a math test... and the teacher was Andrew Garfield.”

You blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “Andrew Garfield?”

“Yeah. He kept telling me I wasn’t showing my work properly. I cried.”

“Poor baby,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his messy hair.

“And then I realized I hadn’t studied because I was too busy trying to write a poem for a raccoon I had adopted. Named him Dennis.”

That made you laugh louder, your forehead tipping against his shoulder.

“Dennis the raccoon.”

“He wore a bowtie. A red one.”

You were laughing so hard now you could barely breathe. He grinned against your neck, clearly very proud of himself.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, pulling him closer.

“And you love it,” he murmured.

“I do.”

Joe looked at you like you were the moon and the sunrise and everything in between. “God, I love you.”

You smiled, eyes shining, heart full. “You have no idea how much I actually fucking love you.”

He hummed, kissing your cheek. “I have some idea. But I want more.”

Your hands traced invisible patterns over his chest, your leg tangled lazily between his.

 “Sometimes I feel like I’m going to explode from how much I love you. Like… my body’s too small for it. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, eyes soft. “Makes perfect sense. Sometimes I look at you and think, ‘I could literally do anything for her. Like, I would take a bullet for her.’”

You giggled. “That’s dramatic.”

“Well, that’s part of the job, babe.”

“Guess it is,” you said, before kissing him again—slow and a little clumsy from smiling too much, hands cupping his jaw. “God,” you breathed. “You make everything feel lighter.”

He kissed your cheek. Then your nose. Then your temple. “You make everything feel like home.”

And then there was silence. Not heavy, not empty—just full of everything neither of you needed to say aloud. His hand on your ribcage, counting the breaths. Yours in his hair. Your legs tangled. The world distant.

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed,” you whispered.

He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Then don’t. Let’s stay. Forever… But maybe we could have something to eat.”

Eventually, you made it out of bed—reluctantly, tangled together until the very last second. Joe had to peel himself away from your side like a sticker someone didn’t really want to remove. He followed you out of the room still half-draped around you, his arms loose at your waist, lips brushing the back of your neck as you walked.

In the kitchen, the morning light spilled soft and golden through the windows, painting everything with that impossible glow only slow, perfect mornings seem to have.

You moved to fill the kettle, and he leaned against the counter, watching you like you were something sacred. His shirt hung loose on you, sleeves too long, collar slipping off one shoulder. His eyes followed every movement you made, not in hunger, but in awe.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled, not looking at him.

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “You look like a dream I don’t wanna wake up from.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. He came up behind you, arms circling your waist again, cheek resting against your shoulder.

“Coffee or tea?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he mumbled into your skin.

You laughed, pulling away gently to reach for mugs, but he didn’t let go—his hands following the curve of your back like they belonged there. You made coffee like that, his arms loosely around you, his chin tucked in the crook of your neck.

When it was ready, he took one sip and hummed, eyes closing in appreciation. Then, he leaned in and kissed you like it was instinct, like breathing.

You barely managed to toast some bread and scramble a few eggs—his hands never straying far, always touching: your wrist, your waist, your hip, your back. You sat on the counter to eat, legs swinging gently, and he stood between them, one hand on your thigh, the other holding his plate.

Neither of you spoke much. It wasn’t silence. It was communion. A kiss shared with every bite. A stolen touch between sips. A low laugh when he smeared a bit of butter on your nose on purpose, just to have an excuse to kiss it off.

At one point, he pulled the plate out of your hands mid-bite and set it aside, just to wrap his arms around you properly again.

“You’re clingy,” you teased, even as your arms tightened around his neck.

“I know,” he whispered into your hair. “And I don’t care. It’s criminal how far apart we sleep from each other most nights. I’m just… catching up.”

You nodded against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

There, in the middle of a quiet kitchen, in oversized shirts and sleepy limbs, surrounded by half-eaten toast and coffee gone cold, everything made perfect sense. No plan. No rush. Just his heartbeat against yours and the feeling that, if this was all you had for the rest of your lives, it would be enough.

You ended up back in bed.

The plates from breakfast were abandoned in the sink, forgotten. Neither of you had said it aloud, but your bodies spoke the same language—fingers lingering too long, eyes catching too often, steps unconsciously in sync until there was no other direction to go but back to the sheets. Back to where you could be tangled, unbothered by anything outside the cotton cocoon of your shared morning.

The sun was already high, light filtering through the curtains in strips that painted his skin gold. You lay beside him, your head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm.

"I love your face," you murmured as you looked up, your fingers tracing the shape of his cheeks.

It was barely above a whisper, like it was a secret too sacred to say any louder. 

He looked down at you, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You propped yourself up on your elbow, leaning down to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “Your nose. And this stupid little freckle right here.” Another kiss, just below his eye. “And your lips, obviously. And your jaw—so sharp, it’s offensive.”

He laughed, soft and breathless, eyes crinkling.

“And your eyelashes,” you added, kissing his cheek. “They’re prettier than mine and I’ve made peace with that. Barely.”

“You’re absurd,” he whispered.

“I know”

You shifted closer, your leg slung over his, fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone.

He looked at you like you were made of stardust. Like he'd never seen anything so heartbreakingly soft.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You know that?” he said, voice low and full of something vast and tender. 

Your throat tightened. “Sometimes I forget. But you remind me.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

The kiss deepened, slow at first, then more intent. You didn’t know who deepened first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. Maybe it didn’t matter—because once you were tasting him, everything softened and sharpened at the same time. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair like they belonged there. 

You felt the shift in the air—the way the tenderness tilted into something warmer, heavier. Still soft, still careful. But laced with hunger.

“Hmm,” he murmured against your mouth, breath hitching as you tugged him closer, your leg tightening around his waist. “I thought we were resting.”

“This is resting,” you whispered, kissing him again. “Technically, I’m horizontal.”

He laughed, low and breathless, his mouth brushing yours like a secret. “You’re impossible.”

“Lucky you like that about me.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, letting his lips travel down your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. “I really, really do.”

Your hands found the edge of his shirt—well, your shirt, technically—fingertips skimming under the fabric and up his back. His skin was warm, alive beneath your touch. He sighed when you touched him like that, like your palms lit something under his ribs.

His hips pressed into yours as his mouth moved down your neck, each kiss sending heat curling through you, pooling low. Still slow, still unhurried—but your body arched instinctively to meet him.

“God,” you gasped, threading your fingers in his hair. “You always do this to me.”

“Do what?” he asked, but he was smiling against your skin, smug and dizzy with you.

“Make me forget anything else exists.”

“Good,” he whispered, lifting your shirt just enough to press his lips to your stomach. “Because nothing else does right now.”

You helped him pull the fabric over your head, your breath catching as he paused to take you in—eyes wide, reverent, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, like it was a fact, not something to be argued.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. You felt him everywhere—his hands on your waist, your thighs, his mouth warm and demanding. You tugged at his shirt and he helped you pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking.

Your skin met his and it was like a spark—quiet, but electric. Your breaths tangled. The soft rhythm of the morning turned into something molten, something sacred.

Every movement after that was slow. Intentional. A dance you both knew by heart.

His mouth found yours again and again, between words, between gasps, between whispered “I love you”s that felt like prayers. There was nothing rushed in the way he touched you, nothing frantic in how you moved together. Just need, slow-burning and steady, and love—so much love it left your chest aching.

Your fingers dug into his back as your hips moved in perfect sync, your breath catching on a soft moan. He held your face as you came undone, watching you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, whispering your name like it was something holy.

And when it was his turn, when his rhythm stuttered and he pressed his forehead to yours with a ragged breath, it wasn’t just pleasure in his voice—it was devotion.

He stayed inside you long after, his body resting gently against yours. One hand tracing aimless patterns on your ribs, the other tangled with yours. Your legs still intertwined.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Just the quiet sound of your breathing slowing, syncing. The calm after the storm, still buzzing with afterglow.

You brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, your eyes meeting his.

“Guess we’re not very good at resting,” you whispered.

He smiled, that soft, crooked smile you loved. “We’re great at resting. Just... enthusiastically.”

You laughed, and he kissed you again. And again. And again.

There was no telling when exactly sleep took you—but it did, slow and heavy, like waves pulling you under. And he was there with you, chest rising against your back, one arm draped across your waist, hand still splayed like it was afraid of losing contact.

When you stirred again, the light through the curtains had shifted. It was softer now, golden and full, creeping in with the quiet confidence of almost-noon. You blinked slowly, still curled in the cocoon of sheets and warmth.

Behind you, he groaned softly, shifting just enough to pull you closer. His nose buried in your neck. You smiled, eyes still closed.

“Are we alive?” you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Barely,” he mumbled. “I think I’ve transcended.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Transcended where?”

He kissed your shoulder. “Somewhere holy. Definitely mattress-based.”

You turned slowly, and there he was—hair a complete mess, lips swollen, eyes still heavy with sleep. Beautiful in a way that made your chest ache. His hand found your waist again like a habit, thumb tracing lazy circles into your skin.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He grinned, eyes still half-lidded. “Yeah, me too. Kinda wanna stay here forever, though. Just like this. Maybe order food from bed and never wear pants again.”

“I’m in,” you whispered, brushing his cheek with the back of your hand. “Screw the real world.”

“Screw it sideways,” he agreed, pulling you into him again.

For a while, there were no words. Just kisses. Featherlight and infinite. His fingers played absentmindedly with yours, your legs tangled like ivy. He kissed your nose. Your temple. The corner of your mouth.

“I love you,” he said, for maybe the hundredth time that day, but each one still felt like the first.

You smiled against his lips. “I love you more.”

“Nope. Not possible.”

“Wanna bet?”

His hands found your hips again, playfully this time. “Dangerous game, babe.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest. “God, I could live in this bed.”

“Then let’s build a life here. Bed-based economy. Currency: kisses.”

“Brilliant,” you said, mock-serious. “We’re gonna be rich.”

He laughed and you both dissolved into giggles again, and he kissed you just to quiet the sound. Not out of urgency—just because he could. Because every second without touching you felt like too much.

It was him who spoke first, in a low voice, like he was afraid of breaking the spell.

“We have to get up… right?”

“Hmm.” You didn’t even open your eyes, still curled into his chest. “Define ‘have to’.”

“Well, technically we could live here forever. But one of us is gonna need a shower before we die buried in sweat and pheromones.”

“What if I like your pheromones?” you mumbled, kissing him just below the ribs. He laughed—his laugh, that deep, easy one that always seemed to start in his throat and settle somewhere in your stomach.

“Careful. That kind of talk might awaken my ego and we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Eventually, he sat up, stretching one arm to the ceiling like he meant to touch it, the other still tangled in you. He shook his hair from his eyes and looked down at you—and your whole face lit up just seeing him there, tousled and golden, like the day belonged to him just for existing in it.

“Shower,” he said, gesturing toward the bathroom like he was embarking on a grand expedition. “You’re coming, right?”

“Was that a question or an order?”

“A plea disguised as a threat.”

You laughed as you followed him, the sheets falling behind you like a trail, and he reached back to lace his fingers with yours. You walked naked down the short hallway, wrapped in the kind of silence that felt more like a dream than reality.

The shower was slow. Like everything else with him.

There was no rush. No urgency. Just his fingers soaping your back, his lips brushing your shoulder while warm water streamed over both of you. You kissed each other like the steam wrapped you in some secret ritual—where soap mattered less than skin, and words came in whispers or quiet laughter.

At one point, he leaned his forehead against yours, wet and close, breathing your air.

“You know what’s the worst thing about you?”

“Only one thing?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes. “You make me think about the future. About plans. Furniture. Grocery lists.”

“Furniture and groceries?” you smiled, stroking his jaw. “How romantic.”

“No, really,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at you like he’d just solved a mystery. “Before, the idea of a Sunday at IKEA sounded like the ninth circle of hell. But with you... I don’t know. I could buy a dresser. Maybe even a ridiculously ugly rug, just because you said it had personality.”

“Wow,” you said, mock-surprised. “Are you telling me you love me enough to tolerate the chaos of my taste?”

“I’m telling you I love you enough to get lost in the lamp section for four hours.”

You laughed, and in the middle of that steam and warmth and the weight of his hands on your hips, it felt dangerously close to perfect.

“I want that,” you whispered, this time without a trace of teasing. “All of it. With you.”

“You’ve got it,” he said, and kissed you like a promise.

You stepped out wrapped in big towels and little giggles, slipping over wet tiles like two kids in love with the moment. He started pulling ingredients from the fridge  while you perched on the kitchen counter, still dripping, still flushed with heat, wrapped in a towel like it was a ballgown. You watched him like he was sunlight made human.

And then, out of nowhere, he turned and asked, seriously:

“Do you think if we adopt a cat, it’ll get jealous if I kiss you more than them?”

“Absolutely,” you said without hesitation. “And I think you should start working on your affection balance now.”

“Are you telling me I’ll have to compete with a narcissistic furball for your attention?”

“Yes. And you’ll lose.”

“Damn. I love this relationship.”

You leaned in to kiss his forehead, the coffee bubbling behind him, the world shrinking down to a humid kitchen full of steam and laughter and soft affection.

Because life with him felt like that—serious, but light. Full of silent promises. And love. The kind you say a hundred times. And somehow—it still felt like the first.

[animeyanderelover]

Do you remember last year when I had my Tomie obsession going on and made this post? I have recently gotten back into that obsession and I have decided to expand this concept to characters who aren’t just in Anime. As recently my fixation on Soldier Boy has returned too, I have been thinking about a concept with him and a reader inspired by Tomie. For everyone who doesn't know what Tomie is, she is basically an immortal girl who triggers obsession in all men around her who end up murdering for her and eventually murder her in violent ways. But Tomie always comes back. If body parts of her get cut off a new Tomie grows from them eventually. Her only real weakness is fire as that seems to kill her permanently. Big trigger warning because this is intense.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, paranoia, jealousy, controlling behavior, isolation, violence, some hints of misogyny, abuse, sexual exploitation, harassment, sexual harassment, dub-con, non-con, Soldier Boy technically cheats on Crimson Countess, gore typical for both The Boys and Tomie, toxic, toxic and more toxic, cannibalism, body horror, dismemberment, death

Tomie-like s/o

✮A failed Vought experiment. That’s what you are. Sure, dreams of being a superhero have probably crossed everyone’s mind at least once, especially with Payback being monetised and talked about anywhere. You might be a woman yet so is Crimson Countess, a hero by all account back then in your eyes. That isn’t why you agree to that sketchy offer though. It is something much more pathetic yet deeply human. You need money. They offer it to you. That’s why you accept and agree to become their lab rat. You don’t get a lot of explanations from anyone. You’re just told to do as they say. So you do exactly that. You stay calm when you’re injected with the stuff that apparently makes anyone into a superhero. No one told you about the pain that it would cause. Your body feels like it is tearing itself apart. Bones rattle and shift, muscles tear and rebuild themself, tears of blood run down your cheeks. Yet your screams and pleas for help are ignored by the scientists who do nothing but watch you. Cold, cruel and heartless. Monsters. All of them. At least in your eyes. You don’t know how long that pain lasts. It could have been hours. It could have been only minutes.

✮ Does it matter in the end though? Whilst you are shaking and sobbing on the sterile floor, one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you up, demanding from you in an unfriendly way to walk. Rest is not an option. Tests have to be run. Don’t you want to be a hero? Don’t you want the money? His touch lingers a beat too long before he lets go. All you can do is force yourself with trembling legs down the hallway, catching your reflection in the windows. Dried blood tears cover your cheeks, giving you an eerie look more reminiscent of a ghost. It looks horrifying. Yet despite what you think, people cannot stop staring at you. The following days you’re observed closely. They want to know what powers you have. Yet you don’t feel anything. For many who were injected with Compund V, their powers came immediately. They instinctively knew what to do. But you don’t. You don’t know what to do. Anxiety quickly chews its way through all of your defenses. What’s wrong? Why isn’t it working? You expect sneers. Disappointed glares. Whispers behind your back. Yet the people are oddly friendly to you. You don’t understand the change of heart. But you accept it in that moment.

✮ With the kind words the touches follow quickly. Fingers sliding down your arms. Hands cradling your cheeks. Touching your hair without your permission. It’s disturbing and uncomfortable yet the few times you voice it, you’re given a too warm grin and are ignored. And quickly it becomes apparent that something is wrong. They stare too long with forlorn eyes that look too in love. The touches grow too intimate and they claim that it is for scientific purposes when you know it isn’t. Some even start murmuring that you’re the most beautiful woman they have ever laid eyes on. Is this the aftermath of the Vought injection. What even is that supposed to be? What kind of superpower is this? You thought you’d be able to fly or gain super strength. Not whatever this is. You start asking if you can leave. That you want to be let out. That’s when violence erupts for the first time when you’re too persistent. You’re grabbed by the throat and choked as the man in front of you screams at you, telling you that he’ll never let you go and that you’re his. When your tears hit his hands he snaps partially out of it. No comforting words can help you anymore though. You fear it’ll get even worse.

✮ You don’t have to wait for long in that cell though. Not long at all. One day a doctor opens the door and without giving you an explanation grabs you by your wrists and drags you outside. He mutters something under his breath how he won’t let anyone else have you and how you’re only his. He’s far too impulsive. He hasn’t thought it through. When the others discover the both of you, all hell breaks loose. You’re torn apart and they brutally assault him. You can only watch with horror as they beat and kick him. Screams and sickening cracks of breaking bones fill the air yet they don’t stop. Their eyes scream murder and violent grins are on their faces, making you sick to your stomach. They don’t stop even after the body has stopped shaking. They only stop once there is only a bloody pulp of flesh and bones left. Only then do they stop. Only then do they turn their attention to you. Their eyes have changed. Crazed. Unhinged. Terrifying. They start chanting that you nearly left them. That you aren't allowed to leave. That perhaps they have to remove a limb or two to guarantee that you can never run away from them. They close in on you. They hold you down. Then there is blood.

✮ Your screams aren't ignored. They're heard. They're desired. As they hold you down and start cutting into your flesh, they relish in your pain. Not because they're sadists. The emotion in their eyes tells you something different. It's like your very voice is addicting and they need to hear it scream more. Blood spills onto the floor, hands rip your clothes off and start touching you. It's all too much. Emotionally and physically. No one will help you. When one of them shoves his fingers into your mouth, your first instinct is biting. And perhaps it is the fear pulsing through your body or something else, but you cleanly tear his digit off. Suddenly his screams fill the room as he stumbles back, clutching the spot where once his index finger used to be and now nothing remains. Some ignore him. Others laugh when they see him. But you? All you can suddenly think about is the taste of blood on your tongue. It's... delicious. It's nothing like you have ever tasted. That's when your senses sharpen. You can small their blood. Hear their pulse. Hear those racing hearts of theirs which beat in ecstasy as they cut your legs off. A primal desire rises. In the next moment you launch. You don't remember much after that.

✮Once you come back to your senses, your naked and covered from head to toe in blood. Not yours. Theirs. Their corpses are scattered around you. Chests torn open, hearts no longer within them. No, they're in your stomach. You can still taste them on your tongue. Those legs that they cut off? They're clutched within the arms of one of the doctors as if they are precious enough to hold on to even in death. You don't need them anymore though. New ones have grown. Yet you still hear two heartbeats even though only death and carnage surrounds you. You instinctively know where they come from though. From your removed legs. Burn it. Immediately. All of it. It's unclear where this knowledge suddenly comes from. But you obey. Because if you leave any traces, especially those legs of yours, something horrible will happen. So you start a fire. You destroy everything and watch it all burn down from a safe distance. You don't leave until those two heartbeats have vanished. Only then do you turn your back on the place that killed and rebirthed you and walk off. You don't know where you need to go now. You don't even know what you even are now. You just know that you need to leave.

✮Only a few days later fate smiles upon you. You find a young woman late at night nervously stumbling around the empty streets. She has a similar build as you do though she is obviously not as pretty as you are. A good victim. Sure, it's not good to murder people but you need clothes and some money. You're starving too. It's almost too easy to lure her to you. She seems lost and you offer her help, trying to ignore that spark of guilt. At least you make it quick though. You crush her throat before she can scream and snap her neck in half with a strength you only recently discovered you had. As you strip her of her clothes, your attention turns to her back. Her wallet must be in there. Right you certainly are. But you also find so much more. Car keys, a hotel key and some make-up. But what you didn't expect to find was a letter. Not just any letter. A letter inviting her over to a job interview. Not just any job interview though. The letter has been signed by no one but Vought. The very company who did this to you. This woman named Mary Joanne Starkling has that job interview tomorrow. No one knows what she looks like yet. This is your chance for answers and information. Now, how to get rid of that body?

✮Luckily this Mary has everything written down in a notebook. She's remarkably structured. No wonder considering that her possible future job is that of an archivist. Structure is needed in that case. You manage to find her car as well as the address of the hotel she's staying in. You spend the night there, for the first time able to sleep in a proper bed and take a long and hot shower. You order food from the room service but don't open the doors for them. Seeing you seems to have a strange effect on people so you wait until they have left it in front of your door and are gone before you open it. Tehnically you aren't hungry as you just recently had a very meaty feast but you need to know if human food still tastes good for you. To your relief it does although you know that it most likely won't ever fulfill all your hunger anymore. That's something you will have to accept. After one amazing night in the hotel the next day you drive to the facility where you will have your job interview. You have all the needed documents. But most importantly, you have what it takes to seduce the one guy interviewing you to get him to give you the job without asking too detailed questions. You officially work for Vought now.

✮It's one year before Operation Charly where America loses its greatest hero that you meet them. Payback, and most importantly Soldier Boy. The last few months you have managed to keep your head down and avoid people as good as you can. If you do that whatever happened to those doctors doesn't seem to happen to the people around you. Most of the time you spend locked away in the archives, going through files and documents and keeping them sorted. Then you are assigned to work closer to Payback and to make sure to sort away their 'mistakes and accidents' as others call it. Initially you feel a spark of excitement. Those are America's heroes after all. In a way they are your idols too. But you also fear too much what your influence might do to them which is why you try to make yourself small when the entire team is introduced to them. There are a lot of people. You hide on purpose behind them. But somehow when you eventually look up after everything seems to be over, you find his eyes somehow on you. Soldier Boy. It startles you. It even makes your heart flutter stupidly for one moment. Then you flee and hope that he'll turn his attention to another woman.

✮Yet as if fate intends to mess with you, you bump into him the same night after hours of sorting documents. He spots you. You spot him and turn into the other direction. Only for him to call you out and quickly catch up to you, one hand on your shoulder. Touch is never good so you quickly shake his hand off. There's no choice but to turn around now. He's as handsome as you always knew he would be, a smug and attractive grin on his face as he asks you if you're new here. He doesn't remember having seen you around before and believe him, he'd remember a pretty face like you. Your answers are short and straight to the point as you try to speed up the conversation. Too much exposure is dangerous. His eyes land on your name tag and he reads the name out loud as if testing it on his tongue. Not your name. The name of the woman you have murdered. He really tries to get you to talk to him more, joking that he won't bite a pretty lady like you but you feel stressed quickly. Eventually you manage to shake him off but only after you have been forced to specifically tell him where you work and how long you work there depending on the day of the week. Even as you walk quickly away, you feel those green eyes on you.

✮You're not easy to swoon. That's how Ben views it at the very least. But by God, are you a charming one. Shy and sweet but so charming. You don't get rid of him easily after. In fact he drops by as often as he can with that infuriating smile of his. He starts calling you "sweetheart" and "doll". Nicknames that would have other girls swoon. To you it merely means that your powers are working on him and you cannot afford that to happen. For whatever reason you try to reason with him only a mere week after he has been introduced to you. Hurriedly walking through the shelves and sorting different files, reminding him that he has a girlfriend already. Not that it matters. Deep down you know that Soldier Boy doesn't care. You've heard it from others. You are seeing it yourself too. It is still such a shocking thing to hear when he walks over to you and stops right in front of you, telling you with the utmost sincerity that he doesn't give a shit about Crimson Countess. She isn't you. It would be flattering but you know better. This isn't love. It is something else. And whilst Soldier Boy so far has dealt better with it than other men, you aren't optimistic enough to believe he can resist.

✮Praline, bouquets of red roses, charming words. Soldier Boy quickly pulls out all the cards to charm you. You try to reject his presents. He doesn't let you. Initially you don't put the flowers in any vases and showcase them on your desk. He gets worked up over it quickly and confronts you. Not violently. Not yet. But he spells it out clearly that he expects you to show more appreciation for the gifts he gives to you. He doesn't just do that for every woman so show some gratitude. You never do it again afterwards, the tight grip on your chin a strong reminder that you should not test Soldier Boy of all people. It doesn't just stop there. The possessive attributes reveal their ugly heads pretty soon. He starts asking you if you talk to other people. You really don't unless they need something within the archive. Otherwise you spend your time alone. Or with him because he really doesn't care whether you want him there or not. It pleases him somewhat but he still tells you that he doesn't ever want to catch you talking to someone else for any other purpose than your job. It's a threat hidden behind a mere warning and you don't intend to test Soldier Boy.

✮The unwanted touches start to get excessive. What were for a short period of time only hands resting on your shoulders or caressing your face escalate. Whenever you attempt to put some distance between the two of you, Soldier Boy grabs you by your waist and pulls you right back to his side. He never lets you get away from him. He doesn't allow it. The kisses follow soon. Never initiated from you. Always forced from him. To you it doesn't matter that he is the most desired man by the nation. You see a dangerous man spiraling all because something was done to you and you know deep down that you won't be able to kill someone like him as easily as you have other people. You don't want to kill either because you fear the more you'll do it, the more you'll lose hold on your humanity. Those combined fears hold you down and allow Soldier Boy to pull you in for long and harsh kisses where he doesn't allow you to tear yourself away even an inch. The relationship happens because you don't dare to protest. Even if you were to speak up though, of what use would it be? Soldier Boy and Payback aren't as heroic as everyone always believes them to be. You know better by now. All of them are corrupt and selfish.

✮One late night when you're just about to finish work, he storms into your workplace. You know immediately that something is wrong. He's trembling. His breath leaves his lips in sharp and agitated huffs. Green eyes glare at you as if you have stabbed him in his back. Before you even get the chance to ask him what happened he grabs you by your wrists. It's painful and tears fill your eyes instantly. But Soldier Boy? He doesn't care. His voice is harsh as he barks at you that he told you to not talk to anyone else. Yet here Gunpowder was earlier dreamily talking about you because you helped patch up a minor wound he got. Even fucking Black Noir was daydreaming about you. Do you just like having the attention of other men on you? Are you that much of a whore? It's the first time you see Soldier Boy snap violently. All because you helped Gunpowder who is still a teenager. In the face of irrational violence you don't know what to say to defend yourself. Is there even something you could say? Perhaps not. That's why you end up being thrown to the ground harshly with Ben above you immediately, hands tearing your skirt and your blouse apart. That's the only time that night you beg. He doesn't listen.

✮He isn't gentle. He isn't nice. He's aggressive and possessive. His thrusts are brutal and fast, his body mounting yours and his hips slapping against yours until your pelvis aches. If anyone walks in they are going to get a nice view of him fucking you like an animal. Soldier Boy doesn't care. He'll murder anyone if they do. No one is allowed to look at you. No one is allowed to talk to you. And if anyone sees you naked like he does right now he will beat them until there won't be any body left to identify. He doesn't even once say that he loves you. That would imply the existence of normal love. But it doesn't. Not for you. "You're mine." That's the only thing that you get to hear from him. Almost growled in a deep and guttural tone, always spoken in sync with his brutal thrusts. You just silently take it with tears staining your cheeks. Until your orgasm hits you and you hug him as he is the only support you have, your own walls fluttering around his cock. He lets out a string of grunted curses when he cums, filling you up. Only after does he end up holding you too. You dare to call his hero name out shakily. He tells you in a softer tone that he wants you to call him "Ben" from now on. He doesn't allow many people to do that.

✮There is no turning back from that point on though. You know that. You aren't surprised either when the next day Ben informs you that you will stop working here. He has talked something out with Vought. You'll be able to move into a nice house with him. That's not the life you want. Truthfully speaking, you don't know what you want anymore. But it isn't this. However, you have seen Gunpowder and what Ben has done to him. You have seen Black Noir limp. You have seen the bruises on Crimson Countess after she apparently vented out bitterly about you as it has been obvious for a while now that Ben is cheating on her with you. Violence has always been the way to solve problems for Ben but he is using it increasingly often when someone does as much as use the fake name of yours. So you agree. To protect others and to protect yourself as good as possible. It pleases Ben to see you accept so quickly. You simply draw too much attention. He notices people staring at you when you pass by. You are a woman easily desired. But you are his. And he will never let anyone oogle at his woman. Not if they want their face punched in that is. That happened a few times but Vought always covers it up.

✮For a while things always appear to be normal. You move into a house provided by Vought. It's nice and cozy and you are provided with everything that you need. But you are forbidden to leave the estate. Rules that you obey by. You clean, you cook and you tend to the gardens. You are lonely and that's for the best but you almost feel somewhat normal again now that there are no other people around to remind you that you aren't ordinary anymore. Ben adores it. You're like his shy and sweet housewife whenever he returns. It feeds very much into his belief that this is how things are just naturally meant to be. Him as the strong husband and provider and you as his docile wife. He doesn't know that you're a Supe though. He believes that you are a normal citizen whose life will be shorter than his. That's why he ends up stealing a few doses of Compound V to inject them into you so that you won't age faster than he does. He tries to inject that stuff into your veins. You don't know what another injection will do to you and manage to convince him to wait for a bit longer. It's the only time he listens to you. But it is going to happen soon. He will not have you die on him that easily.

✮It's shortly before Operation Charly that Ben proposes. He's gotten some nice wine and bought some nice steak and dessert. You still end up preparing and cooking it for him as that is a woman's job but he has gotten it for you. It's the most textbook proposal. He goes down on one knee and presents you with a small box containing a golden ring embedded with a green gem. It fits his eye colour. You wonder if that was intentional or not. However, he doesn't ask you to marry him. No, he says: "Marry me." It's a lenient warning that you know will turn into a demand if you deny or hesitate. So all you can really do is accept. It's genuinely the happiest you have seen Ben. He lifts you up in his arms, he showers you in kisses and he has a sincere smile on his face. You're used to possession and obsession. Not to that happiness. Especially not from someone like Ben. It's a memory that sticks with you and that perhaps for the smallest moment has you hoping that you can elicit more than just infatuated obsession out of people. Be more than just an object of carnal desire. Thinking back on it later, you really were a naive thing back in the days. One cannot escape their fate after all.

✮Ben never returns from that mission. His own team turns on him and attacks him. Sick and tired of his abuse that has only increased since he got together with you. Black Noir specifically targets him, provokes Ben by telling him that as soon as he is gone he will take his space and become your new lover. That's when Ben goes for him specifically. Targets him. Beats him up. Leaves him with a ruined face and permanent brain damage which will never allow Black Noir to ever speak again or show his face again. Forever doomed to wear a mask. Ultimately he ends up being overpowered and is handed over to the Russians. Never once does he forget about you though. Even as he is put through hell on earth and is used as a lab rat, his thoughts stay on you. Time doesn't really tick by as much as it warps during the centuries. Ben doesn't know how long he is stuck in different labs with needles and syringes, unable to die but able to feel the pain of it all. Until one day he is freed. He doesn't recognise who those people are. He doesn't even bother listening. He merely lashes out before he runs away. There are two things on his mind. Revenge on his former team and to get back to you.

✮He seeks out The Legend to retrieve some of his belongings as well as information. However, what The Legend tells him Ben refuses to believe at first. When he specifically demands information about Mary Joanne Starkling he receives a file of that person. Only that the picture of the woman is not you. He barely holds back his anger, grabs the other man by the collar. He's not in the mood for little games. Only that The Legend tells him that he isn't joking. This woman there is Mary. She was last seen by her family before making her way to a job interview. Only that by now they know that Mary never arrived. It was you who arrived at the job interview and you who received the job. Your real name is unknown. In fact nothing about you is known. The only thing that is known for sure is that you are a Supe and that you most likely were already one when Ben met you for the first time. No one has seen you though for decades. The last time you were seen was shortly after his supposed death when some agents of Vought came to inform you about it. They were found a few days later dead in the house. Chests torn open. Hearts missing. No traces of you whatsoever.

✮The Legend gives it straight to Ben. He was in love with a lie. An illusion. It could very well be that you never truly loved him. Ben very nearly breaks his neck but ultimately refrains from it. He has already been betrayed by his own fucking team. If his own fiancée turns out to have turned her back on him as well, he doesn't know what he will end up doing. Because he loves you. You're the only thing that kept him sane whilst those people in Russia poked around his body to find weak spots ans pump him full of something that essentially turned him into a ticking time bomb. He hasn't treated you badly. At least not in his mind. Yes, he has made you cry a few times but you were just way too sensitive back then and he made it more than up to you every time. All he wants is to have is future-wife back. Yet you have vanished as if you were never real. Do you seriously think that it'll be that easy? He thought he could just return and things would go back to how he always wanted them to be. But if he has to hunt you down, he will do that. He will find you. He will have you tell him the truth even if he has to get a bit rough. And he will remind you that first and foremost you are his. A woman is nothing without her man.

[arkhamasyl-m]

Sometimes I think about Batman’s no killing rule and how it’s been properly and improperly handled.

His morals are don’t kill, but in some adaptations he does kill, even if this somehow doesn’t lead to him becoming evil or psychotic. In the Batman Begins he doesn’t “technically” kill Ra’s Al Ghul, but also he definitely did.

No matter what, Batman will try and save you. The only exceptions are if it’s impossible to save somebody or if it’s between saving one person or the other.

The best example I can think of is this comic where Harley puts a bomb on herself and the Joker, before running off. Batman only has time to save one or the other, and with Harley having run off, Joker assumes Batman will save him. But he doesn’t, he goes after Harley and saves her, which would mean leaving the Joker to die. Here’s the thing, technically yes Batman did kill the Joker by leaving him (though Joker survived anyways so who cares) but he wasn’t the one who put Joker in that bomb. It makes more sense to try and save Harley over him because she’s more “innocent” than him and she’d ran off so if she died over the Joker, it would harm more innocent civilians than Joker’s blast would (since they’re isolated.) Obviously if he could chose to save both, he would, but that’s the thing, he can’t.

In Batman Begins his stupid quote “I won’t kill you buy that doesn’t mean I have to save you” is stupid because he is killing him. If it was a scenario where Ra’s was literally impossible to save or he had to choose to save either Ra’s or somebody else I’d get it, but he literally just leaves him to die for no real reason.

Batman’s whole thing with his no-killing rule isn’t just that he wants these criminals to be rehabilitated, but he also has a literal issue with killing. Some people argue that he should’ve killed the Joker years ago, and every excuse he makes is just that, an excuse. However I disagree, it’s a fundamental misunderstanding of his character to think he won’t kill the Joker because he believes can be saved, it’s more that he has a mental issue against murder and physically can’t do it. It’s why in almost every story where Batman does kill somebody, he becomes a homicidal maniac. He crossed that line, now he’s a murderer.

It’s why the Tim Burton films, as admittedly good as they are, are pretty terrible adaptations. Batman murders people and smiles while doing so, he kills his villains and most, if not all of the major villains have completely changed origins. I mean, it kinda works for those films because it’s Tim Burton and it’s a pretty cartoony world, but the point is, he is killing people and doesn’t appear to have an established no-killing rule.

Another bad example of his no-killing rule is the comic where Dick Grayson killed the Joker when he made fun of Jason’s death. In this comic, after finding out what happened, Batman revives Joker with the Lazarus pit.

The thing is, Batman shouldn’t kill people and if he can save people, he should, BUT he also shouldn’t be reviving people, especially somebody like the Joker. If it was somebody close to him, sure, whatever, if Superman is allowed to do it so can Batman but reviving the Joker? After he insulted your son that he murdered? Which caused your other son to murder him? Bro…

In Arkham City I feel it was handled better, where Joker dies and stays dead. Batman DID try to save him, he didn’t want Joker to die not because he truly believes Joker can be rehabilitated (he can’t) but because he doesn’t want anybody to die. So when Joker does die, and Batman admits he would’ve saved him, he doesn’t revive him. He’s gone. So is Talia. Batman doesn’t revive either of them, mostly because the Lazarus Pit is destroyed but even if it was still around, I doubt he’d try to save them anyways (Talia maybe, because she’s already used the pit but anyways.)

My point is, he simply doesn’t want people to die because he cherishes all life, including those who are horrible people. And yes, maybe you think it’s cruel that Batman would choose to save somebody who will likely go on to kill 500 others, but Batman will do everything he can to save those 500 others as well. He simply, will not kill or allow others to be killed.

And before you ask, Batman branding people so that the other prisoners will kill that person still counts as Batman killing them.

[saffronish]

I remember when I was first watching Supernatural I read a bunch of posts and comments about how people wished that Sam and Dean had more visible scars. Both have been through hell (literally) and combining that with their actual job (hunting) it seems a bit implausible that neither bother has any visible scares on their faces or arms. Recently though, I was watching a random episode of supernatural (because I was feeling miserable and the obvious solution was to make myself feel even more miserable) and I suddenly realized that the reason Sam and Dean don’t have any scars is because Cas keeps healing them. When Cas saved Dean from hell he basically remade him and healed him at the same time. Anything physical that the demons did to him in the entirety of his time down there would have been, logically, completely erased from his body. I’m guessing this also applied to any and all scars Dean had before Lazarus Rising (though technically we don’t see any of those in seasons 1-3 so I don’t have any explanation for that). Back to Cas saving the brothers from hell, the same would have happened to Sam in season 6. I feel like this is further supported by the various times Cas heals Dean and Sam. One instance that caught my eye is him healing Deans leg in 12x23 at about 22:05 minutes in. Cas is technically only supposed to heal Dean’s leg since that is what was causing him pain but we can clearly see Cas also healing the tiny scratch (probably scabbed over at that point) on Dean’s face as well. I feel like this is proof that when Cas heals someone he heals everything… older wounds, and scars included (or maybe he's just like that with the Winchesters idk).

k bye *runs away*

[collapsedsquid]

If you squint, you can make out versions of the same story — people bypassing the mainstream media to their own ends, the importance of social media in determining public perceptions of protest movements. There’s also an unmistakable tone shift from gently awestruck condescension to gently horrified condescension. (Disclosure: I was a reporter at the Times from 2016 to 2022, where I sometimes wrote about this subject.) In a far more significant sense, though, something is different. This week’s protests have been visible on social media, but their portrayals are fragmented, strange, and to people on the ground, often absurdly divorced from reality. If social media used to work for activists, or at least could,now it’s more effectively used against them. This sort of narrative role-swap isn’t new. For all the attention Twitter got as a factor in the 2011 Egyptian revolution — a story embraced by the company’s leadership — the story of social media’s role in Egypt’s politics since has mostly been one of suppression, surveillance, and harassment. An American version of this story has been taking shape for a while. The most significant factor isn’t really about tech — it’s that the current administration is proudly hostile to protest and has cited social-media posts as thin pretexts for no-process arrests and deportations. An administration that both routinely threatens activists with imprisonment, deportation, or worse is more than enough reason for activists to regroup in spaces where privacy can be maintained, not just traded for attention.

But social media really has been transformed, too, in ways both explicitly ideological and technical. Twitter, the platform people are most often referring to when they talk about these things, is owned by Elon Musk, who bought the platform with the explicit goal of disempowering its “woke” users and has more than accomplished his goal. Meta is still run by former BLM supporter Mark Zuckerberg, who more recently embraced Trump and pivoted to military contracting. TikTok, which is legally banned, is still online because the Trump administration promised not to enforce the law under vague and suggestive circumstances. Before its legal ban, TikTok’s rise set in motion industry trends that would alter social media’s relationship to activism in material ways. Meta, X, and Google reoriented their platforms around TikTok-style algorithmic video feeds, which relied less on users following one another and more on black-box per-user recommendations. For the platforms, this meant more engagement. For activists, it meant there were no longer coherent public conversations in which to intervene, against which to push back, or to join in any meaningful sense at all. Platforms that were once useful for understanding and following the news became venues for pure spectacular consumption. In some ways this was novel and strange, with hundreds of millions of people consuming individualized feeds determined by automated recommendations. In other ways, it was familiar, since it was a reversion to pre-social-media power dynamics. The platforms were no longer social, in any meaningful sense of the word, but rather centralized and exercising constant (algorithmic) editorial discretion. At least as much as the mainstream media that’s now been twice replaced, TikTok-ified social media rewards decontextualized spectacle. This can be useful for activists to bring attention, generally, to their causes — at least some of the large swing in support for Palestinians can surely be credited to the endless stream of horrific videos from Gaza, which are plenty powerful without further context and don’t require the authority of a trusted follow. More often, though, the lack of a common chronological feed — the crude social-media proxy for a “shared reality,” I guess — produces disorientation, uncertainty, and the ability to retreat completely into ideological safety, pure fantasy, or both.

[thick-monster-thighs]

I beg. You HAVE to please do a Pilot Yautja from Killer of Killers x solider Yautja reader. just imagine it, seeing you're superior being frustrated he can't find a planet worthy for his hunt because he's grown bored of it. Then reader decides to offer themselves to him as a "stress reliever"....

I swear he looks so dominating and demanding

I cannot get that yautja out of my head idc if he's bald he's still fine!!😩

but yeah the reader can be GN! since I think ALL should have a taste of him😋

one serving of the bald cutie coming right up

Title: Stress Relief Rating: Explicit (18+) Fandom: Predator: Killer of Killers Ship: Baron (Male Yautja) x GN Yautja!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: NSFW

He's pissed. But then again, when isn't he? The Baron pulls another cable out of the console near the pilot's seat, cursing quietly to himself as the lights on the centre console, directly in front of the steering, flash weakly. As he pulls out another plasma cable, a sharp flash of light dances across the panel, causing him to recoil with an angry hiss and twich of his mandibles. You struggle to suppress a snort of laughter, but when the Baron is as annoyed as he is today, provoking a fight is not a good idea. "Why the rush?" you ask instead, leaning against the console with one hand on the knife attached to your belt. It's always within reach, there to keep you safe when talking to the pilots. All pilots have a short fuse for their own reasons, but they are all connected by their wild temperaments. And he's no exception. He's your assigned pilot and is technically a rank above you. As a mechanic for the Vayuh'ta Kv'var-de, the fighter pilots, you have to deal with his moods and quirks. But would you openly confront a superior just because he's annoying you with his angry rants about the poor electronics in his consoles? And it's not even your area of expertise or your fault? No, it's better to remain neutral and avoid setting off his temper further.

"I'm in a hurry because I'm flying to the next planet. The next hunt," he replies curtly, with an aggressive undertone. He disappears back into the console, pushes the next panel aside, and searches for the cause of the malfunctioning internal sensors. You nod and snort through your closed mandibles. "Then fly without the internal sensors," you reply. "The external sensors are working." The growling from inside the console grows louder, and you can smell the pilot's anger. The smell is bitter and deep; even the smell of a burnt-out plasma line cannot mask it. Caution is advised - he seems really angry. However, you can't resist hitting your knee against an outer panel of the console with a dull thud.

"That's the fourth planet in this cycle," you say deliberately, while noticing his aggressive scent unleashing a certain anger in you as well. If you're not careful, this will end in a fight. Or is that exactly what he wants? It wouldn't be the first time you've taken out your frustrations on each other. "You won't find what you're looking for in the stars." Now you've gone too far. With a roar, the Baron pulls himself away from the spaceship's console and slams you against the cockpit wall by pushing his chest into yours. You immediately reach for the spear on your back, but he's faster: With a precise and calculated movement, he catches your hand and redirects it away from the weapon. Using his other hand, he reaches around you from the other side, pulls the spear from its anchor in your armour and throws it carelessly to the side where it lands with a clatter on the floor. You and your opponent both growl, mandibles open to threaten and impress, to read each other's scent and intentions. Your insolence is an affront and an act of presumption - you both know it - but it's too late to take back your words. Instead, the Baron presses you against the wall, puts one hand on your throat and makes it unmistakably clear that one does not question a superior.

Your mandibles fold back; it's more of a staring contest than open aggression now. Since you've already got him all worked up, why not kick him while he's down?

"Did the council approve your list of planets?" you ask hoarsely, voice dulled by the hand on your throat. “Did they approve every hunt? Every single one that you think isn't good enough for you? Or are you doing all this under the cloak of deception?” He grunts, neither amused nor appreciative of these words. He certainly doesn't respond to these questions with a mere growl, because his response is as follows: He takes a slight swing and then rams his fist into your stomach. A dull, pressing pain instantly explodes in the centre of your body, and you hiss in pain - but this is still a very restrained punishment for your presumptuous behaviour by his standards. Normally, he would throw you across the cockpit and engage you in a fight, would not let go until you're bleeding profusely. It wouldn't be the first time you've challenged him and he's challenged you in return. It's a whole thing you two have going on. Instead of fighting back, you grab his belt and push aside the metal loincloth. Your hand follows the leather straps that hold the belt and weapon holder in place, quickly finding the target of this intimate, impulsive search: your hand closes around his erect cock, twitching impatiently, accustomed to your attention. Is he really that stressed? If yes, then you'll gladly offer to take care of that for him. What warrior would say no to a little fun, a fight of a very special kind? Certainly not the Baron, who is only too happy to put his hand between your legs and demand satisfaction. And after a brief, intense struggle to set the mood, you always do exactly that. You grab him firmly with your hand and run it up and down his length; meanwhile, he grabs your locks and pulls you closer to the wall, his gaze fixed on you as if he wants to supervise the work. Pilots are all the same. They always have to keep a close eye on everything. After the initial slow pumping motion, he tightens his grip on your locks, sending a pleasant shiver down your neck scales. He knows exactly how to give him a good time. Stress relief. Your hand moves faster now, varying the pressure it exerts. You apply less pressure at the base and more at the tip, moving in a way that follows his anatomy. He's hard - very hard - and his pelvis is nestling against your touch. Apparently, a lot has built up over the past sub-cycles, and today it has manifested itself as him angrily cursing about his faulty sensors. All he had to do to get your expert help was ask! But none of the flying warriors can do that - expose themselves by asking and starting a proper mating ritual. They always have to argue first instead of going straight to an erotic battle of strength. The Baron always makes things more complicated than necessary because he has the ego of a council member. And that despite the fact that he himself has only been wearing his mark for a few cycles!

He grunts and presses you closer to the wall. This is a clear sign that he wants more and wants it faster, so you comply with his request and speed up your pumping movements. Occasionally, you brush over his tip as you do so, feeling the soft, warm skin and enjoying the soft growl - or purr? - that vibrates almost imperceptibly in his chest. After two or three minutes, his breathing becomes shallower and more irregular. He groans and presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhales your scent; he inhales the arousal and the desire to give him release. He rubs his pelvis against yours, encouraging the movements of your hand on his shaft. The first drops of hot semen cover the tip of his cock.

Then, with a deep, throaty groan, you push him over the edge and he climaxes, spilling hot liquid between your bodies. Your hand and both of your armours are now wet with the slightly sticky liquid, while he takes a deep breath and hisses a content growl against the scales of your neck.

"S'yuit-de," he whispers. Shit. His deep voice sounds much less tense and the clicks in his pronunciation are less sharp. Good — maybe he's a little more bearable now than before. However, when you pull your hand out from between your bodies to wipe it off, he grabs the back of one of your thighs with one hand and roughly pushes your loincloth aside witht the other hand. With the annoying fabric out of the way, he can now grab your other leg as well and push you up against the wall. His still hard cock presses against the inside of your thigh as he searches for the tight entrance he's only too happy to claim for himself. Oh, okay. It seems there's still more stress he needs to relieve. But - that's fine with you. Maybe he'll be less pissed after round two.

[ninten-draw]

Ooooh my god I LOVE your 2x2 design!! Do you maybe have any lore ideas for them, like how they feel about 1x and Telamon/Shed (since there isn't much about them in canon currently)???

2x2 was born many years after 1x, they are both the result of Telamon losing his godhood but 2x was just a late Hatcher. Shedletsky tried to be a good dad to 2x, but he was so focused on 1x who was causing chaos in robloxia, and his admin duties, that he was mostly absent

This led to 2x being mostly raised by bright eyes

2x knows he’s related to shedletsky and 1x1x1x1, but bc of how absent both were he doesn’t really see them as family. He knows they technically are but it doesn’t feel that way yknow?

2x is a little stunted because of his late hatching, he’s a lot shorter than most people, and lacks wings unlike his brother or father

In forsaken, 2x2 is condemned as an npc, not being given full autonomy or awareness from the spectre, he’s basically in a constant tiring haze and Is unable to properly communicate his true feelings or thoughts to the other survivors, however because of his divine lineage, sometimes, he’s able to briefly break free from control, during these times he usually goes out to fish, forage, or hunt. All of which are activity he enjoyed while at home with bright eyes, but also to offer some kind of nourishment for the other survivors, since aside from Elliot and shedletskys abilities, there’s very little food to go around

2x2 doesn’t know the full extent of shedletsky and 1x’s relationship, he knows 1x used to live with shed and bright eyes, and that for whatever reason 1x left and became a feared corrupted hacker, but he doesn’t know that shedletsky directly caused it

[andyouloveme]

I found this post in my drafts that I had written up during my rewatch pre series 3 and, at the time, decided to wait to see S3 and add that in too. However I'd need a separate watch to count lies and tbh I didn't enjoy S3 enough to watch again so just posting as is:

Lies in Young Royals

So one of the themes of Young Royals, in particular S2, is about hiding the truth and lying so I wanted to rewatch and count just how many lies there are in YR and who is the biggest offender.

Note: this is only looking at the quantities of lies, not the severity of them or how long the lie was kept for, and I'm not making any judgements as to whether the lie was right, wrong or neutral. Some things are a little more ambiguous than others but I've been pretty strict in including the smallest of lies and I am counting omissions of truth as lies too.

Without further ado our biggest liar in S1 is *drumroll*

Wilhelm!

With 12 lies he is our lying king in S1! This probably doesn't come as much of a surprise but interesting to note he doesn't tell a single lie in Episode 4, where he is at the peak of grieving for Erik.

Close runner up was Simon with 10 but he also doesn't tell a single lie in Episodes 5 or 6. The pair of them have the joint honour of most lies per episode in ep 2 where they tell 4 lies each.

For Series 2 it is Simon stepping up for the biggest liar title! Slightly ironic given he tells Wille he's being honest and Wille should try it sometimes. And Wille must have listened to that to some extent cause he lies significantly less in S2 with only 6 lies to his name.

The award for biggest increase in lies goes to Sara who had one lie right at the end of S1 and who goes up to 6 lies in S2.

And that leaves us with the biggest liar across S1 and S2...

Simon!

With a spectacular 19 lies across the series, Simon claims the crown of lies. I'll admit I was a bit surprised at this but then there are a lot of lies and hidden truths about the drugs and lies to make people not worry about him and it all adds up.

I have included all the lies, including those of more minor characters, below the cut so let me know if I missed any! For those of you wondering why Marcus isn't on here, he is wrong on several occasions and manipulative but I don't think he ever actually lies unless I missed something.

S1 E1

Wilhelm/Kristina - "Together with my parents we have decided to go to Hillerska" etc

Felice - lying on insta about enjoying the stables

Henry/Walter -Lie about their opinions to agree with Wilhelm

Simon - lies by omission to Linda about getting invited to party. Doesn't tell her he needs to supply booze and technically Sara wasn't invited

Wille - lies saying he likes Hillerska to Simon

Wille 2

Simon 1

Felice 1

Henry/Walter 1

Kristina 1

S1 E2

Wille - omits about hanging out with Simon at the party when encouraged to go on the table

Wille - this is a bit ambiguous, says party was great to Felice. He definitely didn't enjoy the initiation but seemed alright at the party and he got to meet Simon

Simon - to Meister Englund says he's spoken to his parents about tutoring

August - lying (badly) to the therapist about having ADHD (why didn't he at least look up the symptoms?)

Wille - lies to August about being sick to go see Simon

August - lies to head teacher about his mum travelling

Simon - lies to Sara that he needs to talk to August about rowing

Simon - in doing so he's preventing Sara from finding out about the booze

Simon - lies to his dad about his visit/steals from him

Wille - lies to Simon about panic attack

Wille 4

Simon 4

August 2

S1 E3

Wille - lying about being "like that", both to himself and Simon

Felice - lying to her mum about being able to jump a 1.2m jump

Felice - lies to her mum (and possibly to herself) about her and Wilhelm's relationships

Wille - lies about why he wants to stay in school to Erik, saying he wants to study. Erik sees through this

Simon - lies to Linda when she asks if he's okay

Simon - lies to Linda about staying with Ayub

Wille 2

Simon 2

Felice 2

S1 E4

Simon - omits to Linda about how he was going to pay for the tuition

Simon - lies to Sara about seeing their dad

Felice - lied about closing her eyes when having sex with august

Felice - lied where she was on insta

August - ambiguous, lied to Sara about being pretty (I mean she is but he was only saying that to kiss her and get back at Felice so I don't think he meant it)

Simon - ambiguous, arguably omits truth about where the drugs came from to Wille. He finds Wille high but doesn't tell him he supplied the drugs or the booze from the first party

Simon 3

Felice 2

August 1

S1 E5

Wille - Lies to August about where he went/memory after the party

August - lies to headteacher about not hearing from Alexander

Wille - Lies to August about suggesting the plan to kick Alexander out saying it's easier rather than he's saying it to protect Simon

The society (Wille, August, Henry, Vincent etc) - lie to headmistress about Alexander

Wille 3

August 2

Henry 1

Vincent 1

S1 E6

August - omits to Wille that he published the video

Sara - omits she knows who published it to Simon and everyone else bar August

August - lies to Sara he doesn't mind her telling Wilhelm

Wille/Kristina - lies to country about being in the video

Kristina - lies by omission it was August

Wille 1

August 2

Sara 1

Kristina 2

S1 TOTAL

Wilhelm 12

Simon 10

August 7

Felice 5

Kristina 3

Sara 1

Henry 2

Walter 1

Vincent 1

S2 E1

Felice - has been omitting about quitting riding to her mother

Wille - omits to Alexander about who blamed him

Wille - omits to Simon about who leaked the video

Wille 2

Felice 1

S2 E2

Sara - hides that she read Felice's phone

Simon - lies to Marcus about his room being cosy

Simon - ambiguous, lies to Marcus when he says you too after Marcus calls him beautiful (I say this is ambiguous as his body language makes it look like he's lying but maybe he does think he's pretty)

Wille - lies to therapist about being fine

Felice - has been omitting to Sara about quitting riding

Simon - lies about knowing Marcus

Wille and Simon - cheat on the race

Wille - Lies saying the reason he's helping Simon in the race is to help Simon's grades

Sara 1

Simon 4

Wille 3

Felice 1

S2 E3

Felice - lies about having PMS to skip dinner

Henry - lies about laughing at Vincents speech

Sara - lies to Simon about being friends with august

Simon - initially lies to Marcus that it's not about Wille but then admits there was drama (still lying about his feelings though)

Sara - lies to Felice about where she's been

Sara - lies by ommision about liking to smell like "him". Let's Felice think she means Rousseau

Kristina - ambiguous, says she'll always put her son first. Whilst I think she means it, she hasn't actually done that so I'm counting it as a lie

Kristina - omits to Wilhelm initially about August being back up

Sara 3

Henry 1

Felice 1

Simon 1

Kristina 2

S2 E4

Sara- lying about not having someone in mind when wanting to write a valentine's letter

*Note - Vincent mentions lying and get's Wille to talk by saying "so Henry is lying?"

Henry - lying about snitching

Stella - omits she wrote the letter for Fredrika

August - lying to Jan Olaf about drinking and drugs

Simon - LYING ABOUT THE FISH HAVING NAMES!!!

Simon - lies to Marcus about checking on the choir when he's going to see Wilhelm

Sara 1

Simon 2

Henry 1

Stella 1

August 1

S2 E5

Wille - doesn't tell Simon how long he's known it was August

Jan Olaf - changes the subject when Wille asks if they changed the song because of Simon

Sara - lies to Felice about where she spent the night

Wille 1

Jan Olaf 1

Sara 1

S2 E6

Simon - lies to Marcus about it not being about Wille and bringing Marcus to the ball to make Wille jealous

August - doesn't tell Wille and Simon it was Sara

August - lies to Sara saying he did it to protect the royal family. Sara rightly sees through this lie that it's to protect himself

Simon - lies to Linda it wasn't August

Simon 2

August 2

S2 TOTAL

Wille - 6

Simon - 9

Sara - 6

August - 3

Felice - 3

Kristina - 2

Jan Olaf - 1

Henry - 2

[teaandcheckmates]

I've noticed you mention fainting a lot in your posts, as if it is quite the common occurrence.

This got me both curious and a wee bit concerned.

Do you know if you have any long-lasting physical or mental illnesses that could be causing your fainting and dizziness?

Having low blood sugar, an iron deficiency, as well as anxiety or panic disorder are the first few things that come to mind that can cause lightheadedness.

Have you ever looked into getting that checked out by a doctor?

Ah—well! You see…!

.

Yes.

That is to say—yes, I do faint. Often. More often than perhaps one ought to. (Though I would like it noted that I’ve improved slightly—last week I made it through an entire piano recital without collapsing once!)

But I hadn’t really considered it so clinically before. I always assumed I was simply… you know. Delicate. Artistically-inclined. Afflicted with a naturally swoony disposition. You know, the usual things that plague sensitive young gentlemen.

But now that you mention it… I do get dizzy rather often. And tired. And cold. And once I sneezed and it echoed in my spine—

…Huh...

As for seeing a doctor, well… technically, I did once. I was five. He called me “pale as a moonbeam” and then prescribed more sunlight and fewer novels.

My parents seem to think I’m “fine” as long as I can stand up straight during Sunday service and don’t faint into the potted lilies. (Though even that has happened. Twice.)

In short—I do appreciate your concern, truly, and you seem far more knowledgeable than any physician I’ve encountered thus far.

If you happen to know of any remedies—medicinal or otherwise—I would be most grateful.

With utmost (and slightly pale) gratitude —Percy

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

#does this have the same harmful effects as defanging a spider where spider!wakey can no longer eat or is this more of a cat declawing#(harmful. traumatic. but not fatal)

A mix of both! (Apologies in advance to the speculative biologists who like. Actually know biology, I'm just kinda bullshitting here.) It's of course quite traumatic, but she can technically eat without her fangs. She has a human jaw and can chew and swallow food, however without her fangs to produce venom (which irl spiders need to break down their food) it's hard for her to digest the food enough to get nutrients from and her stomach will have trouble breaking things down further. Which would probably cause a vicious cycle of making it hard for her create webs and get prey all the while dealing with the pain of her missing fangs.

So it would definitely be hard for her to survive long enough for her fangs to regrow, but not quite as directly fatal as defanging an irl spider. But DJ stays with her and makes her soups. :3

It would be POSSIBLE for her to survive without his help but it would be very touch and go until her fangs regrow.

More of Spider!Wakey and Human!DJ. This takes place shortly after she is defanged, and DJ goes back to her cave/web/nest to try to help. She was always scared of humans but now she's terrified of them...even DJ, at least at first.

Why would she be scared of an unarmed human when she's so big? Well, aside from trauma, the fact that if he decides she's even slightly disagreeable, the village will send another hunting party to finish her off. Or so she thinks...in reality DJ doesn't have that level of clout with the village, especially after his protests when the first hunting party was taking her fangs.

[omegalomania]

drew comic pete in musical petes wardrobe, because pete in the love can't save you hoodie has been doing something to me

[afterartist]

You have no idea how insanely bad I want an MTMTE / Shattered Glass Crossover

Is this just cause I love SG Sounders and want him to join the found family?? Maybe, shut up

Can yall guess who I like drawing vs who I don’t like drawing

[rosurie]

cw: body horror

parasite