#which you can tell by looking at the bottom of the art and the way it jumps

[moonshine-nightlight]

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

/

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

/

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

 “I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or  visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

/

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind. 

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you. 

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name. 

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut. 

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock. 

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving. 

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.” 

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them. 

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed. 

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him. 

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding. 

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper. 

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty. 

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in. 

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve. 

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before. 

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name. 

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you. 

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back. 

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze.  Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush. 

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try. 

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner. 

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be. 

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Rogue Rook. I love this Rook, I wonder if they could be the 'default'-kinda Rook..? The detail in this game is incredible, look at the different textures and intricate patterns on clothes (in places you can even see where it's raised/three-dimensional when appropriate), carved designs on the wood of the bow, the textures on hairs, the folds of fabric and the way it hangs, the strung bow, light glinting off Taash's jewel-horn and gold pieces, etc. loads of care put into it and attention to detail. on Rook's chest is the Veilguard symbol. Taash and Neve look amazing too, and the team is ready to go! In the bottom right, is that a chest we can loot? ^^ Maybe this moment is from shortly after entering a new area, and the camera is about to transition from a cutscene kinda scene to a gameplay scene? like they've just gotten here, had a lil conversation about it, and are about to head off exploring. where do you think this shot was taken? it kind of reminds me a bit of this concept art of the Deep Roads.

I really like the decision to prominently feature Bellara and Davrin on this cover. Bellara's magic device is activated - are the triangles being drawn towards her, or are they flying out away from her? ^^ its green glow makes me think of Fadey stuff. Harding looks to have the same bow as here, with the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol, fitting for a Hero of the Inquisition. in the background is the familiar outwards energy burst motif (example one on the right, example two). the rest of the team are present in the foreground, ready to cast or running towards the battle. the ground, dark rock, is aflame. in the background we can see telltale floating rocks and some structures. maybe this shot is 'set' in the same place as the group fight that takes place at the end of the character trailer, as here?

In this version of the image, we can more clearly see tentacle-like objects in the bottom right, which make me think of Blight corruption and what we can see around the dragon here. the other thing I wanna say about this art is you can tell care has been taken to differentiate the companions and make them unique. like both Emmrich and Neve are mages and casting, but they hold their weapons in different ways and have different stances. Emmrich's staff is green with the light of necromancy, Neve's is blue with ice magic. both Taash and Lucanis are fighters, and running, but even from a static image you can see variation in the way that they move. You can almost hear Taash's powerful 'stomp-stomp-stomp' whereas Lucanis has more of a sense of speed and streamlined motion. it reminds me of what was said in the Discord Q&A about "characterful"-ness:

This game contains “the deepest companion arcs” that they have ever done - not just in a Dragon Age game, but in a BioWare game in general. “Being able to work across all the disciplines, building characters who look and sound and behave in very specific and characterful ways.” Each companion has their own story arc you can go through, decisions you can make. “They really do take center stage. As you play through them, you see the care and love that the team has put into each one.” [link]

You know, like they are looking and moving different in very specific and "characterful" ways. Also look at this -

This looks to be Lucanis in early concept art (art by Matt Rhodes). he moves in such a specific, 'characterful' way, and it's carried through from the concept art.

my last thought here is that this cover reminded me of the group/team fight scene in this Inquisition trailer. you know, like the whole gang is here and ready to go, ground aflame, black rock, Fadey stuff going on.

[miley1442111]

the morning of choices (part 11)-a. donaldson

--------------------

--------------------

summary: the morning after you and Art sleep together.

(one more part!!!)

pairing: art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

warnings: angst, eating disorder, fluff, smut (18+), etc.

PART 11 of 12

--------------------

Were you really doing this? Yes.

His hands roamed your body as he kissed up and down your neck, his thigh between your legs sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body. "Art," you whined. "I need you."

"You have me baby," he smirked, a beautiful sight. He switch position, lining his cock up with your core. "You ready pretty girl?"

You didn't even get a chance to respond when he bottomed out inside of you. You had to keep yourself back from screaming, by biting his shoulder, which made him let out a low whine.

"So pretty for me," he groaned as he started to move. He hadn't felt this good, this alive, in a long time, and he was not complaining. You felt so good around him, so pretty under him, he could barely think straight. "Fuck, such a good girl."

You could've cum right then and there. With him over you, grabbing the headboard to the point of destruction, he looked so good. Yet he felt even better, his cock pumping in and out of you with determined and steady thrusts, at the perfect speed, and with his fingers touching your clit just right, and the way he kisses you and-

You came with a loud scream, one he tried to mask with a kiss. A sloppy and messy kiss, just like when you two were in college. He'd changed so much, yet so little, it almost made you laugh. Almost.

Anything other than incoherent moans and whines coming from you would be a miracle. He was fucking you so good, saying all the right things, it was perfect.

"There's my good girl, think you can give me one more?" he asked, thrusting in and out of you again, despite the ring of your mixed cum that was forming at the base of his cock and he pumped in and out.

You gave him a lot more and than one.

--------------------

You woke up the next morning, Art’s arms around you. This was what you had wanted for so long, and now that it was coming true, you were scared. What if it didn’t work out? What would happen with Tashi? Were you just going to be the other woman for him?

“Morning beautiful,” he smiled, cupping your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Morning,” you swallowed.

Art picked up on the way you were uneasy, and didn’t know what to do. Were you uneasy because of him? Did you regret last night? Was this all a big mistake to you? “What?” He whispered softly, seeing through you as only he could.

“It’s nothing,” you assured him. “I need to get ready for my match.”

“Your match is at 3pm today, it’s 7am Y/n. What’s wrong?” He pushed on as you started to get up and out of bed, pulling on your clothes as you felt that sick feeling of embarrassment creep in. 

“Nothing is wrong Art!” You shouted and walked off into the bathroom, him close behind you.

He grabbed your hands, stopping you from running away again. “Something is clearly wrong. Tell me,” he demanded.

“Do you regret last night?” You asked, anxiety and fear making your voice smaller than usual. You saw his eyes soften and felt his grip on you loosen, then fall altogether, wrapping around your waist instead. 

“Not at all,” he answered truthfully. “Do you?”

“No,” you admitted. “What do we do now?”

“We could do it again ?-” he smirked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Art, seriously. What are we going to do? You’re married, with a child.” 

His face hardened, and he sighed. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do. I do know that I love you, and I’m glad we’re back,” he pressed soft kisses up your neck as you thought it all over. The last time you were with Art, he cheated on you and didn’t tell you for months. The last time you were with Art you felt unwanted and unloved. The last time you were with Art, you weren't even a priority. How would this time be different? “And I promise you this will not be like the last time, you’re my priority, and so is Lily. This is my last season anyway, I’m retiring after the Open.”

You stood there, shocked. “You’re finished after the Open?” 

“Yup,” he nodded, impressed with his hand-work of the small purple bruise on your neck. 

“I guess… that’s good news,” you smiled at him. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “What about Patrick?”

“What about Patrick?” 

“He’s in love with you,” he explained. 

“And I’m in love with you, Patrick can fuck off,” you answered and Art laughed. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he chuckled, brushing some of your hair out of  your eyes. 

“What about Tashi?” you asked and his face fell. 

“Tashi doesn’t love me at all and she never did. Yes, we have a lot of business ventures with each other, and we have Lily, so we’ll probably co-own a lot of it, and co-parent Lily-”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait- you’re actually going to get a divorce for me?” 

“Of course I am, I love you,” he smiled, and everything felt very real. He loved you, truthfully. He saw you as you were, scars and all, and he was still here. He knew what you'd done, and he was still here.

He loved you. 

“I love you too.

That was the end of it. 

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[dr-spectre]

The Corruption In Splatoon.

Hypno Callie - Sanitized Agent 3 - Marina Agitando Analyzed.

(Note: this post may get edited over time if i need to fix grammar errors, get new information or anyone corrects me in a fair way. I'm not gonna listen to those who say "erm you're wrong actually." There will also be sources at the bottom.)

One of the biggest issues I've seen in the Splatoon community are the misconceptions and misinformation that spread around so quickly and i see it a lot when it comes to the corruption arcs found in Callie, Agent 3 and Marina. People throw around the words "hypnotized, mind controlled, brainwashed" interchangeably between the three, and it kind of damages the stories the developers wanted to tell. I see people say that Marina was hypnotized, which isn't the case at all, and same with Agent 3.

So in this long post I'm gonna go into a deep dive and analyze these characters, go into their personalities while under their corruption, distinguish between their "afflictions" and how they got to that point. There is a lot of depth to this and most people (not all ofc) overlook it which is a shame and i wanna change that.

We will first start off with a character i feel very strongly towards, the one i feel gets the most amount of misinformation in the community and is overlooked the most. A character, suffering from mental distress and isolation, the loser of the final Splatfest in Splatoon 1. An antagonist born out of her own volition and free will despite what many say about her.

Hypno/Octo Callie

Hypno/Octo Callie is where most people tend to slip up and only look at the surface level info the game presents, and that information barely scratches the surface into what happened to Callie and what Callie is like under the influence of the shades.

First off, how did Callie end up like this? She was isolated, got kidnapped by Octavio and then brainwashed right? WRONG! Although this is what Splatoon 2 suggests, it's entirely wrong and paints a pretty gross picture if you think about it for more than five seconds. Implying that Octavio is some freak and monster who waited for the perfect moment to snatch up Callie and then brainwash her against her consent, forcing her into things she didn't want to do, like wear that revealing outfit, brand her with that tattoo, and join the Octarians as a mind controlled slave for their goals. Yeahhhhh... you can see why i have an issue with this implication and the interpretations this created in the fandom...

It's really disgusting and I'm honestly quite shocked that people wanna paint that picture of Octavio and leave Callie as a victim with trauma from those events. Callie in her dialogue never EVER mentions being kidnapped, and only Marie says that because from her perspective, she's gonna think that's what happened cause she worries about Callie all the damn time. They only say "kidnapped" in outside media to make Octavio more of a cartoony evil villain and to simplify things which makes me kind of frustrated. If Callie truly suffered from trauma and had resentment for the Octarians, it would display in her dialogue. She would say shit like, "If i see another Octarian... oh, I'm gonna SPLAT them to pieces!" or "I'm gonna get those Octarians for what they put me through..." It also explains why she even thought about putting the shades back on because if she truly suffered from trauma, she wouldn't DARE put those shades back on. The "plenty!" Line she says in Splatoon 3 when Shiver asks what's wrong with them is a joke line and most likely references her putting the shades on again and again, but the canon on the rematches is unclear but I'm gonna treat them as canon.

However I've seen people bring up this concept art to dismiss these arguments where Callie is seen putting on the Hypnoshades without her knowledge and then is "turned evil ooooo!!"

This is just a SINGLE piece of concept art that the developers MIGHT have used to explain the rematch of the final boss. This art is disproven from Callie's dialogue in the rematch across various different languages as if Marie asked her why she put the shades back on, she would likely have a different response if the shades were put on her in that way.

There is also other concept art showing Callie being alone and comforted by Octarians which also disproves that single piece of concept art that suggests the weird gross narrative online that people push about Octavio.

Now that we've cleared up the misconceptions, how did Callie end up wearing those shades? Well, as shown with the Sunken Scrolls, Callie falls apart when she's alone, she overthinks and gets stressed out.

Callie is a person who seeks companionship and always looks on the bright side, even if it's a detriment on her mental health and causes her to bottle up her emotions to an unhealthy degree. Waking up extremely early and working all day, being surrounded by paparazzi, damaged her mental health, and Marie wasn't there for her as she had a different schedule. Their relationship slowly broke apart and the Splatfest probably didn't help with that either. There might have been some resentment that Callie hid.

At some point Callie must have met up with Octavio after she stormed off in the Squid Sister Stories on chapter 7, and Octavio, being the master manipulator that he his, probably convinced Callie to join the Octarians and appealed to her sense of isolation and pressure from being a star. He didn't force her into anything as shown with Callie's dialogue not showing any hints towards this, Octavio just pulled the right strings and Callie willingly joined to escape her life as said by her line in the official relationship chart "OK, fine, I'll hear you out."

If Octavio tried to grab her or put the shades on her by force, he would get absolutely eviscerated. Remember, Callie is not some weak little girl, she's a trained agent who's a roller main, a weapon that requires a ton of physical strength to wield. Inklings and Octolings do not have bones and are carried purely by their muscles, and because Octavio is way older than Callie and can't even walk properly due to him being stuck in his octopus form, Callie would be able to physically overpower him and turn him into a cooked octopus with rice on the side by the time she is done with him.

Callie finds the Octarians cute and Octavio knows that if he could get her on his side, he could help his troops and save his race from destruction. Octavio uses music to motivate his troops to battle and Callie's help in this would help him a lot. And that's where the shades come in....

The Hypnoshades are very vague and we're not fully sure on the effects, however judging from their name we can guarantee that they involve hypnosis in some form. Either it's because of the animated parts at the front which Callie can see or some other sci fi bullshit that is not explained. They are not "brainwashing shades" that turn a person evil. If that's the case then they wouldn't be called HYPNO shades.

Now let's dive into hypnosis and explain what it is. Hypnosis is being described as being put into a deeply relaxing state where your mind is more prone to suggestions. It's not like in popular media where some dude swings a watch around and goes, "You are getting very sleepy oooo," and then they become a puppet and are mind controlled. No, that's not what happens. Yes, you are more prone to listening to suggestions and taking them to heart, HOWEVER! ONLY IF ITS ACCEPTABLE TO THE HYPNOTIZED PERSON! THE SUGGESTION CANNOT GO AGAINST A PERSON'S MORALS AND IF IT DOES THEY WON'T LISTEN!

If the person who is getting hypnotized doesn't wanna follow through with the suggestion by the person behind the hypnosis, they won't listen to the suggestion. If Callie didn't wanna wear that outfit, she wouldn't. If Callie didn't wanna decorate Octo Canyon, then she wouldn't, but she does because she loves art. You can't make a hypnotized person wanna murder their friends and families unless they secretly want to.... you cannot get a guy on stage to get nude in front of an audience as shown with those stage hypnosis acts, it is most likely faked or the person was in a really good mood and wanted to have fun.

Callie, while under the shades acts more like her normal self than not. She is still energetic and even decorated Octo Canyon as she is a fan of art. Her chaotic nature is still intact however she is more violent and harsh which was teased in her Splatfest dialogue in Splatoon 1. If she was brainwashed then she would be more like a mindless robot that follows Octavio no matter what, like a specialized sleeper agent. However, she snaps back at him multiple times when Agent 4 attacks the Octobot King II and doesn't even wanna kill Marie but instead get her away from her because of their broken relationship. But she tries to kill Agent 4 because she doesn't know who that is and has no personal attachment to them.

The shades do NOT control Callie and do NOT force Octarian ideals into her head. The shades are there to further manipulate Callie, and Callie heard out the suggestions by her own free will. If Callie's mental health and life were better she would probably not listen to Octavio and turn him into a paste on the road with her roller.

Hypnosis is also incredibly relaxing and helps with disorders like anxiety. Maybe it's why she kept putting on the shades again and escaping with Octavio. She might be addicted to it, as shown by her rematch dialogue. However, they don't go into any depth with it unfortunately.

I know people tend to bring up Octavio's line, "i remixed Callie's brain!" to disprove my points, however,

1. Its probably bad translation as the English localization team makes mistakes often as shown with Octo Expansion with Commander Tartar's and Marina's dialogue, and Side Order as well. The line is also different in other languages and some of those languages mention hypnosis, we also don't have a retranslation of the Japanese script for Splatoon 2 so I'm give the English script a HUGE grain of salt on the dialogue.

2. Octavio is a DJ. He says musical terms to describe things. the "remixing" of Callie's brain is to show that Octavio has got Callie on his side via manipulation and not direct brain "washing" if you get what I'm trying to say here. He didn't literally warp her brain with some bullshit evil shades. He just pulled the right strings and pointed her in his direction without directly or forcefully doing it.

There is also Marie's line, "Why would you put those stupid brainwashing sunglasses back on?" In the rematch. However, this is only in the English translation of the original Japanese script, and in other languages, Marie just calls them the Hypnoshades or glasses. The localization team of Splatoon is known to make mistakes, like I've stated previously.

I also wanna go over the design for a little bit, it's honestly really well done and aside from the weird icky implications people just love to make about it, it does a good job at being an "Evil Callie" look. The colors are really appealing to the eyes, the way the design flows together is nice to look at, the octopus tattoo is striking and has become iconic in the fandom, with some believing Callie kept the tattoo as a popular headcanon. The glittery leggings and spikes on the waist and neck are a nice addition. Flipping the grilled squid pattern and placing it on her chest. And the shades are just the cherry on top with their hypnotic patterns, giving you the feeling that a person you knew is different... and off... They took the child like and joyful design of Callie and made her into a more mature and intimidating presence.

Now i wanna quickly go over when the shades get shot off of her as some people say that Callie lost her memories when the shades were put on her and removing them brought back her memories.

When it comes to being put into a hypnotic state, it's very dream like and incredibly relaxing, its essentially similar to a flow state when you're deeply concentrated on a task. So imagine a god damn ink bullet flying at your face at incredible speed, flinging you out of that state quickly and seeping ink into your eye. Yeah, it would hurt like hell and leave you completely dazed, right?

Some people who go under hypnosis can experience headaches, dizziness, nausea, and if you look at Callie when the shades are removed, guess what, she's holding her head in pain and is completely dazed, unable to properly speak and is left to only sing and dance as it comes natural to her cause she's an Idol.

What i think is happening here is that Callie, after being removed from the hypnotic state, starts thinking more rationally for a moment and realizes that Marie does care for her and has come to get her. She remembers all the good memories they had together from hearing the Calamari Inkantation, the song doesn't free people from brainwashing or mind control as some people tend to believe, it's just an insanely catchy song that motivates those who hear it. It probably gave her mind a positive boost and she remembers all the wonderful memories she had with Marie, getting rid of the negativity and darkness in Callie's head that flooded her rational thinking and made her more emotional and impulsive. People who experience mental illness have foggy minds and you can ask someone who has or had anxiety or depression on what it's like. Trust me, it's not fun.

After Callie returns to the outpost, she shows regret and tells Agent 4 that she's sorry for trying to kill them and promises that she's on the "up and up! Promise!" If Callie was truly kidnapped and then brainwashed against her consent she would be putting all the blame on Octavio and would show some amount of anger towards him, but she doesn't. I wonder why huh? Hmm. Maybe that popular narrative online is far from what actually happened huh?

With that information laid out, it makes the Bomb Rush Blush remix, Tidal Rush and Spicy Calamari Inkantation work way more as emotional tracks. The Bomb Rush Blush remix still having it's cheery sounding elements but mixed with more sinister and dark undertones, even including the Onward! jingle to show how far Callie has descended into villainy. Tidal Rush being an emotional and powerful song where Marie reaches out to her cousin in a very sad sounding way as her voice sounds broken and desperate. Callie trying her hardest not to listen to Marie and shutting her down as she wants nothing to do with her anymore after their relationship has been damaged.

Spicy Calamari Inkantation sounds more triumphant and joyful if you take all the context into account, Callie finally breaking free from the darkness clouding her mind and singing alongside her cousin in a much more expanded version of Calamari Inkantation that sounds more full and complete, including new sections by Callie and Marie and the melody of City of Color spliced in there for good measure.

With that LONG explanation of Hypno/Octo Callie, it's now time to move on the next character, and this where things somehow get more weird than a pair of hypnotic shades...

Sanitized Agent 3

Now this is where things get really tricky because the whole concept of sanitization is quite unclear until Side Order and it's basically boiled down to "zombie mind control goop" created by Commander Tartar in order to remove "life's energies" and effectively have lifeless zombies under it's control. However Agent 3 was only partially sanitized so it's unclear on what is exactly going on here. But before we can get to that, we need to discuss how they got to that state.

Before Agent 8 and Cap'n Cuttlefish turned into a nice strawberry smoothie, Agent 3 came to save them after receiving a distress signal from Marina. Agent 3 slammed themselves into the blender, rendering them unconscious which becomes important later on.

After some time Agent 3 gets taken away off screen and then gets partially sanitized and ties up Cap'n Cuttlefish.

So what is happening here? Is Agent 3 brainwashed here? Well not exactly, what i think is going on is that Commander Tartar put that sanitized ink on Agent 3's head to have a direct connection to them to take control over their body and use them as a vessel, to protect it and stop Agent 8 from destroying it's plans. Agent 3 while partially sanitized acts more cold and aggressive, even disabling their special limiter as told by Marina.

An important line of dialogue from Cap'n Cuttlefish states that Agent 3's mind was "hijacked" meaning that Commander Tartar has taken over their body and is using them like a puppet to stop Agent 8. While i don't like to base all of my evidence on the English dialogue, from my knowledge there is no retranslated dialogue of the fight online, if there is let me know so i can have a look at it.

Agent 3 was most likely completely unaware of this as they were knocked out and only woke up at the end of Octo Expansion after the NILS Statue was destroyed. They had no idea on what happened and were probably told about it after it was all over.

Agent 3 was also NOT hypnotized as sanitization has no hypnosis element to it. People who say they were are flat out wrong. They were not necessarily brainwashed either as they were completely unconscious and could not have had their ideals and morals warped by Commander Tartar. You can't really pressure an unconscious body to follow your ideals you know?

We don't get a lot of screentime with Sanitized Agent 3 but from the small moment we did get, it definitely left a strong impression and the amazing Splattack remix helped as well. Taking the once iconic song and mixing it and blending into a distorted chaotic track with elements from the DnB genre such as fast drum beats and loud wailing sirens, showing the danger of Agent 3. It really shows that Agent 3, our player character from Splatoon 1 has been morphed and twisted into a sanitized monster that's trying to murder you. It's like a virus has invaded the song and is taking control, much like what happened to Agent 3, unconscious and put to sleep as their body is being used by Commander Tartar to carry out it's goals.

Now it's time to move to the final character, the loser of the Final Fest, The Administrator of Order...

Marina Agitando

Now much like Agent 3, its sort of vague in terms of how exactly Marina ended up this way as we don't see it play out on screen. What we know is that during the development of the Memverse, Marina created an ai that would be the overseer of the Spire of Order. However due to unknown circumstances it went rogue and got into Marina's mind according to her, either she meant it literally and Overlorder possessed her, or it brainwashed her and took advantage of Marina's deep desire to yearn for a world of order and stability and warped her mind to accomplish that goal.

But, from the hints we do have as well as an interview from the developers after Side Order released, Marina was not brainwashed or hypnotized, but instead was knocked unconscious and then possessed by Overlorder. You can hear it's voice during Marina Agitando's dialogue under Marina's, heck the dialogue she says is more robotic and static, much like Overlorder's. She speaks like a robot in this form which is vastly different from how Callie speaks when under the shades where she's chaotic and loud like her original self times but on another level.

Marina being unconscious and not remembering what happened is also supported in the Side Order Famitsu interview released a while after the DLC came out which states that Marina doesn't remember making her solo song "Unconscience." When she is rescued and freed from the Controller VM, she appears like she's woken up from a bad nap.

Marina as Marina Agitando acts very robotic and cold, her movements are jittery and mechanical as Overlorder uses her body like a giant meat puppet. Her attacks are in time with the music and she shakes all about when firing attacks. It's pretty gross to see the once cheerful and adorable Marina in a state where she's this giant woman entangled in a giant pulsating tentacle that beats and restricts her. It's both sad and pretty damn scary.

She doesn't even recognize Pearl and Agent 8 unlike Callie who still recognizes Marie while under the shades. Marina just calls them "intruders" and is immediately hostile towards them.

Aside from that, there really isn't that much to talk about when it comes to Marina Agitando because she has arguably the shortest amount of screentime out of the three. But i will say that the design is excellent, using the Order outfit as a base and adding body horror elements to it, with her being trapped in a giant tentacles and weird metal pipes coming from the sides that pump out this weird red energy, like veins. Her constant smiling during the battle, the little DJ poses she does but they've become so lifeless and robotic, much like the ai possessing her. The sweet and funky girl is gone, replaced with a machine hell bent on order and will kill anything that gets in it's way.

The song too "Unconscience" is an absolute bop and is a stark contrast from Marina's usual music. It's an ear worm of a song that will get stuck in your head, and if they designed it like that way on purpose than bravo on the music team for Splatoon.

Conclusion.

Why did i make this? Why spend the time and effort to make something like this? Well, as a fan of these characters, i wanna see them well represented and their stories shared properly in the community. Seeing people use the incorrect terms when describing Hypno Callie and Marina Agitando despite the two literally being so vastly different in personality and "affliction." Making Callie's situation way worse by saying she was snatched up randomly, then brainwashed while struggling and losing her memories, treating her as some victim of abuse when the story the writers wanted to tell was a story about the broken relationship between Callie and Marie, and them finally coming together for each other and maturing, it's literally shown in the songs Tidal Rush and Fresh Start for god sake. I find it incredibly frustrating when i see people put in the effort to make these giant timeline videos, translate interviews and then they drop the fucking ball for Callie in Splatoon 2 for some god damn reason. Every. Single. Time.

While i don't feel as strongly for Agent 3 and Marina Agitando, Hypno Callie was the catalyst for me to look deeper into these corruption arcs and find all the interesting details and tidbits about these forms. Marina Agitando was such a hype moment for me when i first played Side Order and it took something we all expected to happen but gave us a little twist on it by making her the very first boss of the dlc.

Seeing Agent 3 again and the Splatoon devs wanting to look back on the past in an interesting way was so exciting to see. It paved the way for the series to reflect on itself and celebrate earlier entries.

Because of the misconceptions online about what truly happened to Callie, i felt this pain in my chest, i was unable to enjoy the concept of an evil Callie, i was unable to listen to the Splatoon 2 hero mode level music without feeling some sort of uncomfortable pain. It literally impacted my day to day living because my brain became SO attached to this squid woman. I couldn't accept the false narrative online, the abusive and disgusting view on my comfort character. A character i find joy and love in. Twisted and turned into something that brings me genuine discomfort.

Splatoon 2's story was handled poorly and caused literally EVERYONE to think that Callie is some abused victim that got kidnapped and turned evil by force by a creepy old ass octopus, when its SOOO far from the case.

There's probably people out there who feel the same way towards Marina Agitando and Sanitized Agent 3. No one likes to see their comfort character misrepresented and i hope you feel heard and that your views matter too. It's okay to look deeper into these characters, it's okay to not wanna accept the common narrative and find and present your own findings to everyone. If it makes you feel better and that chest in your pain subsides afterwards, then go for it. Please.

Thank you so much for reading this, I'm sure there's gonna be some people who disagree and share their own evidence and that is okay. As long as you don't try to push your views onto me or others then you have a right to have your own perspectives about these 3.

Seriously, thank you for spending the time to read this and hearing me out. I hope you have an awesome day : )

Sources:

[noxchievous]

Kitty cats!! Here we have Otterheart taking some apprentices out (note that this is NOT proportionate. Otterheart is like a full head shorter but I didn’t wanna redraw her.) and on the bottom Owlstar and Mintstar are having a chat. + Cootstone. U can guess who is who

[londonfoginacup]

.

[googiekitsch]

if they had tumblr in spongebob times

🧽 bubbleblowingbuddy Follow

who wanna go jellyfishing after work? just got a new net 😄

(7 notes)

🗿squidwords Follow

my fucking god can you guys not read the text under my art posts IF YOURE GONNA LIKE MY ART FUCKING REBLOG IT. LAST TIME IM GONNA SAY THIS if i catch you liking and not reblogging under my next self portrait series i’m gonna start getting REAL BOLD with that block button istg

#and squilliam if ur reading this which i FUCKING KNOW you are #stop block evading i know you’re making new accounts to stalk my blog on #come off anon and stop vagueing me on main #I KNOW you’re sending your followers to send anon hate #and no i WILL NOT forget what you did to me #at the bikini bottom talent show #YOU NASTY LYING BITCH.

(1 note)

🐿️ treedomepilled Follow

going here once would fix 90% of this sites userbase forever

#texasposting

(1302 notes)

⭐️ rock-star638226 Follow

the group chat is bullying me over my room setup and i can’t take it anymore please tell me this doesn’t look like something from r/malelivingspaces please. pplease

(515 notes)

🦑 squill-i-am Follow

can we talk about how pathetic the people on this site who post their art and then go “REBLOGS > LIKES!!!! DONT LIKE WITHOUT REBLOGGING!” under it are like seriously omfg deeeeply unappreciative selfish behavior are you 12. sorry not everyone wants to put your shitty oil paintings from your 5 follower art blog on their mutuals dashes i guess. and your art is probably ugly as barnacles if you need to beg for reblogs on it to get any amount of traction on it anyway, just saying😭

(672 notes)

🦀 krusty-krab-money-grab Follow

Hey anyone else working the afternoon shift rn just see a little green thing run past the cash register? what was that

(4 notes)

🦠 rate-the-chumbucket-5stars-onyelp Follow

DHRHEH THFORUMELA ITS THE FORUMEUAR THE THRREAL FORMULER I FUCKING GOT IT QUICNQUICK REBLOG THIS BEFORE THOSE CAPITALIST FREAKS AT THE KRUSTY KRAB SEND A CEASE AND DESIST GET THIS EVERYWHERE CONTACT BIKINI BOTTOM NEWS GET THEFUCKIGN WORD OUT THIS IS WHAT THEY DONT WANT YOU TO KNOW GO GO GO

#krusty krab critical #anti krusty krab #secretforumlagate

(839 notes)

🐋 pearlygirlie Follow

turning off anon for a while because oomf is in some sstupid drama and now i’m catching strays for it. mutuals can contact me on discord if you want i’m not saying anything about my stance on the situation because either way i’ll get hate for it. this website sucks

🔁🐋 pearlygirlie Follow

yes oomf is my dad.

(320 notes)

[dduane]

I just received a copy of a book I've been very much looking forward to by a favorite author, but the quality of the book itself is... not great. Cheap paper, weak binding, even a weird illustration of the main character on the cover that I'm having trouble believing the author approved. Obviously, I don't want to leave a bad review on Amazon or GoodReads or anywhere, as I'm 100% certain the content is as excellent as her other work. But how can I best let the publisher (Baen) know I'm disappointed without threatening to never buy her books again? Because, well, if this is the only option, I'm gonna keep buying them even in my disappointment.

Well, the first thing I thought when I read this was "Wow, I'm really glad I don't have anything in print from Baen at the moment except a couple of anthologized short stories." :)

As for the rest of it, let's take it point by point.

Adding a cut here, because this will run a bit long. Caution: contains auctorial bitching and moaning, painful illustrations of cases in point, and brief advice on how to complain most effectively. (Also links to paintings of cats.)

Cheap paper: This has been an accurate complaint since well before COVID—and it's often been worse since, with supply chain issues also being involved. That said: one way publishers routinely save money on printing books, especially the bigger ones, is by going for thinner/cheaper paper. I remember one of our UK editors going on at great length and with huge annoyance—during one of those late-night convention-bar bitch sessions—over how the only way they could get some really good books published (because Upstairs insisted on reducing the per-copy production costs) was by reducing the paper quality to the point where you could nearly read through it. Sacrificing decent text size(s) also became part of this. Nobody in editorial was happy about the result: but there wasn't much they could do.

Bad bindings: Similar problem. Sewn bindings used to be a thing in paperbacks... but not any more: not for a good while, now. These days, it's all glue. Even hardcovers are showing up glued rather than sewn. Don't get me started. :/ (This is why I so treasure some of the oldest paperbacks I've acquired, which are actually sewn.)

Crap covers: I've had my share of these—though my share of some really good ones, too. And one of the endless frustrations of traditional publishing is that the writer routinely has little or even no influence over what the cover will look like... let alone how much will be spent on it, or (an often-related issue) how good the execution will be.

There are of course exceptions. If you're working at the, well, @neil-gaiman -esque level or similar in publishing, a lot more attention is going to be paid to your thoughts. You may even be able to get "cover veto" written into your contracts, so that if you disapprove, changes will get made. But without actual contractual stipulations, the writer has zero legal recourse or way to withhold approval. (And I bet even Neil has some horror stories.)

The normal workflow looks like this. After a book's purchased, its editor and the art director discuss what it's about and what the cover should look like. The art director then hires an artist and tells them what to do. After that, the artist executes their vision and gets paid. It is incredibly rare for a writer to have any significant input into this process. And as to whether or not they approve of the final result, well... the publisher mostly just shrugs and goes back to eyeing the bottom line, muttering "Who told them they get a vote?"

Now, I've been seriously lucky to occasionally be an exception in this regard. In particular, my editors at Harcourt (when Jane Yolen and Michael Stearns were editing Harcourt's Magic Carpet YA imprint) would ask me what I thought would be a good idea for the next Young Wizards cover, and I'd think about it a bit and send them back a paragraph or so about some core scene. They'd then talk to their art director, and after that send their notes and mine to Cliff Nielsen (who started doing the covers for the hardcover and mass-market paperback editions of the series in the mid-90s) or to Greg Swearingen (who was the artist on the digest-format editions). And the results, by and large, were pretty good. ...I also think affectionately of the UK artist Mick Posen, who insisted on seeing pictures of our cats before painting the covers for the Hodder editions of The Book of Night with Moon and On Her Majesty's Wizardly Service (the UK title for To Visit The Queen).

But this kind of treatment is a courtesy—not even vaguely suggested in the books' contracts, and very much the exception to the rule. And for every writer who's midlist, there are times when the luck runs out. For example: one time I wrote a book that was an AU-Earth-near-future fantasy police procedural, thematically pretty dark—dealing with issues of abuse of megacorporate power, institutionalized bigotry, and (explicitly) attempted genocide. And the cover, done by an artist who's a good friend and some of whose fabulous art hangs in our house, came out looking like this. It was... let's just say "not ideally representative."

So I was glad, when my local workflow allowed it, to recover the current, revised version of the book with something at least a little more apropos. But the original cover's not the artist's fault. He did what the art director told him... as a cover artist must do to get paid, and (ideally) to get hired again. At present, that's how the system works.

...So. You've got a badly-built and -presented book on your hands. How best to make your feelings known in some way that might make a difference down the line? (As you make it plain that you'll keep buying this author's books this way if you must.)

First of all: when (as part of my psych nursing training) we were taught how to complain most effectively, we were told that the first and most basic rule of the art is this:

Only Complain To Someone Who Can Actually Do Something About Your Problem

So I salute your desire not to waste your time taking the issue to the reviews on Amazon, or the pages of Goodreads... because they can't do anything. The odds that anyone from production at Baen is reading the comments there strike me as... well, not infinitesimally small, not being hit-by-a-meteorite-while-in-the-shopping-center-parking-lot small... but really low.

So: write to corporate.

In your place I would go online and rummage around a bit to find out who's on record as the publisher at Baen. I would then write them a letter on paper. And I would lay out the problem pretty much as you laid it out up at the top.

The tone I think I'd choose would be the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger approach. I'd say, "I write to comment about your recently published book by [X Writer], whose work I love. I have to say, though, that I don't think the cover on [X Book] is terribly representative of the quality of the prose inside. And also, the construction and production quality of the book itself was a disappointment to me because [here spell out why].

"I'd really like to see [X. Writer's] books succeed with you, and I'd like to buy more of them without wondering whether I was going to be disappointed again. But if this is typical of how they're being produced, I'd also be concerned that the state of these books is setting up a situation in which the author's sales will be damaged, and you would stop publishing them... which would really be a shame. Whereas on the other hand, better production quality could keep previous purchasers coming back and buying, not only more books by this author, but books by others whom you publish."

This phrasing, as you'll have seen, walks a bit wide around the issue of your further purchases, while directing attention toward the bottom line... which will routinely be what the publisher's looking at from day to day. And—being, one has to hope, in possession of the wider picture as regards what's going on with their production costs—maybe they can actually do something about it.

Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained, yeah? It's worth a try. All you can do is hope for the best.

And finally: please know that I admire your commitment to the author: whoever she is, she's lucky to have you. It's a terrific thing to have readers who'll willing to spend the time to hunt you down, and who're willing not to judge a book by its cover. :)

[cupid-styles]

renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!" 

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do. 

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.) 

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain. 

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it. 

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair. 

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint. 

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky." 

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late. 

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?" 

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom. 

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?" 

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take. 

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there. 

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!" 

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles. 

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces. 

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction. 

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. 

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat. 

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them. 

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone. 

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely. 

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg. 

"What does usavory mean?" 

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes. 

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes. 

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class? 

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom. 

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it. 

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N. 

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included. 

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper. 

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07. 

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table. 

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart. 

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins. 

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always. 

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it. 

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups. 

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning. 

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day. 

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either. 

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out. 

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks. 

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days. 

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his. 

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door. 

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?" 

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in. 

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job. 

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water. 

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this. 

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman. 

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs. 

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting. 

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips. 

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy. 

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious. 

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu. 

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely. 

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine. 

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth. 

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life. 

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips. 

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors. 

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap. 

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her. 

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body. 

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience. 

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile. 

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles. 

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fic: Copyright

The first time it happened, the Waynes were walking around a street market, glancing at the art, when a woman wearing a Red Hood jacket and drinking out of a Red Robin coffee traveling mug struts by.

The heroes stop to stare, more in shock, to see how well the two items are done, which grabs her attention.

She grins at them, waving her cup. "You guys like the bats? You should check out both nineteen. He sells all official stuff."

"Official?" Dick repeats.

"Yup. He has it all trademarked." She says, pulling out a business card. She hands it to Dick with a smile before bidding everyone goodbye. Babs reaches up, snatching the card from Dick's slack hold, pulling out her phone to research the name.

Babs hisses through her teeth when she finds out that, yes, whoever the artist is, they did, in fact, trademark their designs. But not only did they cover their art, but they also put a copyright over the idea of all the Gotham heroes.

"He copyrighted Batman!?" Tim demands, reading over the baby's shoulder. "The symbol, the technology, the fighting moves- his shadow!? How!?"

"No one else did," Bruce answers with an amused smile. "He probably realized this and decided to slap one on while he had the chance."

"He can't do that!" Tim shouts. "Batman should sue him."

"Kinda hard to take someone to court regarding vigilantes." Dick shrugs his shoulders. "The Bats are illegal themselves, and they didn't copyright before this guy did."

"He owns Robin!" Jason announces with a laugh.

"That son of a-!!" Dick shouts, twisting around and stomping down the booths. People who recognize them jump out of the way for the raging celebrity. The rest of the Waynes were right behind him, a few slightly surprised by the pure anger on the eldest face.

Not Bruce or Jason. They see and personally know Dick's rage.

"How dare he try to claim Robin!" The eldest hisses, rounding the last row and stumbling to a halt. The rest are unprepared for his sudden stop, so they stumble into his back.

Grunts of pain and slight soft swears are heard as the group tumbles over onto the ground. Dick is unfortunate enough to end up on the bottom, feeling the total weight of his family. He's pretty sure Bruce's elbow was digging into his lower back, and Tim's head had slammed on the back of his neck.

Maybe Alfred was right about them going on a stricter diet. Ouch.

"Get up this instant. We are ashamed of the family name." Damian hisses from where he is standing above them. Of course, Cass is next to him with a cheerful smile.

Both of them had danced out of the collision in a way that appeared accidental to the untrained eye. Bruce likely let himself fall because he enjoyed causing scenes as Brucie Wayne, no matter how much he denied it.

"Dick." Jason groans, taking the hand Cass held out for him with grace. "Why did you stop?"

"Look at both nineteen." Dick hisses feeling Tim delibertly dig his elbow into his back. His brother offers him a sweet, innocent smile that does not hide the anger in his eyes. Sometimes Dick wonders if anyone can spot the pettiness in Tim or if his madness hides it.

"Oh," Steph whistles when she hopes off of Bruce to stare at the booth owner. "Yeah, I get it. He's hot"

"No!"Dick shouts, rising up from the ground. There is horror in his voice that makes the Bats all tense. "No, he is not hot. That's disgusting Steph. Look at him. Tell me who's face that is."

It's Bruce who spots it first. "I have more chidlren?"

Damian gasps. "Father, you have more blood, children!? How did you recognize him, Richard?"

"He looks exactly like Bruce at that age." Dick hisses, leaning closer. "The Titians and I met Bruce when he was sixteen during a mishap with a time wizard. I may have pretended to be a butler sent to Wayne Manor for training to get access to the cave. The cave was the location that we had to use to go home."

"That was you?" Bruce demands. "I thought that was an idiot who was in love with Alfred."

"Ew, why?"

"You kept complimenting his cooking, doing chores for him, and trying to take him out for a fun night in town!"

"Well, excuse me for wanting Alfred to have a week's vacation from the broodiest and most troublesome teen!" Dick shouts, throwing his arms in the air. "You were literally hissing at him whenever he told you to bathe!"

"I didn't like water back then!"

"Hey guys?" Jason cuts in. "Tim left."

Both men swing to stare at the second eldest with twin looks of confusion. "What?"

"Tim. He's over there. Yelling at kid-Bruce." Jason points to where a crowd is slowly building around them. Tim is in a screaming match with the owner. There is a lot of hand-waving, faces turning red in anger, finally ending with the owner throwing himself over the Red Robin merchandise with a protective little snarl.

Tim reels back and punches him in the face.

"Oh shit," Steph sighs, running towards the both as the owner is quick to tackle Tim. The Waynes find it odd that they must show off their bat training to break the two apart.

And that's how the Waynes get on the front cover of almost all media coverage that tells the story of Danny Fenton (Wayne). Bruce's second secret love child with a married woman (Jack and Maddie had briefly opened up about their marriage back then, so neither was mad) and who had met his biological father after a public fight with his adoptive brother.

Danny would like to go on record as saying that he was unaware of why Tim cared so much that he saw a fantastic business opportunity and took it. It's not like Batman could challenge his copyrights, and if the crimefighter came for his kneecaps over it, he would find himself against the Ghost King.

True the Ghost King in name only, but the Bat didn't know that.

Danny will be honest if asked how he felt about finding out Bruce Wayne is his father. He already knew. When he was around twelve, his parents sat him down and told him. It was how his dad explained where babies came from, the genuine Welcome To Puberty! Talk and what open marriages meant—which was as horrific as it sounds—and they never bothered with it again.

Because Jack Fenton had been the one to raise Danny, he had been the one who held him after his mom gave birth and had been the one who loved him with all his heart despite not being blood-related.

He had a bigger reaction to having to fist-fight Tim Drake over the fact he made Red Robin the official LGBT+ member of the Bat family because he is bi, no matter how much Tim insists Red Robin was straight.

It sounds to him like Tim is deep in the closet and in denial. Bisexual Red Robin forever!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

last set of tsumsitter ssr groovies 👀

THE TIME HAS COME

First is Pomefiore!! (Edit: The initial version of this Groovy is on the left; Rook is missing the golden Pomefiore markings on his robes. There was an update to fix this. The updated version is on the right.)

The trio is framed by a border of colorful lights, which reminds me a lot of old-fashioned movie theater signs (though not as colorful). If you look closely at the top and bottom, it seems they are posed for a candid photograph and it’s being posted to Magicam or something?? Rook and Epel look super crisp here, which I love!! I think Epel is posing with his hands held behind his back. This paired with his smile and the slight bird’s eye view of his face makes him look super cute please don’t beat me up for saying that, Epel. And Rook is being showy and familiar as usual, even putting one hand on Vil’s shoulder. Vil isn’t cringing or uncomfortable with it, which goes to show that he and Rook are truly good friends.

As for Vil, it’s rare to see him posed casually like this. Most of his cards feature him posed in very “model”-like and mature ways, so to have just one hand on hip, leaning forward slightly, and gripping his grimoire is unique for him (I mostly associate this pose with Ace, lol). His smile is quite casual too—it’s not quite the full catty smirk he has in his live2D model, it’s a lot more subtle and playful.

BahacTeHWWRVwkkwwm YHE VIL TSUM STeALS THE SHOW ThoUGH 😭 (You can tell it’s smiling despite the lack of a visible mouth) from how its eyes!! The placement of the Tsum is also funny. With Pomefiore’s peacock throne in the background, it forms sort of an angelic halo around… the sentient stuffed toy… Proof that Tsum Vil is a heavenly being/j

Next is Ignihyde!!

The Shroud brothers return to Cyberspace, that blue void with tons of ethereal floating screens, particle effects, and code www I don’t know what those three pink balls of flame are in the background, but there being three of them is a consistent theme for Ignihyde. Three pink fireballs, three Shroud brothers, three heads of Cerberus! I wish I could say more here, but I’m basically a Malleus when it comes to tech—

Idia’s pose isn’t anything we haven’t seen before (just at different angles of it, I suppose). But!! It feels different here and adding Ortho definitely adds to it. The Pokémon trainer energy of the initial art carries over to the Groovy. Idia looks like a smug, tough trainer looking down on you with a cocky grin and his face half-shadowed.

Ortho floats almost menacingly next to his big brother, his face entirely shadowed. His aura is like a phantom (fitting) or even like a Pokémon on standby waiting for the chance to fire off a Hyper Beam. This might be me overthinking things, but I wonder if the amount of light on the brothers’ faces references the original Ortho. Robo!Ortho’s face is entirely darkened because his parallel has passed on. Idia’s face is only partially shadowed because while he was close to stepping over to the “other side”, he ultimately found hope and was able to continue living, this time for himself and on his own terms.

I LIKE HoW TSUM IDIA HAS ITS OWN sCREEN TO WORK OFF OF TOO 😭 IBRO IS MAkING A sUS FACE TOO, IT’S GLEEfUL AbOUT WhAtEVRr it’S UP TO… That makes me think that it’s hard at work… I dunno, hacking something systems fnksgwiwozlapaeb Watch out, a Tsum near you might infect your computer and then bounce away happily after ruining all your programs and files.

Last but not least… Diasomnia!! THIS ONE’S MY fAVORITE OF THE SSR TSUMSITTER GROUP, WHICH I WAs NOT EXPecTING AT ALL 🤡

The violet backlight is fantastic—it adds an interesting lighting to the illustration and highlights the green flames and Silver and Sebek’s bright eyes. And speaking of Sebek and Silver, LOOK AT THEM JUST LOOK AT THEM???????? More specifically, Sebek’s arms (they look ultra meaty somehow) and Silver’s whole face(that lopsided smile??? HELLO?????)!! On either side of Malleus like that… Peak bodyguard, I REPEAT, PEAK BODYGUARD

With Lilia bringing up the rear, the three form a perfect squad to surround and to protect their liege. cbsjsbevejwlw I like that Lilia is different than Silver and Sebek; he’s hanging out upside down (as he usually does) and bears a huuuge grin, completely having fun in the moment. (… How does his hat stay on like that when he’s fighting gravity though?)

Up front and center is Malleus of course! He’s wielding his spindle staff like a king might a scepter. This with his fierce face gives the impression of a leader marching into battle with his retainers. You get a real good shot of his teeth and reptilian eyes here which I’m sure the Malleus stans are going feral for right now—and with the limelight shining down on him, he looks almost hopeful for once instead of downtrodden or gloomy.

THE TSUM MALLEUS LOOKS SO FUNKY PLACED tHERE cnsnwveuxvDFsFjqk Just. Cheekily There on Malleus’s shoulder… Because Maleficent and Diablo is a known combination, the image of those two as master and minion comes to mind. Imagine Malleus blasting you with lightning, pausing to listen to his Tsum whispering a suggestion into his ear, and then telling you the Tsum has advised that he blast you with a second strike 💀

Aaaaaah, the Tsumsitter SSR Groovies are some of the best in this game 😭 So glad they’re finally over though, it’s stressful saving rolls for what you know would be a limited event with multiple SSR banners, lol

[onlyswan]

jk releasing 3d on my birthday has been the greatest bday gift ever. ITS BEEN ON REPLAY NONSTOP 😋😋😋😋😋😋🤞🤞

what do you think oc’s thoughts and reactions were when they first listened to it??😭😭😭i need to know, art

summary: in which jungkook is crazy about you, and he sings songs about it.

> idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, suggestive / word count: 0.5k

> content/warnings: allusions to phone s*x and well… s*x, finally found the perfect time for oc piercing reveal :P

> in which masterlist!

note: BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LINA BELOVED 💕💕💕you’re a source of light in my life and i’m so grateful for your existence <3 i hope all your wishes come true <333 lol surprise. i got bored this morning so here’s a baby drabble for u 🫶🏼 (i did say i’m taking a break from writing in oct and it’s sept 30 today so…)

—

jungkook pauses 3D at the 3:20 mark before the song can start playing again on loop, and then he looks at you with an excited grin painted on his face.

“so, what do you think?!”

you remain quiet under the weight of his tattooed arm swung around your shoulders, fiddling with his fingers as you always do when you can’t seem to sit still. it’s a contrast to the wide-eyed gasps and bright giggles elicited from you when his sultry singing voice filled all the empty corners of your shared apartment.

“mhmm…? why is my baby quiet all of a sudden?” he chuckles, nose nudging your cheek before he plants a kiss on the soft flesh.

“you were thinking of me?”

your eyes finally meet, and the curious sparkle he sees in yours makes his heart uncontrollably race inside his ribcage.

damn, he’s whipped.

“uh-uh. are you serious?”

you feign innocence, eyes going wider, surprised at his reaction.

“oh, don’t act all cute!” he exclaims, leaning back to watch an amused smile gradually form on your lips. “who else calls me in the middle of rehearsals and whines because they’re feeling needy? at three in the morning! three! huh? tell me!”

“oh my god, shut up! when will you stop bringing that up?!” you lightly punch his thigh, ashamed of your shamelessness when your yearning for your boyfriend reaches an all-time high. now that you’re being spoiled rotten with physical affection, you can no longer fathom how you used to survive it before, being distant from him for months on end. “that’s more you!”

he blinks at you, contemplating for a moment as he combs through his collection of hazy memories. “you mean, during rehearsals or at three in the morning?”

you only raise an eyebrow in response, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he bursts into a fit of giggles. uh-oh, this is what you must look like when you scold him for being frisky over the phone while you’re out in public, forcing you to bring the brightness of your phone all the way down or to hastily plug in your earphones.

the truth is he wants to kiss you more when you get a little mean, though he refuses to say it out loud because he knows that you won’t ever stop using it against him the same way you purposely wear red when you want to test his self-control.

“alright, so i’m crazy about you, and i even sing songs about it. sue me!”

you intertwine your fingers together, concealing a smile by planting a chaste kiss on the purple heart permanently inked on the back of his hand. “i’d rather touch you.”

at that, his hooded gaze travels down south where your crop top couldn’t reach, watching your stomach unsteadily rise and fall, and the butterfly-shaped jewelry that pierces your belly button seems to flutter its wings with every breath you take.

his teeth tugs at his bottom lip before his tongue sweeps over it, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“would you mind if i touch you first?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 50 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley surprises you with something at the hospital tour that leaves you smiling. And you fall asleep that night in the one place he didn't know would make him even more sure he wanted to marry you. He has the ring ready to go, excited to propose to you at the air show, but the look on your face leaves him wondering if it's too soon.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley smiled in contentment as you laced your fingers with his. The tour of the children's hospital which was affiliated with the air show was interesting to him, but as someone who worked in pediatric medicine, you were enthralled. "Daddy, look," you said, pulling him off to the side as the tour guide started to lead the group down a flight of stairs. "Noah would love this." 

Bradley was getting some looks from another man in the tour group, because you clearly had no shame when you called him that in front of other people. "Princess," he whispered, kissing your ear as you pointed out the window to the colorful courtyard filled with toys and jungle gyms. "Every time you call me Daddy, that guy smirks at me."

"Who?" you asked, turning to glance at the rest of the group headed for the stairwell. "The one in the green shirt?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, watching him look at you. 

You laughed softly and turned back to Bradley. "He just wishes someone would call him Daddy."

"You're probably not wrong," he replied with a smile. "The group is leaving without us."

"We can catch up," you whispered, wrapping your arms around him in his rough flight suit. You were a soft and warm presence, your cheek coming to rest on his patch that said ROOSTER. "Thanks for bringing me. I didn't want to have to call Jake and hit him up."

Bradley could tell you were trying not to laugh. "What did I tell you about acting like a brat?"

He rubbed soft circles against your back and you sighed. "Why would I stop now when you so clearly enjoy it?" 

Bradley groaned. "Let's get going. The tour is almost over, and then I can load you up with champagne and take you home."

You and he had to rush down the stairs to rejoin the group, and of course the man in the green shirt was looking at Bradley like he'd just fucked you in the middle of the hallway or something. But your fingers were laced with his again, so it didn't matter. 

You ended up asking the tour guide so many questions along the way that he learned your name and that you were a pediatric nurse, and he answered you in great detail each time. The hospital provided state of the art treatment for children, and when the group walked past an indoor play area where some kids were coloring, you paused and waved to them. They waved back, and you whispered, "Why does everything remind me of Noah?"

"Because you're his mom," Bradley replied without really thinking about it. That was the most natural response. Why did you care so much? Because you were his mom. Why did you prioritize Noah above everything else? Because you were his mom. Part of the reason Bradley let himself indulge in those early fantasies about you was because his son fell in love with you first. 

"I miss him a little bit," you whispered, nibbling on your glossy lip. Bradley brought your hand up to his lips and kissed along your purple nails. 

"I'm sure he misses you, too. But he's probably getting in bed by now. Let's enjoy the rest of the night?" Bradley asked. 

"I'm spending it with you. Of course I'm going to enjoy it."

-------------------------

The cocktail reception was beautiful. That colorful courtyard that caught your eye had been lit up with strings of white lights, and the tour group had been led outside into the warm evening air. After two glasses of champagne, you were still pouting over the fact that there were no berries at the bottom, but you were also feeling nice and loose.  "Maybe I should go tell the green shirt guy's wife that he'd love it if she called him Daddy," you remarked as Bradley brought over a plate of hors d'oeuvres to share with you. 

Bradley gave you a bland look in response as he dipped shrimp into cocktail sauce and set the plate down on the tall table where you stood. "If you go over there and say anything involving the word Daddy, they will probably try to get you to be their third."

Heat rushed to your cheeks immediately. "Bradley!"

He just shrugged in response and offered you the plate. You plucked up your own piece of shrimp wondering how on earth a comment like that from your boyfriend could make you want to take him home to bed immediately. But it did. And your desire for him only grew as you watched him unzip his flight suit and pull out his checkbook. 

"Please. You know what that thing does to me," you whispered, fumbling your food before you managed to get it to your mouth. 

Bradley laughed as he uncapped a pen. "My checkbook? The thing you always make fun of?"

You shook your head and took another bite of shrimp. "You know I think all of your old man stuff is sexy. But what do you need a check for?"

He examined your face before he leaned on the table, pen hovering over the check. "You said Jake was going to donate five thousand bucks if he got to fly in the air show?"

"That's what he told me."

Bradley hummed and wrote the check out to the children's hospital for six thousand dollars. "Can't have him showing us up. You wanna sign it?"

You were wiping your fingers on a cocktail napkin and admiring your nails as you said, "How am I supposed to sign your check?"

He set the pen down on the checkbook and pushed it across the table toward you before picking up the plate and eating an eggroll in two big bites, eyes firmly on you. He was acting weird now, but you dragged your gaze away from his face down to the table and gasped. The top corner of the check said BRADLEY BRADSHAW in bold font, but now your name was listed right under his along with the address of the cute, blue bungalow in Coronado where you lived. 

"Why did you do that?" you asked, staring at your name. 

"Because I trust you. And now I can drag you down into my deep, dark, embarrassing, millennial rabbit hole where I still pay for things with checks and don't know how to use my phone. And you can pay for daycare when I'm not home."

You tried to fight it, but a huge smile broke out on your face. "Casey is going to hate this."

"Casey isn't going to know what hit her when she sees you next week, Princess," he said as you signed your name on the bottom of the check and tore it free. You tucked yourself against his side and looked at the two names together while he polished off the rest of the food on the plate. 

"Thanks for letting me be your date tonight," you told him, and he laughed. 

"Who else would I have asked to come with me?"

"Skittles."

He kissed the top of your head. "Okay. You got me there. Ready to hand in our check and go home before the guy in the green shirt and his wife get any more ideas?"

"Yeah. Let's go home."

------------------------------

Bradley gave you a piggyback ride in from the Bronco while also carrying your high heels and your bag. He could tell you were a little tipsy by the way you were giggling softly next to his ear and running your nose through his hair. "Daddy," you whispered as he put his key in the front door. "Are you going to fuck me on the living room floor or in bed?"

"Shh," he coaxed, pushing the door open to reveal Amelia sitting on the couch, reading a comic book. "Can you behave for like five minutes, please?"

You erupted into laughter as you held onto him, and even Amelia was laughing as Bradley asked, "How was Noah?"

"Great," she replied, tossing her comic into her backpack. "He had two slices of pizza. I put the leftovers in the fridge. I just wiped him down instead of giving him a bath, and he was asleep by 8:30."

Bradley shook his head as you kissed his ear. "This one should have also been in bed by 8:30," he mumbled, making you laugh more. He set you down so he could get his wallet out.

"Thanks, Amelia," you told her kindly before turning back to Bradley and smirking. "Please give her cash and not a check, old man. I'm going to give Noah a goodnight kiss."

Bradley shook his head and handed Amelia what was owed for the night while she laughed. "Thank you," he told her, opening the door and watching her walk to her car. He stood there until she started the engine, and he made sure she pulled away with a wave. 

Skittles was already curled up in her bed, but you were nowhere to be found when he got to the bedroom. "Princess?" he called out with a chuckle, doubling back to the bathroom. Not three minutes ago you were all smiles, and he was getting ready for you to tease him relentlessly before maybe getting that black dress off of you. But as he unzipped his flight suit a few inches and peeked inside Noah's bedroom door, he found you. 

A beam of moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating your face and Noah's as both of you slept curled up together in the twin sized bed. Bradley stood in the doorway for a long time, trying to decide what to do with you as his smile grew. This was all he wanted. Just his family. He strode the rest of the way into the room and brushed Noah's soft curls back from his forehead before kissing him there. Then he leaned over and kissed your cheek. "I love you," he whispered to you both, ultimately deciding to leave you with his son for the night. 

Bradley moved your phone charger into Noah's room along with your phone which he took out of your purse. You had given him your passcode before, but he hated using it without your permission. When he entered it, he saw a few new texts from your coworkers and one from Nat. That made him smile as he set an alarm for 8:00 to ensure you and Noah would get to the air show in time to see him fly. His plans were relying on that. 

He kissed you both once more each and left your charging phone on Noah's dresser before he went to get himself ready for bed. He groaned, remembering the ungodly early hour he had to get himself out the door in the morning. At least you could follow him to Miramar a little later. Before he climbed into bed, he made sure he had everything ready that he would need for the air show: a clean flight suit, phone, wallet, and the ring box.

----------------------------

"Mommy!" 

You opened your eyes to find Noah giggling right in front of you. As you looked around, you realized you were in his bedroom. When you sat up, you noticed your phone alarm was going off.

"Why did you sleep in my bed?" he asked as you reached for your phone to silence it. Amongst your notifications, you saw a text from Bradley and quickly opened it.

Bradley Bradshaw: Good morning, Princess. You looked so adorable in bed with Noah, I didn't want to move you. I hope you slept well, and I can't wait to see you both after I fly at 11:00.

You tossed your phone aside and kissed Noah on the top of his head. He was wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, and he looked so perfectly sweet. "I guess I needed some extra cuddles last night, and I knew just where to find them."

He let you pull him against you for about twenty seconds before he started to wriggle away. "I'm hungry. I want to see where Skittles is."

You watched him take off down the hallway as you rolled onto your back. You were still in your black dress, and you could barely remember getting home last night and seeing Amelia reading a comic book. You stretched and made your way into the kitchen relieved that you had plenty of time to get you and Noah dressed in your matching outfits and on the road to the air show. You turned on the coffee maker as you watched him petting Skittles by the back door. 

"Here, let's see if she needs to go outside," you said as you slid the door open for the dog. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Cereal and probably some fruit."

"Good choice."

Once you had Noah and Skittles both settled with some food, you kissed him on the forehead. "I'm going to take a really fast shower while you eat, okay? Just stay at the table, and I'll be right back." Noah nodded as he ate one of the pieces of banana you'd cut up for him. You dashed into the bathroom, cranking the shower to hot and stripped out of your dress and the lacy underwear Bradley didn't even get to see. But there would be plenty of time for that sort of thing later. 

You started to make a mental list of everything you needed to take with you to the air show. You had some snacks already prepared, and you'd need the beach blanket from the hallway closet. Sunblock and maybe a towel or two. Earplugs for you and the noise canceling headphones for Noah. Did you need to take some tampons with you? What was today? It was Saturday. Should you take tampons?

You dropped your razor with a clatter as you spun around and got yourself rinsed off while your heart pounded. You turned off the water and stood in the middle of the bathroom, dripping water onto the mat. When you reached for a towel, you cracked the door open. "Noah? You still okay?"

"Yeah, Mommy."

You wrapped yourself up and tried to remember if you'd had your period even once since Bradley flushed your birth control down the toilet at the lake house. No. No you had not. Not even once. But the thing you had been doing was having almost nonstop unprotected sex with your boyfriend. 

"Shit." You brushed your teeth and started moving as fast as you could while your brain was in such a fog. You needed to get dressed and find your car keys. You needed to go to the pharmacy. "Noah," you called out as you ran around. "We need to run to the store as soon as you're done eating!"

Somehow you managed to get yourself dressed and somewhat presentable looking, and then you pulled the yellow shirt over Noah's head that matched the flowers on your dress. You couldn't tell if you were more nervous or more excited at the thought of buying a pregnancy test with your Princess credit card, but in that moment, you really did feel like you were Noah's mom. He reached for your hand, and you led him outside to your car. Bradley put you fully in charge of his son, and you'd do anything for this child. Even the idea of Noah as a big brother had you buckling him in faster. 

"We'll just run to the store and then come back home really quickly," you whispered in excitement. 

"I want to go to the air show and see Daddy," he whined. "You promised."

You kissed his chubby cheek. "You're right. I promised. And I will always keep my promises. We'll go to the air show right after we stop back home."

-----------------------------

Bradley was restless. He originally thought this was a great idea, zipping the engagement ring inside one of the many pouches on his flight suit. But he kept checking relentlessly to make sure it was still there. And all he'd really done all morning was wait around after he landed his Super Hornet in Miramar. The other pilots were fine. They seemed nice. But they probably thought Bradley was a complete basketcase. Now he was pacing the tarmac, anxious to get into the air as he checked his phone again. 

My Princess: Hey, Daddy. Noah and I arrived! We have a good spot in the grass on the west end of the runway. Can't wait to see you fly!

This was good. It was good that you were already here. He should be in the air in about thirty minutes. He knew what he needed to do. The flight formation was ingrained in his mind. It would be a snap. 

But he needed to get this fucking ring on your finger. He should have just proposed the night he brought it home. He'd thought about it then and every day since. For some reason he'd convinced himself that waiting for today was his best move, but now he couldn't even remember why. God, he just wanted to hear you say yes. He wanted to know you would be his and Noah's forever. He wanted to sit up with you later and hold you on his lap while the two of you read over the adoption paperwork. 

"Fuck," he muttered, checking the time again. It was so obvious from the very beginning that you belonged with him, and he'd fought it for long enough that he had hurt you. Some of the decisions he made weren't the best, but as soon as he picked you up from that fraternity party, he knew that was never going to happen again. 

"Rooster? It's almost time to go."

"Yeah," he agreed, patting the pocket of his flight suit again. "I'm ready."

As he climbed up the ladder into his jet, he glanced toward the west end of the runway. The entire event was packed, and it was impossible to pick the two of you out, but he waved nonetheless, hoping maybe you could see him. This combination of nerves was new to him. Settling into the seat and running his fingers along the controls was always exhilarating, but now he was starting to think you'd say it was too soon to be engaged. He had been trying to make his intentions clear for weeks, getting little to no resistance from you. But there was always a chance.

"It's time!"

He closed his canopy after securing all of his harnesses and strapping his helmet into place. At least you and Noah would be able to see him fly for the first time. Then even if you said it was too soon, you'd know he was ready when you were, and that there was a ring waiting. 

The sound of his engines roaring to life brought him comfort and kept him feeling grounded even as he started to taxi. He took off past the packed end of the runway where you were surely sitting, and he knew you'd point him out to Noah. Maybe he was sitting all snuggled up on your lap with his big headphones on. The cozy idea made Bradley want to be down there as he pulled his first roll high above the ground in tandem with the other pilots. The comms crackled to life as he banked out toward the water. 

The sky was clear in every direction; the perfect day for flying. He felt calmer now as he cut graceful movements through the air past two of the others, and even though you were just a speck on the ground from this altitude, he knew you could see him. And he knew you were perfect. And he somehow knew you'd say yes.

As soon as he landed to the crowds of people along the runway cheering and waving Navy flags in the air, he taxied his jet back where it belonged and climbed out as soon as the ladder was available. When he saluted the officer in charge he asked, "Am I dismissed?" He didn't want to wait another minute as he once again checked inside that zipper pouch. 

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant. Thank you."

He started off at a bit of a brisk walk that turned into a jog. He passed through the guarded chain link fence lined with barbed wire and turned in the direction where you said you were sitting, texting as he dodged spectators in the crowd. 

I'm on my way to the two of you.

Without waiting for a response, he moved as quickly as he could past food vendors and flight simulations. All he could picture was the way you'd slept all night curled up with Noah, because when you were with him, everything that was important to Bradley was all in one place, and it made him ache. His flight suit felt restricting now, and he wished he'd taken the time to unzip the top of it. But he had his mission in mind, and nothing was going to stop him. 

Eyes searching the crowd for your floral dress pattern and Noah's yellow shirt, he finally saw you pop up from the blanket you were sitting on to wave at him. A smile found Bradley's face as his feet carried him in your direction. You were holding Noah's small hand in yours as people started wandering around the area before the next set of aircrafts took off. Bradley wiped his brow with his sleeve as he got close enough to see your purple nails as you picked Noah up to wave.

"Hi, Daddy!" his son called out, the noise canceling headphones slipping out of place as you laughed and removed them for the time being. The headphones dropped from your fingertips and landed on the blanket just as Bradley wrapped both of you in a hug.

"Hey, Bub," he said as Noah climbed into his grasp. 

"We saw you in the air!" you gushed, wrapping your arms around him. "Noah loved it so much."

His lips were on yours instantly as his fingers flexed against your back. With one hand around each of you, Bradley wished he'd taken the ring out on his jog over. Now he was out of breath and sweaty and trying to juggle Noah in one arm while the child talked a mile a minute about the airplanes. Because when Bradley broke the kiss and looked at your face, all he wanted to do was hand you that ring and his heart and his life and beg you to always be with them. 

"Princess," he rasped, leaning in to kiss your forehead as he pulled his hand back to find that zipper. He fumbled a bit with it as you bit your lip a little nervously, so he leaned in to kiss your cheek before turning his attention to Noah. "I really need your help, Bub."

"With what?" he asked, arms still wrapped around Bradley's neck. 

As his fingers closed around the ring, he whispered, "We have to ask Mommy a question."

The crowd was loud enough that Bradley thought there was a good chance you couldn't hear his words to Noah as he finally shared his plans for the day with his son. But as he sank to one knee in front of you with Noah perched in front of him, you looked more apprehensive. He handed Noah the ring and watched as his son reached his hand up to you. It was too late to stop now as you caught sight of the princess cut diamond that Bradley thought you'd love from the first time he saw it. Your eyes went wide, and you gasped loudly, eyes fixed on Bradley as you froze. His brain was screaming at him that you were going to say no.

Then Noah's sweet voice filled the space between the two of you as he held the ring up a little higher and asked, "Mommy, will you marry Daddy?"

You were looking from Noah to Bradley as you pressed your fingertips to your lips, and your response was neither a confirmation nor a rejection of his proposal, but rather something Bradley had been hoping for but thought was still a long way off. Tears filled your eyes as you said, "I'm pregnant." 

-----------------------------

Double. Whammy. What's your move, Daddy? What are you thinking, Princess? Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 51

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[crabsnpersimmons]

This one goes out to all the slow burn enjoyers, the dense Y/Ns, and the soft robo jesters that suffer in silence!

Inspired by @bamsara's “Solar Lunacy” fic.

If you feel like reading my ramblings and want to experience more heartbreak for fictional jester blorbos, check under the cut where I detail all the planning behind the frames!

so i heard this song for the first time in a while and the opening lyrics immediately made me think of moon, so i was daydreaming some scenes and then i decided to thumbnail some ideas:

and it all went downhill from there as everything became a metaphor and a parallel to each other, which i will now go into detail on!

you thought the animatic itself was sad?

*writing muse laughs maniacally* IT'S ALL A METAPHOR

Frame 1. "turn down the lights" We start with a back view on Moon. The lights are out, the Moon is out, but we do not see his face. The music and the greyscale atmosphere are enough to establish the weight of the moment and the weight on Moon’s mind.

Frame 2. "turn down the bed" We cut to a shot of Moon's body, kneeling on the ground of the daycare, like a padded cell. Moon’s hands are twitching with the effects of the glitch, with purple sparks coming from his hands. We still do not see his face.

Frame 3. "turn down these voices inside my head" Cut to an extreme close up on the dark half of Moon’s face. Now we see his face, but only a portion of it. His left eye is wide open, red and glitching out. The voices in his head can refer to the glitch but also his repressed feelings. Or maybe it could be Sun's voice in their shared headspace.

Frame 4. "lay down with me" Y/N's hand enters the frame from the upper right corner, lowering down to meet Moon where he kneels on the ground. Only a corner of Moon's face appears on the bottom left corner of the frame, his starry nightcap beginning to cover his glitched left eye.

Frame 5. "tell me no lies" An full shot of Moon on the floor and Y/N standing in front of him with their hand stretched towards him. A light spills out from behind Y/N, creating a boundary between them.

Now we see more of Moon. It is only when Y/N enters the frame—enters his world—that Moon’s body is shown in its entirely. When Y/N is here, he is no longer fragmented. He is whole.

Frame 6. "just hold me close" pspspspsps Playfully, Moon extends his own hand, beckoning Y/N to come closer, to join him. His right hand crossed over his body as he uses the playful gesture to hide his true feelings—to put distance between him and Y/N. His hat continues to cover his glitching left eye. He doesn’t want to worry Y/N.

Frame 7. "don't patronize" In response, Y/N’s hand pats Moon on the head, returning his playfulness. Moon looks surprised by the action. Moon, notably, does not lower his hand—perhaps he has forgotten it or perhaps his invitation is still open.

Frames 8-9. "don't patronize me" Moon rotates his faceplate so Y/N’s hand is touching the side of his faceplate, a more intimate gesture than a head pat. However, his hat is in the way. At this angle, his starry nightcap fully covers his glitchy eye and the dark side of his face, hiding his defect and acting as a veil between him and Y/N. A self-imposed boundary. So close, yet thinly separated. It's better this way. It's safer this way.

The lyrics are broken up by Y/N's arm, both to illustrate how the song is sung ("patronize" is drawn out and "me" is briefly added in before the chorus starts) but also to show how Y/N interrupts Moon's resolve, highlighting the irony between the visuals and the lyrics. Demanding not to be patronized, yet Moon happily accepts this play at intimacy. Don't patronize me, I am weak for it.

This is also the only instance where the red light of Moon's eyes glow and tint the surfaces around it. Visually, it makes it look like Moon is blushing (heavily inspired by @restinsodaroni's art). But also, in this moment of honesty, Moon's intrinsic light spills out, colouring the greyscale world. In this brief moment of honesty, Moon touches the world with his own colours, his own light.

(and this is also where i forgot to clean up the shading on Y/N's arm, but it's okay it doesn't need to be perfect it simply needs to be. And Moon will still love Y/N even if they are a continuity error.)

Frame 10. "'cause I can't make you love me if you don't" A parallel to a frame 4, Y/N retrieves their hand away and immediately Moon is reduced to the corner of his faceplate in the frame. Only now his glitched eye is fully covered by his hat.

The lyrics here (and in the next frame) in particular grow lighter to emphasize Moon's diminishing resolve and agency.

From here on out, the lyrics here are broken up, carrying on this theme of fragmentation. Y/N is pulling away, Moon is breaking up, the words are breaking up. Everything is coming apart.

Frame 11. "you can't make your heart feel something it won't" Y/N turns to leave. The lyrics, broken up as before, highlight the irony of the situation. Y/N, a human, can’t feel something they simply don’t feel. Whereas, Moon, the machine, feels something his code never intended him to feel.

Frame 12. "here in the dark in these final hours" Another full shot that parallels frame 5, as Y/N steps towards the light and Moon leans forward into the space Y/N once occupied. Y/N is leaving—that which makes him whole is leaving. And he is only capable of making it to the boundary where the light cuts into the darkness. The "final hours" suggest it might be the end of Y/N’s shift, or perhaps this scene takes place right before the glitch takes over—the final hours that Y/N has with the true Moon. Either way, time is running out—and only Moon knows it.

There is a contrasting display of body language here. Moon is on the floor leaning towards Y/N with his hand still left out. Whereas Y/N is turned away, walking away, and has already slipped their hand away and into their pocket. Y/N is closed off while Moon is limply open. Y/N is actively moving while Moon is on the floor, waiting, hoping, for that which he lacks the agency to reach for himself.

Frame 13. "I will lay down my heart" A close up on Moon’s hand, rising up again, perhaps to beckon Y/N back once more. This is a slight parallel to Y/N's hand reaching out to Moon. While Y/N can freely reach out and touch Moon, Moon cannot. He can't enter the light and more importantly he can't risk potentially harming his relationship with Y/N—be it through the glitch or by his feelings. He can only lay down his heart—put aside his feelings or hope that someone will pick up his pieces and make him whole.

Frame 14. "and I'll feel the power" Still on a close up on Moon’s hand, now clenched in slightly. This initially was going to have the glitch effects. However, I felt it more meaningful for it to be left without. Leave it up for interpretation why Moon pauses his hand. What is the power that he alone feels and stays his hand?

Frame 15. "but you won't, no, you won't" A parallel to frame 1, a view of on Moon's back with his hand stretched out towards the light, and Y/N walking into the light spilling through the open daycare door.

The placement of the lyrics suggest two different “you won’t”—Y/N who won’t realize Moon’s feelings, and Moon who won’t dare speak them into reality.

Another note on the parallel to frame 1, this time we also see Y/N's back, but it is notably different from our view of Moon's back. With Moon, we literally see inside him through the hole for his loop. However, Y/N is shrouded in shadow, just a solid, obscure silhouette against the bright light of a world Moon—and Sun for that matter—are closed off from. We don’t see into Y/N, just as the Daycare Attendant doesn't have any vantage point of Y/N's life beyond their time at the PizzaPlex. (The unfortunate reality of a being a character made for the purpose of being a vessel for the reader.)

Frame 16. "'cause I can't make you love me" We finally cut to face Moon head-on, frozen in place with his hand stretched out, unable to cross the boundary into the light. His eyes have gone dark. Where we began by seeing bits and parts of Moon, and never seeing his full face—now we, the viewer, see the full Moon, open and vulnerable—unbeknownst to Y/N.

Frame 17. "if you don't" But in the dark, behind closed doors, there is no one to perceive him—no one to receive him. The light dwindles as the daycare doors are closed. Moon stays frozen where he kneels. It is no longer the glitch that plagues him, but a far deeper dread.

But a lone streak of light peaks through the gap in the daycare doors. Perhaps that is just enough. A silver lining. A frail hope. A single, ethereal thread out of darkness and into light.

Thanks for reading and watching!

We'll be back to our regularly scheduled fun and games shortly!

[thefantasyden]

The Art of Resistance

Pairing: Hyunjin + F Reader

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff.

Warnings: tension between exes, friends/exes to lovers, best friend Han, some arguing, teasing, unprotected sex, confessions of love, tender sex, hints of dirty talk, angry sex but not really.

Word Count: 5078

Synopsis: You and Hyunjin had already burned each other once. When Hyunjin gets a girlfriend, old feelings rear their ugly head, and you're forced to face the undeniable truth: He was never yours. Maybe he never would be.

Click here for the accompanying playlist

He was hesitant.

You had never known Hyunjin to be hesitant.

The Hyunjin you knew was always so sure of what he wanted. His touches may have been rushed and needy, but they were always firm in that he knew you were what he needed, and he had never felt an ounce of shame or fear in showing it.

But here he was. Sat 6 feet across from you as you watched him hesitate to put his arm around her shoulders as if he feared he may be burned by the action. Watching it unfold before your eyes felt wrong. He seemed so unstable and unsure in that moment that you almost swear it couldn't be your Hyunjin in that seat.

Truthfully, he wasn't your Hyunjin. Officially, he had never been your Hyunjin to begin with. You knew this. Your fear of commitment had blocked his path every time he had attempted to take what you had to a different place, and you could admit that. But he was yours in every way that mattered. He was yours at 2am when his panting filled your room and his lips locked with yours. He was yours in the afternoons when every stroke of his paintbrush was fueled by thoughts of you. He was yours deep within his heart when he diligently taped over the cracks you'd created because he thought having you in pieces was better than not having you at all.

She was nice enough. Small, gentle, and polite when she spoke. She was so vastly different from you. You who never feared taking up space. You who never fussed over the palatability of your words. You who consumed Hyunjins every waking thought with no regard to how desperately he was trying to distract himself by diving into everything that opposed you. She was nice enough, but she wasn't you.

"Isn't she a peach." Your voice rings like a bell in Hyunjins ears, his eyes locking on your face as you sink into one of the chairs placed to his left, your legs crossing as you sipped at your coffee Your tone was anything but genuine, a look of annoyance creasing your eyebrows where they furrowed.

"She's sweet. Pretty, too." He can't make eye contact when he speaks. He was still too weak for that, fully aware that your eyes were his biggest weakness. If he let his thoughts stray to the way they once sparkled when you looked at him, he wasn't sure he'd ever make it back.

You push the feeling of your heart being torn into by some unforgiving creature down to the pit of your stomach where it settles like sediment at the bottom of a murky river and purse your lips for only a moment before willing your face back to its neutral look of disinterest.

"You must really like her." You study his face while he formulates a response. He could never lie to you even on his worst days, and the brief knitting of his brows and subtle scrunch of his nose was telling enough on their own.

"She's nice..." There's nothing more for him to say, sure that the more he tried, the more he would be feeding in to the intention behind your question. He was determined not to do that anymore, even if it caused the strongest ache of despair to pulse in his chest.

It's as though he can't breathe when you walk away from him with little acknowledgement other than the soft nod of your head without a single hint of emotion to clue him into your thoughts. Any air he can manage stings at his lungs as his mind becomes a tangle of webs running circles which always lead back to you, even as the woman he's convinced everyone he has fallen for slips herself back into his arms with a warm smile on her face. All he can think is of how painfully different she was to the person who has brought him comfort for so long.

It's strange for you not to speak. Weeks pass with little more than "Are you okay?" From him to you even when you're sat on the couch of his dorm right in front of him, Han's arms wrapped around you as you feigned interest in the series he had been so eager to show you. You almost feel ashamed for depriving your devoted best friend of your full attention, but you're helpless as your mind wanders to a deep place within you that yearns for it to be Hyunjins arms that wrap delicately around your waist. The tension was thick and suffocating, and it seemed your dearest friend was the only one who was blissfully unaware of its weight.

"Hello? Baby, are you even listening to me." Jisungs voice calls to you through your cloudy thoughts, and you finally snap back to reality, humming a quiet apology to him.

"Sorry baby. What were you saying?" You almost think you see a look of disgust playing on Hyunjins face in your peripheral at the use of the pet name, however it's quickly dismissed as nothing more than wishful thinking.

"Channie, Changbin, and Hyunjin are gonna join us for dinner on Friday! Changbin is really excited about the long islands." The sweet man's voice echoes around your head as you fight to keep your attention on him, grateful for the break in conversation that you're offered when Chris starts shouting to him from the bathroom about the mess he continually left with his hair products. You're clear enough to spare a thought for the messiness of your friend and how endearing you found it, briefly noting your appreciation for the man who matched your chaos as you quietly make your way to the kitchen unnoticed, carefully avoiding any contact as you slink past Hyunjin to escape the unbearable proximity.

Friday sneaks up on you all too quickly, and you're packed into a booth with the four boys as Changbin rambles about how good the drinks are, paying no mind to the conversation as you study Hyunjins face, his eyes locked on his phone. You knew his expressions far too well to miss the frustration gracing his striking features, his bottom lip occasionally pulled between his teeth as the faintest sigh sounds through his nose.

"Hey, do you guys remember that one time we went to the river? The water balloon fight?"

The question holds thickly in the air and Hyunjins fingers grip his phone tighter, his eyes meeting yours as you acknowledge the memory that had caught you both by surprise.

You couldn't forget that day if you tried. You were freshly 18, sneaking around with the boys when they were just bright-eyed trainees. That day was one of the few fond memories you shared from the short time Hyunjin had truly been yours and the mint shampoo he used to use is almost too real to you as you're flooded with a confusing mixture of yearning and pain, the image of young Hyunjin laughing as you hid behind a tree, causing your chest to constrict with emotions you had spent years learning to crush into a box.

You're snapped back into focus by Changbin's warm laughter, half heartedly smiling along as the men shared their fondest moments. It feels like it goes on forever before you hear Chris speaking, unaware of the silence that follows.

"How's the girlfriend, Hyunjinnie?"

Jisung and Changbin share a look, and the warmth of your friends hand searching for yours under the table is a welcome anchor which you grip with a strength that you're sure you'll have to apologise for later, the silence almost deafening in spite of the bustling atmosphere of the world moving around your table.

"Yeah... she's... good. She's doing good." An uncomfortable laugh follows the response, and you don't attempt to hold back the astonished laugh that leaves you, the 3 drinks you'd downed at Changbins request having lowered your inhibitions just enough to loosen whatever filter you may have relied on if you'd been completely sober.

"You should have invited her, Hyune. She could be my new bestie." You practically sing the words, your voice holding a sickening sweetness that somehow only Jisung and Hyunjin catch, his eyes boring into yours as if the challenge you.

"I think she's probably too nice for you."

To anyone else, it would sound like a joke. It would just be playful banter between oldest friends. Unfortunately, you knew there was a specific kind of venom lacing those words that was reserved for only you.

It's the first time you've found yourself at a loss for words around him. At any other time, you would have found some variant of a witty response or backhanded compliment to cushion the blow, and you'd have recovered in mere seconds. You're almost embarrassed by the ferocity with which such simple words were currently burrowing their way into your stomach to settle in every deep dark crevice of your being.

You stifle your self-pity with another round of drinks and find yourself graced with a welcome numbness that leads to a complete lack of hesitation on your part when Chris suggest you spend the night at their dorm, his concern for your safety having you in immediate agreement. It's not a shock that their are no objections and Hyunjin is grateful that he has been spared the task of inviting you himself, having long accepted that his own concern will always outweigh any rational thinking he may subject himself to.

You've sobered up ever so slightly by the time you're stumbling through the door to the dorm, Changbin glued to your hip as your giggle about something only the two of you were clued in to, the remnants of that joy following you through the rest of your evening as if blanketing your brain in a way that would finally offer you some semblance of peace from your usual pining.

Even the deepest of joys can't last a lifetime, however, and you're forced to remember that fact when you're sitting on the kitchen counter with a mouthful of ice cream, your one vice interrupting your silent musings with the same light footsteps that you'd memorised with frightening detail.

"I didn't know you were up."

There's no distain in his tone like you might have expected. There's barely an ounce of disinterest. He's almost... warm, with something akin to worry tinting the tips of his words.

"Well, I am." You shoot back blankly, fixated on your spoon as it dug senselessly into the tub you were holding.

"You know... it's a shame about your girlfriend..." A strange sense of confidence fills you, and you finally dare to look up, breath hitching in your throat for just a second as you take in the sight of Hyunjins messy hair and his plump lips, his eyes heavy from sleep. It was hard to think he could be anything but an angel when he was the picture of beauty. "I miss you sometimes."

He doesn't miss the twinge of honey dripping from your words, a faint smile tugging the corner of your lips.

"Don't..."

"Sorry, baby. You're right." You hum to yourself, tucking the lid back onto your tub and pushing away from the counter, cracking the freezer open to hide the evidence of your late night affair. "I shouldn't be so quick to confess things like this, should I."

Hyunjin can't sleep that night. He can't sleep most nights when he's fixated on you. Did you really miss him? He knows better than to think you were just playing with him. You act tough and heartless, but he's seen you with all of the boys. He's seen the way you jump to help when one of them needs you. He's seen you lay on the ground to avoid scaring stray cats. Hyunjin knows your heart as much as you try to hide it from him. He spends hours hunched over his sketchbook, and he doesn't realise how early it's gotten until he hears you leaving at 6 am, your boots thumping against the floors. He would never understand why things had to be so complicated.

None of the boys see you for a week and a half after that. Even Jisung can't get you to come see him for more than a moment. The running excuse is that you're busy with work, and it's a pathetic attempt at a lie when there's never been a day throughout your friendship that you weren't willing to drop everything to see your favourite boys.

This is the longest Hyunjin has ever gone without speaking to you, and the ache in his chest is constant and burning. You'd been one of the most consistent parts of his life all these years in spite of how messy your relationship was, and it was to the point where he couldn't remember life without you. He couldn't even bear to think of it. The way he needed you was something that was embedded in his soul at this point. It was instinctual, altering him on a chemical level and he wanted to hate it almost as much as he wanted you.

There's a loud knock at your door that startles you out of your self pitying daydreams from where you've been nesting on your couch, nursing your disheveled feelings. It doesn't prompt movement from you until you hear it a second time, quieter than the last. You still don't open the door, however. Not until your phone lights up with a 3 word request from the person you'd least expect.

"Hyunjin?" You only slightly open the door, but he doesn't falter as he pushes past you and into your living room. His face is flushed, and his hair is messy, yet you still think he looks like the product of some divine intervention.

"Why are you doing this?" His voice cracks briefly, and his eyes are searching yours for some sign of understanding, groaning when he can't find what he's looking for. He's fueled entirely by repressed emotions when he reaches out to grab your face, his lips connecting with your own in a bold kiss that knocks the breath from your lungs, your body being pressed back against the door as you fail to return Hyunjins passion, frozen by your pulsing confusion.

"I broke up with her."

You blink back at him, your face remaining blank as you process what he's said. You don't want to believe that it had anything to do with you, unable to handle the idea of getting your hopes up only for them to be crushed again.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No you're not! Do you even know how fucking unfair this is?! I was trying so hard to get over you!"

The words set something alight within you and you're pulling him closer by his belt to plant a kiss that could rival the previous, his hands sinking in to the flesh of your hips. He can't get close enough to you, but his body pressed flush against your own would have to suffice as you force his coat off and his hands slip under your shirt to wrap around your back.

Every touch is the product of years of pent-up anger and confusion, your mouths only parting briefly as you stumble down the hall toward your bedroom. Your skin burns as he moves from your mouth to your neck, his teeth nipping painfully at the skin as if it was his life's mission to mark you, itching to claim you in the only way he thought you might allow.

"You're gonna kill me. God. Do you know what you've done to me?"

His teeth trail along your shoulder, his fingers tugging at your shirt until you help him remove it, his thoughts interrupted by the sight of your unmarked body bare in front of him. He's not sure where to begin with the sheer volume of things he wants to do with you.

"I haven't done a fucking thing." You spit the words out, aggressively reconnecting your lips with his own while he lays your body back against your bed, fumbling as he unbutton his jeans and attempts to kick them off with about as much grace as Bambi. You're doing you both a favor when you take his distraction as an opportunity to slip your shorts off, reveling in the hungry look on his face when he finally lays eyes on your uncovered pussy. He can't think about trying to get his underwear off, choosing only to push them down just enough to free his aching cock. He'd usually take his time with you, always ensuring you were ready for him, but there wasn't time for that now. It had been so long without you that he was on the edge of losing his mind if he didn't have you.

Your hips press up toward him, and he locks his hands under your thighs, pressing them up toward you as he takes your desperation as an invitation, rutting his cock along your slit just enough to cover it in your fluids for a superficial attempt at easing the burn as he plunges into you, watching your pussy stretch to accommodate him as he inches the entire length of his cock inside of you. He should be concerned by the wave of feelings that crash over him. He shouldn't feel so at home in your bed and he shouldn't feel like he was finally able to breathe with his throbbing cock sheathed deep inside your dripping cunt, but he did. The small amount of shame and guilt he might have felt about the circumstances of your reunion is swept out of his mind the second he hears your sweet, airy moans.

Your nails are digging into his back, desperately trying to pull him closer to you as he begins thrusting into you slow and forceful, tip brushing against your gspot with every movement as your thighs are pressed closer to your chest. He ignores your quiet pleas for him, fixated on where you're connected. There wasn't a single thought running through his mind that wasn't about claiming you. Even if he couldn't have you in the way he so deeply craved, he was determined to make sure your body would only ever be satisfied with him.

"You drive me insane. You know that?" He whispers to you, dropping your thighs in favor of planting his hands beside your torso, taking in the look of pleasure on your face. You attempt to hide yourself under your arms, and he immediately grabs at your wrists, pinning them beside your head as his hips speed up, fucking into you like he had something to prove.

"You've fucking ruined me. How am I supposed to move on when I've seen you like this?"

He pauses, pulling out to manhandle you on to all fours, your ass in the air captivating him as he presses into you again, gripping your hips as his own snap into you, burying his cock to the hilt repeatedly, your face smothered into the pillows as you do your best to cover your moans. He won't have it. His hand finds your hair, and his fingers tug at the strands, forcing your head to the side so that he can hear the beautiful whines and whimpers that flow from you like his favourite melody.

You've never finished just from his cock before, but the way you clench rapidly around him has him convinced he can make it happen and when he sees tears stinging in your eyes, he knows he can. The filthy sounds of your dripping cunt consume him as his cock is swallowed by your walls, your moans becoming choked out breaths as your cunt grips him almost painfully, spasming around him.

He carefully rolls his hips into yours to help your ride out your high, and once he's sure you're finished, he's pressing the full force of his body against yours, pinning you to the mattress as he uses your overstimulated cunt to push himself over the edge, barely able to pull out successfully before he's painting your ass with thick ropes of white, his vision blurring and his ears ringing with the intensity of his orgasm.

It takes him a few minutes to find the strength to roll off of you, his mind just clear enough for him to think to grab a handful of tissues from your bedside table to clean you off with before he was settling into your sheets beside you. He'd almost forgotten how familiar your home was. The scent of your laundry detergent, the plush toys that littered your bed. It's all a painful reminder of what he almost had. What he's never quite been able to call his.

"I'm sorry..." Your words are mumbled between sniffles as the dam of emotions you've both been nursing for years finally comes crashing down, and he's reaching for your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers. It's unclear to him whether the action was to settle you or himself.

"What do you want from me?" He sounds hurt. The pain he's been feeling is clear as ever, and you can't stop the tears from flowing, turning on to your side to face away from him as you sobbed. He couldn't handle it, wrapping himself around you and holding you as close as he could, his own tears staining his skin as he pressed soft kisses to the back of your head.

"All I've ever wanted was you."

He's about to question you when you turn in his grasp, finally meeting his eyes. His heart breaks at the evidence of your own heartache, and he wants nothing more than to take it all away from you.

"I'm scared, Hyunjin. We've been here before. We ruined it." You sniffle again, and he instinctively reaches up to wipe your tears with his thumb, a frown painting his features as he allowed you to feel your feelings.

"I can't lose you."

He breaks. The tears are flowing between you, and he's holding your head against his shoulder as you bawl, quietly whispering that you're okay and that he's there. Through all the years of chaos, he had never once thought about leaving you. He couldn't. You were the living embodiment of everything pure and meaningful to him.

"Baby." He whispers, hand sneaking under your chin to tilt your head up so he can meet your gaze. "You won't lose me. You can't." He pauses for a moment, debating with himself over his next words. He has his own fears about being so vulnerable, but in the safety of your room, he's sure he can find the confidence to be honest with you.

"I think... I think it was always supposed to be us. I know that I was made to exist with you. And if somehow we were only made to crash and burn, then that's exactly how I want to go down."

There's no way for you to respond that would do him justice, and you have to opt for your lips meeting his, pouring as much passion into the kiss as you could and hoping he could feel it too.

He could. He always does. He's holding your cheek, thumb rubbing circles on your skin as he kisses you back with a hint of desperation, pushing you just a little so that he's leaning over you now, your bodies never disconnecting, even when you're panting for breath. You're not so worried about suffocating when his tongue plays at your lips, and you welcome the intrusion as it mingles with your own, your combined spit coating your lips as you try feverishly to consume each other in every way humanly possible.

The feeling of him shifting to his rightful place between your legs is another much needed sensation, and you wrap them around him as if to trap him there, scared you might wake up from the dream you were experiencing.

"Baby." He pulls away from you and presses feather light kisses to your neck as he whispers. "Can I taste you? Need to show you how much I want you."

Words won't make their way from your lips, fearing your voice might crack. You nod eagerly, tugging at his hair slightly to convey just how much you needed him.

There's no second thoughts. Nothing could stop him as he moved carefully until he was lying on his stomach, arms wrapped around your thighs as he tentatively licks a firm strip along your slit. He'd almost forgotten how sinfully good you tasted. It was like an addiction for him and once he started, there was no chance of him stopping.

He laps at your clit for a while, playing with the pressure and alternating with sucking gently at the bundle of nerves. He can feel every new wave of arousal dripping from your already soaked cunt. The delicious sounds you make spur him on, a finger teasing at your entrance as his tongue dips down to drink you straight from the source, a growl sounding in his throat as the taste of you encompasses his senses, surrounding him from every angle.

You're begging him for more before he finally presses his finger inside of you, the rigid feeling of your walls becoming accustomed to him lulling him into a deeper sense of comfort. It was something spiritual to have you like this for him. The feeling of peace and pride that coursed through him made him feel as if the entire purpose of his creation was to worship you.

He knows one finger isn't enough, and he has to place an arm over your hips to hold you down, slowly easing a second finger inside of you. There's nothing he loves more than the way you plead for him, whining as his tongue resumes its efforts on your clit, circling the bud and sucking firmly as his fingers massage your gspot, your walls clenching around him as he pushed you toward your second orgasm.

You can't think, overwhelmed by the flames of pleasure lapping at your skin as you tried foolishly to fight back your high, practically screaming his name as it all came crashing down on you, your cunt squeezing his fingers and making it difficult for him to continue, choosing to use his other hand to rub your clit and ensure you got the full force of the pleasure he was offering you.

You swear you've been given a glimpse of heaven. Your hands are grabbing at him, needing him to soothe your overwhelm, which he is equally as eager to do, kisses planting across your cheeks and mouth. His body is flush with yours, and his hands are smoothing across your arms and thighs, taking in how soft your skin was under his touch.

"Hyune. Please."

He knows what you're asking for. He always knows exactly what you need and when you're so sweet beneath him, asking so politely for him, he can't deny you.

"Okay baby. You're okay."

He's careful this time, taking it slow as he nudges his cock into your aching entrance, his fingers lacing with yours where he presses your hands into the mattress. His touch is gentle, and he's pouring every ounce of his love into you, hips grinding lazily against you as he stimulates your gspot. The way you stare up at him with wide eyes and your mouth open slightly has his heart fluttering, and he needs to kiss you again, groaning into your mouth as your tongues meet, your own sounds swallowed by his needy kisses as his thrust pick up speed, an arm sliding under your waist allowing him to tilt your hips up, his rhythm stuttering when you gasp at the new position. You felt so full and so hungry for anything he could give you. You needed to be consumed by him.

"I love you." He whispers against your lips and your cunt squeezes him in response, your eyes briefly searching his for any sign of hesitation before you return his sentiment, whispering your declarations of love against his mouth like a prayer that only he could understand.

The two of you have never made love like this, and he never wants it to stop but the way you grip him has him dangerously close to the edge and there's nothing he can do to stop himself from letting go when you start begging him to fill you. Your words are almost incoherent, and you look like you're going to start sobbing if he says no. He wants nothing more than to make you feel good. He wants to give you everything you could ever ask for and show how devoted he was to you. To his soul mate.

"Gonna fill you, baby. Gonna claim you."

The possessive statement combined with your overstimulation has you cumming on his cock before you can even realise, the throb of your cunt milking his cock as spurts of his cum fill you to the point where it's overflowing around Hyunjins length.

He fucks you through it until it's painful for him and even then, he can't bring himself to pull out, instead scooping you into his arms so that he can hold you tight to his chest, your heartbeats matching rhythm as your breath syncs and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right. There's nothing but love between you, and it feels like everything has finally fallen into place as you drift off into the sweetest dreams.

You're both MIA for 2 days, hidden away in your apartment getting reacquainted with each other in your best attempt to make up for lost time. It's not until Chris shows up at your door with Jisung, only intending to check in on you when they see him Hyunjin walking out of your bathroom in a towel and finally connect the dots.

It's no surprise when they force you to let them in, grilling you both for every detail, Jisung squealing in delight when you finally get to telling them that you were together again. The surprise comes later when they tell you that they've all been rooting for you the entire time because you were the only two people in the world blind enough to miss the obvious feelings you'd both been harbouring.

[folklvrsworld]

between the books ♡

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, kissing, swearing/cussing, slightly spying

summary: reader is doing assignments in the library when she feels a pair of eyes watching her, harry decided to distract her and get her mind off of school for a hot minute

song: collide - justin skye, tyga

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Being a sixth year doesn't mean you can relax. Yes, we do have a lot more free time, but those free times are mostly used for doing homework, which the professors gave a lot, or studying for N.E.W.T. exams that we will have to do in our seventh year.

I was in the library, scribbling down answers for my defence against the dark arts homework, while constantly switching books. The library wasn't empty that day, but it wasn't full either. As I was writing, I felt like someone was watching me. I looked around, but no one was looking at my direction.

I shrugged it off and continued on what I was doing. I finally finished my homework and I closed the books, before putting them back in the right shelves. As I was returning the last book, I felt a presence behind me and before I could turn around, I felt someone kiss my neck.

"Harry..." I giggled quitely while turning around to see the raven haired boy standing in front of me.

"Took you long enough to notice me." he grinned and pecked my lips slowly.

I kissed him back and pulled away with a raised eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"I've been watching you for the past ten minutes, I thought you would notice me, but you were very focused on your homework." he chuckled, kissing me again.

"I knew I felt someone was watching me." I said in between kisses, "Now we really shouldn't make out here, I have homework to do."

He groaned, "Oh come on, it's time for you to have a little break. What d'you say?" he smiled while running his hands up and down my waist.

I gulped and stared at him in the eyes, he wasn't wrong, I do need a little break. I've been doing homework for the past three hours, my fingers were tired from writing, my brain was tired from thinking, I needed a distraction.

"Fine.." I finally said, earning a big grin from him before he pinned me to the bookshelf and kissed my neck, "W-Wait...Here?!"

He pulled away and shrugged, "Why not? If you're comfortable with it, of course."

I reminded myself that we were on the back of the library, the section where no one really comes to, so if we were to do it here, it would be somewhat safe. We just have to be quiet.

"Okay...We have to be quiet though."

He chuckled, "You mean you have to be quiet, princess." he smirked as his hand started to go under my skirt, "Let me take care of you, yeah? I know you're tired, you don't have to do anything."

His words gave me butterflies on my stomach. Sex with him was always either gentle and sweet, rough and kinky, or lusty and passionate. Him being cute and gentle was always my favorite one.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and stroked the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him, as our lips collided and moved in sync, his hand made its way to my underwear. He stroked my clit through the fabric making me gasp and  have goosebumps from head to toe.

"Shh, relax. I'll be gentle." he muttered through the kiss as he felt the wetness on the underwear, he fiddled with the fabric at first, before slowly taking it off of me.

When it was off, he kept it in his pocket and started to trail his thumb over my clit. I shuddered at his touch and he did it over and over again, "Can you tell me what you want, princess?"

I nearly come undone hearing his words, but I managed to look him in the eyes while saying, "Touch me...Please, Harry..."

He smiled and pecked my lips before slowly entering a finger in, while still caressing my clit with his thumb. I held back a moan as I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip.

"Merlin, you're so wet." he groaned quitely as he went in and out with his finger, and not long after, he added a second finger.

I threw my head back to the bookshelf and couldn't help but let out a little gasp, he started moving faster and faster, it was getting really hard to hold back my moans. When he added a third finger, he knew I was about to moan, because he slammed his lips onto mine.

"F-Fuck..." I moaned quitely through the kiss, his fingers moving in and out frantically, I pulled away and gasped for air.

Suddenly, I felt the knot in my stomach forming, my body was starting to shake, I was close. Harry seemed to realize as he stopped for a second to rest his fingers before going in and out in a frantic pace, his thumb stroking my clit.

"Come for me, baby." he said while unbuttoning my shirt and squeezing my boobs gently.

Not wasting another moment, I bit back a moan as I felt my body completely let go. I let out little whimpers of pleasure as my body jerk and shake a little from the force of the orgasm. When I've relaxed, he gently pulled his fingers out and licked them clean.

"Good girl." he smiled at me and kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue, "Do you want more or was that enough for you, my love?"

I panted heavily, still recovering from the orgasm, and looked at him and his bulge. I knew I would have to really fight myself to not moan if we go further, but my body needed him. Badly.

"You deserve some too, Harry. Not just me." I smiled while fumbling with his pants, he raised an eyebrow before smirking lightly.

He understood what I wanted so he quickly took of his pants and underwear, while I completely took off my shirt, leaving me only in my skirt and bra. He picked me up and made me straddle him before taking one of my boobs into his mouth.

I moaned quitely as I tug his hair and let out a sigh of pleasure. He continued sucking on my breast while playing with the other one, before pulling away and looking at me in the eyes, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, Y/N."

My body instantly was filled with euphoria hearing that, my cheeks went red as I smiled at him and kissed him. He kissed me back with tongue as he gave his dick a few strokes before gently and slowly entering me.

"O-Oh, fuck...." I pulled away from the kiss and moaned, with our foreheads still touching.

He breathed heavily and continued to thrust himself deeper. When he's fully in me, he paused for a second to take a deep breath, before slowly moving in and out.

"H-Harry..." I rested my hand on his shoulder and clawed his back, we were only getting started and we were already such a moaning mess.

"Y-You feel so good, Merlin..." he moaned, squeezing my ass as he continued his rapid movement.

We were looking into each other's eyes as he moved in and out of me. Both of us sweating and breathing heavily, euphoria and pleasure feeling both our bodies. It wasn't until we heard someone talking that we knew someone was in the shelf next to ours.

"No, that's not the one I'm looking for. Maybe it's in the next shelf."

I widened my eyes and mouthed to Harry, "We're the next shelf!"

He was about to pull out of me but before he could do anything, another voice was heard, "Wait, here it is. Nevermind, we don't have to go to the other shelf, Celia. I got it."

We both took a deep breath of relief and waited for them to leave, when they did, he looked at me and smirked, "Now, where were we?" he started moving in and out of me again. 

Not so long after, he thrusted deep inside me, hitting my g-spot. I had to bury my face on the crook of his neck to hold myself from screaming out of pleasure. I was in absolute bliss. His thrust became faster and harder by the second.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck baby..." I whimpered into his neck, my body jerking from the force of his thrust.

He stroked my back reassuringly and eagerly kissed my neck to calm me down, "Shh, I know, sweetheart. I know."

He started hitting my g-spot over and over again, my body was jerking and shaking from the amount of pleasure I was getting. Little gasps and moans coming out of my mouth, as I feel the knot on my stomach forming again.

"I-I'm close, Harry..." I gasped and my legs tightened the grip on his waist.

He nodded his head and groaned, while pulling away from my neck after successfully making a hickey there, "Me too. Oh fucking hell, love.."

His movement suddenly became fast and hard, he was trying to reach both of our orgasms. My mouth was hung open in a silent scream, he was gasping for air and watching me slowly come building up to my release.

"Beautiful. So fucking beautiful."

With his words, I come undone. I tried my best to moan quitely, as my body convulsed and my thighs shake. I saw stars and I couldn't feel anything else except for pleasure. I never wanted it to end. I was having uncontrollable spams. It was the hardest orgasm I've ever had.

A second after my release, he had his. He buried his face into my chest as he groaned and released inside me. I felt his hot liquid filling me up, making me shudder and jerk slightly. As we were both coming down from our high, he stroked my stomach gently to calm me down, and I stroked his hair.

When we both have relaxed, we looked at each other and couldn't help but smile. He pulled out of me slowly and set me down on my feet, I trembled but I quickly leaned against the shelf so I don't fall down.

"Did you enjoy it, my love?" he said out of breath, while moving a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded my head vigorously and chuckled, "Every second of it, darling." I smiled, "God, I really needed that. Homework has been stressing me out lately."

He smiled and kissed my forehead, "I noticed, princess." he took out my underwear from his pocket and gave it to me, "We should dress up before anyone sees us."

We quickly tidied ourselves up. We made ourselves look like we did not just fuck the shit out of each other as much as we could. I fixed him a bit and he did the same for me, before we both walk away from the shelf hand in hand.

I quickly gathered my stuff that was still on the table before walking out of the library with him, "That was one of the craziest things I've ever done."

He chuckled and shrugged, "Hey, everyone does crazy things from time to time. But you didn't regret it, did you?" he said as he put a bit of my hair at the front, to hide my hickey.

I smiled up at him and shook my head, "Not one bit, Harry."