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goldkirk · 1 year

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Legend Has It - Chapter 4

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and i've got hope in my hands

A boy walks over a field, over a stone wall, in thin shorts and bare feet while grass perks up in the darkness every place he steps, and the boy stares ahead at nothing and everything in the world at once.

His eyes glow gold. And then they close.

He walks in an unbroken line over every uneven patch of ground and every manicured acre of grass until he finally stops in front of fresh earth, a pile of fresh earth next to two stones, and the boy--

The boy with closed eyes, the boy with cold arms, the boy in pajamas and bedhead and lips murmuring reassurances and promises to no one, into thin air--

He kneels on the ground and starts to dig.

-----

His nails bleed, his fingers are bruised to the joints, and he’s up to his head in loamy earth, but he stands on a coffin as birds slowly start to chirp over at the edge of the trees. His eyes are closed, still, while his battered hands find the catches, open up the top half.

While dirt tumbles down in a baptism over his forehead, over his fingers, and he kneels with all the reverence of a priest in a cathedral on the cold, dirt-covered smooth surface, and one bruised, bleeding hand reaches down, slowly, towards a pale cheek--cold and still and familiar from nights and nights and nights of hiding on rooftops, in alleys, behind benches, watching that same cheekbone curl and shake with laughter under a domino mask, and the boy stretches an inch further, with that trembling hand, touches skin, while goosebumps rise on both shoulders, around his chest, on one side of his ribcage, and he touches skin--

And the boy in the coffin gasps, chokes all at once--sucks in a breath, quiet and ragged, and his eyes fly open, teal and wide and reflecting, for a moment, the rapidly fading stars.

-----

There’s a knock on the Manor door, shortly after, as the sun is just beginning to think about lighting up the eastern sky. And then a second knock, and a third, and it’s turned into more of a panicked banging, really, and Alfred Pennyworth hurries for it with a furrowed brow.

He has his shotgun, because it is the back door, and no one--no one uses that door, anymore, except for him, when he goes out to trim the roses. Not since--

Well. Not since they all know when.

He flicks the light on and opens the door, just as the first line of sky turns sapphire over the tree line behind the Manor. And he looks, for a moment, and then looks again, mouth open and shotgun dropping halfway to the floor, because standing in front of him-- standing in front of him, flushed and shaking and very much alive--

Jason Todd stands tall on shaking legs, his arms full of another boy, thinner, with closed eyes and ghost-gray skin. Bloody hands, absolutely covered in dirt--so is Jason, now that Alfred thinks of it--

“Alfie,” Jason croaks. “Alfie, help. I think he’s dying.”

“Oh Good Lord in Heaven,” Alfred chokes out, flings the door wide, and pulls them both in.

------

Five minutes, a frantic shout for Bruce, an emergency button signal to the Watchtower, and a quick game of snatch-a-teenager-and-run later, Alfred and Jason are in the elevator on their way down while Bruce skips the last four steps to the cave floor in a flying leap and skids on bare feet before sprinting the rest of the way to the med bay.

His practiced hands fly through vitals checks on both boys, then hand Alfred supplies as he tries to stabilize the unconscious, unfamiliar boy who lies motionless and pale as a ghost between them. And his right hand never once leaves Jason’s shoulder, while his boy, his son, sits clutching the edge of a once-familiar gurney and shakes.

“Bruce,” Jason gets out, and Bruce’s eyes don’t leave his face, can’t leave his face. “Bruce. Dad.”

“Jason,” Bruce whispers.

“Dad,” Jason repeats, stronger this time, as he straightens a little, and glances to the side for the hundredth time. “Um. I don’t know how to make this any less crazy for you, but--but. Grandma says. You need to call Constantine.”

Bruce’s blood turns to ice.

“And,” Jason adds, head whipping to the other side, looking alarmed, “Fuck, oh, shit, Grandpa says you need to give Tim some--what? What do you mean--” Jason narrows his eyes, then goes on. “Okay! Okay, fine, I got it, I’ll tell him--”

Beside them the heart monitor suddenly screams.

“Bloody hell,” snarls Alfred, and he whirls for the crash cart in the corner.

“Grandpa says never mind,” Jason croaks. “Oh my god.”

-----

They get Tim back and lose him again twice before death finally decides to give up for the day.

Bruce is on the second gurney with Jason on his lap and wrapped up in his arms tightly, and the other boy is finally resting on the first gurney, breathing steady and slowly regaining normal color.

Alfred keeps two fingers on the boy’s neck and slumps down at last on the nearby rolling stool.

“Well,” he says. “That does it, I hope. Pardon my French, one last time, Master Bruce, while I say--bloody hell.”

“Agreed,” Bruce murmurs, squeezing Jason for a moment, and then he suddenly fully realizes what his son has said, what his son has told him in the past several minutes, that he’d blocked out when the alarm first went off--

“Jason,” Bruce says. So very, very calm. “I love you. First of all. You should know that. I love you so much, and I don’t care that you ran off, and I am so glad you’re back with us.”

“I love you too,” Jason says, and sniffs hard. Bruce can’t even be mad when the boy wipes his nose right on Bruce’s sleeve, just like the old days.

“But,” Bruce says, even more calmly, now. “Jason.”

Jason tenses, just a little, and then slumps further down in Bruce’s arms. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Is there. Anything you need to tell me.” Bruce pauses. “About...about what you’re seeing.”

Jason sighs. Then he wiggles around side to side against Bruce’s hold until it loosens enough for Jason to push himself up and turn to face Bruce. He glances at Alfred, at Tim, and then locks eyes with his dad again.

“Grandma--Grandma says,” he starts, hesitantly. “Grandma says to tell you hello. And she loves you very much, both of you, and that--” Jason’s face twists up in the way that only teenage boys can manage, and he looks over about a foot and a half to the left. “Do I have to? Is that really--”

There’s a pause for several seconds while Bruce and Alfred both watch Jason go on a face journey before their eyes, and then Jason sighs .

“She also says,” he grumbles, glancing pointedly in the same direction as before, before staring up at Bruce, “that if you wear that ratty underwear under one more suit on gala nights, she’s going to finally figure out how to do more than nudge physical objects here and there just to manifest a corporeal form and scold you herself.” He closes his eyes. “She says, and I quote, ‘What is the one rule I taught you about getting dressed each day, Bruce? The one rule handed down for generations from my mother to me, and me to you. What was the rule, Bruce.’”

Bruce gapes .

Jason opens one eye, a little, peeking up.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he whispers. “She’s tapping her foot. Please answer her quick, Grandpa is laughing so hard it’s hurting my ears.”

“Mom?” Bruce whispers, then, turning a little, trying desperately to find the spot Jason keeps looking towards, locking eyes with Alfred who looks similarly shell-shocked, and then finally turning back to Jason, to his child, to his son.

“Um, yeah,” Jason says, and scratches the back of his neck. “She. She’s still waiting. Dad, please.”

Bruce lifts both hands to cover his face, and hunches over slightly, taking in a deep breath. Or six.

“Always wear nice and clean underwear,” he mutters. “In case you get in an accident and the doctors and nurses have to see.”

Jason wheezes out a laugh.

“It’s not that funny,” Bruce says.

“It kind of is,” Jason gets out between snorts.

“Tell my mother,” Bruce says, with remarkable poise for someone who has not only had an unfamiliar child drop into his yard and then die three times, but also gotten back a previously dead son he buried days earlier and learned that his own long-dead parents are currently in the room with him, and that said previously dead child can see and speak with them now, apparently, “that in all my years of running around the world, and all the times I’ve been injured as a civilian and as a vigilante, that has never once been actually useful in a single situation ever.”

“She says--” Jason starts laughing again, and it’s the sweetest sound Bruce has ever heard. “She says to tell you herself, you coward. And also your dad says he is feeling both unloved and incredibly left out, and that he deserves at least partial credit for the success of tonight, considering that he tried to tell you guys that Tim was about to crash, and it’s not his fault you didn’t hear him.”

Now Bruce doesn’t have enough time to unpack all of that.

“Dad,” he says, nearly tearing up again for the second time in as many minutes. “Dad. I love you so much. And you, Mom. I love you both so much. I--” And for the first time in known human history, in front of God and his teenage son and his second father and Superman himself, who just slammed into the cave, Batman’s voice cracks. “I missed you.”

Jason closes his eyes.

“I know you can’t feel it, probably,” he says, “but so you know--they’re both--they’re both definitely hugging you right now. They love you too.”

“Bruce,” Clark says, stepping up by the gurneys, eyes wide as saucers as he stares at Bruce holding Jason, warm and pink and alive. “What’s going on?”

“I think,” Bruce says, with immense calm, “that we’ve just experienced a miracle.”

-----

An hour later, Superman is drifting around the cave in mid-air, on his back, Jason perched happily on his broad chest and talking on the phone to a laughing and sobbing Dick who is currently waiting for a pick up from Alfred because they unanimously agreed he was in no fit state to drive.

Alfred asked Bruce if he wanted to do rock paper scissors for it. Bruce told Alfred to just take the Bentley.

So Bruce is watching his youngest son and his oldest friend drift lazily through the air, everyone just enjoying the brief calm before more questions have to be asked, before reality has to hit, before there is pain and probably crying and a whole lot of work to do, and Bruce. Bruce is okay.

His parents are beside him, he knows. He thinks--maybe--it’s maybe his imagination, trying to run in overdrive with how much he wants it to be real, but maybe he’s starting to be more open to it, or maybe the emotions are so big that the walls are being thinned--he doesn’t know.

But he thinks that sometimes, for a moment or two, he can feel the brush of cold fingers on his back. His cheek. His forehead, once. Just for a moment.

“Love you,” he whispers, again, into the air.

And a piece of spare paper from a previous EKG drifts upwards off the cart and then slowly, back and forth, twisting and curling, down to the ground.

Bruce smiles.

Then he settles forward, leaning his elbows on the table on either side of Tim’s head while the boy keeps breathing, keeps existing, keeps resting for real, finally. And Bruce brushes one hand over Tim’s messy hair before cupping the boy’s cheeks upside-down in the palms of his own large hands.

“I don’t know how you did it,” he says, softly, looking down. “And I don’t know why, yet, and I don’t know who you are or how you found him. And I would never, ever, ever want you to do it at the cost of your life. We will definitely be having a talk about that later.”

A pen shifts on the counter, and then shifts again, and Bruce gets the sense that his parents definitely agree. Tim’s got a lot of lectures coming from a lot of people when he wakes up. “But,” Bruce goes on, with one more glance up to check on Jason and Clark, and then a soft smile at seeing them tangled in a hug while Jason seems to have drifted off in the middle of the phone call. “You brought my son back to me. Alive. And well . I’m sure it’s not perfect--he did die, and miracles don’t just--I’ve lost and regained enough people by now to know that getting someone back doesn’t erase the damage caused by their loss in the first place. But it’s a second chance. And you gave us that.”

Bruce smooths his thumbs over Tim’s cheekbones.

“I don’t know you. I don’t know your story,” he murmurs. “But you brought him back to us. And if there’s anything I can do to make it up for you, anything at all, it will be done. Rest, Tim. You’ve more than earned it.” He smiles and stands up from the stool, ready to head over to where Clark is slowly drifting towards the floor, Jason curled in his arms. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

-----

There is shouting. There are tears. There is a very confused Jason, for a few moments, when he wakes up to the sound of Dick’s heartfelt shout. And then there are noogies and group hugs and more tears and more blankets than are probably healthy, and Alfred herds them all onto the proper chairs Superman carried down to the med bay while Bruce finally manages to get through to Constantine and extracts a promise from the man to come as fast as he possibly can, barring supernatural road blocks along the way.

And finally, Alfred starts a full check-up on Jason while they sit, and Jason, bright-eyed and much less shaky than before his impromptu nap, begins to finally tell them what he knows.

-----

“Well,” he says, scrunching up his nose while Alfred places a cold stethoscope against his back. “I was dead.” Everyone winces. Jason swallows, but presses on. “I mean, hang on, I’m doing this wrong.” He clears his throat, then stares off into the middle distance and tips up his chin. “Jason Todd was dead, to begin with,” he says, in the voice that’s gotten the play director to cast him in the last four shows and counting.

“Jason,” Bruce growls, sounding strangled.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding not very at all.

“Go on,” Alfred says, moving on to sticking on a good number of electrodes while Jason cooperatively lies flat on the second gurney.

“Well. Okay. So. I didn’t move on, um--I--” Jason sighs.

“Had unfinished business?” Dick offers, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I hate you,” Jason says flatly, but shoots him a fond glare rather than an angry one. “Yes. Fine. That works. Anyway, everything was terrible and then it was quiet and then suddenly I was back here at the manor and everyone was gone. Except...Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Martha,” Alfred murmurs, watching the machine’s readouts intently. “And Thomas. They stayed, too, all these years.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. They’ve been--they’ve been busy, actually. They kind of organize the whole region’s ghost population. Help newcomers, check in on people, get everyone sorted, it’s--impressive. But Tim can tell you a lot more about all that. When he wakes up.”

They all glance over at the other boy still sleeping on the gurney to the side for a moment.

“Anyway,” Jason says, and clears his throat. “I was. Really confused, which they said was normal, and then I was really fucki--sorry, really freaked out, which they said was also normal, and then I finally calmed down enough to get a grip, and they showed me the ropes. And also started telling way too many baby stories.”

Alfred snorts. He helps Jason sit back up and start peeling off adhesive patches.

“And then, they--hang on.” Jason twists and looks up and behind Bruce and Dick, brows pinching together. “Where should I start? How much should I actually get into right now? I mean, am I even supposed to know--”

He’s quiet for several long seconds while the others watch, and Alfred continues on unbothered.

“Okay.” Jason nods. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He looks at Bruce and Clark, and then shrugs with a small smile. “There’s way too much I could talk about if I went in order, and not everything is important, so--I’m supposed to tell you about Tim, really quick, and then what happened tonight.”

“All right,” Bruce says, mildly. “Go ahead.”

“So,” Jason says, holding out one arm without question when he sees Alfred pull out one of the blood draw packs. “Grandma and Grandpa say no one totally knows what’s up with Tim in the ghost community, but Grandma ran into him when he was a little kid and had just figured out that he--I promise we’re not crazy, okay, I know how insane all of this is gonna sound, but--he could bring dead animals back to life by touching them. He was freaked out about it. And then he started being able to see ghosts, too--Grandma was the first one he met. Or at least remembers meeting. And then--hey, do I still get a sticker?”

Alfred actually laughs. “Yes, Master Jason, you may have a sticker.” He turns to rummage through one of the drawers, and Jason cheerfully pulls off a Captain America shield from the roll, then sticks it directly on the center of his forehead.

He turns to look back at the others in their chairs with a wide grin.

“Anyway,” he says.

Dick chokes from trying to avoid laughing. Bruce politely whacks him on the back a few times without comment.

“So Tim’s been running around Gotham for years, apparently, tailing Batman and Robin. Like, literally. The Grands swear they’ve got more gray hairs from him these past few years, which shouldn’t be possible. I think they’re just being dramatic.”

The second he says that, an extra large tongue depressor flies out of the holder and whacks Jason on the forehead.

“All RIGHT,” he grumbles. “SORRY. Fine. I’ll keep the peanut gallery to a minimum. Geez.” Clark is the one who cracks and laughs this time, and Jason shoots him a look without any real heat. “As I was saying. Literally running around Gotham. He talks with a lot of the ghosts and has made a lot of friends. Everyone likes him, almost, except for the ones who no one likes anyway.” Jason goes quiet for a moment, then, and glances back over at where Martha and Thomas must be. “How much do I...how should I explain...okay. All right.”

Jason frowns. “Tim’s...Tim’s not a normal kid, right, we can all see that. But he’s also really, really lonely. His parents are basically never around. He’s our neighbor, B--he’s a Drake. That’s how Martha found him so easily, he’s so close. But they--they leave him alone. All the time. And it’s not just ghosts, out there, there’s--I mean, Constantine knows way more than we do, but there’s stuff, bad stuff, I don’t know. Grandma and Grandpa and the others didn’t actually know what was going on, or what happened, but Tim was always this kind of sad and lonely that even ghost friendships couldn’t really make up for, and something--something must have found him, they think--” Jason cuts off, glancing up for reassurance, then turns to stare at Tim over on the other gurney.

“Something bad found him,” Jason says, softly. “They told me he just--totally vanished for a few hours. No one could sense him anymore. But there was no body, either, so he hadn’t died and moved on. And then he was back, suddenly, but his--I don’t know how to describe it. I can’t really remember now, with real eyes again, but he sort of--he and a few other people sort of have this weird look, to ghosts, because they’re different--I don’t know. But he was like--tainted. Like he’d been poisoned or something. Grandma and Grandpa found him in his room really, really sick, that night. He never woke up while they were there, so they tried to just keep him cool and watch and wait, and then--he got better, all of a sudden, partway into the morning, and they thought it would be fine, but…”

Jason looks back over and meets Bruce’s eyes. “He woke up the next day and looked straight through them. Straight through everyone who tried to talk to him. No more animals came back to life, either. He kept talking in the fever about making it stop, and then he woke up--normal, basically. And he’s stayed that way ever since.”

Bruce frowns.

“Well he’s clearly not normal anymore,” he says, gesturing at all of Jason and the room in general.

“Well, duh,” Jason says, and rolls his eyes. “Clearly.”

“So what happened.”

“How should I know?” Jason gestures vaguely up and down his body. “I was dead.”

A second tongue depressor whacks him, and is rapidly followed by one of the EKG papers flying straight into his face.

“Point taken,” he sighs, pulling the paper down into his lap. “I mean. I’ll tell you what I do know. Grandma has never stopped watching out for him at least once a day, since, I mean, it’s not like anyone else is keeping tabs on Tim. So she told me a lot about him, and how much he used to talk to ghosts, and how he cheered everyone up and even helped a chunk of us--them--find a way to feel...fulfilled, I guess, and move on. And stuff. And how he’d spent years rooting for us and helping in ways we didn’t even realize--shit, Bruce. He’s done a lot. So she wanted me to tell him thank you, and like--get to know him, kinda? Since she feels like he’s her family too?” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Do you need a break?” Bruce asks, gently, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee.

Jason shakes his head quickly. “No. I want to get this over with. I’ve been hanging around you guys for a while, until the funeral, and it was--listen, I love you, but you were all so sad it was--really depressing. I kept thinking about what happened because you all were, too, and so Martha took me over and told me to stay with Tim for a bit, at home and school, to feel more normal. So I did. And he never saw me. But then--tonight--” Jason takes another breath. “I was. I was really upset, all of a sudden, for Tim, and for myself, because I was like--it really hit me again that I. You know.” He waves a hand, then continues. “And. I talked to him, for the first time, while he was asleep, and it seemed like he actually turned in his sleep to listen, and--I asked him for help. Because I just--he was there , you know? I was desperate and lonely and he was there.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alfred interjects. “Master Jason. What happened to Tim is not your fault.”

Jason grumbles something under his breath, and then fully-body shivers.

“Don’t do that!” Jason scoots off the gurney and right onto Bruce’s lap, and burrows in while Bruce’s arms come up to wrap around him. “I appreciate the hug, Grandpa, but I’ve got a body again, that was really cold.”

There’s a pause, then Jason smiles a little. “It’s okay, I’m not mad, just--a little warning next time.” He glances around. “Are you good for me to keep going?”

They all make various noises of agreement.

“So,” Jason says. “So. So. He. I don’t know, his chest, like, glowed a little, when I said that, and then all of a sudden he like-- woke up.”

“Woke up?” Bruce asks. “From sleep?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “No, like--like a sleepwalker. I mean woke up. Like, the real Tim. It was like some wall got shattered and then, BOOM. Just. Golden glowy different person. He was like the Sun. It was bananas. And then--and then he looked at me, with glowy eyes, and squinted, kinda, and then he said, ‘Oh. I can fix this.’ And then he just walked out of his house in his bare feet and headed straight for my grave.” Jason shakes his head again, stares at the wall. “He kept like, trying to reassure me, on our way over, while I was screaming for Grandma and Grandpa to come help, because I didn’t know what was going on, and he just--he ignored us and started digging, and kept going, and then he like...fell back asleep again, kinda, and dimmed out almost. But he never stopped digging, and then he opened my casket and--”

Jason shivers again, and this time he doesn’t have a ghost to blame it on. Bruce squeezes him a little tighter.

“He reached down, and all three of us grabbed him, just--hoping maybe if we pulled hard enough he’d stop, but he didn’t. And then the next thing I knew,” he says, very quietly now, “I was staring up at the sky and Tim was falling forward like a rag doll, looking like he was the one who belonged six feet below.”

“Equivalent exchange,” a heavily accented voice sighs, from just out of view. All of them but Superman whip around to see John Constantine step up a few feet away, trench coat and rumpled clothes and absolute disaster hair to match his stubble and tired eyes. “Energy has rules. Physics, and all that.”

“I don’t think physics really...includes undoing death, generally?” Dick says.

Constantine sends him a red-eyed look. “Mate,” he growls. “Physics tangles up with everything. Magic tangles up with physics. It’s one great big yarn knot of problems that exists solely to make my life living hell. Don’t lecture me about physics .”

Dick raises his hands in surrender and slumps back in his armchair.

“Equivalent exchange,” Bruce says, looking sharply between Constantine, slouched against the doorway, and Tim, still and pale on the bed. “You’re saying Tim was exchanging his soul for Jason’s?”

“Of course not,” Constantine snaps. “I didn’t say souls. I said energy, you wanker. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one in the merry band?”

Bruce practically grinds his teeth, and Alfred, the wonderful old Brit that he is, absolutely says nothing about Constantine’s language.

“My apologies,” Bruce says, evenly. “Energy, then?”

“This boy has spent a lot of years leaving his energy around the region, here,” Constantine says. “I sensed it whenever I was here for more than a few hours for whatever reason. Makes sense, if he’s been going about resurrecting things willy-nilly.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say willy-nilly,” Jason cuts in. “Uh, that’s a direct quote from Thomas, by the way. He also says that Tim had no clue how what he was doing worked. He didn’t really control it.”

“Of course he controlled it,” Constantine says over his shoulder, as he steps up to the head of Tim’s gurney, finally, and messily rolls up his coat sleeves. “You don’t have power like that without controlling it. He just didn’t know what the control was.”

They all look at each other, and sort of shrug.

“Now quiet,” Constantine tells them. “This is going to take a minute. And you two bloody ghosts, stay a few feet back. I can’t work properly if you’re buzzing nearby.”

The room falls silent enough that they can all hear the blood pressure cuff around Tim’s arm quietly inflate and hiss the air out again, while Constantine mutters quietly, passing his hands up and down Tim’s body till he finally holds them in a hover over the boy’s head for over a minute. His brow furrows more and more as they watch, and his muttering increases, and then in a moment, all of a sudden--

Constantine’s face twists into a snarl, something hazy and dark flashes up in a muffled cloud over Tim’s closed eyes, and then there’s a tiny flash of a golden glow from all of the boy’s body at once, and Constantine stumbles back, catching himself with one sweaty hand on the nearest wall.

They sit in frozen, held-breath silence for a moment, and then Constantine whips around with wild eyes, to stare directly at Bruce.

“Bloody hell,” he wheezes. “Bloody fuck. Bloody fucking hell. I don’t know who this boy is, or how you found him, or he found you--don’t know, don’t care, doesn’t matter--he’s the real deal, a right proper little magic bloodline offspring, and he’s such a bloody basket case he got taken by a bloody Beldam. Bloody fuck .” Constantine sucks in a few deep breaths and straightens, starting to unroll his sleeves and step carefully away from the gurney.

“You,” he says, jabbing a sharp finger at bruce and glaring. “I don’t care who he is, he’s your responsibility now. I can’t watch a bloody magic minor. He’s been nearly eaten alive once. You keep him safe or this boy’ll do one of two things--he’s gonna kill himself in a trance resurrecting a full grown human, rather than a teenager, and that you won’t be able to bring him back from. Or he’s gonna be a snack for another Beldam, properly this time, instead of just partly--and he’ll not come back from that, either.”

“What,” Bruce says, slowly, clearly, “is a Beldam.”

“Don’t bloody ask me,” Constantine snarls. He scrubs his hands over his bloodshot eyes. “I don’t rightly know. Neither does anyone else. But they prey on children who are sad enough to eat up the promise of a better, fixed world, when that world is made of spiders and darkness and lies.” Constantine jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Tim. “That boy’s magic, whether he knows it or not. He’s strong. And he’s a seven course meal for a lot of nasty things that crawl in the dark and like to snatch up lonely little children and eat them alive. He’s got magic so strong he temporarily magicked himself out of having magic, which, let me tell you, sounds like the bloody dream to me. But that’s broken now. So,” he says, slowly, like speaking to a fool. “Keep. That boy. Safe. Or you’re going to feed something very nasty enough energy to break all the way through to our world, and then I will have to come deal with it, and probably die, and then you’ll all be devastated and grieve me for forty days and nights, I’m sure. Except you won’t, because you’ll be being devoured by the many awful nasties that I keep away with duct tape and magic and a bloody godawful amount of fast-talking. ‘Thank you, Constantine, we love you, Constantine, have a good sleep, Constantine, see you at the next Justice League potluck.’ ”

Constantine waves a hand and jogs right out of the med bay.

“I already said your goodbyes for you,” he throws over his shoulder. “Keep the kid safe, bloody feed him more, and for the love of god, don’t call me this late again unless the world is literally falling down around your feet.”

And then Constantine is gone in a flash of light, and the med bay is filled with yet another silence. They all turn to look at Tim, just as a whole jar of tongue depressors tips onto its side and crashes to the floor, and the third spare gurney in the corner of the area shoves into a wall with no one around.

“Okay,” Jason says, warily, “So that was. Informative. And, uh, can you two please calm down.”

“Mom?” Bruce asks the air, softly. “Dad? Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Jason tells him. “Grandpa just snarled something about a Beldam, and is mad, and Grandma wants you to hold Tim. Like, right now. Apparently.”

Bruce blinks.

“I,” he says. “Okay.”

He hauls Jason up and slides off the armchair he’s been sitting in, stepping around Clark and Alfred till he gets to the gurney. Then he frowns.

“It’s a bit of a tight fit,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and tucks Jason in next to Tim anyway before Jason can protest, and then weasels his way onto the gurney, squished against one of the guard rails, until he’s got both of them wrapped in a hug.

“This is incredibly uncomfortable,” he says, conspiratorially to Dick, as his eldest pops over to the other side of the gurney and immediately starts taking photos. “But also fantastic. We’re having a sleepover all together on my bed when this is over. More or less. Mandatory.”

“Aye aye captain,” Dick says, with a grin. “I’m gonna go eat some breakfast. I’ll be back.”

“Good plan, sunshine,” Bruce says. “See you in a bit.”

Clark stands up with a smile. “Well,” he says. “It seems like y’all have things under control over here, and I’ve got to go do the morning chores at the farm--the cows are due for milking right about now. Keep me updated, okay? I’ll have my phone on me all day at work, and I’ll let the rest of the League know the good news, if you’d like.”

“I’d rather hold off, for now, if that’s all right.” Bruce looks down at Jason, who’s now already almost dozing again. And Tim. “Just...a little time to process, first, before the whole league knocks down my door trying to come hug Jason.”

“Absolutely fair,” Clark says. “Hang in there. Call me if you need me.” And then he’s off with no sign left of his presence save for a faint breeze shaking the air.

“We have all had quite a night,” Alfred says, as he drapes Bruce and Jason with a couple more blankets, and tucks Tim’s in ‘round the edges more firmly. “After, I daresay, quite a lot of exhausting days. You ought to sleep for a bit while I get breakfast ready, and then we’ll see how the boys are doing then, hm?”

Bruce hums with his eyes closed before blinking them back open and frowning at Alfred.

“You need sleep too,” he says. “What about you, Alf? This hasn’t been any easier on you than me.”

“My dear boy,” Alfred says. “If you think I haven’t managed much worse exhaustion during your very memorable teenage years, you are quite mistaken. I’m perfectly fine for now. Let me care for you all until I rest later. It will help me more than sleep at this point.”

“All right,” Bruce acquiesces, around the edges of a yawn. “Okay. But you will sleep later. I’ll keep an eye on these two until you’re back.”

“Yes,” Alfred says, flicking off the brightest lights and only leaving the golden ones on. “Quite, Master Bruce. Have a good sleep, my boy.”

Bruce is asleep beside the boys before Alfred makes it to the stairs. And quietly, several minutes after Alfred has left, and after Bruce has dozed off enough to startle awake, two cold hands slowly comb his hair away from his temples, and above them all, above their tranquil moment of rest, the world wakes up and begins to start its day.

#tim drake #magic tim drake #dc #haunted houses

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a-mag-a-day · 1 year

Note

MAG 77 - hair dying session

"There is a stranger claiming to be my mother." - A capital S Stranger even!

"Everyone else says that she’s my mother, and gives me looks of alarm when I tell them she’s an impostor." - The Not!Them actually has some kind of Spiral vibes to it. Gaslighting is usually the territory of the Spiral and gaslighting will subsequently happen by the people who are under the Not!Them's influence. Melanie even asked Jon last episode if he's gaslighting her.

I feel really bad for the statement-giver. She sure had a shitty mum… Come to think of it, why does Jonny like shitty mums so much? xD (this mum, Martin's mum, Jon's grandma as "mum figure"… And then Jonny's actual rl mum had to read this, lol)

"But sometimes I worry that the reason we could never get on was that we were far too much alike." - Like Jon and Melanie!^^ There is something about stubborn, big-mouthed, (unkind) people, who I personally would consider arseholes, and that dynamic with others like them. Somehow I always felt such persons would get along with each other far better than an arsehole person and someone who is more considerate of others. At least the former feels more evenly leveled to me. With the other pair the considerate person would probably suffer under the arsehole, depending if that person takes it to heart.

"He moved up beside the plump old woman standing in the doorway and looked at me, smiling." - Oh, that sound that starts alongside the ambiance track right at the word "smiling" is really cool!

"I used to think I hated my mother; I really did. But now I can’t stop listening to those tapes, now I know they’re the only way I’ll ever hear her voice again." - Just like in MAG 75, I like the tragedy and dilemma of this statement. The statement-giver always resented her mother and now she desperately wants her back. Although this "new" mother seems to have a cheery personality, seems to be "a better mother" (except that it's a murderous monster of course) with nothing left of that cold, judging emotional abuse the statement-giver had to grow up with.

"Based on the interactions and effects, I suspect this to be the creature that Adelard Dekker refers to as the “NotThem” in statement 9910607" - Dekker name drop! And Gertrude actually does a good job at cross referencing here! Not so chaotic after all, or, not being chaotic when it's actually being needed. "Personally, I suspect it to be an aspect of The Stranger" - Smirke's 14 name drop! Referred to them by those exact names up until this point we have heard of The Vast (MAG 46) and The End (MAG 62).

"The sheer power that it must be able to call upon to be able to rewrite so much of reality" - ok so I haven't heard anything from SCP (well, not exactly, I listened to The Hanged King because it was recommended to me, but it didn't quite click with me), but a friend of mine (who still has to finish TMA. He's on MAG 50) likes the SCP stuff very much and he told me of a concept that exists there, which reminds me of this. Reality Benders. That one sounds super terrifying, so I might check it out some time.

Oh no, and now we get to the part of poor little meow meow…

"and given Melanie’s outburst last week" - well aaaactually… Melanie's statement was on the 13th of February 2017. That was a Monday! Given that MAG 80 happens on the 16th of February, so three days later on a Thursday of the same week of course, "last week" doesn't really make sense. This has happened before, MAG 22 happened on March 12th 2016. That was a Saturday. Apparently the archives team works on Saturdays?? And MAG 26, 2nd of April is also a Saturday. Though it makes sense here, as Sasha says he has woken up Martin, who lives in the archives at that point. They probably called Jon. Just a few episodes ago, MAG 70, the date matched up with the day of the week though. 6th January and Karolina Górka remarks that it was a Friday evening.

"How it works. How it ki…" - T__T Jon sounds so distressed. Determined to do something, yet absolutely smashed to pieces when this thoughts wander further than his mouth does.

Why does this podcast do emotions so well? T______T

I like the Spiral aspect of the Notthem, it can't feed if there isn't one person going crazy because they're the only person recognizing them for what they are

Btw we also heard of the Beholding and Desolation from Gerry in the hospital statement. Where else were they explicitly mentioned I wonder

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #Mag 77 #lycanlovingvampyre

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thatpunkmaximoff · 3 months

Text

[Book Three of Three]

Story: 4 out of 5 Smut: 3 out of 5

Wow. Where the hell do I even begin?

First of all, Callum is definitely my favorite. Though he is very much an Archdemon and is rough and tough with his Lady Witch, he’s also very soft with her… and ugh, he melted my heart. I honestly did not expect him to WANT Everly to peg him tho lmao.

Everly was also my favorite girl because she was so pure and innocent, and corrected her path when she saw the true path Kent was leading them all down. These two are perfect for each other.

The trip to Hell was fun, as was Callum and Everly giving each other their metal (their piercings were the best out of all them), but I was NOT a fan of the final battle with the God. Don’t get me wrong, it was good, but THAT ONE SCENE had me gasping.

You know what you did, Harley. How dare you make me take a breather before I got back into reading. Holy shit.

All in all, I loved it. This book felt different and I’m guessing it’s because of Callum’s demon-y sweetness with Everly that I don’t think Leon and Zane quite possessed with their own females.

This trilogy was amazing and I’m so sad to see it end.

Now here are my rambling thoughts...

* So Everly’s mother took her own life? I call bullshit.

* Oh no. Poor Marcus. I can’t believe Jeremiah killed him like that. What a dick.

* She found her Coven family house!

* Callum’s here! And he’s… crazy? lol.

* He got a little excited and went a little feral 😂 Poor Everly doesn’t know what to think. And now she’s given him Sam’s name since he bruised her, and Callum is pissed. FUCK. SHIT. UP!

* Yessssss. Sam deserved that.

* lol the dead grandma speaks through an old radio. Wtf 😂

* I’m getting puppy vibes from Callum. A murderous puppy, but a puppy nonetheless.

* “I’ll be watching. If your father tries to keep you, I’ll ensure you escape. I’ll bring you home.” // “Home… I don’t know if I’ve ever really had a home.” // “Home is wherever I can keep you safe.”

* “You should wear a bell so you don’t give me a heart attack.” // “A bell? Like the one’s humans put on their cats?” He tipped his head curiously. “Only if you promise to drag me around on a leash. then I’ll gladly wear your collar.”

* Callum crawling just short circuited my brain 😂

* Who the fuck is hunting Callum?

* Fuck. Lucifer sent his right-hand to speak with Callum. If Lucifer interferes, I’m gonna be pissed.

* I’ve never been more glad for Kent to be dead. He fucking put magic dampening cuffs on Everly!? I need Callum to see them and lose his shit again.

* Wow. She pegged a demon 😏

* Fuck. Who cuffed Callum?! 😩

* So that’s how the book got in the box.

* Fuck Kent for making her strip like that.

* Fuck Mrs. Hadleigh too! Stupid cunt trying to hit Everly. Dumb bitch fucked around and found out.

* Run away, Everly! And go find out what the fuck happened to your demon.

* “Everly is not, and has never been, a mere fascination. She is my reason, my logic. She is my one and only God. Think I’m mad if you wish. There is nothing left for me in this existence except for her, and I would sooner rip myself apart than allow you or any other being to stand in her way.”

* I fucking hate Lucifer.

* Aww, Callum. He doesn’t wanna claim her because he’s afraid for when she dies… but she’s dying right now, so…

* “No matter what it takes. No matter what I must sacrifice. No matter who I must kill. For you, I would burn this world and the next.”

* Lmfao. Poor Everly is trying to find a spell to get rid of the wraiths before they notice her, and fucking Callum slaps the wall to get their attention 😂

* Goddamn. Callum and rope play. I dig it.

* She can shapeshift!

* Awww. Callum is so soft. Sometimes.

* Ugh. Juniper attempting to attack Everly still pisses me off lol.

* Callum is making me interested in rope play now 😂

* “I love you more than life itself, more than my own freedom. For you and you alone, I’ve stayed alive, Everly. For you, I would face everything I ever feared. I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes and I swear I’ve loved you in every one of them.”

* Oh shit… she walked into Hell with Callum. What’s going to happen here..

* So Callum is going to get a piercing for Everly… and not the other way around? Wow. I kind of wanted Everly to get a piercing tho lol.

* She pierced his dick 😂 and got a matching clit piercing in return. Such a brave little witch.

* I’m so glad the council put Lucifer in his place. Jealous fuck.

* What the fuck!!!! It killed her?! And she was pregnant!? You’re fucking lying.

* Oh my god. She was pregnant!

* She lived. She fucking lived 😭

#booktok book review #book review #souls trilogy #soul of a witch #harley laroux #everly hadleigh #everly laverne #callum #dark romance #monster romance #demon romance #demon smut #monster smut

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nevvaraven · 1 year

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Okay, so I just saw your post about Sirius feeling Reg die because of their twin connection and I don’t wanna make it worse but for me as a twin I can actually just feel when something happens to my brother. I can’t even explain it but my stomach fucking knots itself, something in my chest literally tightens and I just feel super fucking weird. I mean I can’t feel everything happening to him, but like whenever something is wrong I know. There’s an incident that I could type out in details but I’m just gonna cut it nice and short; everyone was at my grandmas house except him (he was staying out late with his friends) and it was getting really late and suddenly I feel the stomach ache and tightening in the chest thing. No one was thinking anything and I was the only one there at the edge of my seat literally dying until he rings the door. So, I immediately run to open it and I could tell by the way he rang that he something was definitely wrong (that’s a very weird thing to say but yeah) and so I ask him what was going on and he tells me that after he got out of the bus a guy was following him and running after him and if I hadn’t opened the door so quickly he would’ve caught up to him. So…yeah back to the Black brothers…Sirius definitely felt something when reg died.

No fr though that’s insane, idk why I’m surprised cause I have so many twin friends and they have all told me this stuff happens to them as well but it’s still so cool and spooky, but then it’s so sweet to think that there’s something beyond just this dimension that keeps you two connected at times 😭 but then thought of reg dying and Sirius not feeling their connection anymore makes me want to throw up 😃

And that’s the thing, everything about the black brothers as twins is either super cute or just miserably gut-wrenching, there’s no middle ground and I love it and hate it

#Black brothers as twins #cute but upsetting stuff #rhea tag

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southernfriedsims-blog · 2 years

Photo

If Minnie Brannon had a simoleon for every time someone asked her about her hair, she’d have more money than the Landgraabs, and the Landgraabs had a LOT of money. “My hair is green!?”, she would squeak with a panicked expression, sometimes even reaching up to examine the strands as if she was in disbelief.

This response usually induced an eye roll and put an end to the conversation.

The truth was simple: one day she decided to prank her mother by dying her hair. Classic teen moment, right? It got her grounded for a month and, as punishment, she’d been told by her parents to live with it for a year. Minnie had been living with it for 10 years now to prove a point. No one tells Minnie Brannon what to do. No one.

No one except the law of physics, that is. She stepped back from the sulphuric cloud of yellow-green smoke that roiled from the overflowing beaker on the synthesizer machine. Between gasps for air and the shriek of the fire alarm, she managed to notice her phone buzzing in her lab coat.

“Yell-oh” she managed to cough out, batting wildly at the smoke. Her co-worker, Salim Benali, was running towards her with the fire extinguisher now. The banshee, Minnie’s pet name for the fire alarm, finally stopped. Minnie turned and walked out of the lab and into the corridor with her phone to her ear, leaving Salim to clean up the aftermath of her Tuesday morning shift.

“Did you blow something up again?”

Minnie swatted at the air again a few times and tilted her phone to look down at the caller ID on the screen. It was Meg.

“Listen, this is my job, okay?” Minnie sputtered. There was a cackle on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, right. You know the guys at the station downtown literally have a code for you now? It’s like code green-disaster or something along those lines. I can’t remember but it’s something to do with you being incompetent.”

Minnie watched Salim bolt out into the corridor across from her and begin to hack uncontrollably, the chartreuse colored fog swirling fluidly behind him in a way that was almost cinematic.

“I’m honored. What do you want?” Minnie gave Salim a thumbs-up. He didn’t see her because he was covered in foam.

“Your mom came to the diner for breakfast. Have you two not been talking?” Minnie felt her limbs stiffen but before she could speak Meg continued.

“She had to come over to this side of town to go to the doctor. She said you two haven’t spoken since last Christmas?” Minnie shifted her weight to her other leg and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Meg, I love you, I really do. But if you don’t start minding your own business, I-“

“I didn’t bring you up! She was asking about my brother and how my classes are going and I said something about needing to get some of my furniture from my grandma’s and it just….kind of led to me telling her that you’re here now.” Meghan’s voice trailed off.

“Minnie, you there?” Minnie realized she had gone silent for too long and cleared her throat.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude about it. I just- I didn’t want her to know I was back.” She heard dishes clatter on Meghan’s end of the line.

“I’m sorry, sis. I really am and I didn’t mean to create a fuss, I promise. But what was I supposed to do?” Before Minnie could answer, another dish shattered. “Seriously!?” Meghan yelled away from the phone to someone behind her. “Lenny that’s coming out of your check.!” A man muttered an expletive in the background and Meghan spoke again, “Listen, I gotta go. Call me later, k?” The call dropped and Minnie stood there in the corridor staring at Salim who had finally managed to catch his breath. He glared at her and motioned to the extinguisher and himself, both covered in foam and very calmly stated to Minnie, “You suck.”

#nsbg1 #not so berry #ts4 story #nsbstory #not so berry backstory #simblr #ts4 #screenshots #ts4 screenies #ts4 simblr #sims4

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percontaion-points · 7 months

Text

Lifeblood chapter 13 & bonus chapter 6

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 13

A hand shackles my wrist, wrenching me to the side, out of the way, before I can follow.

Levi is ashen. “Only you and the princess are equipped to deal with this threat, but we can’t risk both our Conduits at the same time. We also can’t allow the darkness to spread to any other humans. Even though you’re not ready for this fight, we need you down there. But I’m not going to force you. The choice is yours.”

“This is my next mission,” I say. “My will is yours.”

“And I’m commanding you to choose.”

Look. You can either have your military porn, or you can have “free will”. These two things are incompatible.

“The earthquakes you feel? They happen when one of the realms engages a Buckler. You also feel a quake when the other realm disables a Buckler. You can tell them apart with a glance.”

If I knew what the fuck a Buckler was…

“I’ll be punished in the worst possible way. Do ye ken? Do ye even care? Do ye want me harmed?”

I swear that Killian didn’t have an accent in the first book.

I also swear that it’s getting worse every time we see him in this book.

“Ten,” Killian calls. Too late. I’m caught up in a beam of Light.

Chapter 13 summary: Everybody rushes for the gate that’ll take them to the Land of Harvest. Before Ten can go through, Levi catches her arm and tells her that her sole mission is to get the boyfriend away from the fighting, so that they can transport him away from other people he could potentially infect. He also tells her about Bucklers… Which would be useful info if we knew what the fuck those even were aside from “weapons of war”.

She goes down and almost immediately jumps into the fray. And I don’t know what to tell you. Reading fight scenes is tedious. They never have anything of value to add to the plot, except to pad out a scene. Ten refuses to hurt even Sloan when she stumbles across Ten’s path. However, Ten’s refusal to actually fight ends up being detrimental to her and Meredith. They end up surrounded, and Meredith takes a shot meant for Ten. The Myridians then stab her over and over. In her dying breath, Meredith uses her powers to teleport Ten away and heal her.

She then starts fighting for real. Which hey, your grandma would probably not have died if you’d done that to start with! I’m only saying… But then Killian shows up, which you all knew he would. He starts picking off members of his own side to help Ten, but also to eliminate witnesses. After killing everybody around them, Killian takes Ten off to the side. Victor finds them, and asks where Dior’s boyfriend is being hidden by Myriad. Killian says he doesn’t know, and to the best of his knowledge, the boyfriend hasn’t gotten a third person infected. Victor then grabs Ten and teleports her away from Killian.

Bonus chapter 6

Because, if Miss Lockwood doesn’t begin to aid our cause, she will only continue to hurt it, and we will be forced to consider elimination.

Might Equals Right!

Sir Zhi Chen

Bonus chapter 6 summary: Zhi chews Killian out for having actually killed members of his own side, which wasn’t the plan. Kilian in turn chews Zhi out that everybody was under strict orders to not actually hurt Ten. Zhi chews Killian out that Ten wasn’t actually hurt. Killian calls Zhi out on his shit, and reminds him that without Ten on their side, they might as well wave a white flag. Zhi admits defeat in this argument, and says that it’s obvious Killian is passionate about Myriad.

#lifeblood #everlife series #bookblr #book review #scifi #religious imagery #dystopia #ya novels #romance novels

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btssavedmylifeblr · 3 years

Text

Tongue Tied (M)

Genre: SMUT, fluff, crack, demon au (sort of), idol verse, established relationship au, pwp with a side of minor relationship angst

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count:12k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, orgasm denial, masturbation, squirting, sex toys, dirty talk, degradation, bladder desperation and brainwashing

A/N: So… this is porn. Apologies to everyone, especially Park Jimin. Blame my anons who goaded me into it. Love you all! Stay hydrated.

Jimin's tongue trails a warm circle around your erect nipple.

"Stop teasing," you groan, threading your fingers through his dark hair and tugging him closer to you.

Jimin obliges, spreading his tongue across the perky bud, sucking it into his mouth, massaging with his lips. Flames of arousal rush through you. His fingers move from your hip to your lower folds, dipping into you, checking how wet you are. He releases your breast and smirks, holding up his fingers to show you the translucent strings stretching between them. "So eager.”

He laves kisses across your throat. His tongue alternates between firm and soft, sucking just to the point of pain, then soothing it away. He moves downward, sliding you up the bed as he works his way toward your swollen center. Every place his tongue touches burns with desire.

Your core throbs as he draws closer and closer to it. Despite dating for six months, Jimin has never gone down on you. The place you most want his talented tongue is the one place it has never been. In the beginning of your relationship, you had assumed oral sex was something he had accidentally overlooked. But now it was starting to seem deliberate.

Jimin sucks a hard kiss onto your hip as he slips his finger back between your folds, spreading your arousal up to your clitoris. He draws a slow circle around the sensitive nub, laughing softly against your belly when you moan out loud.

The closer he gets, the more your desperation builds. You tighten your fingers in his hair to coax him farther down. He pushes your folds apart with his hand, bringing his face in close to inspect your swollen cunt, chuckling as it clenches. Your clit pulses as you wait for him to bring his mouth to it.

But then he's pulling away from you, sitting back on his heels. "I'm going to fuck you now.” He holds you open with one hand and strokes his dick with the other. You bite your lip to hide your disappointment and nod.

There's nothing disappointing about Jimin's dick though. He knows how to use it well. It's not until you're both sweaty, sated and lying in each other's arms that you remember your earlier disappointment.

"Jimin?" You trail a finger over his chest. "Can I ask you a question?"

He gives a soft murmur of assent as he presses a contented kiss to your forehead. His hand strokes lazily up and down your arm.

"Why do you never go down on me?"

His hand stops moving.

You press on. "I blow you all the time, but you never go down on me."

"I don't know.” He shifts underneath you, his eyes not meeting your gaze. "Just like other stuff better."

"Well, sure," you reply, kissing his chest. It had never been your favorite activity either, always making you a bit self-conscious. But it was quickly becoming the thing you most wanted, simply because he wouldn't let you have it. "But it's always fun to try new things."

He continues to duck your gaze as he unwraps his arm from you and scoots away from you over to his side of the bed.

Maybe he was insecure about this particular activity? You slide in next to him and kiss his shoulder. "I bet you'd be really good at it.”

He shifts away from you again, frowning as you continue to chase him across the bed. "I just don't like it, okay?"

Your mouth falls open in shock. It’s such an un-Jimin-like reaction. He's always so generous with everything in your relationship.

"Why?" Did he have some terrible previous experience he didn't want to discuss? What kind of traumatic cunnilingus backstory would leave him this turned off?

"I don't know." He rolls over so his back is to you. "Can't you drop it?"

"No, I'm not going to drop it!" You sit up and nudge his shoulder. "Are you saying you'll never do it?"

He turns back over to face you, licking his lips. "Would you break up with me if I was?"

"What?"

"How big of a deal is it?"

"I don't know." It never occurred to you that you might face a relationship ultimatum over oral sex. You’re madly in love with Jimin. He’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. Surely that matters more than how much time he spends between your legs.

"Is there something wrong with me?" you ask. Did you taste bad? Smell funky?

“No!" Jimin's eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, no, it’s just...” He sits up, sighing as he leans back against the headboard. "I was waiting to tell you this until we'd been together a bit longer." He runs a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts.

What secret has your boyfriend been keeping from you all this time? Does he have some weird STD that is only spread through oral? Is he allergic to vagina?

"My tongue is cursed." He rubs the back of his neck, sighing as if relieved of some terrible burden.

You laugh out loud. Of all the explanations you had concocted, none were as ludicrous as this.

"Don't laugh." Jimin frowns, kicking the bed.

"Your tongue is cursed?" It's impossible to not laugh when you say it out loud. "Like by a witch?"

"No, not by a witch, don't be absurd." He squirms and pulls his knees up to his chest. "I'm part demon."

You snort in laughter again. But Jimin looks so hurt by the sound that you bite your tongue.

"My great-grandfather on my father's side was a demon,” Jimin elaborates, staring down at his hands.

“Wait, are you serious?” You arch an eyebrow, afraid of appearing to actually believe him just for him to tease you.

Jimin groans in frustration, twisting the bedsheets in his hands. "I didn't believe my mom when she told me either. But it's true. My grandmother swore it was true."

"Let me get this straight." You sit up a bit straighter, eyeing him skeptically. "The reason you won't go down on me is that you are one-eighth demon, and your tongue is cursed."

He bites his lip and nods.

"Jimin, that's ridiculous."

His shoulders slump as he curls in on himself. You're still waiting for the "gotcha!" you think is coming, but he looks sad and embarrassed.

"Fine," you sigh, willing to hear him out. "What kind of demon?"

He picks his head up and licks his lips. "An incubus."

"Your great-grandfather devoured the souls of women through sex?"

Jimin shifts back and forth, rubbing his hands up and down his legs. "Grandma said he was very handsome."

Your boyfriend is very handsome too. But that doesn't mean he's part demon.

"He didn't hurt anyone." Jimin tries to defend his clearly fictional demon great-grandfather. "He just, you know, hooked up with a lot of women."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "So which parts of you are demon then?"

"Just my tongue."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious! Look!" He sticks his tongue out as far as it will go. It's very long, reaching all the way to his chin. And it's pointy. But it seems to be a perfectly normal tongue.

"It doesn't look cursed to me."

"It's so long though," he mumbles, having difficulty pronouncing the words with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

"Yeah, but not like supernaturally long." You argue, leaning in closer to inspect the potentially cursed muscle. He wiggles it back and forth as if that will convince you there's something unusual about it. "What does that even mean, a cursed tongue?"

Jimin draws in a deep breath, as if about to reveal a deep, dark secret.

"Any girl that I get off with my tongue…“ He pauses for dramatic effect, narrowing his eyes, “can never come again."

His proclamation hangs in the air of your bedroom, as he waits for you to gasp in shock. You raise an eyebrow instead. "Ever?"

"Except!" He holds up a finger. "On my tongue."

You can't hold back the laughter this time. "So is there some horde of perpetually horny women out there, dying to experience your tongue again?"

He shakes his head and chews on his lower lip. "I've never done it with anyone before." He begins twisting the bedsheets in his hands again. "I didn't want to risk it being true. My mom was really serious when she explained it."

"That's an awkward conversation to have with your mother."

Jimin finally laughs. "Yes, yes it was."

His change in demeanor brings you some relief. But it can't be true. There's no such thing as demons.

"You sure you're not making up excuses to not reciprocate?"

"I'm not making it up!" Jimin smacks the bed in emphasis. "I'm dying to go down on you!"

"You are?" Your earlier arousal knocks between your legs again.

"Yes!" He pushes his hair off his forehead. "Every time I get down there, all I want to do is suck on your needy little clit." Your core clenches and you squirm on the bed next to him. He eyes you up and down and smirks. "To make you fall apart with my tongue." He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in close enough to whisper in your ear. "To be surrounded by you as you come on my face."

"Would it be so bad if we tried it?" you ask, squeezing your thighs together to cope with the tension building between them.

"You'd want that?" His eyes widen and he licks his lips in excitement. "Even if the curse is real?"

"Yes, I'd want that." He's so excited that you don't have the heart to tell him that there's no way the curse is real.

Jimin giggles with delight, gathering your hands into his. "You know I love you right?" He kisses each of your hands. "I love you so much."

"I love you too Jimin," you reply and he pulls you in for a long kiss. His reaction would make you think he'd asked you to marry him.

"We can't do it tonight though," he mutters, frowning. “I’m leaving tomorrow."

Shit. The boys are leaving for their world tour tomorrow. A fact that has slipped your mind in the whole your-boyfriend-might-be-a-demon discussion.

"What better way to say goodbye?" You whisper, leaning in and planting light kisses up and down his neck. You're not going to let some weird family legend stand in the way of your boyfriend getting you off one more time before he disappears for a month.

"You sure?" Jimin raises an eyebrow. "A month is a long time to go."

"I think I'll survive." You've dealt with Jimin's absences before. You don’t like them, but you can’t admit to him how much they bother you. And curses aren't real.

Jimin's whole attitude changes, a dangerous glimmer in his eye. "Yeah?" He kisses your neck as his hand sneaks down between your legs. You're still sensitive and wet and you flinch when he slips his fingers into you, your arms breaking out in goosebumps. "Is this where you want my tongue?" he teases as his index finger brushes against your clitoris.

"Jimin, please," you whine. He pulls his hand back, but you slide your hips forward, chasing after him. You've been waiting for months and all he wants to do is tease.

"So needy..." The smirk on his lips and predatory gleam in his eyes have you almost believing he is a demon. "It's like you want to give me all your orgasms."

"Curses aren't real," you gasp as he sucks a long kiss into your neck.

"Maybe you don't care if it's real." He trails kisses downward. "Maybe you want me to claim all your pleasure for myself." It's embarrassing the way more arousal drips from you at the idea. "Maybe you want to be alone and desperate, unable to satisfy yourself without me."

It's probably your mind playing tricks on you, but his mouth feels hotter than usual. It burns everywhere he touches you. He pauses his trail downward to suck on your nipple and you arch your back to press into him further.

"I like that idea," he says, releasing your breast and continuing his burning trail downwards. "That no other man will ever be able to satisfy you." He slips his fingers back inside you and you moan. "No toy, no dick, not even your own fingers will be able to bring you relief." His tongue inches downward, interrupted by lingering kisses. Your core is so swollen with arousal, the ache inside you so desperate. He smiles as he curls two fingers upward, so slowly that your thighs begin to tremble. "Every single one of your orgasms will belong to me."

"Please, Jimin." You're going to lose your mind if he keeps teasing like this. You roll your hips against his hand, trying to get his fingers in deeper.

"Is that what you want?" he asks. His mouth is so close you can feel his warm breath on your sensitive swollen skin. "Do you want to give me all your orgasms?"

He looks so serious when he asks, it almost makes you believe. But curses and demons aren't real. It's just a game. A game you’re both enjoying.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to have them all, Jimin."

"Good girl." He closes his eyes and exhales, then finally - finally - brings his mouth to your clitoris.

The surge of heat on the swollen bud almost has you coming the moment he takes it into his mouth.

"Holy shit," you groan, rocking your hips upward.

"Easy..." Jimin soothes, placing a firm hand on your hips to hold you down. "I'll take care of you." Then he buries himself between your legs.

His tongue alternates hard and soft as it strokes your clit. Any reservations he had about this have disappeared with the way he relishes you. He slides his fingers inside you and pairs each stroke of his tongue with internal pressure from his fingers. You pulse with arousal inside and out. You wind your fingers through his soft hair and he groans a deep satisfied rumble.

"Please, please," you beg, tugging him against you as you get closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it." He pulls off one last time to catch his breath. "Let me have it." His thumb rolls slowly over your clit as he watches you from between your thighs. "Come for me. Be mine."

He dives back in, the pace of his fingers curling inside you matching the figure-eights his tongue weaves over your clitoris. Heat radiates from his tongue, burning and tingling, so pleasurable it's almost painful. Warmth spreads through you, flowing into you and flooding up your spine and down to your toes. You tug harder on his hair. The groan he releases sends vibrations throughout your core, pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck, Jimin, I'm coming," you gasp. Your muscles clench around his fingers and your hips rock against his face as waves of pleasure cascade through you. It lasts for an eternity as he keeps stroking you, perfectly in time to the rhythms inside you. He keeps at it until you finally whine and squirm away, everything becoming too much.

"That's my girl." He smiles as he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh and chuckles when your skin trembles in response.

Minutes pass as you recover your breath. Jimin's head is still between your legs, trailing soft kisses up and down your inner thigh. It tickles and you try to squirm away, but his grip on your hips is too tight.

"Jimin," you whine, wiggling beneath him.

He ignores you, trailing his wet fingers up and down your leg.

"You know," he says, resting his chin on your thigh. "If the curse is real..."

"The curse is not real, Jimin.”

"If the curse is real,” he talks over you, pinching your inner thigh and making you jump, “then that was your last orgasm for a month." He looks so pleased with himself, dark eyes full of mischief. Your skin tingles under his hungry gaze and you begin to heat up again. "Seems a shame to leave it at that."

"Jimin," you sigh. "I'm not sure I have another one in me tonight."

"Oh, come on." He dives back into you, bumping his nose into your clitoris and causing your whole body to jolt. "I can't leave you with just one." He nuzzles against you. "How will you manage?"

A slight pang of pain hits you that he’s going to be gone for so long. But you don’t want him to see it, so you play sarcastic. "I have a vibrator."

"You do?"

"How else do you think I deal with your touring schedule?"

"Dirty girl..." He nips playfully at your inner thigh. "Where is it?"

You blush. "Under the bed."

"What?" His eyes widen in surprise. He swings his head over the side of the bed, inspecting underneath it. "There's nothing but shoes down here," he says as he hangs upside-down searching for your vibrator.

"In the Adidas box." You hide your face behind your hands as he climbs off the bed.

"Look at you," he teases. "Hiding sex toys in shoeboxes. You are dirty." He laughs a delighted laugh when he opens the correct box and you curl in on yourself further. He climbs back on top of you, pulling your hands away from your face.

You laugh when you see him, a small bullet vibrator hanging by its cord from between his teeth.

"I want to see it," he says as he drops the vibrator into your hands. "Show me how you get yourself off, if I'm not around to do it."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Two is kind of my max. I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you, sweetheart." Jimin sits back on his heels to watch you, keeping his hand on the controller connected to the vibrator in your hand.

Your heart beats faster as he stares at you. His semi-erect dick dangles between his spread knees.

"Go on," he encourages, turning the vibrator on.

You move the vibrator down between your legs. It makes a spluttering sound as it encounters your wet folds.

"Listen to that." Jimin smiles and scoots forward on his knees, licking his lips. "Listen to how wet you are. I bet you can come again."

The vibrator does feel good against your sensitive skin and watching him watch you fills you with an arousing mix of embarrassment and confidence. The pleasure builds quickly, everything still wound up from your previous orgasm.

He increases the speed on the vibrator. "Are you getting close?" he asks, his own erection rising as he watches you.

You groan and nod, rolling the vibrator in circles across your palm, grinding it into your clitoris. The sounds of the vibrator, the sloppy wetness of your arousal, and your panting breaths fill the room as Jimin waits to watch you come.

But the closer the edge of your pleasure gets, the more distracted you become. He's just sitting there waiting, with that smug grin on his face. What if you can't come? What if he thinks this stupid curse is real? You just came, it's perfectly reasonable that you might not be able to come again right now.

The further you get into your own head, the further your climax drifts away.

"It's not working, is it?" He strokes his now fully erect cock and wiggles his eyebrows. "Need some assistance?" He turns up the vibrations to their maximum setting.

The drive to come surges back as you press harder against yourself with the vibrator and watch him stroke himself. He shuffles forward on his knees, until his dick is right next to your face.

"Suck my cock," he urges, nudging your cheek with his erection. "Do a good job and I'll let you come."

You want to roll your eyes at the suggestion that he has any control over whether or not you come, but his erection is too tempting. You sit up slightly and draw him into your mouth.

"That's a good girl," he groans. "My desperate little cockslut."

He's so hard on your tongue. You let go of the vibrator to angle yourself better. He moans when you sink down so far that your nose bumps into his pubic bone.

"Fuck," he exhales and his hands tremble as he caresses your cheek. "You take it so well." He picks the vibrator back up from where you dropped it onto the bedspread and positions it back between your legs. You jolt and moan, sending vibrations through his dick. He threads his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck, easing you up and down his cock.

You hover at the edge of coming, so debauched and needy and desperate to please him. He rolls the vibrator faster around your clitoris and you're so close. "Can you come for me?" he whispers, stroking your hair. "I want to see you come with my cock in your mouth."

You groan and rock your hips back and forth against his hand, chasing the edge as he guides you up and down his dick. But you can't quite get there. Every time you reach the tipping point, his cock bumps into the back of your throat and you gag.

"You can't do it, can you?" he teases, pace increasing as he gets more and more excited. The vibrator drops to the bed as he uses both hands to grip the back of your head. "You're mine now. All your orgasms are mine," he chokes out as he loses control of himself and comes down your throat, holding you to him and forcing you to swallow his whole release.

His thighs tremble as he sinks down onto the bed. "I love you," he says, kissing your cheek. He folds his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and sighing happily. Your core aches, but Jimin looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“Hey!” You poke him in the ribs. "You can't leave me like this."

He opens one eye and laughs. "You admitting that you need me?"

You pout, not wanting to admit anything, but really wanting to get off one last time before bed. He's leaving tomorrow. Just because you want him right now doesn't mean you're cursed.

"Please, Jimin." You nudge the vibrator back into his hand, core clenching again when he takes it from you. "Help me."

"Of course." He smiles and kisses you again, before scooting down the bed and positioning himself between your legs one last time.

"So wet and swollen," he teases, as he traces a finger up and down your labia, chuckling as it twitches.

"Quit teasing," you groan, smacking his hand in irritation.

"Yes, dear." He brings the buzzing vibrator back to your clitoris and your hips buck upward to meet him. You're so close to coming you cry out, reaching out for him and grabbing on to whatever you can reach. One hand grips his shoulder as the other tangles into his hair. "That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

His warm wet tongue slides in next to the vibrator and you shatter into a million pieces.

Your fragmented mind floats above you as you tense in pleasure, every muscle contracted as it all becomes too much. You sob as your third orgasm of the night is ripped from you. Jimin massages both the vibrator and his tongue against you, pulling every last drop of arousal from you.

You collapse into a pile of jelly. "Fuck," you breathe out. "That was amazing."

"Glad you enjoyed it." Jimin beams from between your legs, giving one small kiss to your pubic mound before sliding back up and cradling you in his arms. "Hope it was worth it," he mumbles, kissing your forehead as you close your eyes.

You nuzzle into his warm, muscular chest. It certainly seems worth it right now. But curses aren't real. It's the last thing you think before you fall into a deep satisfied sleep. Curses aren't real.

______

You roll over the next morning to find Jimin’s side of the bed empty. Running water in the bathroom tells you he’s already up and getting ready to leave.

There’s a tingle between your legs, an echo of the night before. Your legs and crotch are slick with a mix of saliva, arousal and sweat. It should be disgusting, but it makes you smile mischievously. Memories of last night replay in your mind as you slide your hand down between your legs and contemplate how you got so messy.

The bathroom door is closed. You wiggle over to Jimin’s side of the bed and pick up his phone. It’s 5:30 am. Do you have enough time to talk him into coming back to bed? Your core pulses and you run a teasing finger around it. It’s so sore that it almost hurts to touch it. Almost, but not quite enough to stop you. You miss the heat of his mouth, the possessive way he talked, his groans of pleasure as he consumed you.

“Jimin,” you call out, unable to wait for him any longer.

The running water stops. “Yeah?” he calls out, not opening the door.

“Are you almost done in there?”

“One second.” The water switches back on briefly before he shuts it off and opens the door.

Jimin is shirtless, patting his face dry with a towel. You lick your lips at the sight of him, the tingle between your legs escalating to full ache. He’s dressed in only black slacks, hair wet and tousled from his shower. Your core pulses as you watch a drop of water from his hair drop onto his chest and trail down the muscular planes of his stomach.

His eyes rake over you, making you feel naked despite the covers. You pull your hand away from yourself, embarrassed. Your possibly demonic boyfriend smirks.

“Last night not enough for you?” He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, looking all too pleased with himself. “Greedy girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but your pussy clenches traitorously instead. His dark eyes burn even hotter, as if he knows.

He chuckles. “I’d offer to help you out, but I just washed my face.”

You roll your eyes and squirm under the covers. “There are other ways to help me.” You don’t need his tongue. His fingers or his cock would do just as nicely.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow as he walks over to his nightstand and picks up his phone. “I’ve only got ten minutes before the car arrives though.”

The pang of distress at his leaving returns. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“I thought you could use the rest.” He laughs and kisses you on the forehead. “I didn’t want to wake you earlier than I had to.”

It feels especially hard to say goodbye today. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I bet you will,” he replies, striding across the room to fish a white button-down shirt from the closet, still smirking. “A month is a long time to go.”

“I like more about you than just the sex.” You cross your arms and pout. “Won’t you miss me?”

Jimin laughs brightly as he buttons up his shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Of course, I’ll miss you.” He takes your hands in his, squeezing gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” It doesn’t feel like enough to convey how much you’re going to miss him. But you don’t want to be that needy girl who begs her boyfriend to stay.

He smiles and picks up your hands, lifting them to his lips and kissing the back of each. Then he pauses and sniffs. He can smell the arousal on your hand and you are mortified. His eyes flick back up to your blushing face and he cocks an eyebrow, pleased smirk on his lips. "You sure you don't want my assistance one last time?"

You clench your thighs together and squirm under his heated gaze. "I wouldn't want you to be late." You can always get yourself off after he leaves.

"Yeah," he replies, glancing at his watch. "I should get going." He cups your cheek in his palm, tilting your chin up to give him a kiss goodbye.

You pour all your unspoken longing into your last kiss. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, and when his tongue enters your mouth, your whole body breaks out in droplets of sweat. You thread your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him closer as you moan against his lips.

He laughs as he pulls away from you. "So needy," he teases, wiping his lips with his thumb. "I like it." You want to scoff at how patronizing he sounds, but then he places a soft kiss on your forehead. "Be good for me," he whispers and you can't help the whine you emit as he lets go of you.

What is the matter with you? You've always prided yourself on being a mature adult who was respectful of his schedule, not some hormonal teenager who can't live without her boyfriend. You must be horny. As soon as he leaves, you can solve that problem and go about your day as usual.

You watch Jimin leave, admiring the way the tight black pants show off his best assets. "Hurry back!” you call after him. He blows you a kiss, and then he's gone.

The moment he's gone, you feel colder and emptier. You slide back down under the covers, drawing them up over your shoulders, and sighing broken-heartedly. It's dramatic, but no one is around to see you, so you let yourself wallow for a moment.

The tingle between your legs recaptures your attention. You glance over to the nightstand where your vibrator waits. Your pelvic muscles twitch in excitement. You scoop the vibrator up and sneak it under the bed covers.

You take your time easing into your arousal. You're still sore and sensitive from last night, so you don't go straight for the maximum setting. You tease yourself slowly, like Jimin would. His kiss lingers on your lips. Your fingers miss his soft hair. The vibrator echoes the burning, tingling pleasure of his tongue.

Just as you reach your plateau, cranking the vibrator to the highest setting and settling in for the home stretch, your phone buzzes.

Today 10:35 am

Jimin: What are you doing?

You: Nothing...

Jimin: Nothing? You sure about that? You sure you're not fingering that needy clit right now?

You: I am doing no such thing.

Jimin: You've got the vibrator out then.

You: Fuck. How do you know that?

Jimin: You seemed pretty needy when I left. ;)

You: Where are you?

Jimin: Pulling into the airport.

You groan out loud. The idea of him texting you filth while surrounded by his members made you flush with heat. You ignore him for a moment as you ride the wave of pleasure that surges through you at the thought.

Jimin: You going to answer me?

You: I have the vibrator.

Jimin: Dirty girl... Did you cum?

You: No, not yet

Jimin: Can't get it done without me huh?

You: just taking my sweet time. thank you very much. curses aren't real

Jimin: prove me wrong then. cum for me

Your clitoris throbs as you lower the vibrator back to it, buzzing excitedly. The edge of your orgasm hangs just out of reach. You read back Jimin's command and press the vibrator harder against yourself, rocking your pelvis up and down. It's right there. You ride the edge for a moment, then breathe out and let yourself tip over.

Your whole body goes numb. All feeling disappears, as if you are floating in mid-air, all sense of time and place gone and you feel nothing. Your pelvic muscles contract rhythmically, as if you’re having an orgasm, but you can’t feel it. You feel nothing.

Blinding pain rips through you. The vibrator is a curling iron pressed to your clit. The sheets burn everywhere they touch you. You cry out in shock and fling the source of pain away from you. You tear the bedcovers off as the vibrator clatters into the dresser on the far side of the room.

What the fuck just happened? The pain disappears as quickly as it appeared and you are the same, cunt still pulsing with arousal. You lie in a pool of sweat, panting.

You look over at Jimin's message. Should you tell him what just happened? What if he thinks it's the curse?

You shake your head. No. Curses aren't real. It must all be in your head.

Today 10:42 am

You: did it

Jimin: really?

You feel a slight twinge of guilt as you lie to him.

You: really

Jimin: oh...

Is he disappointed? Did he want you to have an ancient demonic curse? He told you to come for him. You watch typing bubbles appear and disappear several times, but no messages come through. You feel overheated and overwhelmed. You get up out of the bed, ignoring the ache between your legs, deciding to have a cold shower instead.

Jimin: getting on the plane now

You: okay, have a safe flight! I love you! Call me when you land!

Jimin: yup, will do

No "I love you too"? Was he mad at you? Upset? You frown as you stand in your bathroom and watch his flight take off on the flight tracker app on your phone.

_____

It’s a long eleven hours as Jimin flies to Los Angeles. Every time you think about him, the slight tingle between your legs returns. You make the shower ten degrees colder to try to calm yourself down, but it provides only temporary relief. You are on edge and restless all day, but too afraid of the strange thing that happened this morning to try masturbating again.

By the time midnight rolls around, you are very tired and very frustrated. You should go to bed and talk to Jimin in the morning. But as you watch the plane get closer and closer to landing, you can’t fall asleep.

His plane lands and you wait for him to text you. Five minutes go by, then ten, with no message. You can’t take it anymore.

Today 12:18 am

You: Did you arrive safely?

Jimin: Just landed

You: Can you talk?

He’s only been gone half a day, but it already feels too long. You’re annoyed with yourself for feeling this needy.

Jimin: Not right now. Maybe in a couple of hours

You: I have to go to bed…

Jimin: You should go to bed then

You frown. Usually he would plead with you to wait a little longer, or ask if he could wake you up when he was free. You’ve had many whispered conversations at 4 am because it was the only time he could talk.

You can’t let on how much you already miss him though. You don’t want to be one of those girls who becomes a burden. This was the trade-off to dating an idol.

You: Okay, good night then

Jimin: good night

You frown at your phone again, before finally giving up and setting it down on the nightstand.

You stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom wishing he was here with you, instead of halfway around the world. You roll over and hug the pillow next to you. It smells like him. It triggers a deep knock of the same arousal that’s been haunting you all day. Maybe it would help you sleep if you got some relief.

You slip your fingers down into your underwear and find yourself already wet. You trail your fingers through the sticky wetness curiously. You are not usually this wound up so quickly. It’s ridiculous that the smell of him alone can get you this excited.

You bury your face in his pillow and inhale again, amazed as you feel another burst of wetness gush from you. God, you miss him. How do you miss him this much when he’s been gone less than a day? His arms, his hands, his tongue, his lips are all you can think about.

You sigh softly as you trail a damp finger up around your eager clitoris. You close your eyes and imagine the hand belongs to Jimin instead. He’s here with you. His lips on yours, his hand curled into your hair, whispering how you belong to him.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers in your head. “Make yourself wet and desperate for me.” You groan as you pick up the pace of your hand. “Good girl, you’re doing so good.”

“Jimin, please,” you plead into the silence of your empty bedroom.

The Jimin in your head laughs. “You know it’s hopeless right?” he teases, smirking at you in that self-satisfied way where he knows he has you exactly where he wants you. “Every one of your orgasms belongs to me.”

You feel the edge of pleasure begin to slip away. You speed up your hand and chase after it, but it’s no use. The pleasure fades aways and you are left numb, empty and wet.

“Told you I was cursed,” imaginary Jimin teases. You huff in frustration, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, and roll over away from the pillow that smells like him. You shut your eyes tight. Curses aren’t real.

_______

Your dreams are full of Jimin. Jimin’s hands, Jimin’s chest, Jimin’s tongue. Over and over, he teases you toward your climax in your sleep. Always pausing, always stopping before you get to your end. By the time you wake up in the morning, you are swollen and dripping with need.

Your alarm sounds. It’s Monday. Work starts in an hour. You reach down and confirm how wet you are, more wet than you have ever been before. Your thighs slide past each other, slick with arousal. You can’t go to work like this.

It’s time to break out the big guns.

You lean over the side of your bed and fish out the other shoebox. The one you couldn’t tell Jimin about. The one that contains your dildo. Sometimes the vibrator alone wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed a bit more. Sometimes you needed to be filled.

“Won’t do any good,” imaginary Jimin whispers in your head. You ignore him.

You slide the toy through your folds, slicking it up with your excessive wetness. The sides of your entrance tingle with heat as you stroke over them.

“Imagine it’s me,” Jimin teases. The fake cock heats up in your hands and you can almost believe it's his.

“Please, fuck me, Jimin” you beg, even though Jimin is thousands of miles away.

“Would if I could, sweetheart,” he answers. You picture him running his tongue over his plush lower lip. “But that’s not what you really want.”

“No such thing as curses,” you urge as you slide the dildo into you. “Fuck…”

Being finally filled again scratches an itch you hadn’t been able to before. It’s a pleasure and a relief all at once. The toy slides in easily with how soaking wet you are.

You pull up some porn on your phone and prop it against a pillow before grabbing the vibrator. You’re done fucking around. You need to get off right now and then go to work.

The porn isn’t very interesting though. The only thing you want to think about is Jimin. You close your eyes, listening to the audio but picturing your boyfriend. It doesn’t take long before you feel the pleasure crescendo. You let out a sob. It’s happening, it’s finally happening. You aren’t cursed.

The phone rings.

“Fuck!” You throw the vibrator down in frustration.

It’s Jimin. If it were anyone else, you would let it go to voicemail. But you really want to hear his voice. You turn the vibrator off so he won’t hear it, but keep sliding the silicone cock in and out of you.

“Hey babe,” Jimin’s voice is a little raspy. “I thought I could catch you before work. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you lie, sliding the dildo further inside yourself and biting your lip to conceal a groan.

He chuckles. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. Getting ready for work.” You refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting that you’re actually naked in bed, dripping for him. “What are you doing?”

“Finally made it to the hotel,” he groans. You can picture him stretching his arms over his head as he spreads himself across his big empty bed. “Was thinking about you. Thought you might be thinking of me.”

Does he know? How could he know? Does he have magical “knows when his girlfriend is horny” demon powers”?

Shit. No. Jimin is not a demon. There are no such things as demons.

“Did you just call for phone sex?” You want to sound irritated, but your pelvic muscles clench traitorously around the dildo.

“Can’t stop thinking about yesterday.” His voice gets lower and you can hear the slick sounds of his hand moving over his dick in the background. “You were so needy for me. I liked it.”

A sharp blade of anger slices through your fog of lust.

“Jimin.” You pull the dildo out of you, setting it to the side. “You can’t ignore me all day yesterday and then expect me to talk you off like nothing happened.”

“Aww, come on, we were so busy. I called you as soon as I got here,” he whines. “I’ll make sure you get off too.”

You aren’t sure he can. Not with his voice alone. You need him here with you. But you’re not going to admit that.

“I have to go to work.” You are rapidly running out of time.

“Don’t you miss me?” he asks. You can practically hear his pout through the phone.

“Do you miss me?” You want to know why he hadn’t called earlier, but you don’t want to seem too needy.

“Of course, I do, baby. I love you.”

The tension in you eases slightly. Maybe you had been making things up.

“Miss you so much,” he continues and you can hear the sounds of his jerking off pick up speed. “Miss that sweet little cunt.”

It’s just about sex. He doesn’t miss you, he just wants to get off. “I have to go Jimin.”

“What? No! Don’t go.”

“I’m going to be late for work.” You hang up on him, feeling a vindictive victory. Your core is still wet and aching, but your anger powers you long enough to get you up and into the shower.

______

One cold shower and a hot cup of coffee later and you are on your way to work.

The commute sucks. Your lingering arousal refuses to abate. Your mind dwells on Jimin. Sitting down on the subway has you springing to your feet as the train starts moving, vibrations from the rails threatening to have you soaking through your underwear. Memories of Jimin commanding you to orgasm echo through you as you fight to calm your breathing.

You haven’t heard from real Jimin since you hung up on him. He probably fell asleep.

At work, you shift uncomfortably at your desk. You try to answer some emails, but every few seconds your core pulses, forcing you to reposition yourself. Your clothes itch. Everything is too hot. You shrug off the cardigan that you usually need to cope with the building’s air conditioning system. But then you rush to put it back on when you notice how hard your nipples are, poking through your bra and shirt.

The only thing that can distract from the tingling all over you is the buzz of your phone.

Today 10:22 am

Jimin: I’m sorry :(

You: Go on…

Jimin: I’m sorry I ignored you. This whole thing has me a bit thrown off.

You: How so?

Jimin: I was just so sure that the curse was a real thing, you know? I felt pretty stupid that it wasn’t.

You bite your lip and shift uncomfortably in your seat, pressing your legs together. Should you tell him? No… curses aren’t real. You’re just missing your boyfriend. That’s okay.

You: It’s okay, Jimin. Thank you.

Jimin: Is it bad that I kind of wanted it to be real?

You: You did?

Jimin: Well, it’s pretty sexy right?

Sweat trails from your hairline down your neck.

You: I have to be able to live my life Jimin. Can’t be sitting around waiting for you.

Jimin: I’m sorry we’re gone so much.

Shit. Now you’ve made him feel bad for his work schedule, something you swore you’d never do.

You: It’s okay. I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay. Curses aren’t real. I’ll be okay. Curses aren’t real.

You repeat the mantra under your breath until you make it to the end of the work day.

_______

The rest of the work week passes in much the same way, days of jaw clenching and sweating until you can rush home and lie in bed with the vibrator. You edge over and over, afraid of the pain you experienced last time, until you pass out exhausted.

You manage to make it to Friday. There’s a big meeting at nine. Your whole office, crammed into one conference room. At least this way you have an excuse to linger at the edge of the meeting, rather than sit leaking all over an office chair. It’s the first time you’ve had to be around this many other people at once.

“Do you think they can tell?” demon Jimin whispers in your head. “Do they know how wet and desperate you are right now?”

You teter at the edge of the room. You clench in horror as a drop of something begins running down the inside of your leg. You’re too far gone to tell if it is arousal or sweat.

A colleague next to you leans over to ask you a follow-up question on something your boss just said, but you cannot hear them over the buzzing in your head. They look at you in confusion. “Are you alright?”

No, you are not alright. You’re becoming dumber with each passing moment. Sweat beads up on the back of your neck. You mutter something about not feeling well and run for the restroom.

You slam the door to the stall behind you, ripping off your cardigan and undoing several buttons of the blouse underneath. You can’t breathe. You need air. You need relief. You slip your hand underneath your skirt. Your fingers are cool against your burning core. It’s a relief to touch yourself again.

“God, you’re a mess.” Jimin whispers in your head. You want to cry from how humiliating this is. “Can you imagine if they knew what you were doing in here?”

“Jimin…” you plead, unable to stop yourself.

“Shhh… ” he chuckles. “Don’t let them hear you.”

You bang your head back into the stall door in frustration. If you could just come, if you could just get five minutes of relief. Maybe the pain would be better, at least it would be a different sensation. You speed up your hand, chasing any form of relief.

“Such a dirty girl. Getting yourself off in the bathroom to the mere memory of me. What are we going to do with you?”

Your fingers slurp through the slick leaking from you. The noises fill the small office bathroom. It’s disgusting and debauched and you can’t stop yourself.

“Listen to that.” Jimin whispers. “You’re so hopeless.”

Your orgasm dances tantalizingly near, but your hand is starting to cramp up.

“Don’t stop now.” Jimin urges. “Keep rubbing. That’s it. The more desperate you are, the more control I have.”

“Fuck…” you curse.

The bathroom door opens, noises of chatter and typing pouring in from the larger office. “Everything okay in there?”

Your face burns with humiliation and your back drips with sweat. “I’m okay!” you call out, even though you aren’t, not even a little.

You’ll never get relief here. It takes all your strength to pull your fingers away from your swollen cunt. Especially with Jimin whispering in your ear to keep touching yourself.

You adjust your skirt and rebutton your blouse as best you can.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you emerge from the stall, not looking at the colleague who has come to check on you. “Stomach bug.” You hope your excessive sweating sells the idea that you are actually ill.

“Go home!” your colleague insists, waving their hands at you. “Don’t be spreading your norovirus around here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think that is a good idea.” You nod, rinsing off your hands and patting a damp cloth on your face.

Imaginary Jimin grins, his dark eyes burning in your mind’s eye at the idea of having you all to himself again. “I think that’s a good idea too.”

_______

The first thing you do when you get back to your apartment is strip out of your clothes, leaving a trail of sweat-soaked clothing from your front door to the bedroom. You climb back into bed and grab the vibrator, hissing in relief as it clicks on, feeling like you can breathe for a moment.

“You know, you’re only going to make it worse.” Demon Jimin continues to taunt you. “The more you touch yourself, the more you’ll want me.”

“Please, Jimin, please,” you beg, even though there’s nothing your imaginary boyfriend can do for you.

“What will we do with you?” the demon smirks, tutting in mock disapproval. “Can’t even work a full day. How will you keep a job? I’ll have to take you everywhere with me, never too far away. My personal slut.”

“No, Jimin, please…” Everything hurts. Your folds are red and irritated. Your hand cramps from pressing the vibrator into you. But you can’t stop.

“It’s okay, my love. Keep rubbing yourself. Melt your brain away. Be mine. There’s nothing else you need to do. That’s my good girl.”

All conscious thought begins to slip from you. There is only aching burning need. Jimin’s voice echoes in your head, drowning out all your attempts to fight him.

“What an embarrassment you are. So wet and needy. Filthy girl. I won’t be able to take you anywhere. You’ll have to wait around my hotel room, begging me to take pity on you. My own horny little pet.”

Waves of desire roll through you, washing away any other aspirations. Just to be his. To be only his.

“Won’t that be easier? Nothing to worry about. No work, no chores. Your only job will be to stay wet and ready for me. And you’ll be so good at it. I’ll use you when I feel like it and only let you come once I’m satisfied. Every single orgasm will be mine.”

A groan rips from your throat, more animal than human. Tremors run up and down your spine.

“I’ll have to be careful not to let you come too often though,” Jimin teases. “I like you like this. All needy and desperate for me. Want to keep you like this. My brainless little fucktoy.”

You sob. He’s right. It’s all you’re good for now. Nothing but a shivering pile of desperation.

The only thing that saves you from drifting under the demon’s spell is the ring of your phone. Jimin is calling you. Real Jimin. Your only lifeline.

“Hello?” Your voice is raspy and parched. You click off the vibrator so he can’t hear it. But that only makes the need worse, so you replace it with your hand.

“Hello?” Jimin answers. “Are you sleeping?”

“No…” Should you be asleep? You have no idea what time it is.

“You sound weird.”

You switch the phone to speaker and rest it next to your head on the bed so he can’t hear your heavy breathing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you all week.” He sounds a bit upset, and very far away.

You have no answer. No, things were not okay, but there was nothing he could do about it when he’s thousands of miles away.

“Beg him,” demon Jimin whispers. “Go on, beg him to let you come. It will be funny.”

“I can’t,” you mutter under your breath, groaning in frustration.

“What?” Jimin’s voice calls from the phone. “I can’t hear you. Are you still there?”

“I… I can’t do this right now Jimin.”

“Are you still at work?” His tone has shifted from upset to confused.

“No, no, I went home.”

“Are you sick?” Jimin asks through the phone. “Hello?”

A small sob bubbles its way up out of your throat.

“This conversation is boring,” the Jimin in your head insists. “Turn the vibrator back on.”

“I don’t have time for this right now, Jimin.”

“What are you doing?” Real Jimin sounds worried. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Go on,” the demon whispers. “Tell him you can’t come without him. Tell him you belong to him now. Tell him his pathetic excuse for a girlfriend can’t live without him.”

“Jimin please!” you cry out. “I can’t do it anymore, please!” Tears are rolling down your cheeks. “Please let me come.”

“What? Are you playing with yourself right now?” he asks, incredulous.

Somehow the vibrator has turned back on and you rock against it, even as you wish you could stop. “I can’t help it,” you sob. “I can’t stop Jimin. I can’t stop.” You’re useless and pathetic. He’s going to leave you and you’ll never get relief again. “I’m sorry. Please let me come.”

“You can come! You can come!” he shouts through the phone, but of course, that does nothing to help you.

“I can’t come without you!” you sob. “You were right. The curse is real.”

“Huh? But, but... at the airport, you said you did.”

You groan, still chasing relief that isn’t coming. “I lied, Jimin, I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “Why would you lie to me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. But it’s real and I can’t… I can’t do anything without you. You have to come back.”

“I can’t come back. We have a show tomorrow.”

“ He’s not going to help you.” The demon is still there, waiting for you.

“Please, Jimin, please come home.” you beg. “I need you.”

“This is my job. I can’t leave.”

“What about my job, Jimin? What about my life? You can’t leave me like this!”

“It’s only been a week! Can’t you deal with it for a little longer?”

“Fuck you Park Jimin! You did this to me!”

“You said it wasn’t real!”

“He’s useless,” demon Jimin begins to drown out your boyfriend. “Come back to me. Be mine.”

“I have to go Jimin.”

“No, don’t hang up. We can figure this out.”

“You can’t help me.” You hang up the phone and toss it back onto your nightstand.

“Good girl.” The demon hisses in satisfaction. “Let it all go. Let your mind go.” You cry, still rocking against the vibrator, searching for relief that isn’t coming.

______

Your mind slowly leaves you over the next few days. You can get a few minutes of clarity if you’re willing to push yourself all the way over the edge, the searing pain providing you with enough mental clearness to call in sick to work or order food. But every time you do, it leaves you with even less with even less mental clarity.

At some point, you stop keeping track of the days. You stop sleeping. You stop eating. Eventually, even getting out of bed becomes too much work.

The bed sheets are wet, a mixture of sweat and vaginal secretions. You need to pee.

“God, you’re disgusting.” Demon Jimin laughs in your head. “He’s never going to want you now. Wet yourself like the animal you are and be done with it.”

You whine, hiding your face beneath your pillow and trying to distract yourself with the vibrator from the growing need to urinate.

The phone rings. Jimin is calling. He’s been calling for days, but you can’t answer him. You can’t let him know what you’ve become. He’ll never want you again.

There’s a loud banging on your front door. Who could that be? You haven’t ordered any food in a while, not really sure how long.

“Ignore it,” the demon instructs. “Lie here in this bed and piss yourself.”

You wrap the pillow around your head, unsure if you are trying to drown out the pounding on the door or the demon whispering in your ear.

“Open the door!” A loud, frantic voice carries through the door and you curl in on yourself. You don’t know who they are, but you can’t let them see. You can’t let them know. The pounding stops, followed by a loud thud that rattles the door on its hinges. “Goddamn it!” The voice shouts. Then, a softer voice calls through the door. “Baby, please open the door. Please, let me in.” It’s Jimin. Real Jimin. He’s here.

The overwhelming drive for him is the only thing that could propel you up and out of the bed. You’re shaky on your feet, a bit dizzy. The world is not entirely stable. But you manage to make it to the door and unlatch the lock before collapsing in a heap next to the entry.

For a second, there’s nothing. The door stays shut and you are worried that you hallucinated the whole thing. Of course he’s not here. He has more important things to be doing than dealing with his pathetic girlfriend.

But then the door bursts open.

“Babe?” Jimin calls for you as he steps into the apartment, kicking off his shoes. He’s wearing the same white dress shirt and black slacks that he left you in. Maybe he’s a figment of your imagination.

“Jimin…” You reach out for him, unable to believe he’s actually here, needing to feel whether or not he is solid.

“Shit.” His eyes widen as he finds you crumpled up and naked on the floor. “Are you okay?” He drops his overnight bag on the threshold and kneels in front of you, cupping your face in his hands. “Tell me what’s happening.”

You don’t know how to answer him. You don’t know what’s happening. But his fingertips are cool against your feverish, sweaty skin. He brushes the hair out of your face so he can look you in the eyes. You only know you need him.

“Jimin, I need you, please.” Your hands reach for him, searching for more of his skin to cool yourself against. You’re untucking his shirt from his pants and trying to undo his belt buckle, but he bats your hands away.

“Woah...” He grabs your hands to stop you as you battle him for his belt. “Babe, slow down, talk to me.”

He doesn’t want you. He’s repulsed by you. The demon was right. He’ll never touch you again. You’re worthless. You’re repulsive. You burst into tears. “Please, Jimin, please, I can’t,” you sob, nearly incomprehensible.

“Shh, shh...” He runs his hands over your shoulders. “Shh… it’s going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you.” He scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the hall, back toward your room. “I was so worried,” he says as he cradles you against him.

You can only respond by nuzzling your face into his chest, the cool cotton of his white shirt absorbing the heat from your skin.

“Your work called and said you haven’t been in since last week.” He kisses the top of your head and inhales the smell of your hair. “Why haven’t you been answering the phone?”

You ought to feel bad, but it was hard to feel too bad when you had what you finally wanted, Jimin back here with you.

“I thought something terrible had happened to you.” He pauses at the door to the bathroom, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s the curse,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “I’m cursed. You cursed me.”

“I’m so sorry.” He set you down on the toilet, before turning on the shower. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead and turns to leave the bathroom.

You panic. Where is he going? He can’t leave you like this. “Jimin, no, don’t leave.” You chase him out of the bathroom, catching him around the middle and clinging to his waist. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving,” he chuckles, trying to unfasten your arms from around him, but you refuse to let go. “I was just getting undressed.” He sighs, picking you up once again and carrying you back to the bathroom. He tries to set you down again, but you whine, clinging to his neck.

Giving up, he steps directly into the shower, still dressed, cradling you in his arms. The white dress shirt turns translucent as the water hits it, clinging to his skin. The water runs down his torso and thighs and you groan with need. The water is warm, but it feels cool compared to how hot your skin is.

“Jimin, please.” You’re begging again. “I need you.”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he answers. Your legs tremble underneath you as he puts you back on your feet. He grabs the bottle of body wash and squirts out a generous dollop, lathering it up in his hands. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

It’s all you can do to stay standing as he caresses you. He removes the shower head from its hook so he can follow each soapy caress with water to wash you clean.

He starts with your neck, then your breasts, then your stomach, gentle hands massaging over you. It only makes the ache for him worse. He reaches the puffy and swollen labia and you gasp, legs trembling.

“Please, Jimin, please,” your endless chant of pleading begins again.

“Shh…. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He runs the showerhead over your aching core to rinse off the soap and your legs give out entirely. You collapse against the wall behind you, unable to support yourself. Still dressed in his soaking wet clothes, he kneels in front of you. He spreads your legs, investigating your swollen folds with his soapy hands. Your clitoris throbs, hard and angry and red. You shiver as he runs the water stream over again. “Does it hurt?” he asks, watching your face as he strokes over your tender core with his fingertips.

“No, no,” you shake your head emphatically. “Not anymore.” The only pain now is the distance between you. “Please, please, please…”

He slides closer to you, brushing his dark wet hair back off his forehead and licking his lips. He picks up one of your legs and wraps it over his shoulder, then the other, carrying you on his shoulders as he buries his face in your core. You are so on edge, have been on edge for so long, that you’re already at the peak of your arousal the moment his tongue touches you.

Something monstrous is building inside you. A sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before moves through you as he moves his tongue in slow broad strokes over your clit. Flames of heat lick at your extremities, beginning in your fingertips and toes and spreading upward. Rising warmth builds in your belly as you ride his face, hips undulating in time with the bobbing of his head. Fear floods you as the memory of the searing pain returns from those moments you’ve gotten this close in the past. You tense up, gripping his shoulders tightly, afraid to let yourself tip over.

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispers, pausing for a second to admire you from between your thighs. “It’s okay to let go.” His warm wet tongue slides over your aching clit as his fingers penetrate you. A massive tremor rolls through you as all the pent of tension releases at once and you’re coming. Every muscle in your body seizes over and over as you grind against his face.

Rhythmic muscle contractions seize you as a rush of fluid shoots out of you, spraying Jimin right in the face. You’re screaming, but not from pain. There is no pain, only release, only relief.

“Woah.” Jimin gapes at you, your release dripping down his face and off his chin. Then he breaks into a huge smile. “That was amazing.”

You laugh out loud, relief washing over you. Your whole body turns to jello and you collapse into his lap.

“Thank goodness we were already in the shower,” he says, wiping his face with his hand and chuckling.

The two of you sit, holding on to each other under the stream of water, laughing. Finally, the mental fog begins to lift from your thoughts.

“How did you get here?” you ask, yawning as you do so.

“On a plane.” He laughs, nuzzling against your neck, arms wrapped around you.

You hit playfully on his chest, still covered in his soaking wet dress shirt. “You know what I mean, what about the tour?” You yawn again.

He mirrors your yawn, stretching his arms and groaning. “I have to go back in the morning. They managed to get me out of the press junkets for today by claiming I was sick, but I have to be back for the concert.”

“Do they know?” Your eyes are already closing as you lean against his warm firm torso.

“About the curse?” Jimin asks. “No…” he laughs. “No, I don’t think they’d let me leave if I told them it was because my girlfriend really needed to ride my face. I told them I had a family emergency.”

“I’m sorry, Jimin.”

He shakes his head. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” He turns your face toward him and kisses you. “It’s my fault. I never should have left you.”

You sigh, head resting on his shoulder. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezes your hand where it is entwined with his in your lap. “But we’ll figure something out.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall, finger stroking your arm. “But right now we should get some sleep.”

He turns off the shower, stripping off his wet clothes and leaving them behind before scooping you up. Your head is floaty as he wraps you in a warm towel. You lean against the counter as he strips the sheets from the bed and replaces them with fresh ones, then comes back to lead you back to the bed. The two of you collapse into bed together and sleep overtakes you almost instantly.

______

Your dreams are full of Jimin again. Not teasing demon Jimin, but your warm loving boyfriend, stroking your hair and holding your hand.

You are surprised to wake up and find him watching you.

“I have a solution!” He chirps excitedly.

“You do?”

“Yes! Apparently the curse is in my saliva. So here!” He thrusts the bottle of lube from your nightstand into your hands. You look at it in confusion. “I spit in it!” he proudly declares.

“Um…” You hold the bottle at arm’s length. “Thank you?”

“This way, if I’ve been gone too long, you have a way to get off without me.”

“How do you know it will work?”

He laughs sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mom.”

“Ugh, no…” You hide your head under the covers in embarrassment. “What did you tell her?”

“It was an awkward conversation.” He laughs again. “But I couldn’t let you go through that again. She swears this will work.” He glances down at his watch. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to test it out with you.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Think you can get it done before I get on my plane?”

“I suppose there’s one way to find out…”

Jimin disappears under the bed and returns with both your vibrator and dildo. “Better get going then,” he teases, before giving you one last kiss. “I’ll text you when I land. I love you.”

You stare at the assortment of sex toys and lube now spread out on your bed. “You’re just going to leave? I don’t have to go with you?”

“Do you want to go with me? I thought you had work.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I do, but… I thought you were going to make me your personal sex slave.”

“Um, I wasn’t planning on it.” He laughs, then a more mischievous smirk spreads over his face. “Unless you want me to.”

You laugh in relief even as a lick of heat curls in your belly. “Perhaps that’s a game best left for when you are in town.”

He winks. “Looking forward to it.”

#HAPPY HALLOWEEN!#jimin smut #jimin x reader #btssavedmylifeblr

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certifiedskywalker · 3 years

Text

Pomegranate Chapstick - Peter Parker

It’s Winter in New York City. Not that movie magic kind of Winter that reeks of mistletoe and Hallmark channel cliches. No, it’s no longer the Holiday Season and everyone is back to school after Winter Break. Peter Parker is happy to be back because being back means being able to see you again. Though, something is different about you but he just can’t place it.

“What is it?”

“Y/N…”

“Yeah?” Ned looked in the same direction as Peter, who, suddenly self conscious, turned his friend back around to face him. “What is it?”

“Don’t, don’t look! I just…” Peter found that his eyes trailed back over to where you talking with MJ. Your eyes were bright, hands gesturing about you as your friend shared you into a passion. Despite your movements, Peter found himself drawn back to your smile.

“Something’s different,” he finished, “but I don’t know what.”

“It’s only been like two weeks. It was Christmas literally a few days ago.” Peter glanced warily at Ned before he looked back to you. You were still smiling. The sight made his chest tighten, stole his breath directly from his lungs. “Pete?”

“You remember Homecoming,” Peter pointed out as he met Ned’s eyes, “that all happened in a week and I almost died. Twice! Anything could have happened over break.”

Peter let his eyes wander back to you. Whatever MJ was discussing with you was enthralling. You were completely consumed, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Slightly hidden under all of the layers of Winter clothing you were wearing, you looked warm, aflamed and bright. Suddenly, you threw your head back, laughing at something MJ had said.

The sound sent a shiver down Peter’s spine that he tried to pass off as a response to the cold. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket over his chilled hands and adjusted the strap of his backpack that dug into his shoulder. Ned blinked at him a few times, too close of a friend to not notice Peter’s nervous ticks.

Eventually, Ned glanced over in your direction too. “Well, Y/N seemed alright. We had Advanced Geometry together and we talked.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Really? Did anything happen?”

“From what Y/N said, your Winter break was way more eventful, Spiderman.”

Peter knocked the back of his hand against Ned’s shoulder to hush him. Classmates continued to file out of the school, laughing and chatting about the less than glorious return to academia. Peter eyed them all as they stepped down the stairs to the streets of the city. None of his peers seemed to have picked up on Peter’s secret. Satisfied his identity was safe, Peter glanced at Ned with a warning balanced in his frown.

“Sorry,” Ned said, raising his hands.

“Gotta be more careful.” Peter glanced around at the faces of his classmates once more. Everyone was too caught up in leaving school for the day to notice the worried look on his face. All except you when Peter accidentally met your eyes. Quickly, he tore his gaze away and stared directly, wide-eyed, at Ned.

“What?”

“Y/N.” Ned glanced over in your direction.

“Headed over with MJ. Why?”

Peter’s face warmed to the point where the scarf wrapped around his jaw was pointless. “And? Does...is...do I look okay?”

Ned squinted before his lips broke into a wide grin. A laugh rattled in his chest and Peter felt a fresh wave of panic wash over his shoulders.

“What?! Do I look-”

“Hey losers,” MJ greeted, standing by your side. Peter glanced at the curly-haired girl before he saw you gently elbowed her shoulder. He met your eyes and felt his lips instinctively curl up in a lopsided smile.

“Hi,” Peter said softly as he tried to steady his breathing. Now, with you closer, he tried to study you, sleuth out what was different.

“Hey! Do you guys wanna do something? Hang out?”

Your smile was still as bright as your eyes as you asked. Maybe it was the ruddiness in your cheeks, spurred on by the cold that made you seem changed? No, that was too simple.

“Nah, I gotta work,” MJ said.

“Wow, you got a job?” Ned asked, causing Peter to glance away from your face for a moment. When he looked back to you, Peter found that you were looking at him. Though, you quickly looked to MJ, waiting for her reply.

“Yeah, over break. At the QuikMart.”

Maybe you got a haircut or, possibly, you dyed your hair and the color was fading back to it’s natural tone. Aunt May had dyed her hair a dark red one year. Peter remembered thinking there was blood in the tub when the pigment started to wash out. Though, even with his ‘Spidey-vision’, as Ned called it, Peter couldn’t detect a color.

“Awesome. Can you get me free slushies?”

“Bro, I don’t even get free slushies,” MJ replied, frowning at Ned. “I gotta go, can’t be late. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“See ya,” you said, waving off your friend as MJ walked along the snowy sidewalks. Peter swallowed hard when you looked back to him and Ned. “What about you two?”

“I told my mom I’d be back after school to help her with my lola, my grandma.” Peter’s brow furrowed and he turned his head to look at Ned. “Really? You need help?”

“No, she’s coming over to make some food,” Ned explained as he started down the steps of the school. “I’m mom’s moral support.”

“Oh…”

“Well, have fun with that,” you said, bringing Peter’s eyes back to focus on you. “Maybe next time then.”

Ned let out another laugh. It was eerily similar to the laugh he gave Peter when he asked if he looked okay. Something about the sound made Peter’s stomach twist.

“You two have fun!” Ned’s shout disappeared after him, down the sidewalk and into the city. His words left you and Peter alone. You glanced back to him with a soft smile on your lips. Peter couldn’t help but smile back at you, even though he did so nervously. His eyes flickered up to yours then back to your lips.

While your smile was unchanged, still yours and beautiful, he kept coming back to your lips. It had to be your lips that were different and Peter leaned in slightly to figure out how. Your eyes widened slightly and Peter’s face burned with realization.

“Uh, sorry,” Peter shifted back and let his gaze fall. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“I-I...to be honest, I don’t know. I just missed you over Winter break. Missed, all of you, I mean. MJ and Ned, and you.” You held Peter’s eyes for a fleeting glance before you busied yourself wiping snow off the steps with your boot.

“Yeah, I,” Peter felt his chest tightened again, “I missed you too, Y/N.”

You looked back up at him, met his brown eyes and gave him a closed-lip smile. Silence fell over the two of you but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy, not tension filled and heavy. Being with you was always easy for Peter but this new nervousness that bloomed over Winter break was difficult to manage. He couldn’t let his eyes linger on you too long until fear took hold.

The silence too had its limit. “We should head over to the library maybe. You have Ms. Turner for chem, right? We could study together if you want.”

Peter fought the urge to cringe as his suggestion. In his head, it sounded better, more thought through. He had missed you and wanted to spend time with you. So, naturally, he had to recommend the quiet library. Maybe he was the one that was different, more awkward.

“Sure, yeah!” You started down the steps and Peter trailed after you. “She’s new and I’m a bit nervous about how she tests.”

“I’m nervous too,” Peter agreed as he fell into step beside you. “About the test.”

Peter glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and saw that you were already looking at him. Quickly, you both looked away from the other and started to walk silently towards the library. Every so often, Peter felt your gloved hand against the skin of his bare knuckles. Each time you touched him, a new sense of curiosity struck him. This quietness was different, he wasn’t sure that he liked it, and your hidden change still gnawed at him.

Mr. Stark had given Peter many words of wisdom. Always ask questions was, seemingly, his motto when it came to his ‘internship’. Though, Peter couldn’t find the words. Everytime he did, he second guessed.

Hey, what did you get up to over break? New style? No, no, no! It had to be your smile. He was stuck on your smile, your lips.

Finally, with nerves and desperation bubbling up inside, Peter let the words come out without thinking. “Y/N, are you wearing like lipstick or something?”

You laughed, drawing the attention of those around you. The last crosswalk before the library was fast approaching and Peter needed to find out what had changed before you were both doomed to a respectable quiet.

“Lipstick? No, I am wearing tinted chapstick though.”

“Oh,” Peter’s brow furrowed, “I guess maybe that’s what’s different.”

“Different?” At your amused tone, Peter looked at you, brown eyes searching your face. There was a softness in his eyes and stole your breath away. His lips turned up slightly at the corners, the gentlest smile you had ever seen.

“You just...you look-”

A car horn, loud, alarming, and terribly frightening ripped through the air. Peter reacted to the sound, lurching forwards and wrapping his arms around your waist. Even with your bag slung halfway on your back, Peter was able to catch you as you nearly fell into the street. The car horn faded into the distance but your attention shifted from death to Peter in an instant.

“Beautiful,” he finished.

Finally, it clicked. You hadn’t changed, but the way Peter saw you had. The way he saw your lips had shifted too. More enticing than ever before.

“Peter, I…”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Peter said, quickly helping you back to your feet and out of the crosswalk. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you said with a swallow breath. Peter’s hands were still on you, thumbs gently rubbing your coat-covered, upper arm. Your eyes lingered on Peter, unable to tear them away.

His breath, and yours, came out in small clouds, chilled by the cold. Together, you made your own atmosphere and shared the same air. Adrenaline pumped through Peter’s veins, filled, not with curisoulity anymore, but want. He took a step closer.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” You found yourself coaxed closer by his warmth.

“Can...can I kiss you?”

You smiled again and nodded. “Yes.”

Peter leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His fingers dug into the material of your coat softly. One of your hands reached up, cupped his face and accidentally knocked his hat off of his brown curls. Neither of you cared and, instead, savored your shared late-Winter kiss. Peter’s hands trailed up your arms until they gently held your jaw, keeping your lips on his.

Peter’s eyes stayed closed and a smile plastered on his face when you pulled away. A chuckle passed over your lips when you saw how your tinted chapstick left a faint stain on Peter’s lips. Carefully, you used your thumb and wiped what residue you saw away. Peter’s eyes opened at the touch and his smile widened.

“Pomegranate?”

“You like it?”

Peter pulled you in for another kiss after saying, “I love it.”

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twistedtummies2 · 3 years

Text

Birthday Belly (LeonaXReader)

I wrote this yesterday for my own birthday. I didn’t really go into this with much of a plan, this story is 99% just me freestyling and whipping out some self-indulgent nonsense involving Leona Kingscholar and his appetite. It came out to about 4000 words, which is relatively short for MY stories on here. XD Hopefully you all will enjoy it.

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Living at the Ramshackle Dorm had, you thought, left you almost impervious to surprises. The 999 Happy Haunts who inhabited the old manor house had tried nearly every trick up their capes to spook you and shock you, and after dealing with so many dark mages for so long – facing demigods and fairy princes along the way – you didn’t think much could startle you. Today, you were going to be proven wrong. You sighed with some relief, removing your obligatory birthday sash and letting it drape over the arm-rest of the sofa as he leaned back and closed your eyes. Back in your homeworld, you had never really been much of a party person. You had never much cared for crowds, even among people you knew well; part of the joy of being one of only two (living) beings who called Ravenswood Manor home was that you were able to find privacy and peace fairly easily. However, despite not being a mage, and despite being so lonely there, your friends and the school itself had gone to a great deal of trouble to provide you with a party. You smiled wearily as you eyed the streamers and other decorations strung about your ground floor rooms. A huge banner reading “Happy Birthday…!” and followed by your name was hung over the fireplace, and piled up next to the spot where you’d installed your television and other such things was a stack of presents you had gotten from all your friends.

Ace had given you a set of playing cards and poker chips, winking as he promised to give you a chance to put them to use. Deuce, meanwhile, had been much more sensible, purchasing some cooking apparel he knew you could put to good use. Riddle Rosehearts, meanwhile, brought you some cherry tarts he and Trey had made together. Cater Diamond also appeared, and had bought a new external drive for your laptop computer. “I would have gotten you a new phone,” Cater had smiled. “But I didn’t think you needed one. Speaking of, BIRTHDAY SELFIE! COME ON OVER HERE…!” Idia hadn’t stayed for the party, but his brother Ortho had been happy to pop in. The two had pitched their cash together to buy you a new game system, along with a new game to play on it. Idia had personally sent a birthday card, as well; according to Ortho, his hands had been shaking so much trying to figure out what to write in it, he thought his brother’s fingers might fall off. All Idia had written in the card was, “Have a nice day,” probably because he had freaked out at the thought of saying anything else. Poor dear. Somebody – you weren’t sure who – had very, VERY wisely remembered to invite Malleus Draconia, who came with Silver. Silver spent most of the party sleeping, but Malleus had been kind enough to bestow a gift of his own, in the form of a leatherbound edition of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Naturally, Kalim had shown up, tugging Jamil along behind him. Each had a different gift to give: Kalim had brought a VERY expensive looking carpet, done in the ornate styling of his homeland. “It’s been in my family for…um…uh…” he had paused to try and count the years on his fingers…and eventually ran out of fingers AND toes to count on. “…A very, very long time! Like…SUPER long! I thought it might look nice in your bedroom or the ballroom or something! It’s, uh…it’s not too much, is it?” Gods bless that Baby Otter. He needed so many hugs. Jamil’s gift had been much more reserved: a mancala game box, which he had presented all while trying not to blush under his black hood. Vil had stopped by for a short while; he’d only stayed briefly, claiming the “decadent atmosphere of your gloomy domicile” would mess up his hairdo. (Go figure.) However, he had kindly brought you a gift in the form of custom-made suit of clothes he had ordered from his own personal tailor: some of the finest and most formal wear you had ever seen in your life. “Now you can actually look halfway presentable, instead of resembling a half-baked potato, next time there’s a big event,” he had smiled, as if he had been doing you a tremendous favor. Well. With clothes like this, you weren’t going to argue or complain. Azul had stopped for a brief “hello and goodbye” visit; he actually wanted to stay longer – Floyd, who had been with him, seemed particularly sad he couldn’t stay and squeeze his favorite “Little Shrimp” half to death all afternoon and evening…and in his case, that phrase was probably literal – but the Mostro Lounge was open that day, and he didn’t want to leave Jade in charge of things alone for TOO long at the office. The octopus man had brought you a bracelet covered in small seashells: simple, but surprisingly sweeter than you had expected. Floyd, meanwhile…he just hugged you. “What’s a better present for Shrimpy than a nice, tight SQUEEZE from their bestest, most favorite eel-person…riiiiiiight?” The safety of your spine and lungs demanded you agree and hug Floyd back. Ruggie and Jack had been among the first to show up. The latter had brought a hastily-wrapped DVD: a movie entitled “The Wolf of Pumpkin Hollow.” “I didn’t get this because I actually care,” he had clarified, looking everywhere but at your face and scratching the back of his white-eared head. “Just…everyone else would have thought it was rude if I didn’t get you something. Not that it matters what they think! Just…didn’t want to have to put up with it.” He was such a puppy. He truly was. Not only was Ruggie one of the first to arrive, he turned out to be THE first to give you your gift: a box of doughnuts. All glazed. “My grandma used to tell me: ��Ruggie, get people the same kinds of gifts you’d want them to get you.’ Well, I can’t think of much I want more than doughnuts!” he sang out with an innocent smile. “You just wanted to have some to eat yourself, didn’t you?” you couldn’t help but smirk. Ruggie had gasped, seemingly offended…only to eventually ask if he could have some. The four remaining doughnuts – which you had to sneak away while the hyena wasn’t looking – were now on a plate in your fridge. You’d eat them later. Others had come and gone throughout the day; none of them had gifts to bring, but they had been happy to pop in, give well-wishes, and enjoy the party for a while. Now, however, all the guests were gone; even Grim had left, as you had asked him for some alone time that night. He and the gang from Heartslabyul were going to have a sleepover as a result. Despite the smile on your face as you looked over at your gifts, there was a hint of sadness to your expression. The one person whose presence you’d been looking forward to most hadn’t come. You’d asked his dorm-mates if they knew where he was or what he was doing, but none of them told you. Most of them very clearly had no clue…except for Ruggie. You got the feeling he DID know, he just wasn’t telling. Honestly, that didn’t settle your mind much. Your smile faded completely, and you closed your eyes once more, sighing through your nose…this time with a hint of despondency. Had he forgotten it was your birthday? Was he with somebody else right now? Maybe he was sleeping somewhere, like the big, lazy kit he was…some part of you – you couldn’t tell what part – kind of hoped that was all it was. He probably wasn’t hurt or sick…if he had been you’d think Ruggie would have told you… You glanced out the window. Evening was turning into night. You huffed softly through your nostrils, and stretched a bit where you sat. The party had worn you out more than you thought. You shook your head to clear it of your more perturbing thoughts, and began to wonder if you should just get to bed early tonight… A knock came at the door, jolting you to a more attentive state. You stood up from the ouch and headed out through the hall to the foyer. You wondered who it was…had one of the guests left something behind? As you approached the door, you adjusted your pristine white suit – another obligatory item for those celebrating a birthday at Night Raven College – which must have made whoever was on the other side impatient: they knocked again. “One moment, I’m here!” you called out, and opened the door. “Who’s-?” You froze, the word “there” dying before it ever reached your larynx. The first thing your eyes took in was the familiar, dimly-glowing pair of green ones staring back at you, as well as the dark mane and leonine ears and tail that accompanied their owner. A scar was slashed across one of the two eyes. The second thing – and the one that truly made you freeze – was the ENORMOUS, bare belly that was only inches away from you. The skin was tanned and smooth and supple-looking, the organ swollen to the size of a large watermelon, and only slightly less taut. The navel looked like the center of a maelstrom, drawing your attention towards that bloated gut as it let out a deep, burbling rumble…just before a black-clad hand slapped over it, hiding it from sight. At the same time, another hand suddenly scooped itself under your chin…and you found your head being tilted up, your eyes now locking on a pair of perfect-looking, velvety lips…which then parted to reveal a gaping, red mouth, dripping with saliva and framed by two rows of pointed, pearly fangs. You barely had time to take in the view of this glistening, slimy orifice…before your ears rang and your nose crinkled as two words were burped up. Right in your face. “HAAAAPPY…BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP-DAY!” The belch was followed by a light sigh and a chuckle as Leona Kingscholar patted his stomach proudly. It jiggled at his touch. He smirked as he took in your expression: a loopy, flushed look was on your face. You were swaying so much that if he removed his hand from under your chin at that moment, you might have just toppled over. “Hm-hm-hmmm…did you like that?” he purred, smoothly. You nodded dumbly, still smiling a loopy, dazed smile as the sound reverberated in your ears, and your nose tingled from the lingering odor of the lion’s gut gas: a strong, heady, meaty smell that twined through the pockets of your gray matter, practically putting you in a trance for several long seconds. Finally, you found your voice. “…Where have you been?” “Preparing your present,” Leona said, as if that should have been obvious, and gently nudged you back as he entered the house and swaggered past you. With every step, his hips swung, and you found your blush seemed to be permanent as you watched them rock and sway as he strutted towards the living room. You followed him as if a leash had been tied ‘round your neck, and watched as he flopped onto your couch, gut sloshing with every little motion of his form. He was dressed in his usual clothes, but his gut was so massive it caused his mustard-colored shirt to ride up, exposing his belly to the world. The lion demi growled as he reached down; his waistband was still buttoned up, and clearly it was causing him discomfort. His fingers fumbled for the belt buckle…and he frowned as he couldn’t quite get it to cooperate. “Tch. Figures,” he grumbled. “After that entrance…pain in my ass…” The familiar phrase snapped you out of your stupor, and you chuckled, rolling your eyes. You sat down next to your princely boyfriend, and shooed his hands away. He frowned, growling indignantly, but allowed you to fiddle with his buckle, and finally managed to work it off… POPK! ZZZRRRIIIP! GUHBLORLSH! Leona let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt as – the moment the buckle was released – his trouser button gave up the ghost, popping open as the zipper flew down, the sheer weight and pressure of his belly forcing them open. He sighed as his belly poured into his lap like a mass of mocha-colored dough, wobbling as it noisily burbled. “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRRRP!” he belted out. “Oof…that felt good…” You blushed bright red, helpless to do anything but nod; you were already starting to tremble at so many…APPEALING things happening all at once. Leona smirked anew as he noticed your expression, leaning back a little further against the sofa cushions as his scarred eye flashed with a superior gleam. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” “How much did you eat?” you asked, marveling at the size of his belly as you fingers fidgeted and twitched, looking for something to do. You suddenly felt a little parched… “Mmmmm…not enough,” Leona growled, and grinned wider, revealing his pointed teeth. “I could fit more in there, I’m sure…” He licked his lips in a sultry, almost inviting way. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out a shaky, shuddering sound as you shivered, a mixture of warmth and cold flickering across your spine. Leona chuckled – his gut bounced with his mirth, and tilted his head back with a sigh. “Ahhhhhh…went to my favorite buffet and helped myself,” he elaborated as he gave his belly a few hearty slaps. “Pure meat, every ounce.” You nodded slowly, dumbly. Leona snorted through his nose, raising an eyebrow as he saw you openly ogle his stomach. “Hmph. Are you just gonna stare at it all night, Herbivore?” he grunted. He waited till you looked up at him before going on: “Go ahead. It’s not gonna rub itself.” Your heartbeat quickened and you smiled widely. Leona grimaced and snarled. “Oi…just rub, don’t gimme those eyes…you look like that brat back home…” You chuckled – it was hard not to giggle, honestly – and gratefully helped yourself to your “present.” Your hands quickly fell over Leona’s bloated gut as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. You scooted closer, and quivered at the intense warmth of the half-lion’s greedy, globular gut. Your palms and fingers began to lightly run across his girth, stroking his belly, just to get a feel of the texture and temperature. His flesh was silky-smooth, making it so hard to resist just pressing your face against it and nuzzling into his belly… You did resist though. At least for the moment. Instead, your fingers began to knead and massage the belly of your beau, pressing down onto the thick soup you could feel churning away inside his bowels. You prodded experimentally, almost as if trying to distinguish each bit of food from the next…but there was no way you could. Whatever Leona had gobbled up was now little more than a uniform mush being swirled about by his strong stomach muscles. His insides warbled and rumbled, as if in response to your ministrations. Leona sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the way you massaged his distended tanker. In truth, the lazy lion didn’t need much of an excuse to stuff himself…but you didn’t care that much. Whether he did this for himself, or for you, as he claimed, the end result was the same. “Mmmmm…that’s it…keep it up,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he snickered anyway. “Heh heh…good. Prey like you should be happy to have a chance like this,” he said, and playfully patted your cheek, causing your blush to intensify. A spike of ego shot up in you, and you purposefully pressed down harder against his stomach. It let out a HUMONGOUS groan, and Leona’s eyes widened and his cheeks ballooned…before he let out another sloppy, rumbling belch. “BUUUUUUUHHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLUUUUUUP! Haaah…oi. Not so rough,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at you, tail lashing and thumping against the sofa cushions. “Sorry,” you smiled innocently. “You had so much hot air in there, it clearly had to be let out.” Leona’s eyes narrowed further. “I could turn you into dust right here and right now,” he said, warningly. “I guess you could,” you said, smoothly, and then traced a finger around the rim of his deep, dark trench of a navel. The effect was instantaneous. Leona tensed up for a second, inhaling sharply through his teeth…then sighed and relaxed, all but melting into his seat, eyes fluttering closed again as he purred louder than ever. You smirked triumphantly, as you stuck your finger into his navel and wiggled it around a bit. “Still want to turn me into dust?” you teased. Leona could only moan. He moaned even louder as you cupped one hand on the underside of his belly: the softest, warmest, most sensitive portion of his abdomen. You gently rubbed your hand against them, and traced your fingers over his sides. You could hear his toes curl in his boots; his tail you could SEE curl into a spiral shape as he bit his lip with pleasure. “I’ll take that as a no,” you observed, a dreamy sort of sigh upon your lips as you were honestly enjoying this just as much as he was, a fact you made clear you when you half-consciously murmured: “You’re so SOFT…” “Mmmm…I’ll be softer once it’s all digested,” Leona mumbled. “Vargas is probably gonna complain…think he’d pester me about that stuff if I ate ‘im?” “I think if you ate Coach Vargas, you’d just get a bellyache,” you said, not wanting to add that someone as egotistical as Leona eating someone as showboating as Vargas probably meant all the weight would to his head… …Cracks like that weren’t funny, and could get you bitten. The second part you didn’t mind as much as one might think, to be fair. …You really needed to see a shrink… Leona just scoffed, unaware of your thoughts as you continued to rub and massage his belly. You gave the side of his belly a few hearty thumps, watching the way his belly shifted and jiggled like a water balloon. His stomach groaned and churned rhythmically, squelches and squeals of liquid being compressed and stirred echoing just beneath the luscious skin of the half-lion prince. It sounded like a huge vat of semi-solid mash being pumped and processed in a factory…a sound some might have considered nauseating, but you just bit your lip, rubbing and kneading more vigorously as you heard pockets of gas being released. As you kneaded and pressed down, Leona would BELCH and BURP periodically. Each was short and low, which only made you rub his gut more vigorously. He gave you a bored sort of look as he realized what you were doing. “Didn’t get enough to drink at your party, did you, you thirsty little Herbivore?” “Not even close,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona rolled his eyes, and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture. He then curled that same finger down, balling that hand into a fist…and pumped his fist against his chest once, twice, thrice…before unleashing a true wall-rattler, which flapped his lips and made him go crosseyed. “GYYYYUUUUUHHHHHEEEEERRRRRWWWOOOOAAAAARRRRRIIIIIPLK!” Leona sighed as the eruption came to an end, and snorted as you squeaked at the sound. “Happy now?” he drawled boredly. “Very,” you peeped, patting his belly thankfully. Leona rolled his eyes as he scratched the side of his gut with his leather-tipped fingers, making it slosh under your palm. You quivered. His lips quirked. “Tch. You’re such a snack,” he muttered. “It’s amazing nobody’s already gobbled you up…” “Just lucky so far, I guess,” you shrugged, and scratched his belly with your own fingers. Leona let out a non-committal rumble…then smirked a bit. “We could fix that, you know,” he purred in a slippery, sly way. You froze, and looked up at him slowly, a little confused and slightly apprehensive. Leona smiled back, eyes half-lidded; the dominant, powerful, but affectionately amused smile that always left you shivering for all the right reasons. Then, one of his his hands lifted, and cupped your cheek. He brushed a thumb against it, and you smiled gently back… …Just before that same hand slid forward, and wrapped around the back of your head. “Here,” he growled, commandingly, as he began to force you downwards. “Listen. Feel.” You didn’t have much choice, and it wasn’t as if you would disobey if you could. You surrendered easily as he eased you down against his belly, pressing your head down and holding it firmly, curling his hand so one of your was right above his navel. You felt your chest flutter as the warmth of his body was now right up against your face, and the deep, thick GRRRROOOOLLLLLLG sounds of his ever-hungry belly echoed in your ear like rolling thunder. You stayed perfectly still; time and place seemed to fade into nothingness. All that mattered was the moment: you were hypnotized by his belly, barely conscious of anything. He started speaking, but it took you a few seconds to realize what he was even saying. “…I’d you’d like it, huh?” were the first words you made out, followed by still more: “I could swallow you alive, Herbivore. You’d slither right down my throat, curl up in my stomach…and never come out. I’d just fall asleep, and let you stay there. It wouldn’t have to hurt: one big burp, and your air would be history. Then, you’d go straight to my hips…my thighs…my ass…even my belly. Every part of me you love most.” He paused, purring as his stomach let out a greedy, longing rumble. “How does that sound for your birthday, Herbivore?” he crooned. “How would you like to spend your birthday – your LAST birthday – turning into more of the body you’re so in love with. To be the snack you’re supposed to be. To spend the rest of eternity as just a part of me.” None of these were spoken as questions. You shivered and let out a whimpering sound – not necessarily one of fear, either – as you heard him lick and smack his lips. He leaned down and sniffed at you, purring in the back of his throat. “Mmmmmmm…I could make that happen. Right here. Right now.” You bit your lip; as his stomach rumbled, you closed your eyes. You could picture yourself inside of there…partially submerged in acid and bubbling goo…embraced on every side by his powerful muscles…hearing him belch with satisfaction above and around you…rubbing over you as you were steadily digestedinside of him… You took longer than most people probably would before speaking. “I know you could,” you said, very softly, then added, “Maybe someday you will.” Leona blinked…then puffed with amusement, his smile growing slightly more affectionate as he ran his fingers through your hair the way a cat might. “Not ready to make this birthday your last, huh?” You opened one eye and carefully shook your head. “If it means next year I could get one as good as this, or better, definitely not,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona clucked his tongue, and removed his hand, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. He chuffed as your remained where you were, despite no longer being forced down. “Kinky little morsel,” he mumbled. “Guilty,” you responded in a slightly muffled voice as you freely nuzzled his abdomen, smirking as he purred anew, clearly enjoying it. Leona chuckled, and nudged you, indicating he wanted you to look up at him again. You did…and watched as his cheeks ballooned with gas as he caught a particularly low, gassy burp in his mouth… “HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLLRRRRPH…phoosh.” …Before blowing the residual fumes into your face, almost like a kiss. You nearly fainted dead away. Leona grinned. “Good?” was all he said. “Marry me now.” Leona barked out a laugh and gave your hair a ruffling, then shut his eyes and reclined peacefully once more. “Get back to rubbing, meat,” he growled. “Or I might just swallow you whether you want it or not. Don’t let your gift go to waste.” You smiled and eagerly got back to work, kissing and nuzzling and rubbing his belly worshipfully, without any sign of restraint. Leona’s purring heightened as you pampered his plumpened middle. “Mmmmm…happy birthday, Herbivore,” he growled. “Maybe next year, I’ll add you to my hips…” At the rate things were going…that was starting to sound like a promise more than anything else. If so…you could hardly wait till next year.

The End

#leona kingscholar #leona #disney #twisted wonderland #kink fic #fanfic #vore teasing #post-stuffing #belly goodness #belching #burping #birthday story

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