Warnings: p in v, missionary, rough sex, knotting, body alternations, cream pie, breeding, dumbification, overstimulation, biting, monster fucking, & light praise
Explicit—MDNI—1.4k Words
It was like the usual day in Hyrule castle. Servants going around, the sky was dark as always, and monsters surrounding the area doing whatever they're supposed to do
After Ganondorf finally conquered Hyrule for himself, he still didn't feel as if it was enough. That's where you came into the image
You were a conquest, a thriving land that he sought after ruling the remaining ones. Living as his bride—his prize—wasn't exactly like those novels you used to read when you were a child
No. Being with Ganondorf wasn't exactly like that
Yes, you were spoiled. But with limitations. Showered in gems from different lands but you knew he gained these treasures with the destruction that naturally come out of his hands
You could never truly be at ease whenever your... 'husband' is around. Having to carefully chose your words, having to maintain a composed facade, even talking with others is kept minimal
You were his and his only. He made sure of that the moment he locked you in his golden cage
And during his reign, you start to notice the changes in his own body...
Long gone was the noticeable green of his color, swallowed by charcoal darkness. The once golden yellow hue of his eyes now burned an ominous crimson. Even his hair which was already the color of red turned into a much brighter and intense shade
But appearance wasn't the only thing that changed. The way his body worked also went through a significant transformation
And by that, his heat cycle started
"G-Gan!" You blabbered, getting fucked against the mattress and not even getting the time to breathe as you got ravished with desperate intensity
The bulge of his muscle trapped you in place, legs helplessly jerking and twitching in the air with each violent thrust he gave while his large hands cupped the flesh of your ass, pulling you even closer to meet the smack! of his hips
He growled, the sound low and deep as he worked his way with the pliant softness of your body whilst you gave a nasty arch that had him sinking his canines on the flushed skin of your sweat drenched neck
"N-nghk!" You whined, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of stimulation that he was generously giving you. The girth of his cock stretching you wide, your cunt begging for mercy as it puffed and drooled out slick
All while it greedily sucked his invading member every time he pulled out then going back in with a mean slap! of his clammy flesh
"hah...Louder little vai..." He panted then then licked a long stripe of his tongue from shoulder to the curve of your jaw with a rapacity that could be mistaken for growing obsession
"P-please..!" you choked out, fingers uncontrollably digging to the strength of his back as it flexed with each gooey plow of that dangerously swollen dick
In and out. In and out
he kept the repetitive motion, his movement jerky with each slide of entrance that your poor hole allowed "Thaaat's it..." a small chuckle escaping him as he witnessed your own mind getting blown out by the sheer size of his everything
Drool leaked steadily from your slack mouth, eyes dazed, and your limbs barely coping as you cried out in a dizzying combination of pleasure and pain
"hhh- hhngh, oh god, oh god!"
With Ganondorf, tenderness was never gentle. It came wrapped in ironclad possession and smothering intensity, even the moments meant to soothe left you breathless beneath the weight of him
"There she is" He groaned against your ear, his hips stuttering as he grew more vocal "My little vure, screaming... fuck-.. screaming for her savior"
You sobbed out, your vision blurring with the tears that mingled with the salty taste of your sweat. His hips slapping against yours in an uncoordinated motion, as if he was desperate to do anything just to spill his load deep in that fertile insides
His pace was already fast earlier but with the lingering promise of his release, he became more rougher along with the added streeeetch of his base that had you gaping for air
His teeth clenched tightly as he buried his face against your neck, his hands moving to the back of your thighs to spread you wider and your body willingly agreed along with the satisfying scream that tore at your throat
"Just-..." He moaned, his brows furrowed in concentration "..A little more.."
The legs of the bed ruthlessly screech against the floors and the headboard thumping on the walls while you're heavily pinned to the mattress with his bulk, accepting whatever he wanted to give and grab
If you weren't already losing your mind, your soul would definitely leave your body the moment his thick thumb rubbed tight circles around your aching little pearl, singing in enjoyment that echoed up your spine
"Gan! S-so.. Aah!!" You prattled, unconsciously bucking your hips against his touch, not knowing if you wanted more or less. Your moist clit loving the attention that she was getting, continuing to have your back lifted, not even touching the mattress
"Good, doesn't it?" He grinned, his teeth glinting against the light of the candelabra that crackled on the night stand
You nodded desperately, coughing on your own tears and you sniffled and mewled, your body tensing the moment you felt that familiar heat pool at your lower stomach
"f-fuck...! Stop... oh fuck!" A loud crack was heard and the mattress lowered on the side
It didn't matter if one of the legs broke, he kept going, never stopping. To Ganondorf, everything was insignificant when faced with the clamping warmth of your walls on his cock
the base of his shaft further flared, his tip an angry flushed red as it plundered your cervix over and over again
"Keep squeezing me like that, v-vure" he growled, his eyes dilated as he fucked and fucked that that miserable sopping pussy that neared the end of oblivion "no one...hah... no one makes you feel like this other than me"
You couldn't even process what he said, too cock drunk to even comprehend what was happening, you didn't even notice the bed slowly breaking
The consistent swirls of his thumb against your bundle of nerves absolutely broke whatever conscious you had left
"Gan!!" you wailed, your eyes crossing as you came all over his swelling cock, stretching you further and further. Each spurt of wetness damped his already lubricated skin as you convulsed against his form
He grunted in effort as he buried himself to the hilt, making you let out a keening whine as your hole drank up the swole of his base, his pelvis now pressed up against yours and you felt every inch cater your insides
"fucking perfect" he snarled, locking you in place as he came deep in your womb. Each splatter of his seed sticked to your gummy walls and you took it
Taking it so so well for him
His cum came out in thick white ropes, its hefty weight making you feel full if not the monstrous cock lodged deep inside you
The slit of his tip kept spitting out broken lines of him, making sure that every drop was firm and stuck
You could only whimper brokenly as you laid in his arms, your stomach taking on a rounder shape as you got filled to the brim with his royal essence while his knot continued to throb, being locked in place so securely
You can still feel him tense against your already exhausted body, both of you panting and breathing, sharing the same air that's laced in sweat and sex
He groaned and hugged you tighter, his brows furrowed in a tight line when his swollen base squirted out another strong wave of cum that even he the demon king himself, was brought low by the intensity of his knot
Even after all those months of being transformed into his demon king state, he was still getting used to the alterations that his body is going through. Yet you held him, offering whatever comfort that you can offer
Being married to the demon king might have its own ups and downs but you were right where you wanted
Taking his cock
Filled with his cum
and bearing his heirs
Along with the reassurance that you were his and he was yours in his own twisted way possible
───────────────────────────── full moon - the black ghosts
── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.
CONTAINS NSFW MINORS DNI
✦ . Summary: Having an imaginary friend is a very normal part of childhood. What isn't normal, though, is when that imaginary friend begins to show up in the corners of your vision, leaving you presents and an uneasy feeling. What happens when babysitting a little boy turns into fending off his protector? The worst part? He thinks you're very, very pretty.
✦ . Note: Longest fic to date, I think! This was so incredibly fun to write, and I grew so attached to the characters I created during it! Jack is less clownish and more so child-mind figment in this, so don’t take anything I say as canon. Anyway! Very rough, very sloppy, very rewarding, please enjoy!!
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It was a nice home. At least, it was set up that way.
You were pretty sure the paint was still wet on the fence when you pulled up. It had that high-gloss shimmer that caught in the early evening sun, and the whole house looked like someone had tried very hard to make it look like nothing bad had ever happened there. Suburban. White picket fence. Wind chimes that jangled sweetly in the breeze. It was the kind of place meant to be welcoming—but somehow, it just felt…staged. Like a movie set.
You shifted your bag on your shoulder and knocked twice on the blue door, ignoring the simplistic door knocker that probably wasn’t actually meant to be used.
It opened immediately. A woman in her early thirties greeted you, brushing auburn hair behind one ear and offering a tight, polite smile.
“You must be the sitter,” she said, a little breathlessly, like she’d jogged to the door. “Come in, come in—thank you again for being available on such short notice. I’m Mrs. Dalton—we talked on the phone.”
You stepped inside, the scent of lavender and lemon cleaner hitting you all at once. Everything was tidy, even too tidy. Not a toy out of place, not a speck of dust on the mantle. But there was a strange hum in the air, like something unseen had been recently disturbed and hadn’t quite settled.
“No problem at all,” you replied with a friendly smile. “You said you needed a sitter for a few days?”
She nodded. “Just five evenings, from around five-thirty to ten. I work the late shift at the hospital this week, and with my husband out of town…”
Her voice trailed off. You caught the way her eyes flicked down the hallway behind you before she forced another smile.
“Anyway, it’s just my son, Oliver. He’s six. He’s a good kid. A little…imaginative. Which reminds me—before you meet him, there’s something I should mention.”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Let me guess—he’s got an imaginary friend?”
Her smile froze a little. “Friends. Plural. But yes.”
“Totally normal for that age.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” she murmured, and the tension in her voice was so brief and well-hidden you almost missed it. “Just… humor him. If he talks about them, just go along with it. Especially if he mentions Laughing Jack.”
Now that gave you pause. You tilted your head. “Laughing Jack?”
She waved her hand like she was brushing it away. “It’s just a name. He draws him a lot—some freaky clown… you know, spooky stuff kids get from cartoons.”
“I’m not scared of imaginary friends,” you joked.
“Good,” she said, too quickly. “Great. Let me introduce you.”
She led you down the hall to a bedroom on the left. Posters of dinosaurs and planets were taped unevenly on the walls, and crayons were scattered across the carpet. In the middle of the room, a little boy sat cross-legged in front of a coloring book, his brown hair messy, lips moving silently like he was in the middle of a conversation.
“Oliver?” his mother called gently. “Honey, this is your new babysitter. She’s going to stay with you while I’m at work, remember?”
Oliver looked up, wide blue eyes blinking at you. He didn’t smile, didn’t wave. Just stared.
“…He likes you,” he said after a pause.
You glanced at his mother. She gave you an awkward little shrug.
“Nice to meet you, Oliver,” you said kindly, kneeling beside him. “Whatcha drawing?”
He flipped the page and showed you. The lines were shaky and crude, the colors bright and chaotic, but it was clearly a figure in black and white stripes with long arms and what looked like sharp teeth drawn in red crayon.
“This is Laughing Jack,” Oliver said solemnly. “He’s my best friend. He lives in the closet.”
You chuckled, trying to keep it light. “Well, that’s a very cool drawing. You’re really creative.”
“Laughing Jack likes it when I draw him,” Oliver added. “He likes to laugh. He doesn’t like when people are mean to me.”
That little prickle hit the back of your neck—the kind you get when you think someone’s standing behind you even though you know you’re alone.
You smiled a little too tightly. “Does he always stay in the closet?”
Oliver shook his head. “No. Sometimes he sits on my bed. Or hides under it.”
Mrs. Dalton cleared her throat. “Okay, sweetie. Why don’t you show her your space toys?”
He nodded and scuttled over to a plastic tub, pulling out spaceships and planets. You followed, asking him about them, listening to his explanations. He was articulate for a six-year-old, bright-eyed, and yes, wildly imaginative. But there was something in the way he paused mid-sentence like he was listening to someone you couldn’t hear. Occasionally, his eyes would flick to the shadowed corner of the room, near the closet door.
You figured maybe he was just shy. Or had a vivid inner world. You’d babysat dozens of kids. This wasn’t new.
But still, when he tugged at your sleeve fifteen minutes later and said, “Laughing Jack thinks you’re very pretty,” you couldn’t help the chill that spidered up your spine.
“…What?” you asked with a light laugh, trying not to sound weirded out.
“He said it just now,” Oliver replied simply, blinking up at you. “He said you smell nice, too. Like strawberries.”
You had used strawberry-scented shampoo that morning.
The closet door creaked slightly behind you—probably just the wind, or maybe the floor settling—and you turned toward it instinctively.
Nothing. Oliver just smiled and went back to coloring.
His mom gave you a final run-down before leaving: bedtime at eight-thirty, no sugar after dinner, TV only if homework was finished. She was quick, but not rushed—like she wanted to get out the door before you could change your mind and leave first.
She kissed Oliver on the top of his head. He barely reacted, still scribbling in his coloring book. Then she turned to you with a tight smile, and the kind of eyes that said thank you, but also good luck.
“If he has trouble sleeping,” she said softly near the door, “just read to him. He has a nightlight in case he gets scared. But… he probably won’t.”
“Got it,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Have a good shift.”
As the door clicked shut behind her, the house suddenly felt too quiet. Like it had been holding its breath. You turned back toward the living room. “Alright, kiddo. You got any homework?”
Oliver groaned and flopped dramatically onto the couch. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Math. It’s dumb.”
You chuckled and dropped your bag by the coat rack. “C’mon, let’s knock it out. Then we can do something fun. You like grilled cheese?”
He nodded.
“I make the best grilled cheese. You finish your worksheet, and I’ll prove it.”
Oliver eyed you suspiciously. “Better than Mom’s?”
“I’ll let you be the judge.”
He didn’t smile—still hadn’t, actually—but there was a flicker of amusement behind his eyes as he retrieved his workbook and a pencil from his backpack.
You helped him through subtraction problems while he kicked his legs restlessly and talked about Jupiter like it was his summer home. He was sharp, creative, and a little unsettling in the way only kids can be—matter-of-fact and unfiltered.
While he worked, you started pulling together dinner: grilled cheese, carrot sticks, and a cup of apple juice. You moved around the kitchen like you were trying to own the space, but the house still felt a little foreign—like it knew you weren’t part of it.
“Who’s eating with us?” Oliver asked suddenly from his seat at the table.
You looked up from the skillet. “You mean besides us?”
He nodded. “Laughing Jack’s hungry. And he says Charlie and Mr. Gumball might come too.”
You blinked. “Are those more of your friends?”
“Uh-huh. Charlie only has one eye. But he sees everything.”
“And Mr. Gumball?”
“He’s a skeleton with no teeth. He tells me secrets.”
You tried to laugh, but it came out a little thin. “Well, I hope they like grilled cheese.”
“They can’t eat,” Oliver said plainly. “But they like to watch.”
You set the plates down gently. “…Good to know.”
Dinner passed with more chatter—some of it directed at you, some at people who weren’t there. Oliver had a habit of pausing mid-sentence like he was listening to a reply. You tried to ignore how often his eyes flicked just past your shoulder. You made him brush his teeth after, and he complied with the stoic attitude of a six-year-old facing grave injustice.
It was nearing eight-thirty when you tucked him into bed.
His room was dimly lit now, a soft glow from the rocket-shaped nightlight pulsing across the walls. You sat on the edge of his mattress and reached for the storybook he picked: Where the Sidewalk Ends.
“Okay,” you said, flipping to a random page. “One poem, and then sleep.”
“Can I ask something first?” he said suddenly, eyes wide and serious.
You paused. “Of course.”
Oliver’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think my dad is still in the basement?”
You blinked. “…What?”
He fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. “Mom says he left. But Jack says he didn’t. Jack says he screamed for a long time, but I couldn’t hear it because I was asleep.”
Your mouth went dry.
“…Oliver, your dad’s not here anymore?”
He shook his head. “He yelled a lot. At Mom and me. Jack didn’t like him, so he said he would keep me safe.”
“…What do you mean?”
Oliver looked at you calmly. “He said he made him into soup.”
Your throat tightened. The air in the room suddenly felt thick and unmoving. You forced a little laugh. “That’s…an intense imagination you’ve got.”
“I didn’t make it up,” Oliver said seriously. “Jack doesn’t lie.”
You glanced toward the closet, door slightly ajar. The shadows seemed longer than before. You tried not to show the absolute unease that twisted your features.
“Okay, time to sleep,” you said gently, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “You had a long day.”
Oliver didn’t argue. He rolled over, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
“Jack says you smell like strawberries because you’re sweet,” he murmured sleepily. “He thinks you’d make a really good friend.”
You stared at him. “…What?”
But Oliver was already drifting off. And somewhere in the corner of the room, the closet creaked.
── .✦
You got used to the routine pretty quickly.
Oliver’s mom would greet you with that same polite smile, say something like, “He’s been good today,” or “You know where everything is,” then slip out the door before you could even mention his dad. She never lingered. Her shift always started exactly on time.
And every night, it was the same: Help Oliver with homework. Make dinner. Talk about his “friends.” Pretend not to be freaked out. Read him a story. Tuck him in. Repeat.
On the second night, he told you Jack liked how “soft” your voice was—that he thought it would be “a very pretty singing voice.” You laughed it off. Said, “That’s a weird thing for Jack to say,” and Oliver just smiled.
It was becoming easy to convince yourself that Oliver was using Jack as a beacon. Kids did that. They had a hard time saying what they really meant, so it was easier to pretend someone else was saying it instead. It just made sense.
Later that same evening, you found one of Oliver’s drawings tucked inside your coat pocket when you were leaving. You didn’t remember him slipping it in. You weren’t even sure he’d touched your coat. But the paper was there—crayon scrawled in jagged loops, a picture of you sitting on the couch.
Behind you, in thick black strokes, was the striped figure of Laughing Jack, grinning with blood-red teeth.
You almost threw it out. You didn’t. You weren’t sure why.
By the third night, something had changed.
It started with how quiet the house felt when you walked in. Not the normal suburban calm—too quiet. Like the walls were holding their breath.
Oliver had already set up his math homework by the time you got there.
“I knew you were coming,” he said without looking up. “Jack told me.”
You frowned. “Did he also tell you to get started on your math?”
“No,” Oliver said. “That was Charlie. He said if I don’t do my work, Jack gets bored. I don’t like it when Jack gets bored.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself unsure what to say.
Dinner was tense. Oliver ate quietly. You caught him glancing over your shoulder several times, like he was watching something just behind you. You turned once. Nothing there. Just a flickering lightbulb in the hallway.
After dinner, he started drawing again. You sat nearby, flipping through your phone, half-distracted.
“You’re really pretty,” Oliver said suddenly.
You looked up. “Thanks, bud. That’s sweet.”
“Jack says pretty things break easier.”
You stared at him.
“…You know that’s not a nice thing to say, right?”
He blinked. “But it’s true.”
That night, you tucked him in like usual. Read another poem. Turned on the rocket-shaped nightlight. Said goodnight, sweet dreams, and stepped into the hallway, already pulling your phone from your back pocket.
You’d left your water bottle in the kitchen.
You padded down the hallway barefoot, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath your steps. The house was dim except for the sliver of gold-orange from Oliver’s room behind you and the low hum of the fridge up ahead.
You reached the kitchen, grabbed the bottle, and twisted the cap open.
Then you heard it. Your name. Soft. Almost sing-song.
You paused mid-sip. You turned toward the hallway.
“Oliver?” you called gently. “What is it, bud?”
Silence. You waited. No answer.
You set the water down and walked quietly back toward the room, heart ticking up a little faster now.
“Hey, kiddo—did you call me?” you asked as you pushed open his door.
Oliver was fast asleep. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm. Arms tucked under the blanket. Lips slightly parted. Dead to the world.
You stared at him. You know you heard it.
Then you noticed the closet door was open an inch wider than you remembered. You crossed the room, flinging the door open, eyes scanning the shadows just beyond it—but there was nothing. Just clothes, toys, and a few drawings taped to the inside wall.
But when you turned back toward Oliver’s bed… you stopped cold.
There was a new drawing on the nightstand. It hadn’t been there before. You would’ve seen it.
It showed a hallway—the same hallway you’d just walked down. You were in it—drawn in red crayon. And behind you, grinning impossibly wide, was a tall, striped figure with long arms and white, dead eyes.
You slowly looked back down the hall. Nothing. But that feeling—that cold press on the back of your neck—was suddenly very real.
And somewhere deeper in the house… You swore you heard something shuffling.
It's just your imagination.
── .✦
You showed up early on the fourth night—twenty minutes ahead of schedule, ice cream tub in hand. Cookies and cream. And a tiny container of rainbow sherbet.
You figured, why not? After the past few days, Oliver deserved a surprise. And you deserved something to lift the mood. The tension that had crept into your shoulders every time you walked through that door was becoming a near-constant weight.
Maybe a little sugar would lighten the air.
The front door opened before you even knocked. Oliver’s mom blinked at you in surprise, tugging her coat tight across her chest.
“Oh—you’re early,” she said, glancing over her shoulder into the house like she wasn’t sure she wanted you inside just yet.
You smiled, holding up the bag. “I brought a treat. Don’t worry, no caffeine or craziness. Just ice cream.”
Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something—but then she just nodded. “That’s… nice of you. He’ll like that.” She squeezed past you and gave the same parting words she always did—“He’s in the living room, bedtime at eight-thirty”—but her eyes lingered on yours this time. Something flickered behind them. Like maybe she wanted to say more—but didn’t.
You turned and stepped into the house. The moment the door closed behind you, that hush fell again. That wrong quiet, like the walls were listening. Oliver was on the floor, surrounded by crayons, drawing what looked like a carnival tent in dark, scribbled loops of red and black.
“Hey,” you said gently. “Guess what I brought?”
He looked up. Eyes wide. And then—
He smiled. For the first time since you met him, Oliver truly smiled.
His teeth were small and slightly crooked, but it was the size of it that made your heart skip a beat. So wide. Like his little face wasn’t used to the muscles it took.
You blinked, suddenly unsure why it unnerved you so much.
“Is it for me?” he asked breathlessly.
You laughed softly, kneeling beside him. “Of course it is. Who else would it be for?”
Oliver clapped his hands. “Jack’s going to be so happy!”
You stiffened. He kept babbling as you carried the containers into the kitchen and pulled out two small bowls.
“Jack loves ice cream. His favorite is mint chocolate chip. He says he hasn’t had any in a long time because Mom doesn’t like it when he eats stuff. She says it makes him act funny. But he says he’ll be real good if I give him some.”
You scooped slowly, the plastic spoon dragging through the frozen swirl.
“He told me that once he shared a sundae with a girl who screamed so hard her eyes popped,” Oliver continued dreamily. “He said her voice made the cherry melt.”
You didn’t answer.
When you turned to hand him the bowl— You saw it.
Just behind Oliver, standing beside the hallway door. A flash. A flicker. Something moved. It was fast. A blur of black and white. Tall. Like the edge of a curtain being yanked back—but thicker. A sliver of fabric retreating around the corner.
And just for a heartbeat, a feather—dark and oil-slicked—fluttered down and landed near Oliver’s foot. You hardly blinked—just a jerk of your eyes from panic—and it was gone.
You dropped the spoon. Oliver didn’t notice.
It’s just your imagination, it’s just your imagination—
“Jack says he likes you,” he said happily, licking sherbet from his lip. “He says you’re the nicest girl he’s met in a long time.”
You stepped back, pulse pounding.
You had to talk to his mother. Now.
── .✦
You waited by the door until she came home.
No more letting her breeze out before the headlights could cool. No more smiling and waving like this was a normal babysitting gig.
When Mrs. Dalton stepped in—coat damp from the night air, purse slung over one shoulder—you met her with a look so serious she stopped mid-step.
“…What is it?”
“I need to ask you something,” you said. “And I need you to tell me the truth.”
She froze. “…Is this about Oliver?”
You nodded. “And Jack. And the things he’s been saying. The things I’ve seen.”
She closed the door behind her slowly. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes—tired, hollow—met yours.
And this time, she didn’t try to pretend. She just said quietly, “You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?”
The words hung heavy in the entryway. You felt like a stone just dropped into your stomach, the air stalling around you.
You stared at her. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean.”
Oliver’s mother exhaled—long, slow—like she’d been waiting for this moment and dreading it in equal measure. She set her purse on the table and finally, finally, let the cracks show. “Come with me.”
She led you to the kitchen and pulled out a chair. You sat across from her, the light above flickering with that faint buzz it always seemed to carry after dark. She rubbed her hands together like they were cold, even though the house was warm.
Her voice was quiet. Distant. “I didn’t believe it either. At first. Kids say strange things. They draw monsters, they have nightmares. It’s normal. I told myself it was all in his head.”
You didn’t interrupt. Your fingers gripped the edge of the table.
She continued. “Then the drawings changed. They started getting more detailed. More specific. I saw things in them that—” her breath hitched, “—he shouldn’t have known. Things that happened when I was younger. Things that happened in this house. And the stories he told me about Jack…” Her eyes dropped to her hands. “They started getting darker.”
You thought of the shuffling. The flash of stripes. The feather. Your name being called down the empty hallway.
“What happened?” you asked.
She looked up. “…His dad.”
The room chilled, like suddenly the AC had been turned on. Goosebumps ran up your arms.
She swallowed. “My husband…he was not a good man. Charming, at first. But underneath that, there was something broken. And when he got angry…” Her jaw clenched. “Oliver was never his. That’s something I never told him. I think he knew—or guessed.”
Your stomach twisted.
“He hurt both of us,” she said. “Not every night, but enough. Enough that I kept a bag packed and hid it in Oliver’s closet.”
Silence stretched long between you.
“And then?” you whispered.
Her eyes met yours—and in them, you saw something haunted. Something ancient. “Then Oliver started talking to Jack.”
You shivered, glancing around the room, eyes catching all the dark spots and shadowed corners.
“At first I thought it was just comfort—a defense. But the way he described him…it wasn’t like a normal imaginary friend. He knew things. Jack told Oliver where to hide, when to run. He told him I was strong. That I was brave. He told him…” Her voice caught. “…That he could make it stop.”
You didn’t move. You hardly breathed.
“One night, my husband came home drunk. Worse than usual. He was screaming, kicking doors. Oliver, somehow, slept through all of it. I locked the bedroom door. I thought I could hold him off.” Her hands trembled now. “But I didn’t have to.”
You leaned in.
“I heard him coming down the hallway, calling my name. Then I heard something else. A laugh. This horrible, joyful laugh. Like a child and an animal at the same time. I thought I was losing my mind.”
You whispered, “Jack.”
She nodded.
“I came out of the room after the screaming stopped. And…he was gone. My husband. Just gone. No blood. No mess. Just the front door wide open, swinging in the wind.”
Your blood ran cold. “And Oliver?”
She gave a soft, broken smile. “Curled up on his bed. Drawing. With Jack.”
You recoiled.
“But I didn’t see him,” she said quickly. “I only ever felt him. Heard him. Sometimes saw things out of the corner of my eye. But Oliver? He always said Jack made him feel safe. That Jack protected him when no one else could. I think he… bonded to that. Jack is a part of him now. Jack has never really liked babysitters—before you, I suppose.”
You sat back, trying to process it all. The drawings. The feathers. The whisper of your name.
“…He’s real. But he’s not…human,” you murmured.
She nodded once. “He manifested through Oliver’s fear, I think. And maybe mine, too. I don’t understand all of it. But Oliver says Jack protects him, says he’s here to keep him safe. So I don’t mess with it.
“And the last babysitter?”
Oliver’s mom froze.
“…She said she didn’t believe in ‘feeding delusions.’ That Oliver needed ‘structure.’ She lasted four nights. Left in the middle of the fifth. Didn’t tell me. Just… left. I never heard from her again.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
“And now?” you whispered. “Jack’s… what? Attached to me?”
Her voice cracked. “I think he likes you. I think he’s curious. I don’t know.”
The light bulb sizzled above your head, the acrid scent of burnt metal curling into the air. You stared across the kitchen table at Oliver’s mom—chest tight, stomach coiled with the kind of dread that prickled under your skin like a thousand little claws.
“…You knew this could happen,” you said, voice low. “You knew.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her hands trembled in her lap. “I hoped he wouldn’t fixate again,” she murmured. “You were so good with him. He was happy. I thought maybe it would be different this time.”
“Different?” Your voice cracked, rising. “You mean you thought Jack might not try to kill me?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, suddenly panicked. “Please—don’t say things like that out loud.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snapped, pushing your chair back. “Are we worried the invisible friend might get mad?”
She flinched.
You stood up, dizzy with rage and the adrenaline rush that always comes after denial shatters into cold, sharp clarity. “You let me walk into this. Without telling me. Without warning. What if he didn’t like me, huh? What if I pushed too hard, or said the wrong thing, or—God forbid—told him to go to bed early?”
“I didn’t know—!”
“Yes, you did,” you cut her off, voice trembling. “You did. That’s why you never stayed long. Why you left before I could ask about his dad. Why you didn’t even mention a last sitter until now.”
You saw it then—how hollow her eyes had become. How sleep-starved and strung out she looked under the dim light. This wasn’t just guilt. This was fear—the kind you live with.
“You were testing me,” you whispered. “You weren’t sure if Jack would like me, and you didn’t care if he didn’t. I was just…just another one to try.”
She didn’t deny it.
You stormed past her, grabbing your coat, shoving your phone into your pocket with shaking hands.
And then you saw him. Oliver. Standing at the end of the hallway. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t angry. He just watched you—expression blank, head tilted slightly to the side like someone listening to music only he could hear.
“Oliver—” his mother started, but you were already yanking the door open.
You didn’t say goodbye.
── .✦
The first call came the next morning.
You didn’t answer.
Then a text.
MRS. DALTON
I’m sorry. I should have told you. Please, call me.
Then:
MRS. DALTON
He’s not sleeping. He won’t eat. Oliver’s scared.
Another day passed.
MRS. DALTON
He’s asking for you. Please. He just needs to see you one more time. He keeps asking for you.
The texts got more frantic.
MRS. DALTON
He’s not talking anymore. He just whispers. Jack this, Jack that. Please. I haven’t slept. I’m losing him.
I don’t know what he’ll do if you don’t come back.
And finally:
MRS. DALTON
Just for one night. Please. Just stay with him. Help him sleep.
You stared at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering above the reply button. Because even though your head screamed no, your gut twisted with something worse than fear.
Guilt.
And something in the back of your mind—the part that had seen the stripes, the feather, the way Oliver had looked at you—was already whispering that you didn’t really have a choice. Even if this was all imaginary, some make-believe story, you were causing an innocent boy his mental health.
Sadly, your guilt outweighed your fear.
── .✦
You stood on the doorstep longer than you meant to.
The house loomed in front of you—quieter than it should’ve been. Even with the porch light buzzing faintly overhead, everything about it looked… different. More gray. As if all the warmth had drained out with you the night you stormed off.
But you were here now.
You knocked on the door, the thick sound echoing through the walls, and for a moment, you half-expected no one to answer.
Then the lock clicked. The door cracked open.
Mrs. Dalton looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her hair was pulled up in a limp, uneven knot, and her eyes had that swollen red look of someone who had been crying on and off for hours. Her relief was instant—but brittle.
“Oh thank God,” she breathed. “Thank you. Thank you so much for coming.”
You stepped past her without a word. She didn’t stop you. Just nodded shakily and grabbed her keys. “I’ll be back by sunrise,” she said, already backing out. “Don’t let him stay up too late. If he gets upset, just… just sit with him. That’s usually enough. And if anything happens—”
You stopped at the hallway, turning just enough to meet her eyes. “I remember.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She gave a small, pained nod. And just like that—she was gone. The door clicked shut. The house swallowed you whole.
The air inside felt heavier than it ever had.
You noticed it almost immediately—how the wallpaper looked a little more faded, how the air smelled faintly of metal and something sweet, almost like fruit that had gone sour. The silence wasn’t comforting. It was dense, like the house was holding its breath.
You made your way down the hallway, floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Oliver’s room was cracked open just slightly, light from his bedside lamp spilling across the floor. You pushed the door open gently.
“Oliver?” you called softly.
The little boy was curled into a ball on his bed, facing the wall. When he turned to look at you, his eyes were already wet, his cheeks blotchy with tears. The second he saw you, he gasped—and scrambled into your arms with a cry that shattered you from the inside out.
“You came back,” he whimpered, clutching your shirt like a lifeline. “I didn’t think you would. Jack said you were mad.”
Your arms wrapped around him instinctively. “I…I’m not mad, buddy. I was just scared.”
“Jack’s sad,” Oliver sniffled. “And mad. But not at me. At you. He said you said mean things. That you don’t like him.”
You froze. He wasn’t accusing you. He sounded… worried. Like he wanted to protect you from Jack’s disappointment.
Your hands smoothed down his back gently. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Jack’s probably just confused.”
“Can you tell him you’re not mad anymore?” Oliver asked, lifting his head, eyes wide. “Please?”
You hesitated. “…Okay,” you whispered. “Jack, if you’re listening, I’m not mad. I didn’t mean what I said.”
You glanced around the room.
Nothing. No feathers. No footsteps. No whisper in your ear. Just the soft hum of the bedside lamp and Oliver’s quiet sniffles.
Maybe it was all in your head.
Maybe—
Oliver let out a tiny yawn, nuzzling into your side. “Will you stay in bed with me?”
“Of course.”
It didn’t take long, he was asleep in minutes. Once his breathing evened out, you gently pulled away and tucked him in. His hand reached out once, blindly, and you took it for a second, giving it a small squeeze.
Then you stood, walked to the door, turned off the light, and stepped into the hallway.
The living room was dim. You kept the corner lamp on, curling up into the same armchair you’d claimed the other nights—blanket over your legs, a book in your lap you weren’t really reading. Every noise made you twitch.
The house didn’t feel empty.
You tried to tell yourself it was just the guilt—the nerves, the sleep deprivation. That it was all explainable. That this was just a messed-up situation and you were being kind, nothing more. This was just a mentally ill mother and an imaginative child who has gotten you stirred up—that’s all it was.
But you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched—especially when the heater kicked on. Especially when the shadows in the hallway didn’t quite stay still. You told yourself not to look.
You were halfway through a paragraph when you heard it. Shuffling from the hallway. You sat up straight.
“Oliver?” you called, voice shaky.
No answer.
You stood slowly, shoving the blanket and book to the side. The hallway looked longer than it had earlier—darker, the overhead bulb at the far end flickering like it was gasping for power.
You took a step toward it. Then another.
“Oliver, are you up?” you called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
But the shuffling continued—dragging, almost wet-sounding footsteps. Too slow. Too heavy.
You swallowed, walked toward his room, and pushed the door open.
Oliver was asleep—tucked under his blankets, breathing slow and even. His face slack with dreams. The shuffling stopped.
You stood there in the doorway, heart thudding in your chest.
Nothing moved. No laughter. No whispers. No feathers. Just your own breath in the dark. You were about to turn around when a soft, warbling giggle echoed—Low. Sweet. And hungry.
You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat—but there was nothing there. Just the hallway. Just that flickering bulb overhead, casting twitching shadows that crawled like spiders up the walls.
“Hello?” you called, voice cracking.
No answer.
But your skin was already crawling—hairs prickling, stomach twisting itself into a tight, nauseous knot. You ducked back into Oliver’s room, barely daring to breathe.
Still asleep. Still peaceful.
You crossed the floor in three quick steps and yanked open his closet. Clothes, shoes, a collapsed cardboard box. You dropped to your knees, lifted the comforter, and checked under the bed.
Empty.
You sat back on your heels, hand pressed over your pounding chest.
Nothing’s there. Nothing’s there. It’s just your—
A feather floated down in front of your face. You stared at it. Silky and black as night, it drifted lazily downward, slow as falling ash, until it landed between your knees.
You blinked at it, blood roaring in your ears.
And that was when you heard the groan—like something heavy shifting against wood.
You glanced up from your spot on the floor.
Behind Oliver’s bed—not behind the wall, but within it, like the cracks of the old plaster had given way—something emerged. Something wrong.
It spilled out from the dark like a shadow cast by a body that didn’t exist. Its limbs unfolded long and slow, impossibly long, like they were uncoiling from another place entirely. One arm—lanky, striped in twisted sleeves of faded black and white—reached over the headboard. Then another. Then a hunched, too-tall figure pulled itself into the dim bedside light.
Laughing Jack.
No more imagination. No more stories. He was here, right in front of you.
His skin—or what passed for it—was stretched porcelain, marred with seams and hairline fractures. Wild black hair exploded from his scalp in a disheveled mess, curled like tinsel soaked in ink. His outfit was a tattered parody of a circus costume—black and white stripes clinging to impossibly long limbs, the fabric grimy and fraying at the seams like it had been rotting over time. Suspenders hung loose over bandages wrapped tight around his waist, showing the unnatural form of him. A wide ruff collar sagged around his neck, drooping unevenly with yellowed lace, and tufts of wiry feathers jutted from his shoulders, some of them loose—like the one you’d seen float to your feet earlier. His sleeves were the same mismatched black and white, stretched tight over arms that ended in long, sharpened claws—stained faintly with something dark and dry. His nose was pointed, like a spike protruding that swirled with black and white stripes. His mouth—oh God—his mouth stretched too wide across his face, cracked at the corners, his lips painted like a clown’s but split by sharp, pearly teeth that didn’t belong in any child’s fantasy. His eyes were deep, glassy voids—so black they swallowed light—but the emotion in them was unmistakable—Rage. Sadness. Defense.
Jack’s head twitched toward you. His neck snapped with an audible crack as he cocked it to the side.
His voice rasped low, warped, like he was speaking through a filter, “You said you weren’t mad, sweet girl.”
You staggered back a step.
Jack’s arms bent and contorted as he crawled over Oliver—crawled, like some horrid insect parody of a man, his striped limbs jointed all wrong. And still, the boy didn’t stir. Not a flutter of his lashes. Not even a twitch.
“You lied to him,” Jack hissed. “You lied to me.”
“Don’t—” your breath hitched. “Don’t touch him.”
Jack’s grin widened. It reached toward his ears. “Oh, I won’t,” he cooed. “But you? You’re mine now.”
Before you could scream, he lunged. Jack’s hands closed around your ankles and yanked. You hit the hardwood with a sickening thud, knocking the breath from your lungs. Pain shot up your back. You scrambled, flailing to grab the doorframe, anything, but Jack dragged you backwards—down the hallway with supernatural strength, his body lurching and rattling like a marionette in fast-forward.
“No—! Oliver! Oliver!”
He didn’t wake.
The house didn’t help.
You were pulled past the living room, down the longer hallway that led to the master bedroom—Mrs. Dalton’s room. Your fingernails scraped against the floorboards, legs kicking violently as Jack growled above you.
“You were sweet,” he snarled. “Kind. Gentle. I liked you.” His voice cracked on the last word, somewhere in the rage was hurt.
Jack reached the bedroom door and kicked it open. The hinges screamed. Inside, it was darker than the rest of the house. A stifling kind of dark, where the shadows didn’t shift—they waited. The room smelled faintly of old perfume and wilted flowers.
Jack tossed you inside. You hit the carpet, rolled, and choked on air. When you sat up, he was already in the doorway—looming. His arms stretched to the sides, fingers twitching, clawlike.
The door slammed shut behind him like a gunshot. The bang rattled the windows. The frame trembled under the weight of it.
You jerked, stumbling back toward the dresser, chest heaving—but there was no time to run. Not anymore. Jack was across the room in a blink, moving with the erratic, jerky rhythm of something barely stitched together—more puppet than man. His hands, long-fingered and claw-tipped, twitched at his sides.
His expression twisted. He looked… devastated.
But behind the grief, behind the dripping sadness that curled at the corners of his stretched mouth and shimmered in the pitch-black glass of his eyes—there was rage.
“You ruined everything,” he hissed, voice cracking like an old vinyl record. “He was sleeping. He was happy. We were fine. And then you—you had to come in and whisper poison into his head.”
“I didn’t—!”
“You said I wasn’t real,” Jack roared, and the lights flickered. “You said I was dangerous! You made him doubt me!”
He surged forward.
You screamed—too late. Jack lunged, grabbing your arm and lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing. You kicked, flailed, fists pounding at his chest—but it was like striking a wall of felt and iron. He held you up, inches from his face. That face. That—
God.
Porcelain skin. Cracks lining his jaw like spiderwebs. Painted features half-worn, like a long-loved doll soaked in tears. Teeth so sharp he could barely contain them in his mouth. And beneath the smeared black grin, beneath the clownish facepaint—a man. A sadness. A fury so human it broke your heart.
His glassy black eyes swallowed you whole.
“Do you know what happens,” he whispered, “to people who tell little boys I’m not real?”
Your breath hitched. He rattled you, hard. Enough to make your teeth clack. You felt his claws press into your sides, not breaking the skin—but close. One more breath and he might snap you like a doll in his hands.
But then—You saw it. That tiny tremble in his jaw. The way his grip shook. His bottom lip quivered. He was angry. He was hurting. And beneath it all—he was protecting Oliver.
That’s when you acted. You reached up—fingers trembling—and gripped his face.
Jack froze.
His eyes went wide as your fingers smeared white greasepaint from his cheekbones, your hands coming away streaked like you’d dipped them in some kind of sick frosting. But under the paint—skin. Cold, clammy, too-pale skin. And real. Not a mask. Not an imaginary friend.
“You did it to protect him,” you whispered.
Jack’s brow twitched, eyes wide.
“You made his dad go away,” you said. “Didn’t you?”
His hands tensed—but he didn’t shake you.
“You chased off the last babysitter. Because she was mean. You saw it. You saw what he needed. And no one else was helping him. Not even his mom. So you… you stayed. You took care of him.”
Jack’s mouth parted. His head tilted, glassy eyes flicking across your face like he didn’t understand what he was seeing.
“I get it, Jack,” you whispered, still holding his face. “I know what you are. You’re not here to hurt him. You’re not a monster to him. You’re his only friend.”
His claws slipped from your sides.
“I don’t hate you, I’m not mad,” you said, voice cracking. “I was just scared.”
Silence.
For a moment, Jack stood perfectly still, arms trembling.
And then—his knees gave.
He sank to the floor, pulling you with him, but gently now. Carefully. Like you were something delicate and precious compared to moments before. His arms slid around you, pulling you against his lanky frame as his body curled over itself, shoulders shaking.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I just wanted you to stay. You were good to him. You were good to me.”
You were crying now too—maybe out of pity, but mostly from the adrenaline that was quickly crashing.
In the pitch-black of Mrs. Dalton’s bedroom, cradled in the arms of something that shouldn’t exist, you held a creature that had killed to protect a child, and now clung to you like a broken toy terrified of being discarded.
Jack shuddered, “Please don’t leave again.”
Jack didn’t let go. Even as you gasped, trying to squirm back—your breath still hitching with fear, your hands trembling—he clutched you tighter, curling around you like a spider weaving something precious into its web. His lanky arms wrapped around your shoulders and waist, his striped sleeves smelling faintly of old fabric and something sweet and rotting, like sugar left in the rain.
Your face was smooshed against the bristling ruff of feathers at his collar.
You shoved at him, fingers pressing into his chest. “Jack—Jack, let me go, I—I need a second, please—”
But he only made a soft sound—like a whimper. And his hold tightened. He wasn’t trying to hurt you—not anymore—but it was like he was starving for you.
His head dipped down beside yours, buried in your neck, and you felt the tremble of his breath—shallow, rapid. Desperate. The way Oliver breathed when he was on the edge of a panic attack. The way he had clung to you just hours before, his tiny fists gripping your shirt like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.
It was the same.
You froze.
And suddenly—it all started to click. The way Jack reacted when Oliver cried. The way he went silent when Oliver was calm. The way his moods seemed to mirror the child’s—like strings pulling a puppet in the shadows.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, heart hammering. “You’re not just his imaginary friend… you’re protecting him.”
Jack didn’t speak. But you felt the way his breathing hitched—a confirmation, quiet and raw.
“You exist for him, don’t you?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Like, a manifestation of his fears—or something. A guardian.”
His face, pressed near your cheek, nodded.
Your throat tightened. “So when he’s sad, or scared, or… when someone threatens him…”
“I fix it,” Jack whispered. His voice was softer now. Like wet velvet. Like a child defending a wounded pet. “I fixed his dad. I fixed the mean sitter. I made him laugh again. I keep him safe.”
You swallowed, slowly easing your hands up between the two of you, not to shove—but to gently, cautiously press them to either side of his face again.
“And now that I’m not a threat anymore…” you said, your voice cracking, “now you want something else.”
Jack nodded again, almost imperceptibly. “I want to be close,” he said, and his voice broke. “Like he is. I want the things you give him.”
You stared into his face—paint-smeared, cracked, but so achingly human beneath it all. His sharp grin trembled with something soft. His eyes, once pools of black malice, now glistened like a child about to cry.
“You want comfort,” you breathed.
His forehead pressed gently to yours. “I want you,” he whispered. “And I don’t know why.”
You should’ve been terrified. But instead—you felt cold. Cold from the adrenaline, the fear, the leftover edge of what could’ve been your last night. And yet…
His arms were warm—too warm—like a fever curling around you.
And for the first time… you saw him not as a nightmare, but as something made from one. Born of a child’s desperation. Kept alive by love and terror alike.
So you let him hold you—just for a moment.
And in that moment, Jack went still—so still you could swear he wasn’t breathing. As if the second you pulled away, he might vanish into the cracks again.
The room was dark except for the sliver of hallway light bleeding in from under the door, casting crooked shadows across the carpet. Jack was still—unnaturally so—as if afraid a single wrong twitch would make you bolt. But then, slowly, his fingers twitched against your waist.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a broken thread. “For earlier. For scaring you. For being so… mean.”
You didn’t speak. You weren’t sure you could. You were still sitting half in his lap, his arms loosely curled around your back like he was holding something fragile he didn’t know how to fix.
Jack’s head tilted, the long arc of his nose brushing against your temple as he sniffed—gently, like he didn’t want you to notice.
“You do smell like strawberries,” he murmured, voice distant and dreamy now. “I told him you did. Oliver didn’t believe me.” A smile crept into his words, soft and crooked. “But I was right. I always know.”
You felt your breath catch as his fingers slipped a little lower, curling lightly at the hem of your shirt. Not rough—just needy. Clingy.
“You’re so pretty,” Jack sighed, nose nudging into your hair. “So pretty it makes me feel funny—right here.” One hand lifted, curled into a fist, and thumped lightly over where his heart should’ve been. “It tickles. Like butterflies trying to get out. Like I’m gonna burst.”
You shivered, frozen in place. Jack noticed. His arms tensed again.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said quickly, softly, almost pleading. “I’m not! I promise—I just—I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want you to leave.”
You felt him shift under you—then suddenly you were being pulled into him, lifted like a doll and placed squarely in his lap, your legs folded awkwardly over one of his long, gangly thighs. His claws were gentle, but firm, curling around your arms, keeping you in place. His face buried into your shoulder again, his striped sleeves brushing your cheeks like the wings of some grotesque moth. He was trembling.
“They all like you,” he murmured into your shirt. “All the others. Charlie. Mr. Gumball. Even the quiet ones in the closet. They said you’re kind. That you talk to them even when you don’t believe they’re real.”
You blinked.
Charlie? Mr. Gumball?
Jack chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. They won’t come out unless Oliver says it’s okay. But they watch. And they like you. They all do.” He pulled back just far enough to look at you—his inhuman eyes wide and wet, paint cracked around the edges from where he’d rubbed at his face. His lips were still stained dark, parted like he wanted to ask something he didn’t know how to say, his jagged teeth splitting the seam.
“But I…” His voice hitched. “I like you the most.”
You tried to pull back—just a little, just enough to breathe—but he leaned forward again, brushing his forehead against yours.
“I felt it,” he whispered. “The way you talked to Oliver. The way you hugged him. You’re so soft. So good. I never had that before. I want it all the time, all to myself.”
His claws flexed against your sides again—not hurting, not even tight—but possessive. Needy.
“I want you all the time.”
And you realized, in that moment, Jack had no idea what boundaries were. No idea how much was too much. Because all he knew… was what Oliver gave him. And now—without having to worry about the kid—he was able to express those wants himself.
Jack’s fingers twitched again where they curled around your waist. His breathing slowed, the chaotic heat of him ebbing into something that almost resembled peace.
But he stilled. And his hands moved.
In an instant, Jack dragged one clawed hand up the side of your torso, bunching the fabric of your shirt as he went. You gasped, trying to pull away, but he was already pushing the hem higher, exposing skin.
“Wait—Jack—what are you—?” you stammered, hands flying down to stop him.
“I hurt you,” he hissed, panicked—his voice cracking like a snapped piano wire. “I didn’t mean to—look what I did!” His blackened fingers trembled as he hovered just above the faint red indents curving along your side, the shallow grooves from when he’d gripped you too tightly. They weren’t bleeding. Barely bruised. But Jack looked horrified.
His eyes widened as he stared, claws twitching helplessly.
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean it—I didn’t even feel—why do I always break things I like?” he rasped, voice warping between a whimper and a growl. “Why did I grab you so hard? You’re so soft, I didn’t mean to squeeze—I didn’t mean to!”
“Jack—Jack, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice soft and trembling as you tried to pull your shirt back down. “I’m fine, it’s nothing, I swear—”
But he didn’t hear you. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t want to believe it. His claws brushed the marks again—then slid gently against your skin, tracing the curves of your ribs, reverent and curious. He sucked in a shaky breath.
“You’re so little,” he whispered, almost to himself. “So small in my hands. I could snap you like a toothpick…”
You froze—but before panic could take hold, Jack’s eyes darted up to meet yours again. “…but I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re too pretty to break.”
Your heart thudded in your chest. Jack tilted his head, eyes flicking over your face, your hair, the way your hands clutched your shirt in nervous fists. His lips twitched—like he was smiling, but didn’t understand why.
“I like your skin,” he said. “I like the way it smells. The way it warms up when you’re scared.”
You tried to pull back again, flushing deeper, but Jack suddenly scooped you up.
“Jack—!”
He didn’t give you time to finish.
In one smooth, eerily graceful motion, he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms like you weighed nothing. Like you were a toy, something light and delicate he could cradle in his gangly, striped limbs. Your legs dangled uselessly, your arms half-wrapped around his neck in pure reflex.
He started toward the bed.
“You’re way past bedtime,” he announced, in a singsong voice that didn’t quite match the manic glint in his eyes. “Too many big feelings for a little human like you. You need to relax.”
“I—I don’t need to sleep, Jack, I’m fine, really—!”
But he was already lowering you onto the covers, setting you down so carefully it made your head spin. He crouched at your side immediately, looming with limbs that bent in all the wrong ways, his scruffy feathered collar brushing your knees, his black eyes locked onto you with a predator’s focus—and a child’s confusion.
“You make Oliver feel safe,” he murmured, crawling a little closer. “But now I want to feel that too. I want you to make me feel like that.”
His hand slid over your knee, his claws curling over your thigh with a grip just shy of too tight. “And you will, won’t you?” he asked softly. “Because you like me now.”
The air was too thick to breathe. Too hot. Too sweet. Too close.
And all you could do… was nod.
Jack’s claws didn’t stay still. They roamed. Fidgeted. Brushed the hem of your shirt, tangled briefly in your hair, crept over your shorts like he didn’t know what he was looking for—but was desperate to find it.
You shifted nervously on the bed, your hands trying to keep his at bay, but he was already pressing closer.
“I like it better when you talk soft to me,” he said suddenly, his voice catching somewhere between a purr and a whine. “Like you do with Oliver. You don’t yell. You don’t scream. You’re so nice.”
Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your arms—grabbing your wrists. “But you left.” His voice cracked. “You left. You said those things. About me. To her.”
“Jack, I didn’t know—” you started, gently.
“I didn’t want you to be scared,” he cut in. His grip tightened—not painful, but firm enough to make your heart jump. “I just wanted to show you I could keep you safe. Like I did for Oliver. Like I do.”
He moved quickly. One fluid motion and you were beneath him, your wrists pinned gently—but unyieldingly—against the bedspread. His lanky body stretched over yours, striped limbs bracketing you, hair brushing your forehead.
Your heart slammed in your chest.
“Jack,” you said softly, careful not to let your fear show. “Let me up.”
“But you’re here.” He blinked down at you, wide-eyed. “You came back. That means you want to be here. That means I can touch you.”
Your breath caught.
“It doesn’t work like that,” you whispered, trying to sit up, but he pressed you back down again—still not hurting you, but clearly not understanding the line he was crossing.
“But you smell so good,” Jack murmured, almost dreamily, long nose brushing along your cheek. “And you look so soft. I never got to be this close to anyone before. Never wanted to until I saw you.”
You swallowed thickly, pulse thundering in your ears. “I’ll… I’ll talk to you, Jack,” you said, carefully, voice like glass. “I’ll sit with you. I’ll stay. But you have to calm down. You’re scaring me.”
Something in his face twitched. His hold faltered. Just slightly. But he didn’t let go.
“I don’t mean to scare you,” he mumbled, nuzzling clumsily against your shoulder, like a child seeking comfort in something they didn’t know how to ask for. “It’s just… when you talk, and when you look at me—right there.” His fingers brushed your cheekbone. “I get this… tight, fluttery thing in my chest. Like when Oliver’s happy. Like when he hugs his bear. It makes me feel like I’m gonna burst.”
Your eyes welled a little. You weren’t sure if it was fear or pity or the sheer strangeness of the moment.
“Jack,” you whispered, softer now, “that feeling? That’s… that’s called affection. Or maybe—maybe even love.”
He stilled. “Love?” he echoed, almost awed.
You nodded shakily. “And if you want to show it,” you added, breath trembling, “you have to listen to the people you care about. You have to ask before touching. And let them go when they say they’re scared.”
Jack blinked down at you, still straddling your lap, still holding your wrists. But this time—slowly—his claws released you.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
“…Did I do it wrong?” he asked after a long pause, his voice smaller now. “Did I mess it up?”
You sat up slowly, touching your wrists, feeling the pulse still hammering through you.
“No,” you whispered. “You just have to let me teach you.”
And Jack, in all his mismatched limbs and smeared makeup and feathered ruff, nodded like a child eager for a bedtime story.
“…Then teach me,” he said.
The silence that followed was heavy—syrupy and thick like it was meant to trap breath in your throat. Jack sat cross-legged now, long limbs folded awkwardly on the bedspread like some gothic marionette, waiting for your strings to pull him into place. His eyes—huge and shining beneath streaked face paint—were locked on you, searching your face like he wanted to memorize it.
You swallowed.
“Jack,” you said slowly, brushing your palms down the front of your shirt, trying to ignore the heat still lingering where his claws had been. “You can’t just… take what you want. People don’t work like that. You have to let them come to you.”
His shoulders slumped, his striped arms wrapping loosely around his waist as he rocked once—twice.
“I thought… if I held you right, maybe you’d feel it too,” he muttered, voice barely above a breath. “The fluttering. The warm thing. Like the way Oliver gets when you tuck him in and smile.”
You softened—just a little. “Jack, I do care. But you can’t scare me into staying,” you said gently. “You need to trust me to come back. Just like Oliver does.”
That earned a sharp jolt through his expression. His head tilted, the bells in his costume softly chiming as he blinked. “Oliver…”
He turned his head suddenly—eyes fixed on the hallway.
You froze.
“What?” you asked, voice tight.
He sniffed the air. One deep inhale.
“He’s waking up,” Jack murmured. “He’s crying.”
You didn’t even wait. You were already scrambling off the bed, nearly stumbling into the hallway barefoot. Jack was behind you, eerily quiet despite his frame, close enough that his sleeves fluttered in the air beside you like shadows with feathers. Oliver’s room was dark, but you heard the sniffles before you even touched the door. You pushed it open gently.
“Oliver?” you whispered, stepping in.
The little boy was curled beneath the blankets, arms tightly wrapped around his pillow, tears tracking down his cheeks as he whimpered softly.
“Nightmare,” he hiccupped. “You… You weren’t here when I woke up. Jack was gone. I thought—”
“I’m right here,” you said quickly, sliding into the bed beside him. He immediately reached for you, pressing his face into your shirt, small hands clinging tightly.
“I was scared you left again,” Oliver murmured, muffled. “He got so sad last time. I got so lonely.”
You looked up—and Jack was there, crouched beside the bed, half-shrouded in shadow. The glow from the hallway lit one half of his face—the sadness there was nearly human.
“I didn’t understand him,” you said, brushing Oliver’s hair gently. “But I think I do now.”
Oliver sniffled. “He says he likes you.”
Your throat tightened. “Yeah?” you whispered.
“He says you make us feel happy.” Oliver’s lashes fluttered. “He says you smell like strawberries, but I don’t think so.”
You tried to laugh but it came out soft and broken. “I’ll stay,” you said quietly, folding Oliver into your arms. “I’ll stay the rest of the night. Okay?”
“Okay.”
You felt Jack settle beside the bed, curled around the two of you like a skeletal gargoyle. He didn’t speak, didn’t reach—he just watched, his limbs folded protectively under him, his eyes more calm now. As Oliver’s breathing slowed, you felt a cold hand brush against yours under the blanket—long fingers lacing between yours like he needed to feel your pulse to believe you were real.
“Jack?” you whispered.
“Hm?”
You didn’t look at him—just kept your eyes on the ceiling. “…We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
The hand squeezed yours once. Then came his whisper—low, skittish.
“Can you bring more ice cream?”
── .✦
The sun had just barely started to rise, stretching faint golden streaks across the cream-colored walls of Oliver’s bedroom. You stirred slowly, blinking against the light trickling through the curtains, a heavy warmth pressed against your side.
Oliver was still asleep, curled into you with one small hand tangled in the hem of your shirt. His cheeks were soft with sleep, lips parted slightly as he murmured something inaudible in a dream. You exhaled quietly, slipping your hand from his to tuck the blanket up over his shoulder.
Clink.
The sound of keys in the door jolted your attention.
Careful not to wake him, you slid from the bed, casting one last glance at Jack’s usual corner toward the closet. Nothing. No flicker, no feather, no eerie reflection. But the air was thick. You felt him. Watching. Resting.
Downstairs, the front door creaked open just as you reached the end of the hallway. Mrs. Dalton froze in the entryway, still dressed in her scrubs, her expression visibly softening when she saw you. “You’re still here…”
“I stayed the night,” you said simply, grabbing your jacket from the back of the couch. “He had a nightmare.”
Mrs. Dalton’s eyes searched yours carefully, cautiously. “And you stayed.”
“I’m coming back tonight, too.”
Her brows furrowed. “Wait. Why?”
You shrugged the coat on. “Because Oliver needs me.”
She frowned. “I know he does. But you—this isn’t your responsibility. I should’ve never let it get that far.”
You gave a small, tired smile. “I’m not doing it because I have to.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, something deeper—maybe the truth behind her eyes—but you were already halfway out the door. The cold morning air nipped at your cheeks, and just as you reached the sidewalk—
Fwwt.
A small feather, light gray and black-striped, fluttered past your face and landed by your foot.
You didn’t pick it up. You didn’t have to. Instead, you stepped over it, heart skipping, and walked to your car.
── .✦
The sky had settled into its deep, navy blue—stars peeking out between the clouds as you walked up the front steps, a familiar white paper bag tucked beneath your arm. You could already hear Oliver inside, thudding softly around the living room, maybe looking for something—or someone.
You knocked once before letting yourself in, calling gently, “Hey, Oliver?”
The little boy’s head popped over the couch, eyes widening when he saw the ice cream. His smile—real and unfiltered this time—was radiant. It made your heart stutter for a beat.
“You came back!” he called, running around the furniture. “You came back!”
You caught him as he leapt into your arms, ice cream threatening to topple.
“Of course I did,” you said, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
He nodded into your shoulder, voice muffled. “He’s really happy.”
You didn’t ask who. You didn’t need to.
As you stepped further into the house, shadows curled slightly at the edge of the ceiling—just out of reach. Like fingers brushing the walls. You pretended not to notice, but you felt it—the way the house exhaled when you walked in. And the flicker of something behind you that didn’t belong to the light.
The night unfolded in familiar motions—yet something had shifted. Subtle, warm, like the slow turning of a tide.
You and Oliver ate your ice cream on the living room floor, cross-legged, the television flickering softly in the background with an old cartoon. He babbled between bites, chocolate smeared at the corners of his mouth as he spoke.
“Jack says strawberry is his favorite flavor now, not mint chocolate chip anymore,” he said suddenly, licking the spoon.
“Oh yeah?” you asked, quirking a brow and handing him a napkin. “How does he even eat it? He doesn’t have a tongue, does he?”
Oliver laughed—really laughed. The kind that crinkled his nose and made his shoulders shake. “He does! It’s just black! And super long!”
You felt your eye twitch.
“Well that makes sense,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Big clowns, big tongues, big appetite for ice cream.”
He nodded sagely, like you were in on something sacred. “He said you smell like strawberries again.”
Your breath caught—but you didn’t let it show. “That’s probably because of my lotion.”
“Nope,” Oliver said simply, digging back into the tub. “He says it’s your skin.”
You blinked. “Gross.”
More laughter.
The evening continued like that—pillow forts, coloring pages, made-up bedtime riddles. And you answered all of Oliver’s strange little statements like they were part of the game.
When he mentioned how the other imaginary friends whispered to him at night? You told him to tell them to use their inside voices.
When he said Jack got sad when the window was closed? You cracked it an inch and said, “There. For airflow and imaginary friends.”
And when he curled into your side with a book, his eyes drooping, his hand clutching your wrist like an anchor—you didn’t even hesitate. You read aloud. Soft, slow, your voice steady as his breaths evened. One page. Two. A lullaby wrapped in ink and warmth. Until his lashes fluttered and finally stilled.
You tucked him in gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead, and whispered, “Goodnight, buddy.”
The hallway light flickered once as you closed the door.
You padded down to the living room and coiled onto the couch, arms wrapped around a throw pillow. The silence of the house was a blanket in itself—one that buzzed slightly at the edges. Hums of something just out of sight.
Still, you let your eyes close. “Jack…” The word was soft, a half-whimper from the empty room.
Then again, more urgent. “Jack…”
You sat up slowly, breath held, listening. The house didn’t answer. No creak of footsteps, no flutter of feathers. Only a long, heavy stillness. You exhaled through your nose and pushed up to stand—only for something cold to slip over your shoulders.
Claws.
Long, jointed fingers, talon-tipped, coiling like ribbons of shadow. You felt them press lightly into your collarbones, grazing the top of your chest—not painful, but possessive, circling from behind you.
And then—his voice. Low. Fractured velvet. Warm like a whisper down your spine. “You came back.”
You didn’t scream. You didn’t move. Just sat, back straight, breathing shallow. The claws curled tighter.
“I was scared you wouldn’t,” Jack murmured, his chin lowering until you could feel the weight of his presence against your shoulder. “But he asked for you. Needed you. So I waited. I was so good.”
You turned your head slowly—his feathers brushing your cheek—and finally looked at him.
Jack’s face rested next to yours, chin tucked onto your shoulder where he stood behind the couch. Pale. Painted. Cracked like porcelain, streaked slightly at the edges from where your hands had once smeared him. His mouth, sharp and black, curled into something between a smile and a snarl.
“I was very good,” he said again, almost pleading.
Your voice came quieter than you expected. “You were.”
He inhaled your scent like it grounded him. And then—his claws uncurled from your shoulders and slid down your arms, lingering at your wrists like manacles of silk and bone.
“Don’t go,” he whispered.
With graceful ease, one long gangly leg lifted over the back of the couch like he was stepping over a fence, then the other, before sitting cross-legged down beside you. He faced you, head tilted like a curious, waiting beast, his black-tinted claws twitching with thought. His wide eyes flicked over your face, down your throat, to your hands where they rested in your lap, still and warm. The poor cushions nearly buckled under the weight of him.
“Why,” he murmured, almost to himself, “why does it do that?”
You looked over at him, brows furrowing. “Do what?”
His chest rose sharply, a frustrated mimicry of breath. “This… fluttering.” He pressed a clawed hand flat against the center of his chest. “It’s like I’m hollow and full at the same time.”
Your lips parted—your brain stumbling to meet his intensity. “Remember what I said about love?”
Jack blinked, confused. “Love.”
“It’s… complicated,” you offered gently. “It can feel really good and really terrible at the same time. It makes you care too much. Makes you do things. Say things. Want things.”
Jack’s head tilted, and he shuffled closer on all fours—lanky limbs folding with unnatural grace. “Want?” His voice dipped, that awful little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I do want.”
You leaned back slightly as he reached for you, his claws brushing your legs, your hips, then curling possessively around your waist as he pulled you into his lap again. You let him—more out of dazed submission than invitation. His body was warm beneath all the feathers and fabric, and the way he tucked you against him made you feel like a doll, a thing made for touch.
“You feel soft,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your back with surprising gentleness for something so sharp. “You smell like the way I imagine dreams do. And when you talk… it gets louder in here.” He tapped the side of his temple.
“I think that’s still love,” you said softly, trying not to tremble as he leaned forward. You didn’t really think that—but the way he looked at you—there was little you could do to no appease him.
Jack’s nose brushed your neck, and he inhaled like he was starving. Then, unexpectedly, he dragged the tip of his tongue up the line of your throat—inhumanly long, textured like velvet. Oliver was right, it was black—and long. You gasped, clutching his arms.
His head tilted. “You tasted… good. But not enough. There’s something else I’ve seen people do. Something Oliver’s parents did with mouths.”
You flushed. “A… kiss?”
Jack’s eyes lit up like a light bulb flaring. “Yes. That. Show me.”
You hesitated—but something in his expression, his wide pupils and fluttering lashes, made your chest ache. He was so bright—despite the monochromatics of him. There were wild colors and energy behind his sad eyes.
So you leaned forward and whispered, “It’s when two people press their lips together. Gentle, sometimes. Or… not.”
Jack didn’t wait. He surged forward with a suddenness that made you gasp, pressing his mouth to yours clumsily at first—like he didn’t quite know how hard to push or how much to take. His lips were cold, but the space between you burned. And when he groaned softly into it, something cracked wide open in your chest.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t delicate. But it was real.
And when he pulled back, body jittering with energy, his eyes searched yours like you held the answer to everything.
“That,” he whispered, claws trembling where they gripped your sides. “Do that again. Please.”
Your lips tingled from the pressure of him—his mouth too cold, too soft, and too eager all at once. The taste of him lingered like sugar laced with something acrid, like old candy or sugar water. His nose brushed yours as he hovered, barely breathing, barely holding back.
And he was holding back. Barely.
“Do it again,” Jack breathed, his voice cracking with need. “Please—again. Just one more—”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have time.
Jack surged forward, kissing you again, messier this time—teeth knocking against yours in his desperation. One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, tangling like he never wanted to let go. His other arm was tight around your waist, claws digging just enough to make you feel it.
You gasped into his mouth when his tongue—too long, too strange—flicked over your bottom lip, tasting you like you were spun sugar and heat. He moaned—moaned, like he didn’t understand how else to deal with the rush curling through him.
“You’re real,” he whispered into your mouth, dragging you closer, your legs tangled where he held you in his lap. “You see me. You let me touch you. You don’t scream—you don’t run—”
“I was terrified of you,” you said, breathing uneven. “I still kind of am.”
Jack paused. His brows pinched. “Then why did you come back?”
“Because Oliver isn’t the only one who needs me.”
With a shuddering sound full of teeth and snarls, Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply—obscene and greedy—and you could feel his whole body tremble beneath yours. Then his hands—those long, strange hands—slid under your thighs, and in one effortless motion, he scooped you up.
You yelped, arms flying around his neck as he lifted you like you were made of nothing.
“Jack—!”
“Shhh…” he cooed, walking—no, gliding—through the hallway. “I can only keep Ollie asleep for so long, sweet girl. We need to be quiet.”
You squirmed a little, heart hammering, your voice caught somewhere between rationality and surrender. “W-We can sit down. We don’t have to—”
“You’re warm,” he murmured, cutting you off. “And when I touch you, it makes me feel good. I think… I think this is what people mean when they talk about loving someone.” He leaned down, brushing his nose across your cheek. “I want to be good at it. For you.”
The hallway was lit only by the dim nightlight near Oliver’s room, casting everything in shadow and silver. Jack’s body moved soundlessly, his boots not making a single creak on the old wood.
And then he reached Mrs. Dalton’s room.
You stiffened. “Jack, no. We can’t—this is her room—”
But he didn’t stop. He pressed the door open with his foot—which had a little bell at the top, jingling—and carried you over the threshold, and nudged it shut behind him. He walked you to the bed like he’d been there before—like he’d waited for this exact moment. And when he set you down, he was slow. Careful. His claws ghosted over your sides as he released you, reverent, almost trembling.
“You fit,” he whispered, kneeling beside the bed like a knight before an altar. “I don’t know why. But you fit. And I don’t want you to go.”
You sat there, breathing hard, watching as he tilted his head—those eyes wide, flickering with too many things—Adoration. Madness. Hope. And something like love.
He didn’t lunge again. Not this time. But you knew—this night, this quiet, this eerie stillness—it wasn’t the end.
It was the beginning—of your doom, your love—you weren’t sure.
Jack’s head tilted again, just slightly, enough for the bell at his collar to chime softly. The tiny sound filled the stillness between you like a warning, or maybe a plea.
“I don’t want you to go,” he repeated, almost childlike, hands resting on your knees—clawed fingers splayed wide, thumbs rubbing tiny, distracted circles into the soft fabric of your pants. “They always go. All of them. After a while. Even when I like them.”
You swallowed, your throat dry. “Jack…”
“I didn’t like the others like I like you. They didn’t make me feel like this.”
He leaned forward again, feathered collar brushing your arms, the scent of sweets and wrapping around you. His face hovered close, and for the first time… he looked serious.
“I get big feelings when you touch me,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “When you talk soft. When you look at me like I’m not wrong.”
“You’re not,” you whispered, reaching a cautious hand up—fingers threading through the messy dark strands of his hair. “You’re not wrong, Jack. You’re just… not like us. And that’s okay. Some people don’t deserve you.”
He whimpered, the sound sharp and fragile as his hands suddenly moved to your waist—claws careful but firm, gripping you like he thought you might vanish again.
“Why does it hurt when you leave?” His voice cracked, nose brushing yours, his weight pushing forward until you had to brace yourself back on your elbows. “Why does it ache?”
You didn’t have an answer.
You just let your other hand come up, smoothing over the side of his jaw, your thumb brushing a smear of dried white face paint. “Because you’re learning to care. And that hurts sometimes.”
Jack leaned into your touch like a dog starved for affection. “Is that what this is?” he rasped. “Is this love?”
You froze.
His claws slipped beneath your shirt again, up your sides—not cruelly, but with that same aching hunger he didn’t know how to soothe. The pads of his fingers found the faint indents he’d left the night before, and he shuddered, pressing his forehead to your shoulder with a broken sound.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. “I just wanted you to see me.”
“I do see you,” you whispered, unsure if you were shaking from nerves or something deeper.
He looked up suddenly, lifting himself slightly to meet your gaze again. “And you still came back.”
“I told you I would.”
Jack didn’t like that answer. His mouth twisted—unhappy, needy—and his arms curled around your back, pulling you forward until your body pressed against his chest, your legs falling open around his wide hips.
“You wanted to come back,” he corrected, nose pressed into your hair. “Didn’t you?”
You closed your eyes. “I did.”
Silence fell.
Then Jack giggled—softly, sweetly, but with something strained and high-pitched underneath. “I knew it. I knew you were different. That you weren’t scared like the rest.”
“Jack…”
That’s all it takes for his lips to be crashing onto yours, biting back a little whimper at the messy clash of teeth, of spit, because one taste of your lips and he was already so addicted. One kiss wasn’t enough, neither was two.
Your breath caught when he shifted his weight, a knee sliding between your thighs as he loomed over you, long hair falling like a shadowy curtain around your face. That enormous feathered collar fanned around his neck, brushing your shoulders like wings, trapping you beneath him.
“You said love feels fluttery, right?” he asked, voice rough, cracking slightly. “It feels like you can’t breathe, like everything is spinning and hot and tight.”
You nodded—your throat too dry to speak.
“Then I’m in love,” he declared, eyes glassy and intense. “Because I can’t stop feeling.”
He pressed his nose to your collarbone, inhaling deeply, then let his tongue graze across your skin—warm and impossibly long, like silk and static. You shivered, your hand instinctively grabbing at the front of his suspender shirt, fingers curling into that ridiculous fabric ruffle beneath his throat.
He smiled at that, manic and pleased. “You like this, don’t you? Even if you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” you lied, voice tight.
That earned a laugh—soft and delighted, as if he could feel the war in your chest.
“You’re shaking,” he said, claws slipping lower, curved around your hips now, pulling you flush against his frame. “But not like before. Not like when you wanted to run. Now you’re trembling like… like I make your chest flutter, too.”
You didn’t answer, but your body did—arching when his hips settled against yours.
Jesus fucking Christ. You felt the boneyness of his hips, the slimness of his torso, and the absolutely—devastatingly, mouthwateringly—curve of his erection against his hip. Your hips jerked immediately at the feeling, eyes shooting wide when you felt him grind down just the slighted bit. There was no fucking way.
Jack groaned low, almost surprised by his own reaction, his clawed hand catching your thigh and hiking it up around his waist. “So little,” he hissed, voice shaking with something deeper now. “So small and warm in my hands…”
His head dipped, tongue trailing up your throat, stopping just beneath your jaw. “Want to taste your skin again. Is that okay? You said I need to ask permission.”
You managed a nod, your fingers still clinging to him. He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the manic glee that bloomed across his face was both terrifying and beautiful.
There was nothing gentle about it.
Jack kissed like a creature who’d only just discovered the act existed and couldn’t fathom living without it—which was mostly true. His mouth was hot and desperate, his tongue curling past your lips like he needed to taste everything you’d ever spoken. He moaned against you—guttural, starved—as he dragged your hips closer into his, arms caging you in completely.
The room spun, your senses burning, and when he finally pulled back for air, a string of spit clung between your mouths. His chest rose and fell like he’d run miles, pupils blown wide with something that wasn’t entirely sane.
“I want more,” he whispered. “Let me have more.” Jack gasps, chasing hotly after your lips. Eyes half-lidded to watch the snapping of those delicate strings of saliva, “You’re— you’re so—” And he’s way too impatient to get out his words, licking heatedly at the slit of your mouth, over and over and over. “I can’t help it.”
And the both of you are stuck on the way Jack’s moving again, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, like he didn’t even feel the way his twitching erection was smearing along the insides of your thighs. You’re erratic, entire body shaking every time the tip of his cock catches your clit through layers of clothes. How was this even happening?
“I remember—” Jack started, tugging his hips off of you, leaning back, your legs still spread wide around his hips. “I remember what Ollie’s parents used to do. I remember seeing it. I think that was the first time I felt like this.” His voice is shaky, like he’s barely containing something running rampant behind those stripes and monochrome.
“What do you—”
Jack’s claws ran under your shirt, pushing the fabric all the way up until it bunched under your chin. You seized, hands letting go of his shirt and moving to cover your chest, bra slightly askew from all the prior movement. Jack didn’t like that—he wrapped a hand around your wrists, tugging them away with a huff. “I want to show you.”
He pushes your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere against the wall, before he’s snagging one long, sharp finger under the main band of your bra. Your breath catches, hand wrapping around his wrist—before he’s snapping it up.
Your tits fall free, bra bunched onto your chest, nipples hard from the chilled air and rampant energy of your body. You shuffle in embarrassment, pressing your arm over your chest, “Jack—”
He stalks towards your trembling figure as if hypnotized, “Oh, you look even prettier this way.”
You don’t even have time to react. Jack’s painted lips are latching onto one nipple, giant claw snagging the other. You can fill the pinprick of his jagged teeth against your skin, and it elicits goosebumps all over. He’s groaning, humming sweetly against your nipple as that bastardous tongue laps and snakes against the nub.
“Jack—hah—oh god—”
His bright eyes meet yours through heavy lids, chittery little grumbles as he sucks and swirls and makes your head dizzy. Your hands curl into his hair, brushing the strands from his face as he pops off one tit and immediately locks onto the other. A thin ring of black circles your nipple, evidence of his dark lips that sucked a red spot onto your skin. You can hardly catch your breath, arching up into the feeling.
“Tastes… so good. You’re so sweet…” he moans against you, licking a thick stripe across one mound, then to the other. But he’s back up at your lips before you know it, slipping that tongue through your teeth and messing with your own. He forces his way into your mouth, dragging the muscle across your inner cheeks like he’s trying to memorize it.
You feel him slipping down, dragging your hips with him in a firm hold, until you hear the thud of his knees hitting the carpet at the side of the bed. He smacks one, hard kiss across your lips before retreating down your jaw, then to your throat. You gasp out, craning your neck as he nips and sears his teeth across your veins.
Then you feel the tug of your pants, thick claws snagging the fabric and pulling them down your thighs. You try to maneuver, moving to grab his shoulders, but Jack retreats—leaving your mouth and throat alone.
“O-Oh.”
Jack settles between your spread legs, tugging your waistband down your knees and off your ankles. You have enough mind to lean up onto your elbows, unclasping your bra and tugging it off your chest before it becomes too uncomfortable.
Despite your thoughts, despite the way your heart hammered so violently in your chest—Laughing Jack looked so pretty when he knelt obediently at the edge of the bed. A thin sliver of sweat sliding down his temple, breaths coming out in heated gusts, clawed hands balling into a fist and shivering once you smear your legs open just a fraction more. Twitching, white-knuckled like he was forcing himself to not just ruin you right then and there.
“Let me taste you.” Jack said sternly, an edge of hesitation in his voice. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know what to do. Let me show you.” His words got faster as he spoke, frantic. Like if he couldn’t convince you in this moment, you’d up and leave. Your thighs shook, mind dizzy between right and wrong.
But the sight of him there, claws sneaking up to brush against the inside of your calf as your legs dangled off the side of the bed—not your bed, you’d have to make sure to tidy up. There was no point in stopping now.
“Okay.” You’re nodding, and the very action is enough for him to snap his eyes down where your cotton panties were starting to dampen and swallow. “Please—please—be gentle.”
With so much pent-up eagerness, Jack’s lips twist into a sleazy grin—crawling himself the few inches it was to stuff himself nose-deep between your pretty legs. First it was the tiniest tug on your restless hips, then it was a sniff—and then it was a bite of his sharp, pearly whites over the waistband of your underwear. A throaty groan snarling through his teeth, “Oh, sweet girl, I promise.”
Quick as a flash, he’s snagging his teeth on the flimsy fabric of your panties and all but tearing it off of you. Ripping to simply push its tatters to the side, Jack doesn’t even fully take it off before he was simply drooling.
“Sweet,” he gasps out, tongue flicking past his lips to taste the air. You shrieked, gripping your fingers tight into the sheets, but he just smiled lazily, “So sweet.”
The fattened pad of his thumb sears down on your swollen folds and spreads you wide open, cock twitching at the deafening wet squelch that chimes.
“And mine.”
“Oh— oh fuck—” You’re shrilling out a syrupy moan once his singing tongue flicks at your clit like a lollipop, taking extra care to press down hard so that it has you thrashing.
“There? S’that good?” He’s roaming his mouth over your puffed-up lips eagerly, yearning, not knowing what he was doing, just addicted. “You’re so wet, sweetheart. S’this for me? A-All for me?”
The only answer he’s getting is a few soft gasps of oh! and yes! You couldn’t help but nod your head down and admire just how drunk Jack was as he’s sucked away on your twitching clit. The hollows of his pale cheeks sucked-in, spit-glossed mouth wrapped snugly around your sensitive nub. “So… so good…”
Your legs try to clamp around his head.
“E-Easy, Jack—” You mewl out in a tone that makes his tensed hips rut forward like an animal, immediately grinding against the firm base of the bedframe. You snake a hand down to intertwine with his messy hair, tugging the strands until his eyes snap up to meet yours. “Easy.”
Jack nods against your cunt, lips bumping your clit and smearing your arousal across your folds. You try to tug his head off, just to give yourself a moment—
“I want it.” He grumbles, popping off your clit, hanging his head back as he pants into the air. His eyes are so glassy, the tip of his tongue flashing across his bottom lip—until it’s not the tip anymore—wait—
The curly, dark end of it stingingly slaps down on your thigh, Jack’s tongue is so long enough that he can lace it all over your shivering leg and wrench them further and further open. You nearly faint.
“I want in.”
And then it feels like you’re being split apart—just a few solid, thorough inches of Jack’s slimy tongue burrowing past your puffy folds, keeping your jolting legs pinned firmly by his sharp claws digging in. Your head slams back against the mattress, hands taking a blinding hold on Jack’s hair. You’re being rendered utterly stupid by the jerky flicks of his pointed muscle stirring up your insides, wriggling in circular patterns around and around your gummy walls. Scarfing you down until his tongue reaches the very gooey bottom of your cunt and kisses your cervix so hard that you’re pushed up the mattress and he’s forced to reel you back down again.
“What— oh…oh my god—” Tears drip down from your heavy lids, wailing whimpers breaking off from your lips at every smack he left on that spongy end, further pushing aside your panties. Then it’s retracting all the way back out, only to thrust in again. “Jack— it’s so big— your tongue—”
He grumbles his agreement, smacking his lips back against your folds, sucking your clit. He’s slashing his tongue almost aggressively inside, knocking your g-spot in-between his journey to fuck you with his tongue. You could feel the ridges of his tongue, feel how it had to bend and curve to fit all of it inside of you. It angled to the shape of your walls, making you feel so full.
“N-ngh please!” You could feel your resolve breaking, nearly hear the sound of your fear shattering and getting rebuilt into uncontrollable lust. You can’t help but rock into every second of his frenzied cadence, creeping down one of your hands to hook on the underside of his jaw, angling his head so that he could go even deeper, “I-it’s so good— don’t stop, don’t stop.”
And the look in Jack’s shiny eyes is the most raw glint of disbelief that you’ve ever seen.
His thighs clench as he hits his erection against the wooden board of the bed and grinds, unwilling to yank the button of his pants down, unwilling to take his hands off of you for a mere second.
He throws your thighs over his shoulder, your trembly hands guided through his sweaty scalp, mouth hungry. You nearly scream every time the sharp ends of his fangs snag on your clit, tongue fucking into your sopping cunt like he’s addicted to the mere taste and sounds of it—because he is.
Your noises, your smell, your taste. How did he go so long without you?
“Fuck- fuck, you’re making such a mess, Jack.”
“Mhmmmm—”
“I can’t— I can’t—” And you don’t know whether it’s the sight of slicked saliva falling from Jack’s mouth or the sheer overstimulation that has you jumbling up your syllables—but it’s enough to make Jack grin against your folds. “S’too much— hold on—”
Your brain’s fuzzily numb by the time you finally recognize that familiar twist at the bottom of your gut. Blubbering out an unsteady, “H-Hold on— Just give—agh— give me a minute.”
“I know— I know I know I know— make a mess.” He’s tugging his tongue out, letting a wad of saliva stream straight down your slit and licking it all up before he returns to probe your entrance fully, swirling every fold of his tongue until it was like he was stuffing you with his taste buds.
Tears pool from your eyes, hands jerks two thick strands of his hair and pulling—and your body absolutely shatters under him.
Jack picks it up immediately—keenly aware of the way your walls clamp down with a searing grip on his lashing tongue, flooding his tastes with such a sweet, sweet taste. You could practically see the fireworks exploding behind his eyes, eyelashing fluttering and lips twitching as he only shoves his jaw closer to your skin.
Your hips roll at the primal way Jack’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with each eager swallow. Thin lines of sappy slick falling from the black, puckered corners of his lips and waterfalling all down the side of his throat.
“Good— Good girl—” His sopping wet tongue drags up and down your open folds to pull you through your euphoria, every lolling flick of the curled end jostling against your thoroughly-stuffed cunt. “This— this is all for me?” He’s crooning out, dazed, letting his jaw fall open with every quiver you’re instinctively clenching with your cunt, “All for me. More— more, sweetheart.”
The waves of absolute pleasure ran through your gut, through your legs, until it slowly fizzled into sharp, jerking twitches of your legs clamping around his head. Jack let you, too busy tasting your orgasm to worry about his head getting squished between your shaky thighs. He wasn’t stopping, his tongue making it a point to clean every inch of your insides, to taste every sweet drop.
His tongue kept thrusting, lips continually sucking on your weeping clit. Your eyes rolled back, hips jerking off the bed and slamming back down into the sheets with every curl of the muscle inside you.
It wasn’t until you were hitting your fist against his head and pressing the bottoms of your feet against his shoulders that he flicked his eyes up at you, catching the absolutely fucked-out expression that lay before him.
“Jack— s’too much, too much—”
And he’s perking his head up like the thought didn’t even occur to him—slowly retracting his tongue from your folds and back to his own mouth. His glistening tongue licks his lips, catching all the spit and slick that got absolutely everywhere all over his face. His eyes are locked into yours, despite you rapidly blinking away tears. He smiled, innocently, all sharp teeth and giddy eyes, “Was that good?”
Your eyes flicked back and forth between his face and your body—your inner thighs and center absolutely covered in smears of white and black facepaint. You could see where a black O shape circled right around your cunt, where his cheekbones has pressed right into the meat of your thighs. It was an absolute mess—and that wasn’t even counting all the drool and slick accompanying it. But your eyes flicked back to his face.
Fuck. He was pretty.
Granted, you always saw him in the shade of shadows or in faint passing, but right now—with Jack’s dark strands of hair hooding his half-lidded gaze, what little you could see of his eyes gleaming, chest rising and falling rapidly—he was dreamy.
One gangly limb after the other, Jack crawls back up into the bed—well, grinds right between your legs so that he’s putting pressure on your throbbing cunt. He doesn’t even look like he knows that he’s doing it, not when he’s gripping your flushed cheeks in one claw and puffing your lips together.
Looming over top of you, his other claw grips into the askew bedding near your head, face quickly lowering toward yours as he catches your mouth again.
It’s all spit and tongues and the taste of you on his lips. You’re both panting into each other’s mouth’s, his sharp teeth catching against your lips and making you hiss. He grinds down again, making your hands grip into his ruffled collar, rutting his hips and dampening the front of his trousers with your wetness.
He’s whimpering into your mouth, eyes clenched tightly shut as you feel the head of his cocktip smear through your folds over thin layers of fabric. Your hands move before your brain does, fishing for the waistband of his trousers and finding the metal clasp that holds the layers together.
Jack feels your hands against stomach, knuckles running across those bandages tight around his waist, and angles his hips upwards. He can’t figure out why he feels so warm, why the fluttering in his chest has traveled south—but when your fingers latch on and snag the clasp open, feeling as his length bobs out from behind the fabric and smacks against your belly-button—it’s like he just touched a live-wire.
“What—” he started, popping off your lips to look at the space between you. His face is twitching, like he can’t pinpoint what expression he’s supposed to have, watching at his cock twitches and smears pre-cum against your stomach. It’s only when you let go of the fabric of his pants, mindlessly darting over to swipe your thumb across a pearly bead of pre that glistened on his slit—that Jack’s hips jerk at the feeling, chasing your hand.
“O-oh.” Jack grunts at the look on your gorgeous face once your hand wraps around the head of his cock, twisting slowly. His hips stutter, brow knotting as you slowly stroke your hand on his tip, smearing his arousal on his bulbous head. “No one’s ever touched me like this—hah!” You pump your hand lower, gaping at the way your fingers have to separate to get a grip on him, jerking his cock lazily while you drool over the sight.
“It’s okay, Jack— Mm, does that feel good?” You hum, shuffling up to press a wet kiss against his jaw, his eyes still glued on your hand.
“Ye-Yeah. Really—hnm—really good.”
“Yeah?”
He’s nodding frantically, rolling his hips until his tip is knocking against your stomach. He’s so long, so thick that you can see exactly where he’s going to end up inside of you, see exactly where the tip of his goes past your belly-button. Your stomach rolled with excitement.
You push against his shoulder, minding the ruffles and feathers, and wrap your leg onto his hip, rolling the two of you over.
“Oh.” He’s gasping—you settle on top of him, legs bracketing his hips as his length sits heavy against the curve of your ass. You’re completely naked above him except for the shredded remnants of your torn panties still hanging on. You couldn’t care less about them, not when he’s panting underneath you, staring up with wide, anxious eyes.
“Jack…” You’re sliding the curve of your ass gingerly against his aching hot length, shudders skittering down your spine at the sheer size of him pressing up against you. “Y-you’re so big. I don’t know if it’ll fit.”
“Fit? F-Fit where?” He’s whispering, in awe. Watching with damply bated breath as you reach between your legs, gripping the base of him—fingers not even close to touching—and dragging him to point that curved, bulbous tip right between your folds and sliding it up and down, collecting all your sweet arousal. Jack nearly snaps his hips up, if not for the weight of you on top of him.
“Right here,” you purr, grinding your clit against his weeping slit.
“Am—Am I really that b-big?” He’s panting at the first squeeze of his reddened, blushing tip against your entrance, his chittery voice wavers almost as much as his heavy eyelids, falling apart with just that first taste of your perfect cunt. “You got it—uh huh, yeah, you got it—Show me how good it feels.” Jack’s voice cracks with a whimper at that snug resistance, “You can take it—you can take it. I’ll make it fit.”
“Oh—oh my god—Jack, Jac—!”
“Is it too big for my sweet girl? Hm?” He giggles under you, claws latching tight onto your waist, pushing you down each and every time Jack jerks his hips off the bed and pushes just to fit in. “Sweetheart—” Jack gasps as you throw your head back with a mewl at the sheer size of him, planting your hands into his forearms.
His painfully-aching cock was so big that just the mere first inch being bullied inside was enough to make your vision blotch with black specs. His rounded head was stretching your slick-flooded walls so bad it burned, “I’m sorry, sweet girl— M’sorry I’m so big. But you’re my girl— my girl can take it— you can…you can take it.”
You can’t even move, let alone think very hard. Where all your teasing was prominent moments ago, it all fissiled the second Jack learned what he was meant to do, realized he could feel good too. You’re just limp in his hands down, stuttering fucked-out whimpers and tears dripping down your chin onto his frilly clothes. It was pathetic.
He had to be almost in—he had to be.
Your heart nearly fell to your ass when you looked down, eyes cracking open just enough to see when the two of you were connected—and realize he was hardly half way.
“Jack— oh my god— oh my god.”
“So tight, so tight, so— so warm— tight—”
“Mhm—” And you’re just letting out the cutest cry once he finally eases himself all the way in, practically impaling you. Your cunt gushes around him, thighs trembling as you feel both of your bodies untense.
Tenderly caressing your palm down his chest, you whine, “I-it’s in?” Your hitched tone makes his eyes flutter shut, and yet, he’s fighting to bring them back open and watch as you grind against him. “It’s in. O-oh my god, I can feel you— so deep.”
“It burns,” he whines, clamping his claws tight around your waist as he begins to haul you up, the bells on his clothes jingling as he shifts you higher on his length. He’s stretching you so wide, rubbing against every curve and sensitive spot inside of you, making you dizzy. “Need’a move.” You’re jostled ever-so-slightly on top of him as he’s sucking in a deep breath.
One jerk of his hips has you falling forward, draping across his long body, you’re nothing against his over eight foot height. He takes advantage of the angle, wraps his gangly arms around your back, and thrusts.
You feel the wind knock out of your lungs, feel your spine arch at the sheer fullness that erupts your thoughts. “Jack—” you cry out, gazing up to see his gleaming teeth on display, a feral snarl painting his features.
“Sweet girl—” Planting a rattling thrust you’re feeling all the way in your chest, his twitching length is so widely thick that Jack has to bite down on his lips and manhandle you for his thrusts to move to and fro, fighting the sheer tightness of your walls.
“Nghhh—Jack! Fuck, y-you’re in so deep—”
He nods, painfully so, and reaches to wrap a claw around your jaw, forcing you to lean up to him. “Kiss me, please.”
“Should’ve— should’ve done this sooner—” He hisses out through a narrowed pant, tongue flashing angrily across his lips as he pushes the tip between your lips. “Should’a had you like this from the start.”
“O-oh fuck fuck fuck—” The backs of your thighs ache after every slamming thrust you’re bouncing back into his bony hips, pounding away like he was crazed, every jackhammer only makes Jack grow more feral. The sounds, the absolute vulgarness of your skin slapping together.
His rummaging, fat-tipped shaft was so large that you could feel the way his ridged cockhead scraped your cervix, bumping against the end like he desperately needed to get deeper, impossibly deeper.
Facepaint practically smearing down his cheeks now, “Should’ve fuh-fucked you the moment I—hnngh—saw you. Should’ve dragged you into that closet— sh-should’ve—” You’re squealing once his sharp claws dart down to toy and pull at the curve of your ass. “I knew from that first night— Yeah, I knew it— You’re perfect.”
Oh, he’s babbling.
Cooing, you slither one of your hands through the tangled strands of his dark hair, “Awww– it’s okay, I’m here. You’ve—hah—you’ve got me now.”
“Yes.” He’s seething, heaving thick swallows of air against your lips. Your smell was driving him mad, he can’t help but bite against your lips and pull. “Are you feeling good, too?”
Pace growing sloppier by the minute, he barely even noticed when you nodded, too worried about tugging you lips open with his jagged teeth and shoving his tongue back into your mouth. It’s almost as if you didn’t know if it was you bouncing back on his cock on him thrusting up into you, only fucked dumb with every sharp jut. His cock curved just right, targeting your g-spot over and over with his bruising tip.
You could barely breathe, especially when his tongue was yawning in your mouth, pushing to the tightness of your throat. It took your hand on his face, pushing his forehead back before you could gag. “I-I’m so close—” You’re hiccuping through your salty tears, brows scrunching at the overwhelming coil at the base of your gut. “F-fuck! Jack m’gonna cum.”
“Again? Hah— again?” His response comes out guttural, and it’s just so cute the way that he’s forced to gnaw on his bottom lip to stop himself from shoving his tongue back into your pretty mouth.
You’re nodding frantically, pressing your hands into his chest to raise yourself, fucking your hips back to match the unrelenting pace Jack was setting into your weeping cunt. The sounds had grown more lewd, slick and arousal coating your inner thighs, nails dragging along the bandaged wrap of his waist. Shocked, Jack sounds as if he could still barely even believe this was all real. “That feeling— the, the fluttering,” he whines, legs kicking out from under you like he’s trying to get away from some foreign feeling, “It’s worse—hah—it hurts, it hurts—”
His claws sear against your skin, pace faltering as his brow twists with unease, eyes flickering to your face and your cunt with panic. You reach to grab his face, forcing his shaky eyes on you, your fingernails pressing into his white-coated face.
“Don’t stop. Jack—aghh— don’t stop.” You’re grinning like wild, tear-heavy lashes fluttering so fast your vision blurs with flashes of monochrome. “You’re gonna cum. Inside— please, inside.”
“Ah—Alright— Oh, sweet girl. Oh, goodness.” You could feel the rumbling under his skin as his teeth pull back into a primal snarl, tear-glinted eyes locked permanently where his red, swollen cock was disappearing between your legs. “It hurts, it hurts. Need it to come out—hah—need it.”
But between all of his babbling and all of his jittery movements, Jack doesn’t even realize it—doesn’t even remember to breathe the very moment you’re creaming all down his monstrous cock. Violent twitches take over your body as you shut your eyes and ride it all out.
The sheer amount of slick that pools out of your cunt is mind-numbing, every drop coating Jack’s cock for him to piston even faster up into you. You fall limp in his hands, your orgasm shattering every ounce of willpower you had left, reduced to nothing but a drooling fucktoy on his chest.
And, god, he cums. So thick, so much, straight into the gummy walls that constricted around him like a vice. He gnashed his teeth, claws scratching down your sides and gripping hard into the meat of your ass as he holds you there, forcing you to sit and feel every shot of cum that pumps into your cervix. He’s whimpering, teeth chattering so hard you were afraid he’d pass out.
And you’re just tapering off from your own orgasm, finally mustering enough energy to look up at him, you slur your words, “Didn’t that feel good? Ah— good job, good job, Jack.”
He’s not listening.
“Again. Again, again, again—” Urgent, rapidly he’s flipping the two of you immediately over to hover on top of you and rut like an animal. You’re gasping once your back slams down on the soft bedding, heels struggling to cling onto Jack’s slim hips until he’s wrapping his long arms underneath your knees and hauling them over his shoulders. You feel your back bend, and bend, and bend—
He had you manhandled like some toy into a mating press. All the air gets pressed out of your lungs as your heels hook onto his shoulders, ruffled feathers on his collar tickling your bare skin. You’re so open, so powerless, so… braindead.
“Need to make you cum again—” Growling through the tiniest gaps of his grit teeth, he presses his forehead to yours, his striped nose poking against your cheek, and inhales that sweet scent of yours still permeating the thick air. The straps of his suspenders rub against your skin as he begins to move again, searing his hips back to thrust back into you again. He laughs, rough and low and tired, chittering his teeth, “I want to feel it over and over. Want to make my sweet girl feel good again.”
He struggles to even focus his eyes on you properly, and Jack’s teeth grit at the lead squelch your pussy makes once he sinks all the way back in, drools of cum and slick pooling onto the mattress below.
He picks up a brutal pace again, planting his claws on either side of your head, your hands wrapping around his wrists as you try to hold on for dear fucking life. The angle, the position, the sheer force of his hips have your jaw going slack, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Jack’s length bumps into your g-spot so bruisingly that with only a few more strokes you’re cumming again.
It’s only when you cry out, a shrill noise bubbling out of your throat, that Jack realizes it. A wide smile paints his face, every sharp tooth shining in the dim light as he watches every twist and turn of your expression, refusing to slow his pace even when fat tears roll down your cheeks. “Yes. Yeah, yeah, yeah— Yes, sweet girl. Give it to me, give it to me—”
He can’t even finish the damn sentence before he’s following right behind you, your cunt clenching so tight that he can’t thrust again before he’s spilling into you—even more. You can tell he’s sensitive, can feel the way his hips fight his mind to pull out, whimpering so pitifully as he fucks him cum into the already stuffed cavern of your walls.
“So good for me— so good. Feel how full you are, so full and— and warm…” He was practically twitching, trembling. “It’s so hot inside…”
You couldn’t even move without feeling cum slip down the curve of your ass, spilling onto the bed. You prayed Mrs. Dalton’s comforter was washable.
Yelping, your legs struggle to shut once his sloppy cadence turns even sloppier. Lazier. Heels slipping off of his shoulders and crooking onto his elbows. “O-one more—” Jack’s whining, black tongue lolling between his teeth, licking up the drool that pools onto his lips, “Keep— keep those pretty legs open f’me. M’begging— take it, sweetheart.”
One claw wiggles its way under your back, arching your body off the bed and pressing your chest to his, face-first into the ruffles of his collar. The other claw plants at the top of your head, and pushes you down.
“Jack—!” Your legs were shaking so violently every snap of his hips made you weep openly. So overstimulated, you could barely even be touched without lighting cracking through your veins.
“Yeah? Feel good? S’all for you— only for you—” Purposefully pressing up close so that your poor clit gets rubbed over by the wrap of bandages that stop at his pelvis, the rough fabric tugging the sensitive bud. He probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, totally focused on making you as full as possible.
He was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough—would never possibly be able to get enough. Every thrust had him pushing you down once more after the stuttering recoil, grinding your bodies against each other because Jack couldn’t bear to part. “You’re never leaving again—never—Need you all the time.”
You can’t help but nod, can’t even think straight, mind completely full of the skin slapping and the strong smells and the horrible way you knew you were going to be so bruised after this. This was going to hurt so bad tomorrow.
“Cum. Cum on me, sweetheart. All over me.”
“Jack— please—” you cry, mouth falling into an obscene O shape as you feel your legs going numb.
“Now.” You could hear the grit in his voice, hear the absolute need. But more than that, more than his voice, you could feel the heavy tongue that slithered across your throat, across your shoulders, all the way into your mouth and to the back of your throat—choking you.
Feel it as you squirt.
“Yes.”
Simply spraying him with a searing flood of your sweet, soaking juices. Jack has the mindless audacity to crane his head and look between you, wide eyes catching just as your wetness sprays onto his hips and trousers and just everywhere.
“Fuuuck…” You feel like you’ve been dragged through the 6 rings of hell with the way your body absolutely burns. Gushing and gushing—it’s almost embarrassing how much you’re leaking around Jack’s creamy base.
Jack didn’t seem to think so, though.
He was mesmerized, hypnotized. A glistening few droplets of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as he just watched himself get drenched in all your gushing orgasm whilst he cums for who knows how many times.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes—” Jack is absolutely losing his mind, every languid pump of his flinching cock sending massive shockwaves through both of you. He can’t even draw his hips back anymore, can’t even thrust, “Yes.”
He just grinds, just pumps you full again, this round of cum not even trying to fit into your cunt and just spilling out. Jack falls limp on top of you, muttering yes, yes, yes like a mantra, like his mouth can’t form another word. You both just lay there for a moment, all heaving breaths and shaky limbs, clinging to each other like you never want to let go.
“So full… Jack… soo full…” You mumble against his chest, tears and spit staining the white fabric. He nods against your hair, taking deep breaths of the sweet smell of you.
The room was still heavy with heat and haze, the air thick and sweet as your chest rose and fell beneath him. Jack’s weight was heavy, his long, wild hair a curtain around your flushed face, his hands still curled loosely at either side of your head, claws twitching with the remnants of adrenaline.
You were boneless beneath him, throat raw from panting, lips swollen from being kissed breathless. Every inch of you felt claimed—touched, tasted, adored in that chaotic, frenzied way only he could manage.
Jack licked his lips, then leaned down to nose against your neck, humming softly to himself, as though delighted by the sheen of sweat on your skin. “You were… so good,” he murmured, voice thick with pride and possessive warmth. “So warm. So soft. I didn’t know… I didn’t know anything could feel that good.”
You swallowed hard, heart still hammering in your chest as you tried to blink the daze from your eyes. His tongue flicked out, dragging slowly along your collarbone, tasting you again. “Jack—” you breathed, trying to lift your hand, but he caught it midair, pressing it to his chest like a treasure.
He slowly lifted his hips, pushing your legs open so he could ease out of you with the least amount of pain possible. It was useless, your hips still stuttered upwards when the head of him caught in your entrance, snagging a shrill cry from your lips that he immediately swallowed up.
His cum gushed out of you, thick globs of him pulling out of you and pooling onto the bedding below. You felt your whole body shiver, felt Jack’s eyes rove over every curve and surge of your body.
“You felt good,” he repeated, more urgently now, almost reverent. “Like magic. Like you were made for me. Were you?”
Your throat tightened. “I… don’t know.”
“You are now.” He leaned down again, licking along the swell of your breast before trailing down your ribs, slow and unhurried, as though savoring the salt of your skin. His voice was muffled, cheek pressed against your stomach. “Mine now. Can’t give you back. Won’t.”
You twitched when his tongue dipped a little lower, lazily tracing over the marks he’d left. His claws gently held your thighs open as he worked, less frenzied now—just curious, affectionate. Worshipful. He pressed the thick curve of his tongue through your folds, across your lips, careful not to let your hips jerk away from him.
You squirmed under him, both flushed and too sensitive to bear it. “Jack—enough, please—”
He huffed, nuzzling your hip as if reluctant to stop. “But you taste like strawberries,” he whined. “And you let me, didn’t you? You let me do everything.”
“I was trying to help you understand,” you said, voice thin and shaky, though you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Trying to make sense of… whatever this is.”
Jack blinked, resting his chin on your belly, his eyes wide and unusually soft.
“I don’t want to make sense of it anymore,” he murmured. “I just want you.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I love you.”
You felt your throat choke up.
“I love you,” His tongue moved easily, cleaning your inner thighs, cleaning your cunt, careful not to hurt you when he pressed the muscle against your entrance and into your pitiful walls. “I love you, I love you,” he muffled against your center. You squealed, tears hot and heavy against your cheeks. But Jack held your thighs, swiped his thumbs over your skin in comfort, easy as he cleaned every curve and slope of your cunt. “Mm love you.”
When you felt lightheaded, when you didn’t know if you would be able to open your eyes every time you blinked—Jack finally let up, licking his maw, and planting one, gentle kiss against your spoiled clit.
His hands slid up, wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you up against him again. You collapsed into his chest, exhausted and limp, your fingers curling into the soft, ruffled fabric of his shirt. Jack purred in his throat, the vibration sinking into your bones.
“I— hah—” you whispered. “I love you, Jack.”
Jack hissed quietly, pleased by the mention—but he didn’t stir you. He only curled tighter around you, his limbs tangling with yours like string and shadow, pressing soft, lazy kisses into your temple.
And as you lay there, sleep creeping in at the corners of your mind, you realized something terrifying: You didn’t feel scared anymore. You felt claimed.
── .✦
The first rays of sunrise spilled through the curtains in delicate streaks of gold, turning the bedroom air hazy and warm. You blinked groggily into the soft morning light, eyelids heavy, body sore in all the places that had been handled—held, touched, claimed.
But when you moved, it was with a jarring realization: Your clothes were back on. Neat. Clean. Smoothed over your skin as if nothing had happened at all.
The bedding beneath you was immaculate too—fluffed and freshly tucked like someone had come in during the night and changed the sheets around your sleeping body. There was no trace of feathers, no smudges of face paint, no claw marks in the mattress. No lingering shadow in the corners.
No Jack.
You sat up too fast. A bolt of dizziness slammed through you, your legs swinging over the side of the bed on instinct, your feet hitting the floor—only for your knees to buckle immediately, muscles trembling from the night before.
“Shit—!”
You pitched forward, panic flooding your chest, the carpet rushing up to meet you—
—but something caught you.
Sharp claws—long as branches, strong as iron. They snaked around your waist mid-fall and reeled you back up into the air like a ragdoll. You let out a yelp, twisting in surprise.
“Careful, sweetheart!” Jack’s voice cooed near your ear, syrupy with delight. “Can’t have you break yourself again so soon. I just put you back together.”
You looked up, heart hammering against your ribs. He held you easily in his arms, your feet dangling slightly above the floor as he giggled—a glittering grin splitting his face beneath that mess of black and white scruff. His long nose brushed your cheek affectionately, lips pressing a hot kiss there, and then another at your temple.
“You wore yourself out, silly thing. All that shaking and moaning and screaming my name—” he grinned wider, if that were possible, voice practically a purr. His eyes gleamed, lids heavy with smugness. “I’ve never seen such a generous girl before.”
You flushed furiously, pushing lightly at his chest. “Jack—shhh!”
But he only hummed, spinning you effortlessly in his arms like a toy ballerina before cradling you bridal-style once again. “Come on then,” he murmured. “Let’s go see our boy.”
With a gentle lurch, he carried you through the hall, humming a wilted lullaby that made the hairs on your arms stand up. And yet… you didn’t resist. You let your cheek rest against the soft feathered scruff of his collar, hands curled into the frilled edge of his sleeve.
The door to Oliver’s room creaked open on its own as Jack approached, and he stepped inside with a kind of reverence. You could feel the difference now—this wasn’t just a child’s bedroom. It was a sanctuary. A space Jack had claimed as sacred.
He placed you carefully on the edge of the bed, his clawed fingers brushing your cheek with startling tenderness.
You turned immediately to check on Oliver. The little boy stirred beneath his covers, his tiny fists rubbing at sleepy eyes. His hair was tousled, cheeks warm and pink from dreams, and when he saw you—his whole face lit up.
“You’re still here,” he whispered, beaming.
“I told you I would,” you said, smoothing his hair with a soft smile.
Oliver blinked up at you, voice quiet and dreamlike. “Jack says… he’s really happy now. He said he likes the way you smell when you’re sleepy. He said he wants you to stay forever.”
Your heart skipped. You turned over your shoulder—but the room was empty. No creak of footsteps, no swish of feathers, no glint of a manic smile from the corner. Just the soft hush of morning light, Oliver’s sleepy breathing, and the distant jingle of keys at the front door.
── .✦
It had been just over a week since that first night back—since the floodgates had opened. The days blurred together now in a soft, steady rhythm. Every evening, the sun dipped low over the Daltons’ quiet street, and you found yourself there, ringing the doorbell with your overnight bag slung over your shoulder. Mrs. Dalton had grown warmer, more relaxed around you. You understood her now, why she left so often, why her shoulders never quite fell from that constant state of tension.
The mornings were slower. You and Mrs. Dalton had even begun grabbing coffee at the little shop a block from the house before she left for work. She never asked questions, never made you explain the way your shirt sometimes looked hastily thrown on or how you wore the same dazed smile every morning. Maybe she didn’t want the details. Maybe she already knew with the way the energy around the house had completely shifted.
But tonight, something was different.
Oliver was already in his pajamas when you arrived, swinging his legs off the couch and grinning ear to ear.
“Guess what!” he chirped, bouncing up to meet you at the door. You smiled, setting the bag down and slipping off your shoes. “What’s up, bud?”
“I made a friend at school!” he announced proudly. “A real one! Her name is Ellie, and she has a pet lizard and everything.”
Your heart bloomed with warmth. It was the first time Oliver had mentioned a friend who wasn’t invisible or feathered or from some half-imagined memory. “That’s amazing, Ollie! I’m so proud of you.”
“We’re having a playdate tomorrow! Her mom and my mom set it up. She’s gonna come over after school.” He beamed up at you with all the brightness of someone who’d waited too long for something this simple. “You’ll be here, right?”
You nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Oliver hesitated then, tugging at the edge of his pajama top. Something in his expression changed—less excitement, more careful consideration.
“I think… I think I want you to keep Jack,” he said softly.
You blinked, crouching down to be eye-level with him. “What do you mean?”
“I think he likes you better,” Oliver said plainly, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “He always tells me how pretty you are. How you smell like strawberries. And he’s really, really happy when you stay. He used to be sad all the time. But not anymore.”
A small, fluttering ache pressed against your ribs. “Ollie… Jack’s your friend.”
“He is,” Oliver said, with a tiny, knowing smile. “But now he’s yours too. So you gotta take care of him.” He wrapped his little arms around your neck then, tight and firm the way kids do when they want to say something big without using words.
You held him close, whispering, “I’ll take good care of him. Promise.”
Later that night, after brushing Oliver’s teeth and reading through the last pages of Where the Wild Things Are for the fourth time that week, you tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and switched off the light. The house was quiet when you padded into the living room, curling up on the couch with a blanket drawn over your legs. You waited, like you always did now—breath slow, heart expectant.
The air stirred. And then, gentle as a whisper, black claws slithered around your shoulders, a familiar heat blooming against your back.
Jack’s claws slipped around your shoulders with slow, deliberate weight, his touch always somewhere between possessive and reverent. You let him pull you back against the solid press of his chest, feeling the faint ruffle of feathers brush your cheek as his breath ghosted along your ear.
“You heard him, didn’t you?” you murmured quietly, not needing to look. “Oliver… he said I should take care of you now.”
Jack didn’t answer at first. Just held you a little tighter. His long legs coiled beside yours as he crouched on the back of the couch, half-lurking, half-nesting.
“I heard,” he said at last, his voice lower than usual. “But I’ll still watch over him. Always. Even if I’m… with you now.”
You tilted your head back to rest against his collar, smiling softly. “You’re not gonna sneak around in my closet, are you?”
Jack snorted, the sound bubbling out of him like a hiccupy laugh. “Your closet’s much bigger than Ollie’s. I’d have space to stretch out… but it smells like laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Not strawberries.”
You smacked his arm lightly, and he giggled, his limbs shifting around you like a jungle gym. “Maybe I like the closet,” he said dramatically. “But I think I’d rather sleep in your bed.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Oh, would you now?”
Jack leaned closer, feathered collar tickling your jaw as he pressed the side of his face to yours. “Mhm. I like it when you get all squishy and warm and sigh real soft. I like your hair.”
You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “You’re so weird.”
“I’m yours,” he replied easily, chin now resting on your shoulder as his arms draped fully around your waist. “That’s what Ollie said. And I love being yours.”
A warm ache bloomed in your chest as he stepped over the back of the couch and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap like a ragdoll, curling himself around you like a giant predatory housecat. His weight settled, limbs folding over yours, as if making a cocoon.
The quiet stretched, and you leaned into him, no longer startled by his touch, by his presence—by what he was.
“You’re really staying with me?” you asked, voice hushed.
Jack made a low hum in his throat, his clawed fingers tracing idle shapes into the fabric of your sleeve. “Only if I get to sleep in your bed.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled as your head rested against his chest, the rhythmic thrum of something not-quite-human but not entirely monstrous beating beneath your ear. Outside, the world was turning slowly toward morning. Inside, the couch creaked beneath two bodies tangled together, something real and strange and maybe a little bit of magic settling in.
Or maybe it’s just your imagination.
This was a request from @valinpariss!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!
Hey, I saw your requests were open, and that you've written for Ganondorf. May I request a NSFW Ganondorf x femReader with a reader who's so small Ganondorf has to spend several days prepping her because he's too big for her to take? Like, when he's busy with political stuff he has Gerudo guards/servants train her with toys so she can eventually take him because even his fingers are too much? Sorry, this got way to specific.
I got VERY flustered reading this cuz I--jflkadjfekl
He smirked when he came into the room. "You're doing wonderfully, your grace," One guard coaxed gently.
Y/N whined as she rocked her hips along the thick toy. Her tear-streaked cheeks were flushed as she bit her lip. He frowned, watching the way she was shaking.
"My king," One guard saluted, alerting everyone to his imposing presence. He came over slowly, waving his hand. The guards left quickly, leaving the Gerudo King with his wife.
He carefully lifted her chin and smirked. "You're pushing yourself again," He chided. "If you injure yourself, you'll have to start again."
"But I've already c-come so far!" She squeaked indignantly before blushing and looking away. She sighed and leaned into his palm cupped against her face. "Please, my love. I want..."
"Not until you can take even this," He hummed, kissing her forehead. "Want to know a secret?" She blinked up at him. "I specifically requested that to be just a bit smaller."
"You're a monster."
"I want you to look forward to how I stretch you out more. But first," He hummed as he reached down. His fingertip brushed against her clit. "You are my wife. Not a warrior. This training can be pleasurable as well."
Gonna be that girl...Link needs some loving too after everything he's been through. Could you write Y/N giving Link that comforting glug glug please?
I need you to know I was giggling like mad reading "glug glug" XD
Link grunted and moaned, gripping her hair as he bucked his hips forward. Hiding away in some random patch of forest, he'd run into Y/N, passing by and hunting for mushrooms for a meal she was going to cook.
She had invited him to have dinner with her and camp for the night. He didn't expect this to happen.
He was venting about everything that'd happened, staring at his new arm woefully. Next thing he knew, Y/N was bobbing her head along his length and making him whine as she said, "You're an amazing knight, Link. Doing so good. Deserve this kingdom on their knees begging to taste you."
Link's heart hammered as his face flushed, biting his lip to suppress the whine escaping him. He couldn't stop. This was too much.
"You're still my hero," She cooed, licking slowly up to the head before kissing it and sucking it back down.
He let out a shout of a moan, shoving her down so her nose pressed against his stomach. Load after load pumped out slowly, making her hum as she bobbed her head.
Y/N smirked when the knight slumped into the camping cot she'd made, panting as he stared at the roof of the tent. His body felt heavy with exhaustion as she curled beside him.
When he made to move, she stopped him. "Rest up. Repay me when you have the energy to," She chuckled, kissing his cheek.
Hii! ❤️ I love love loveee your work omg !!! Okie, I'm seriously obsessed with totk rn, so I was wondering if you could write a bit of Prince Sidon fluff-smut !! <3 Like Sidon with a slight breeding-kink + gentle, fem-hylian reader if that's okay! Nothing too specific lolz, tsym!!! <3
It feels like for the first time tonight, the water has gone almost completely still.
There is no more thrashing, and splashing around. There is no water splashing against the sides of the pool, threatening to spill out and spill over with every second that passes. There are no waves- big, medium, and even small- threatening to overtake you if you’re not careful. For now, at least. At the moment, there is only quietness, as you breathe in the cool night’s air. There is only calmness, as you lay your head on your lover’s chest and listen for any proof of his existence. And there is only peace as you let your eyes flutter close and let yourself finally, finally begin to rest. Except, of course, the night is not over…
“Surely have at least one more left for me, right darling?”
…and he is far from through with you.
At his words, you find yourself whining, your body too spent to even begin to form the words that you want to say to him. You should have known. You should have expected this. In fact, you’ve been warned plenty of times in the past about what you were getting into when you first accepted his proposal. But every single time, you brushed it off. Every single time, you thought you could handle it. And you could. With potions and stretches and practice and all kinds of neat tricks you learned together to ensure that you could take all that he had to give to you. But for the longest time, you can and do handle it. But Prince Sidon’s appetite was insatiable. Specifically, it was insatiable for you.
And you don’t think there’s any potion that will ever get you used to the feeling of sitting on his still-hard cock half an hour after he pumped you way too full with his seed while he subtly rocks his hips into you and brushes his fingers against your clit. There just couldn’t be. Some miracles aren’t meant to be brewed, after all.
“Is that a yes, sweetheart?” Prince Sidon murmurs to you, his words punctuated with a soft kiss to the side of your head. The finger he had on your clit tapped the spot almost lovingly before going back to trace tiny little circles into your sensitive nub. “You’ve been taking me so well all night. My sweet girl deserves an award for being so accommodating, yes?”
“Mm…” You let out a soft sound, licking your lips absently as you thought about his words. About his offer. It’s hard to say no to the prospect of another orgasm. Especially considering the fact that the ones he gives you always manage to be better than anything you could ever give yourself. “Umm…”
That said, you don’t know if accommodating is the best word to describe how you’ve been tonight. More than a couple times he had to remind you to relax so that he may fit as far as he naturally could inside of you. More than a couple of times he had to slow down and stroke your inner thigh in an effort to make you relax as you were tightening up far too much for him to even move inside of you. And, of course, that doesn’t even begin to cover all the times he managed to angle it just right that you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll back as you babbled at him incoherently- stopping only whenever he’d stick a finger or two in your mouth just so he could find a way to fill you up even more. And give you something to suck and drool over, of course.
That said, he was much more gentle tonight, all things considered. He could have taken you to his quarters, put you on all fours, and pressed your head to the ground as he pounded away at your holes. Using your body for his own pleasure. Marking you up and biting you all over as he filled with you reminders that nobody could forget or ignore. He could have done all of that. He could have done all of that in more.
But instead, he took you to one of his favorite pools of water. Someplace quiet and secluded and with a nice view of the stars. He got you comfortable as he held you tight and kissed you deeply in between every single sweet nothing he could think of uttering. He made sure you felt safe as he kept a lookout on things and made sure the water never made it above your shoulders. Then he stretched you out and had you ride his tongue until your legs began to quake with a mixture of want and exhaustion. And it was only then did he lean back and place you right on top of his lap, letting you fall limp in his grip as his cock pushed past your lower lips and made its way inside of you as you squirmed and whined and whimpered for him. It was only then did he wrap his hands around your waist and lifted you up and down and up and down and up and down his cock over and over and over again. Making you dizzy. Making your toes curl. Making you drool. Making you his. Over and over again.
Now, he’s slowly and ever so slightly rocking his hips into yours, making sure you’re staying full of the very cum he keeps swirling around inside of you with even the slightest of movements. Now, he’s resting a hard on your stomach- heads spreading over the belly bulge you just know you’ll see the second you look below the water. Something your lover never fails to remind you about how he hopes that it’ll become a semi-permanent addition to your body very soon if everything goes according to plan. It’s been a while since a mixed Hylian-Zora child has been born, after all. And you have no doubt he’ll be a good father…
It’s hesitant, but before you could ever realize what you were doing, you found yourself nodding your head slowly. Almost instantly, you can hear laughter in your lover’s voice as he calls your name and asks if you’re sure. He knows he can be a lot to handle, and he doesn’t want to do anything you’ll end up regretting the moment you have to start walking somewhere on your own two feet. But you find that his teasing voice only serves to give you more resolve than you had before. Truthfully, you’re still sore inside from taking so much of him- a feat you’re sure you’ll never get used to at this rate. And you know the second he pulls out completely, you’ll muddy the water the two of you are submerged in with so much cum it’ll make your head swim.
But it’s the hand on your stomach. It’s the finger circling your clit. It’s the kisses to the side of your face and the crown of your head and the underside of your jaw and just about everywhere the much larger man can reach. And it’s the thought of sinking down on that almost monstrous dick of his just a few more times as it twitches inside of your confides and fills you up like you know no hylian- no other man could ever do. It’s all those thoughts and more that have you nodding your head a little bit more eagerly this time, as you spread your legs a little bit wider than before. Hoping he’ll take it as a go-ahead to start again. To start making you feel good again. To start doing more than just shifting his hips and holding you to his chest. To give your third (or would this be your fourth?) orgasm of the night. To remind you that you’re his- all his. All over again.
“Well, my dear…if you do so insist…”
And luckily for you, he doesn’t leave you waiting for long. Because the Prince Sidon you know is insatiable. He just so happened to know when and how to hold back too.
I almost made reader Rito or Zonai but I held myself back. You get former Yiga reader instead. I have gone crazy for Sidon, for so many years. I swear I got a hundred screenshots of just Sidon on my switch.
I successfully cut my cats nails today. And now I'm looking at paint for my room, any ideas?
Kinktober 2025 masterlist.
Nights in the Zora domain were cold and wet, especially compared to the heat of the Gerudo desert, a place you had once seen as some form of home.
Being part of the Yiga had been your only choice when you were younger. Your parents had not been good people, and their terrible reputation had been reflected upon you across Hyrule. So, you turned to crime, which you had been great at.
Really, you were the only Yiga clan member that had successfully snuck into the Zora domain, and even stolen something. It had only been the prince’s extra jewelry, but it was still a massive score. You never sold it though, keeping it tucked away somewhere private, just for yourself.
In the end, you got to return it to Sidon. He wasn’t happy with you in the beginning, but after seeing Link, and helping him out along the way, the Zora prince had opened up, especially after he heard of your origin.
Somehow, you ended up staying with the Zora, even training many of the Zora guard in your ways. Who would have thought that the Zora didn’t learn much about sneaking or disguises. Not on your watch.
But, by Hylia, was the domain cold. The sturdy red fabrics of your former uniform wasn’t enough to keep your comfortable, and most nights you huddled away somewhere on your lonesome.
Until Sidon found you, the prince wanting to hide away too from whatever duty his father and Muzu wanted to put on him.
It was hidden away like that, that you two got closer and closer. It was there Sidon started giving you gifts too, it started out as small shells and pretty rocks, until you found yourself with a far too extravagant necklace in your lap.
But, who were you to turn away a gift, especially as Sidon started making a noise you could only call trilling as you put it on.
Muzu might as well have passed out when he saw you wearing it the next day. The warriors you trained were all grinning like fools, all patting you on the back and congratulating you.
It took a bit too long for you to figure out why they were all so giddy, only realizing it when Sidon started nibbling at your neck and ear. It was a mating display, something you truly had never thought about.
Not that you hated it, not at all. Quite the opposite. And it left you scrambling to find some way to return the gesture. In the end you had to get Link’s help to sniff out your many, many stashes of treasure from over the years.
Sidon didn’t seem to mind at all that you had only given him small useless gifts in return. A cooked meal here, a nice sharpened dagger of average quality there. Nothing compared to the riches he poured on you.
Your Zora partner seemed content to simply be with you, and for some reason, rub your feet. You didn’t really get his obsession. Sure, there were differences in your anatomy, but your feet weren’t that different from his own.
It did feel nice though, even if you yelped when Sidon pulled your feet into the ice cold water of the domain, so he could rub your feet under the water.
For someone so large, Sidon was surprisingly gentle, especially with his claws. Part of him just seemed to enjoy the worship that came with it, of rubbing and massaging your soles and ankles, he even did your nails one evening, using Zora paints to color them the same shade of red as his scales.
It took a while before Link got back to you with the treasure you asked him to find, and it took even longer to make the gift you wanted to give Sidon, having to get the help of the Zora domains best jewelry maker.
It was finally done on one of the days where Sidon seemed obsessed with your feet again. You were sitting on a ledge somewhere private, your Zora lover just barely peeking out of the water as his headfin stuck out like some warning.
You could feel his hands working at the bottom of your feet under the water, the water just barely trembling at the surface as he rumbled, something like a purr leaving his chest and throat.
Sidon’s pupils blew larger as you placed the gift on his head. It was a bit like a circlet, but made to fit his head and fins, made from the finest silver you had ever stolen, and with shiny gems that matched the rest of his colors.
He stared up at you for a moment, seemingly speechless as you cough into your hand and look the other way. Affection and gifts were not a common thing for Yiga, most of you raised to be selfish and cruel, so this was all brand new to you.
You yelp embarrassingly loud as Sidon rises in the water, his grip on your ankle dragging you halfway into the icy waters as he holds your foot against his mouth.
It tickles as he rumbles louder than you’ve ever heard before, his gills moving and fins flaring like a Rito showing off for their mate. Instinctively you try to kick as he nibbles at the sole of your foot, his teeth sharp like knives, and his tongue cold and rough as it laps at the bits of blood he calls forth.
“My love” he purrs, the rumbling so loud you can barely understand his words. Your Zora crowds you against the ledge, like the gift you gave him was the last thing he needed to let loose.
At least he had finally released your ankle, only for you to feel something cold and twitching against it as your feet are collected by his normally smooth crotch.
As you look down you can see it isn’t as smooth anymore, a slit splitting open as not one, but two, lurching purple and blue cocks thrust between your soles like they are some kind of toy.
So, that’s why he liked your feet so much.
All you can do is gulp as your lover growls instead of purrs this time, his claws shredding through your wet clothing as his moist scales squeeze you against the cold surface under you. You have a feeling it won’t stay cold for long.
Sidon/f!reader. 18+ my contribution to kinktober and the only one bc I'm in college and EXHAUSTED. In saying so mildly proofread but there may still be some mistakes. Cw: exhibitionism, reader is involved with link and sidon basically lol, teasing, possessive sidon, double penetration, sex in water, rough sex wc: 2.1k
“What’s this I’m hearing about Hylians skinny dipping in the Ruto Lake?”
The former king Dorephan choked as though something were lodged in his throat. He sat up at the throne his son graciously allowed him to borrow. The current king, Sidon, perked up at Councilman Muzu’s words, attention thoroughly piqued.
“I’ve misheard nothing, boy!” Muzu stomped his cane on the floor. “No one’s been able to identify them, that is true, but us Zora know Hylians when we see them!”
Sidon kept silent, chosing to use all his might to suppress laughter.
“Disgraceful,” Muzu went on, then turned to Sidon. “Your Majesty, you must have these sordid activities investigated!”
“Surely King Sidon has more to worry about these days than a few silly Hylians,” Bazz argued, a colored tint to his cheeks.
“Nonsense,” Sidon said after clearing his throat. “I’ll handle it.”
Besides, he thought, it depends on which silly Hylians we’re dealing with …
V V V
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Sidon’s sudden presence on the bridge made you startle, your gaze torn away from the lovely sunset.
“What —“ You straightened, cheeks tinted a suspicious pink. “What do you mean?”
Sidon took a step and raised a hand to toy with the fallen strap at your shoulder. “Don’t be coy, darling.” His voice was pure silk. You were nearly face to face with his abs. “There are all sorts of rumors about you and Link in our lake …”
And Link had warned you this would happen, but you just hadn’t listened. While Link, ever disciplined and focused, was reading one of the inscriptions underneath the lake, you were recalling the time you had seen him nearly naked in a Death Mountain hot spring and suddenly had the idea, the audacity —
“You didn’t think I’d hear about it?” Sidon tutted. “Two Hylians with the nerve to swim naked in our waters?”
Your silence was condemnation enough.
He coaxed you closer, his pectoral grazing the top of your head while a hand ran down the central curve of your back. You were transfixed by how the glow of the crystals on the lake illuminated the white-scarlet tone of Sidon’s skin …
“And then I thought: what Hylian do I know who just can’t resist disrobing at a moment’s notice?”
Face hot, you licked your lower lips.
“Are you —“ You tried, growing taut in his hold in an effort to fight back, to think of something witty to verbally swat him with. “Are you calling me a —“
“Never,” Sidon said, and his voice was stripped of its playfulness. He leaned away to look in the face, where his aquarian eyes, the hardiness in them, reaffirmed this.
A Zora duo passed you on the bridge, but not without quick bows toward their new king. The sun sank passed the domain and left a heavenly tangerine glow over Hyrule; nightfall rode on swift wings.
“How much trouble am I in?” You asked as Sidon’s thumb caressed your chin. “Really?”
Sidon seemed somewhat surprised. “So you don’t deny it?”
“You’ve caught me red-handed,” You said, smiling.
“Well then, I’d say you’re in quite a bit of trouble,” Sidon said, tugging you gently forward, into him, now that the coast was clear. The flirty patina in his voice had returned. “Do you know how this makes me look? I can’t have our domain tainted by a few Hylians making a mockery of us …”
He inched forward. You ached to kiss him.
“You’ll have to be punished,” he leaned forward, and just as you pressed on your tiptoes to meet his kiss, he swerved to the side of your cheek, his tongue swiping at the shell of your ear. “And I will have to punish you.”
“And what happens to Link?” You said, trembling with excitement. “It’s not like I went in there alone.”
“Perhaps not, but he’s not in front of me right now …” Sidon’s hand found a tie holding your top in place and began to flirt with its knot, daring to strip you where you stood. “You’ll have to take a punishment for two.”
V V V
The Ruto Lake was so quiet at night. And somewhat eerie, with the glowing torquioise lights, the lavender flowers adding their own flair to the illuminescence.
Or it would be, if not for the nature of your task.
Your punishment.
“Go on,” Sidon said, lounging on the small hill that rested in the lake. “Show me all that transpired.”
You were working your knot out with a smirk, ready to undo it and be left in only your bottoms. “Who knew the new king of the Zora was such a pervert.”
“Says the woman who loves to be in the nude,” Sidon said, and sat up enthusiastically as you became topless.
You threw your top his way, hid how impressed you were when he caught it in midair.
“I can see how you persuaded Link to partcipate in this …” Whether that was to be a run-off sentence or not you’d never know; Sidon’s eyes weren’t even on your face, but roving your half naked form, the sway of your breasts — then how they hung in front of him as you worked your bottoms off.
“Link talks a big game,” You began, kicking your bottoms out of your way and facing Sidon, now completely bare. “He’s still a man, though.”
“It isn’t just that,” Sidon said, shaking his head and grinned that gorgeous grin. “You’re beautiful, waterlily.”
You blushed at the sincerity of his comment. You smiled meekly, remembered how Link had complimented you with his eyes, pretty and blue and unabashedly dilated, in much the same way. They really are very alike …
“Do it now,” Sidon purred, his cadence so seductive it might as well have been an inch from your ear. “The king of the Zora commands you …”
You turned around and dove into the water. Not nearly as cold as you predicted — then again your last dip in it had been at a different time of day — you twirled in the water before coming up for air.
And even though you were anticipating it, had expected it, had yearned for it, an atavistic, primal fear still came upon you when Sidon’s large, hungry hands grabbed you in the water and had you enveloped in his embrace, a fear that melted into unadalterated yearning.
And suddenly you were enveloped in Sidon’s embrace, victim to hose same greedy hands, his salivating tongue …
“You’re divine,” he breathed out before capturing your lips again. Tongue met tongue as he held you close in the sloshing water.
Eyes rolling back, you wrapped arms around Sidon’s thick neck. His hands roamed reverently, caressing and smoothing over your wet skin, made more sensitive by arousal and the arcane magic of the lake water …
“Sidon …” You hung your head back as one of his hands met the small of your back, while the other teased the seam of your cunt.
“Say it again.” He peppered kisses against your neck, sharp teeth grazing, threatening but never quite biting. He grinded into your smaller, weaker body, his dual cocks coming alive for you under the water. “Say it again, oh, please —“
You wrapped your legs around him and roped him into another kiss. You hated what this meant; the height difference between the two of you meant Sidon’s cocks were completely out of reach, but your cunt fluttered at the idea of where they could go.
“Sidon —“ You moaned out against his lips; Sidon’s fingers rediscovered your cunt, tickled at your clit. “Sidonsidonsidon, please, please, I —“
He broke the messy kiss to meet your eye. “You mean you want to?” The gentlest smirk ghosted his lips; he must’ve felt your legs shaking around him; two taloned fingers teased your clit, a third threatening to sneak farther, past your slippery lips … “Are you ready for me, my love? After just a little seconds of kissing, are you ready for my cocks?”
“Yes.” You never broke with his gaze, hands clinging desperately to him as you grinded your hips, chasing the rhythm of his cruel fingers. “Yes, please —“
A third finger slipped into your tight hole —
“What a begging thing you are …” Sidon said as you cried out from the invasion.
“Please.” Your eyes drooped. You held his smiling face in your hands. “Please, my king.”
That was the right thing to say; Sidon’s pupils blew out. In a flash he yanked your legs out from around him, saddled you to his side and swam to the small island protruding from the lake. There he turned you around, on your knees.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear those words?”
Your cunt betrayed you, fluttering again at the anticipation. Sidon’s hands came to your hips. You bit your lip as you felt his enormous presence from behind.
And without much ceremony, his cocks slid past to stretch both your cunt and your clenching asshole. Your jaw fell slack, slipping at your elbows on the low grass. Sidon groaned as he entered you to the hilt, one of his thumbs drawing circles into your skin.
“You feel —“ He thrusted, his voice catching on the motion, “— divine, oh —“
And you were sure, given different circumstances, he would’ve been slower, allowed you time to adjust. But not now. Not when he had prolonged teasing you, and not when you had riled him up to such a dangerous degree. Sidon’s hips slapped to your plump, wet ass as he fucked you, hands at times holding you still or yanking you back to meet his thrusts.
You moaned, again and again. On your hands and knees, for the entire Zora domain to see. Fuck, the thought of that was nearly enough to send you over the edge. Of the world seeing Sidon fucking you. You were being bred.
“You’re so beautiful,” Sidon moaned. “Such a naughty —“ thrust “little” — “minx” thrust.
Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t able to withstand the constant praise, tightening around the cock Sidon siphoned into your pussy. One of his hands reached forward and under to reclaim your clit.
“The nerve of you,” he hissed in your ear, his massive fingers toying with your defenseless little nub. “Showing off this perfect cunt to the world when it’s — nng — rightfully mine.”
Your elbows were numb with pain but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your orgasm climbed. You fished the grass, shutting your eyes tight, lost in the feeling of being so full by one man out of the two you loved most in the world.
“(Y/n).” Sidon bared a hand down on your back, the strain in his voice evident. “I —“
“It’s okay,” You hastened, nodding voraciously. To drive your point home you clenched around one of his cocks siphoning you.
“Oh — oh —“ The slaps his thrusts gave to your ass quickened, Sidon dragging your hips back to meet his demanding, hectic pace.
Your eyes rolled back; knowing he was about to come, knowing you’d be full of him everywhere, was enough to make you lose it.
Sidon roared, his last few thrusts bruising in their impact. You screamed out a stream of expletives as his come sprayed into both of your holes, leaving you filled to the brim with his delicious seed.
Sidon’s hand massaged your back now as he fought to catch his breath. “Oh, mmm, have mercy, my love!” he begged as your possessive cunt squeezed around his cocks again and again without your say, refusing to let him go.
“Sorry,” You breathed out with a chuckle.
“Oh no,” Sidon said. You looked behind you to see his face riddled with concern for your state. “Look at what I’ve done to you; let me help you …”
“I’m fine, really.” Even though your knees were red and raw from the rutting and there were aches blossoming under your skin as you spoke that would be fully birthed the next day. You smiled as Sidon helped to readjust you, feeling the aftermath of his seed leaking from your holes. “If anything I should be thanking you.”
“Nonsense. I had no right to treat you so boorishly.” Sidon cradled you into his arms. Dabbling kisses on your forehead, the chill left on your skin from the water was warded off by the guard of his hands. “Though, you may have a point,” Sidon murmured in between the umpteenth kiss above the fur of your brow. “The two of you will be the death of me. Surely you know that?”
You chuckled, eyes closed. At the feel of Sidon’s lips at the curve of your temple, you said, “I think so.” Then you were serious. “I didn’t get you into too much trouble, did I?”
“No, though prepare for Muzu to give you the stink eye whenever you visit.”
“I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.”
“Please, my waterlily,” another kiss, this one suspiciously encouraging, “don’t be.”
Character(s): Link (Breath of the Wild / Age of Calamity)
Contains: suggestive content, fem!reader, reader has a daughter with an established name, soft-yandere vibe
Word Count: ~850
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
Link felt a flutter in his chest as he noticed you in Castle Town, a woven basket hanging off your arm as you chatted idly with someone manning a produce stall.
He shifted awkwardly, contemplating walking over to you, or saving himself the embarrassment of being in your divine presence.
He loved being around you, he truly couldn't get enough of it; however, he did constantly worry that he'd say something wrong and ruin his chances with you.
While he stood frozen, torn between moving on about his day, approaching you, or just hoping in vain that you'd notice him on your own, you finished speaking with the shopkeeper, happening to turn in his direction as you moved to leave.
"Oh, Link! I should've expected I'd see you around here. How are you doing, darling?" You smiled, waving to him with your free hand.
He couldn't help but flush at the nickname. It was something you did with everyone, but it still made him feel special--like he was being noticed by you.
He took a few steps closer to you, nodding in greeting. Despite not saying a word, he hoped he made it clear that he intended to engage in conversation with you.
You took the hint--naturally, you were so perfect like that, being so understanding of him and reading him so well--and smiled, going on about how long it had been since you were able to properly speak to him.
You shuffled, hands moving as you spoke animatedly, and it was then that he noticed movement behind your skirt, tiny hands fisting into the fabric that he imagined was pleasantly soft. Wide, curious eyes peeking out at him from behind you.
It was your daughter.
Gods, she looked just like you; like someone had simply reversed your age. She had your eyes, your hair, and her face was shaped just like yours–albeit with more baby fat.
Link wanted to give you one too. A little darling that looked just like you running around, but with his eyes, or maybe his untamed, dirty-blond hair.
“Don’t be shy, honey, Link is kind.” You smiled down at your daughter, eyes full of adoration as you gazed at your little copy with endless love. Link wanted you to look at him like that. He’d do anything for that.
He felt a flutter in his stomach at your admission of his character.
Seeming to trust your word, your daughter stepped out to stand beside you, though one hand still clutched at your skirt.
“H…Hi Mr. Link. I’m Nayru… Mommy talks about you a lot.” Her voice was small, and it reminded him of you, when you would mumble out your words.
Gods, he was getting baby fever.
As her words registered, though, his brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment. He surprised even himself that he managed to keep a straight face as he noticed your sudden blush.
“Ah, w-well, you’ve done so much for me, Link. You’re a hero, and the other day, you did me a service I could never hope to repay. Forgive me if I tend to sing your praises.” You were embarrassed, and Link felt the fluttering in his stomach rise to an uncomfortable degree, but he couldn’t feel anything other than unadulterated bliss.
You talked about him? A lot? Oh, what did you say? He’d kill to know. He prayed that the blush on your face meant you’d been confessing your attraction to him. He felt a twitch below the belt at the thought.
You, talking about him? Praise? Link felt the warmth crawling up his neck, and suddenly felt that this conversation was outrunning his endurance to keep his composure.
Trying to clear his now foggy mind, he got down on a knee to be eye level with your daughter.
“It’s…nice to meet you, Nayru. You have a beautiful name.” His voice was soft, and he thanked the heavens that it didn’t crack from disuse. (The embarrassment would surely kill him, or at least butcher his ego.) He truly did think the name was beautiful. You’d named her after the goddess of wisdom, and he had to take the opportunity to compliment both your daughter and you at the same time.
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
Your lips parted. It wasn’t often that Link graced you with his voice. He had a habit of speaking only when strictly necessary, and even then, his sentences were short and broken to communicate nothing but his point. (Little did you know that you had a habit of bringing out his voice more than anyone else.)
Just when you’d started to calm down from your daughter exposing your swooning over him when he wasn’t around, he’d gone and spoken so softly to her, and he looked at her with a smile that made the butterflies in your stomach melt.
If anyone would be a good father, it would be him. He was like the missing piece to your puzzle of a family, and you wished nothing more than for him to slot into that empty space.
LU Twilight x Reader (no gender specified but you're the bottom) | NSFW🔞 MDNI!!!
In which you were dumb enough to eat dubious flora and, thus, have to deal with the consequences. Thankfully, you don't have to do it alone.
wc: 3088 | 6/30/25: very minor edits done (formatting and punctuation)
You should have known better than to eat plants neither you nor anyone else in the group recognized, but somehow, Wild had convinced you to try them for reasons that escape you now.
There'd been a tense few minutes of just waiting for something, anything, to happen after you'd swallowed the funky looking and surprisingly sweet tasting plant. But nothing happened and both you and Wild simultaneously let out the breaths you'd been holding and shared a silent look of agreement to keep your mouths shut lest you incur a lecture from every other member of the chain. Just the thought of Time’s look of disappointment has you grimacing. Combine it with Legend's sneer of I thought you of all people would have known better and you might just drop dead from the mortification.
When you both returned from your little detour—because you’ve never learned to say no to Wild's eager eyes whenever he asked, much to everyone else's dismay—you studiously avoid Legend's suspicious gaze, making a beeline straight for Hyrule to show him all the unfamiliar flora you and Wild had found.
Soon enough, you forget all about your ill-advised experiment with Wild, distracted as you were with the sweltering heat of the midday sun bearing down on all you. When Time calls for a break, you waste no time running off to the trees, practically throwing yourself to sit under the shade, desperate for reprieve from the unforgiving rays of harsh sunlight. What a time to have cloudless skies. You sigh, resigned to fanning yourself with a korok leaf in an attempt to cool down.
Only for something cold to gently tap at your forehead.
You blink.
When you look up, there’s a bottle of juice—perhaps wildberry going by the color of it—being held out to you. Following along the arm holding it reveals an ever familiar face smiling down at you, a hint of a fang peeking out from the corner of his lips.
“Thanks, Twi,” you say, reaching out to take the bottle. You nearly gasp when your fingers brush against his, your chest filling with a warmth you’ve long associated with anything and everything that had to do with the rancher.
“No problem, darlin’.”
You have to look away from him then as a heat that has nothing to do with the unrelenting sunlight pools low in your abdomen because the tone of his voice is all too similar to the way he sounds in your nightly dreams of him. You try to distract yourself from your thoughts by downing the juice in one go—and you were right, it was wildberry—hoping the chill of it calms you down.
It does but only barely.
You chalk it up to being in Twilight’s presence and resign yourself to feeling uncomfortably warm and sweaty for the rest of the day.
.
Perhaps it was by chance or perhaps it was by the grace of the goddesses—regardless, you soon find a humble village just up ahead after a few more minutes of walking through the heat.
And it was great timing too because you were starting to think that maybe those plants Wild got you to eat weren’t so harmless after all—because where everyone else was getting by with their various cooling items, you were only getting warmer. Not even the sapphire circlet Wild had graciously lent to you could stave off the heat in your body. Coupled with the fact that your clothes were starting to chafe uncomfortably against your skin had you cursing your weakness to Wild’s earnest pleading.
But still, you held onto the foolish hope that maybe you just had heat exhaustion.
“You okay there, darlin’?”
You feel a shiver race up your spine at the low crooning voice close to your ear and the heat simmering under your skin burns just a tad bit hotter. You feel a bit of that hope die a horrible, violent death. You turn to face Twilight’s concerned face, smiling weakly.
“Mhm, I’ll be fine. Could use a good bath after all this though.”
Yes, a bath. Because surely a nice cool soak would make everything better right?
.
As it turned out, the village inn didn’t have any bathing facilities but the innkeeper was kind enough to point you to a nearby lake where you could take a dip. It was much further out than the one the villagers typically went to but you’d take the extra distance if it meant you could bathe privately—you had a feeling you were going to need it.
After informing Twilight—who’d been the only other left at the inn, having opted to wait for you when you stayed to speak with the innkeeper—where you were headed, and reassuring that yes, you’ll be fine alone, no, you don’t need him to accompany you, and Twilight, please, you’re not helpless, has your recent battles not proven that already, you made your way to the lake.
On your way there, even with the sun already on its way below the horizon and a gentle breeze rustling your hair and clothes, the heat in you just keeps climbing higher and higher. Still, you soldier on, desperately, foolishly clinging onto the dying embers of your hope that it was nothing more than heat exhaustion.
.
At this point, you're fairly certain this wasn't just the heat of the day making you feel uncomfortably warm but you've already come all this way, you might as well try to cool down in the tempting waters of the lake even if you doubt it would do much.
Something was still better than nothing, after all.
So you quickly strip down, leaving your clothes hanging on a nearby tree before gingerly wading into the cool waters. You shiver as the cold liquid laps at your heated skin but you soon get used to the temperature, sighing happily as you submerge yourself all the way up to your shoulders.
But the relief only lasts for a few precious moments before the heat comes back with a vengeance and this time, it brings with it an aching need from between your legs.
You let out a long exhale, your suspicions now confirmed. You glance around the area once, letting your magic expand outwards in a quick scan and finding no other living soul nearby.
“Might as well get it over with,” you murmur, letting your fingertips trace along your sides in feather light touches. Perhaps it was the abnormal heat or perhaps it was the idea of doing this out in the open but you feel extra sensitive today. Even just the barest brush of your fingers along the underside of your chest has your toes curling.
You wonder what it would be like if thicker, calloused fingers replaced yours. Could they hold you, encompass your chest fully the way your small hands couldn't?
How would he touch you if you gave yourself to him like this?
Heat pools low in your abdomen at the thought of it—you, fully naked, dripping wet in the lake, your body draped over his still clothed form, your back to his firm chest as his fingers tease at your chest.
“Do you like being touched here, darlin’?” you imagine him saying in that low drawl of his.
“Yes,” you breathe out, voice more air than any actual sound, “more, please—Twi—”
You imagine his hands squeezing you hard before a hand trails down your side, to your waist, your hip before reaching down to trace along the side of your aching core, his other hand staying to cup at the swell of your breast, gently rolling a nipple between his thumb and index finger.
Lost as you were in the lust-addled fog of your imagination, you don't hear a familiar voice calling out your name in concern nor the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer until they stop abruptly just as you let out a moan when you finally push one finger into yourself.
Then a sudden choked out gasp finally pierces through the haze of your lust and you stiffen, quickly pulling your finger out of you as you turn around to face your intruder.
Only, it wasn’t just any intruder.
It was Twilight.
Sweet, caring Twilight who stood by the edge of the lake, still as a statue and face redder than a ripe tomato. You quickly wrap your arms around yourself, shame and arousal filling you in equal measure.
Shame at having been caught crying out for him so wantonly. Arousal at the thought that you could tempt him to join you and make your fantasies a reality—because there was no mistaking the tent in his pants.
You swallow thickly as a horrible, shameful and lust-addled thought quickly forms in your mind.
You’re not ignorant of the tension that’s been brewing between the two of you recently. The way his eyes sometimes wander over to you, watching when you bend down to pick up something from the ground or the way his gaze flickers downwards for the briefest of moments when you cross your arms.
But you're not all that innocent yourself.
Always bending over where he could see, crossing your arms and pushing your chest up ever so slightly right in front of him. Sometimes, when you get the chance to ride behind him on Epona, you sit flush against his back, chest pressed obscenely into him, arms draped dangerously low around his waist.
Thus, emboldened by both the foreign heat running through you and the knowledge of your mutual attraction, you let your arms drop. Slowly, you walk towards him, hips swaying, drinking in the way his eyes lock onto you. Just you, nobody else. It's cold where the breeze hits your wet, heated skin but you don't let it deter you. You'll be warmed up again soon enough.
Or at least you hope so.
“Link,” you whisper, lips just a hair's breadth away from his. You grasp at his wrists loosely, guiding his hands to your hips. You hear your own name fall from his lips, hushed and so full of a want he's still trying to hold back even now. Even when you're willingly offering yourself up to him.
Any other day, you would have admired his restraint but not today. Not when every inch of you aches to rip his restraint to shreds and finally banish the searing heat that's been plaguing you all day.
But you suppose, if he's hesitant to give you what you want, you'll just have to take it for yourself.
You let your hands rest on his shoulders as you slowly lean even closer, stopping just shy of his lips.
“Tell me to stop,” you murmur, giving him a chance to back away because even in your desperation, you'd never dare to force him into anything he doesn't want to do. He's had enough of that, you think. All of them do.
So you wait through a heart stopping second, wondering if maybe you pushed him too far when the hands on your hips tighten to a bruising grip, pulling you flush against him and your thoughts all but crumble at the feel of him all along your sensitive body.
You barely have a chance to suck in a breath before his lips are on yours, stealing away what little air you had left. Eventually, disappointingly, you have to pull away, the burn in your lungs impossible to ignore.
“How do you want me?” he asks, ever considerate of you even when you can feel his arousal pressing firmly against you, even when you can feel the way his fingers inch closer to your aching hole.
It's clear what he wants but you know he'd never push you if you told him no. And it's sweet but completely unnecessary. Not when you're so desperate for release you'd take anything he'd give you.
“On me, in me, I don't care, just—please,” you beg, shame all but tossed out to sink into the depths of the lake behind you.
“I just need you, Link,” you gasp out as another wave of heat hits you. Shamelessly, you slip a thigh between his and grind your hips against him, moaning when you finally get some friction between your legs.
You hear him suck in a sharp breath before he gently pushes you away. Immediately, you panic, a broken, pathetic sound escaping your throat.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his hands coming up to cup your face, thumb wiping away a tear stray you hadn’t even noticed falling. He kisses you once, twice, just a chaste press of your lips and while it’s hardly enough to sate the burning ache in you, it’s enough to calm you.
“I just need to get my clothes off, darlin’. Can’t exactly do that if you’re on me, can I?”
Reluctantly, you relent, this time being the one to pull away but you’re not left pouting for very long as Twilight makes quick work of his shirt, revealing a well-defined body you’ve been guiltily sneaking peeks at whenever you had the chance. But there’s not an ounce of that guilt now, and when Twilight meets your gaze, you simply nod at his pants, impatience clear on your face.
“If you’re so impatient, why don’t you take it off me then?” he says, a challenge in his eyes—one you meet readily, eagerly.
You’re on your knees before he can so much as blink, hands deftly undoing the ties of his pants and you have half a mind to take your time, really work him up and drive him crazy like he does to you every damn day since this little game started between the two of you but your body quickly reminds you that you haven't cummed even once with another wave of heat and cramping pain in your abdomen.
So you quickly ruck his pants down to his ankles, closing an eye when his cock springs free and bounces against your cheek, leaving something wet and sticky smeared on your skin.
“Fuck,” you hear Twilight hiss out from above you. When you open your eyes, you find his face flushed, gaze locked onto where his cock rests on your cheek.
Emboldened, you decide maybe you would tease him just a bit.
You bring up one hand to grasp at his length, pressing him more firmly against you as you turn your head to face his cock, eyes trained on his as you lick a long, wet stripe all the way up to the tip. With a grin, you kiss him right on his slit.
He's pulling you up before you can so much as blink, kissing you hard in a sloppy mess of tongues and spit as he kicks off his pants. Lips still locked together, he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts, hooking your legs around his hips.
Like this, you're completely at his mercy, trapped in his hold, his to do with as he pleases. The thought of it has you clenching hard, aching for something to sate the emptiness you're now all too aware of.
Grinding your hips against him, you break the kiss, panting into his mouth, “fuck me, Link.”
“You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin',” he rasps out right before he reaches down with one hand, lines the head of his cock with your entrance and pushes into your warm, wet, welcoming heat.
You groan in unison, the size of him making you squeeze against him on instinct but you will yourself to relax, the unnatural heat in your body helping in soothing away the sting. Just like that, too much becomes not enough and you're shifting your hips, trying to get him deeper in you.
“Shit, just,” he breathes out as he adjusts his grip on you and then he's pulling you down just as he thrusts his hips up, burying himself fully into you just like you wanted. You don't have time to savor the feeling of it however because soon he's pulling you up, leaving only the tip of his cock in you.
You whine a complaint, already missing the feeling of fullness only for it to break off into a broken moan as he pulls you back down onto him and does it again and again and again, taking you brutally fast and hard.
It doesn’t take long before you're finally cumming, the relief of it after suffering through your arousal all day bringing tears to your eyes that Twilight sweetly kisses away even as he fucks you through your orgasm.
“Link?” you mumble in confusion when he stops moving his hips, instead lowering the both of you onto the ground all while his very much still hard dick is inside you.
“Just takin’ a breather, darlin’,” he says, face buried in your neck, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. You shiver at the feeling just as sparks of arousal start to flicker in your lower abdomen once more.
He didn't cum but it's just as well because it seems the heat in your body isn't quite sated just yet.
.
The skies have darkened considerably by the time the both of you were fully satiated, now just simply basking in each other's warmth as you washed away the remains of your activities in the lake.
Then you hear a wolf whistle and lo and behold, when you turn your attention to the source of the sound, there Wild stands by the shore of the lake, a grin so wild it nearly splits his face in half.
“You!”
“Uh oh,” Wild yelps just as you walk back to shore, snatching Twilight’s tunic with hardly a thought and putting it on, uncaring of the wetness seeping through the fabric and running after the fleeing champion.
“This was your fault, you gremlin!”
“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” Wild gasps out with a laugh as he makes his way up into the trees to escape your wrath.
Back at the lake, Twilight can only sigh, already mentally preparing himself for all the teasing when you come back to the inn because there was no way Wild wasn't going to blab to the others, not when they've all been—unwilling, they would all insist—witnesses to the push and pull between you and Twilight.
At the very least, he had you to commiserate with. And who knows, maybe he could convince you to go for another round as consolation for the all shit the others are going to give you.
Mm. That sounds like a good idea.
You could even say you 'stayed up all night till sunrise' wink wonk
I don't have anything else to say except that Lemon Drop got me feeling some time of way, don't @ me hhhhh
also, alternatively, what if Wild ate the dubious plants with you instead? 👀 I don't have it in me to write it, but imagine...
link being absolutely obsessed with how you taste.
oral fixation to an extreme when it comes to you.
he'd go hours and hours eating you out, drooling against the slick of your cunt, like he's never eaten a thing in his life, the damn glutton he is.
sitting on his face, sixty-nine, from the back, any position he would do, as long as he could devour you.
he can't get enough of your pretty moans and whimpering as you're about to cum on his tongue.
his strong, muscular arms wrapped around your legs, toned and veiny hands harshly gripping the inside of your thighs, keeping them spread just enough to fit his head as deep as he could go.
"c-cumming, fuck... link!"
the lewd wet slurps as he ravenously ate your sweet cunt, sucking perfectly at your clit once you'd scream for climax.
the bottom of his face absolutely soaked after the way he dives into you, he couldn't get enough of sloppily sucking and licking at your swollen cunt.
think of it as a stress reliever for him, how he'd sometimes practically beg you to ride his face.
and how could you say no.
he was so good at getting you off without even touching you, just a flick of his tongue.
he'd be more then happy to add a finger or two if you asked, but god his mouth was so good.
if he did ever use his fingers though, getting you to squirt just to greedily eat up your mess sounds like a plan to him.
he flipped you over after you've cum, laying on your back as he slipped down between your legs once more.
your legs trembled with overstimulation as he caressed and kissed the inside of your shaky thighs.
heaving and whining as he slipped his fingers across your dripping cunt, blue eyes flickering up at you under eyelids to watch how you'd react.
he kept your legs from snapping closed, being much stronger than you, pushing his fingers inside.
he sighed a whimper as he felt you quickly tighten, and didn't hesitate to curl his fingers immediately.
his calloused hand roamed your thigh, and down to your clit, where his thumb pressed against it.
you squirmed and squealed, but he didn't let you get away easily, not until he had you make a mess he'd gladly eat up.
he'd prod and prod at the spongy spot against your walls that made you shake, just enough for you to release again.
you're a slut for him,
but he's more of a slut for you squirting all over his face, just to then latch himself onto you again to lick it all up.
the stupid innocent look on his face he gives when you're done, making sure you watch him lick his fingers clean of your taste, none ever gone to waste.
cw: some amalgamation of totk Ganondorf in a modern era, fluff
💎 Love… Romance… To the Gerudo Chief, he saw no point. Marriage was a tool for power and to gain what he desired most. There was little interest from him in even entertaining truly connecting with someone – much less some Hylian that stumbled into the desert like a fool. Outpost guards brought the outsider to him for his final opinion to decide their fate. Utterly pitiful before him, something in him made the choice to spare them far too easy. Perhaps he just wanted to subjugate a Hylian in vengeance for the jealousy he felt towards Hyrule.
💎 You found yourself as something like a servant. It was clear you were not made for combat – at least not the kind the Gerudo participated in. Isolation was present. Outsiders were rarely accepted, and you had only been spared imprisonment (or worse) thanks to the word of the chief, whom you served. That was not to say you were alone. Ganondorf certainly liked to keep you in his presence, one way or another. Though, something changed when the chief saw you crying after being harshly berated for your cleaning by a guard. Unconsciously and desperate for relief, you mumbled to him about how unwanted you felt. It was then something snapped inside of him, or, perhaps, connected. Your role switched from simple to servant to something far grander. How different you were to the Gerudo... How excluded you felt. Ganondorf knew it all too well.
💎 PDA varied on whatever he was doing. In his throne room of the palace, anything could come from him. Arms would hold you tightly in his lap, or he would lavish your body with whatever attention he desired most. More often than not, you were sitting in his lap. Your much smaller stature as a Hylian made this far easier. Otherwise, you may be at his side and nothing more. Hand holding is simply something that he does not do. You were free to cling to his arm, so long as whatever he was doing would not require it, but otherwise, there was no contact between you two.
💎 In private, a different side comes out. Perhaps you, as an outsider, did not make him feel like he had to be a brooding, confident leader. Within his quarters, you still found yourself sitting in his lap, but he mumbled quietly to you about various things. Rare kisses are pressed to your skin to trail up to your lips. Deft fingers may even massage at overworked muscles. Embraces in bed are most common, too. You often find yourself held as he drifts off. He seems to find more comfort in you than most may realise.
💎 As for you, he allows mostly anything in private. He lavishes when you praise him and rub your hands on his well-trained body. Feeding his ego is never a bad idea. Massaging his overworked muscles leads to him becoming oddly limp and peaceful. Your kisses are allowed, while embraces are fully accepted. Honestly, he seems mostly uncaring to whatever you wish so long as he is not in the middle of anything else. A rare treat is being allowed to play with his hair… The silken, crimson strands are soft and calming to braid over and over again while bored.
💎 Dates are not really a thing… There is truly not much you two can do unless you wish to wall the streets of Gerudo Town or wander the desert. Though, sporadically, you both visit the oasis to see how the bazaar handles itself alongside the Gerudo stationed there. The rare greenery and coolness from the water present a situation to sit down and relax for a moment. It is a nice respite from the endless duties he seems to find back in the town, but you know it is passing. A rarer activity is riding sand seals together. There is something so amusing about the brooding chief on such a creature.
💎 Jealousy is not so uncommon, but it is rarely expressed. Within Gerudo Town, there is no competition around. He is the only male allowed, after all. The guards and townspeople have little interest in you like that as well. Envy comes up when you speak of your life so fondly back in Hyrule. The dreamy look in your eyes eats at his blackened heart. It almost feels like a betrayal, but he cannot deny that he finds the kingdom far better than the lands his people inhabit. Though, when you both visit the oasis, men are about far more. Should any be foolish enough to flirt with you, they may find a blade pressed to their neck.
💎 Domestic moments come almost naturally over time… You learn to cook a traditional Gerudo dish and surprise him with it. Ganondorf finds himself quite impressed by your talent. As you sit on his lap at any point, you both fall into a light conversation about various things. It is only so natural to feel at ease with one another. Really, he ponders why he feels so calm and similar to an outsider than his own people. He tries to push the thoughts from his mind. An adorable thing that happens is him spending an evening teaching you the language of the Gerudo. Your pronunciation makes him laugh far too much, a genuine show of his joy.
💎 You will be informed of his goals once they enter his mind. Unable to break his cycle, Ganondorf knows he will seek out the power latent in Hyrule by invasion or usurpation. If you ever speak so fondly of missing your home, he promises that you will one day return as its monarch alongside him. The promise makes you deeply uncomfortable, but you convince yourself it is nothing more than him attempting to cheer you up in an odd way.
💎 Ultimately, you have a relatively awkward relationship with him at first that shifts into something full of silent understanding and comfort. You become his spouse, decorating in the finest clothing and jewellery, but at the cost of still being unable to leave. Somewhere, in his own way, Ganondorf does truly love you. It likely holds him back from his plans more than he would be willing to admit. Yet, it still will always end the same way it does historically. At least the moments you do have are quite happy.
Imagine being Ganondorf's chosen and you sneak out to watch some Lynels training. He's not quite fond of you doing that. Not because he frets that they will trample over your weak, Hylian body. Not quite. You'll make them go soft if you do. Brushing their hair, 'booping' their noses. Smiling at them with the same expression he selfishly insists should be exclusive to him. The Lynels are not your fluffy companions.
Nothing could have prepared you for this moment. But that was okay.
Because you were sharing it with him.
“Oh!” It’s the only sound you could make. The only word your lips could form. And it was a pitiful thing. Something you might have been embarrassed about if the situation was different. But you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help yourself. Tonight you’re just a girl. Tonight you’re just a bride. A bride consummating her marriage. A bride losing her virginity. A bride trying desperately not to tense up too much as her newly wedded husband slowly pushes his member past her lower lips and declares her as the queen worthy of sitting upon his throne.
“You’re doing well,” Ganondorf praises you quietly, voice just barely rising above your breathless moans. Despite always seeming like he’s in control of every situation and every room he walks into, you could tell that he too was struggling with something in this moment. But to be honest? “Very well, in fact. Just stay relaxed for me.”
You were far too out of it to really care about what he was going through. You had yourself to worry about.
At the moment, your husband is hovering just above you on his knees as lie beneath him on the bed. His big frame dwarfs over you. It makes it hard to really think about or look at anything that isn’t his handsome olive-toned skin or his fiery amber-colored eyes. But that was fine with you. When you weren’t looking at your husband, you were far too busy squeezing your eyes shut and digging your nails into his shoulders, his arms, his hands- just about anything you could grab. All to make it easier. All to survive the initial step. All to the survive the actual moment he pushes himself all the way inside of you and the two of you become one. Just like husband and wife should be.
Your legs are spread nice and wide to accommodate him coming in between them. At such an angle, you didn’t expect to be able to see just about anything. But your husband’s manhood was far too big and proud to go unnoticed. In between desperate gasps and pants and greedy gulps of air, you manage to chance an occasional look at what’s happening in between your legs. Due to the immense amount of pressure you feel down there, you find that what you see isn’t very surprising. But it is somewhat terrifying.
Ganondorf is slow as he makes his way inside you, though you manage he wouldn’t have been able to go very fast, even if he wanted to. Even so, he’s being as kind and caring and doting and as patient as he’s been all night with you. You can see so easily he takes his time in an effort to make it as painless as possible for you, and lets you get used to the girth of his manhood and how it stretches you out to take as much as him as possible. That means every time you manage to take a peak of where he’s entering you, you’re met with the intimidating sight of something long and hard and thick and just… monstrous disappearing side of you. Soaking up and using your wetness from countless hours of arousal and multiple orgasms as leverage. Sliding in little by little. Letting your body’s most precious, most intimate part take him inside of you. Almost like it was meant to be there in the first place.
At this point, you could no longer see the tip of his manhood and its distinct (and a little leaky) mushroom-looking shape. It was gone and buried inside of you. But you can recall all too well those first few moments when that very same tip was beginning to poke and prod at your lower lips. You recall all too well those first few moments when that very same tip finally began to travel past your lower lips and tug and force its way through your tight, tight walls.
And when you began to whimper and whine at the foreign intrusion and the discomfort it brought you, your husband was quick to calm you down. He was quick to offer you his hand and give a lingering kiss to your cheeks as he spoke to you sweetly. He told you that in order for this to work, you needed to trust him. You needed to be calm. You needed to relax. You needed to be still. And you did trust him. But the rest- the rest felt impossible. You couldn’t be calm. You couldn’t relax. You couldn’t be still. Not while that thing, as desirable as it looked, was making your eyes roll into the back of your head and your lower stomach feels all too weird.
Still, how you tried. Oh by the goddesses, did you try.
All that foreplay. All that preparation. You thought it would have at least made things easier. With how long things took, you thought the whole thing would have been inside of you by now. Back before he put it in, you thought you were being dramatic by thinking about the chance that it just wouldn’t fit inside you. You thought that you were taking the role of blushing bride a little bit too seriously. After all, plenty of other women have had sex before. And your husband’s manhood was the first you had ever seen. How were you supposed to know that he wasn’t just big, he was giant.
And how were you supposed to know that a stretch this big could manage to feel so different and so good at the exact same time?
“Oh…my love…” Your moans come out in a pitch higher than what you usually use- a sign of a neediness bubbling up inside of you. “It’s…it’s-!”
“How do you I make you feel, little one?” You hear your husband purr from above you. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and the small, satisfied smile that you see nearly makes you melt into the bed. His gaze is strong, confident, and still very kind. But the look of lust and desire in his expression is not one to be ignored. Just like you couldn’t exactly ignore the subtle ripple of his muscles every time he moved inside of you. Just like he couldn’t exactly ignore the way your body looked beneath him- plush and pretty and oh-so inviting. But the two of you had other things to concern yourself with than just looking at each other’s bodies. Especially considering the fact that at the moment, both of your bodies were creeping ever so close to becoming one. “Does it feel as perfect as you are, my dear?”
You let out yet another moan, not trusting yourself to even make another attempt at forming a few words. The stretch you feel as his hardness burrows itself inside of your warm, wet walls no doubt has an element of pain to it. In fact, it brings with you the feeling of being overwhelmed- of having too much in front of you or having too much to deal with at once. But you couldn’t deny it. There was something beautiful- something enchanting- about the feeling of sharing and losing your virginity to a man such as him. There was something perfect about how he spent ensuring you were as comfortable as a girl being split apart by her husband could be.
In every second he spent filling you up, he managed not to get distracted by the pull and the appeal of thrusting harshly into the very body he had just deflowered. You knew he must have thought about it. You knew he must have considered it. He is a man as much as he is now your husband.
But he’s a good man. And he’s a great husband.
So great that he continues to push himself in at your pace, not his. So great that he lets you squeeze his hand and bite his shoulder and whimper his name over and over again until the moment he finally, finally, finally bottoms out inside of you. And when he arrives there, he doesn’t move. He lets you sit there with your walls fluttering around him as your body adjusts fully to his size and shape. He lets you soak it all in while he enjoys the feelings that come with a husband being inside his wife for the first time. And he lets you have a moment to remember that this is your first time.
Not just your first time being this intimate with a man. And not just your first time lying with a man. But your first time being with him in such a manner.
It’s something to be cherished. It’s something to be enjoyed. It’s something to love and to be loved on. Nice and slow and nice and slow. But you’ll get to that later. Because now, as man and woman and as husband and wife, you have all the time in the world to cherish each other. You have all the time in the world to enjoy each other. To love each other.
And you’d be lying if you said you started to feel all those things at this exact moment. You’d be lying, because you knew it all along. You knew how much you both cherished and enjoyed and loved each other. You knew because it was from the moment you met this man. You knew it from the moment you married this man.
And now, in this moment where you share in your husband’s embrace, bodies pressed together and minds drawing on blank on every subject except for the man in front of you right now, you recall what your mother said to you before you were set to be married. She told you that the night of your wedding might be scary. But if your husband was kind to you- if he was good to you, you would have nothing to worry about.
And you’re happy. You realize that as you smile you up at Ganondorf while you’re met with a smile that’s equally as charming being thrown back in your direction while you bask in each other’s presence. You realize that with a soft laugh that threatens to spill out. You realize that with bright eyes and beating heart and drums and drums and drums for all the care and attention that you received tonight. Because you’re happy. You’re just so happy. You’re happy because your mother’s words were right. You’re happy because you love and care for your husband. You’re happy because he loves and cares perhaps even more for you. You’re happy because you lost your virginity in a way that made way for much pleasure among the pain. And you’re happy because you have nothing to worry about. Just like your mother told you. But more than anything?
You’re happy because it’s your wedding night. And what could make a bride any happier than that?
Imagine scratching Ganondorf's beard. You're sitting there on his lap, supported by his arms and hands that cup your body, as he lazily listens to the plea of some random Hylian that had the misfortune of voicing his village's needs. The words are only half registering in his mind. They echo against one ear only to ring against the jewellery as his attention is split elsewhere. Body focussed on you. Mind focussed on you. Perhaps he'd be a little more sadistic and a little bit more cruel towards the man had it not been for your hands on his face.
He'd never admit to the softness. Ganondorf isn't soft. And yet despite himself he leans into your touch as your fingers scratch boldly at the sides of his jaw. They run so nicely against the red hair and he has to stop himself from grumbling at the feeling. You don't coo, you wouldn't dare to, but you want to. He's acting like a big cat. His lips are pressed in a tight, controlled line and his amber eyes are zone out on a distant pillar. Pupils dilated. Your ministrations have his fingers tapping against the length of your thighs. A slow rapping motion as if he's contemplating.
No blood taints the floor that night. No screams are blown in the draft of the palace walls and no wrath bubbles in his chest. It doesn't dare to, not when your touch acts like a sedative. Especially not when your touch is so pleasurable.
tags: fluff to angst, bullied!yunobu × protective!reader, fake relationship revealed at the end, open ending
yunobo had a crush on you for ages, but he never dared to say anything about it
he didn't think he'd ever have a chance with you, as you were so kind and confident and he didn't think he was good enough for you
even when he put himself down, you were there to tell him he was wrong and that he was a great guy, with many hidden talents!
even when other goron teased yunobo, saying he'd never date someone, since he was too much of a loser, you stood up for him and told a lie that changed everything: you told them he was your boyfriend!
since then, the two of you have begun to pretend like you were a couple, which yunobo still hasn't gotten used to
everytime you hold his hand or kiss his cheek, he gets all flustered and you gently tease him, telling him he needs to relax a bit
yunobo had always dreamed of being your boyfriend, but now that he had the chance to live out his dream, he couldn't help but get nervous around you
most of the time, you were the one initiating dates, public displays of affection and anything of that sort
it got to the point where people began to question if he even liked you!
when one of the goron boys who used to bully yunobo asked him if he was truly your boyfriend, he cracked and confessed to him, that it was just an act
after that, there was no point in pretending anymore. word spread quickly and soon you had heard about it too
now that you were single again, there were tons of guys lining up to ask you out
meanwhile yunobo wondered how things could've been if he had just asked you out himself, while you were still pretending to be together…
