#Also The Narrator got second place...

[sillypotatochipz]

Projecting my period cramps onto Voice of The Opportunist

[quatregats]

Thinking a lot of thoughts about Hornblower's relationships with Barbara and Maria as a metaphor for his larger relationship to social mobility and ambition, and I think there's actually a lot there - not sure if it was intentional, but I do think that whether intentionally or inadvertently, Forester did an interesting job with the parallels.

Quick note beforehand that some of this is based on my constant brief paging through C. Northcote Parkinson's Hornblower "biography", which, while I absolutely abhor his interpretation of Hornblower, gives even more food for thought on this point. I'm also leaning more into his interpretation of Hornblower's background and childhood, as opposed to the TV show's, so it might not work if you're coming from the TV show's perspective.

Parkinson takes Forester's comment that Hornblower was a "doctor's son" to mean that he was the son of an apothecary, rather than a physician like in the show. I'm not a historian of the period, so I would be hard-pressed to actually try to fit Hornblower's father within the 18th-century framework of medical practice, but either way, given his awkwardness around upper-class life and that he seems to have grown up in rural Kent, I think that Parkinson's claim that he was the son of an apothecary, rather than a physician, does have some reasonable foundation, or is at least equally plausible (to me) as the show's.

Hornblower struggles with poverty through most of the series, especially the first half, but even when he is barely scraping by, such as at the start of Lieutenant, this does not seem to be an abnormal state; and when he finally arrives at wealth and success, he constantly wishes to go back to the days when he was a penniless lieutenant, so from this we might also surmise that he did not come from wealth. (I'm also comparing especially to Jack Aubrey, who, while he admittedly makes a hash of coming into large amounts of money, and who also lives perfectly happily on very little, is clearly quite comfortable being the "lord of the manor" by comparison.)

One of the biggest changes in the second half of the series (from The Happy Return/Beat to Quarters onward) is that Hornblower's career comes into fruition; he becomes a decorated Captain, a member of the landed gentry, a Knight of Bath, a Peer, and finally an admiral, and marries into an enormously influential family. He's constantly in conflict about this, until he isn't: he wants to become someone powerful and important, except that he doesn't like the role once he gets it, and constantly wishes about the old days, then feels guilty for wishing for them. Most importantly, he seems to become less and less himself, his mental narrative getting more and more distorted as he tries to mold himself into the person he thinks he wants to be.

I don't think this is a particular novel interpretation, but I think that in light of this, the contrast between his marriage to Maria and his marriage to Barbara is very interesting. If he was an apothecary's son, his and Maria's marriage would make a decent amount of sense - they'd be from similar social backgrounds, and probably a reasonable match, if Hornblower's career had continued as expected. Hornblower feels comfortable around Maria at the start of their friendship and the very beginning of their marriage in a way that mirrors his comfort with the life he's living at that point - which is to say that he clearly knows and understands what's expected of him and how to interact, in clear contrast with later books. But on the other hand, for all that he originally does love Maria, Hornblower comes to find her to be coarse, unrefined, and boring, and feel that she is not good enough for the person he wants to become. It's at the point when he starts to feel that he's moved passed Maria that he begins to take on his new, ambitious, performative persona.

On the other hand, Hornblower feels stiff and uncomfortable around Barbara from the beginning of their relationship, notably for reasons of class, and even in later books, consistently sounds intimidated by her poise and upper-class untouchability. With Maria he doesn't feel enough for her; with Barbara he feels too much, an almost uncouth sentimentality. He craves Barbara's status like a man drowning, but can't hold up under the weight of what it would mean. They have very strong intellectual chemistry, but socially they are a disaster of a couple, and yet nonetheless, Hornblower continues with the marriage because it feels to him like the thing he ought to do, just as he ought to become squire of Smallbridge. He's so viscerally uncomfortable with his position in the later books in a way he wasn't even at the height of his earlier miseries, but he refuses to let himself admit that his ambitions might have led him astray.

I think it's also interesting that the relationship which Hornblower arguably finds the most fulfilling (or rather, it was written very poorly if Forester wanted to make it feel fulfilling for the reader, but nonetheless it was clearly meant to be the most fulfilling for Hornblower) is his relationship with Marie, who sits at a similar odd juncture to him. In the text, Forester says outright that Marie fulfills Hornblower's interest in upper-class women (ambition) while not intimidating him, yet still being a satisfying intellectual partner. Nonetheless, just as Marie and Hornblower can never actually end up together, Hornblower can never actually be comfortable with his position, and no matter how many times he tries to find solace in her, he is eventually forced to continue down the path that he began, making up with Barbara and fully taking up the mantle of Admiral and Peer of the Realm.

In short, I think that watching the way in which Hornblower's relationship with Maria evolves over the course of the early books and the way in which his relationship with Barbara takes up after that ends up being a very neat parallel to his own ambitions and class identity. With Maria he is at home, but bored and restless; with Barbara he gets everything that he wants, but feels like a fish out of water. I think that particular parallel is part of the particular tragedy of Hornblower - he can't ever be satisfied with the person he was, or the person he's become. But I think that adding in aspects of extreme class difference - even more class difference than the general trends of social mobility during this period - also helps to elucidate the fundamental tension which drives Hornblower forward as a character. The world he came from was too small for him; the world in which he moves now is far too big; but there's no in-between option. He has to choose what he wants to be, and sacrifice some part of himself in order to do that, and in light of this reading of him, I think that there's a lot of interesting dilemmas to be raised.

[apotelesmaa]

The Tokugawa Cup Noodle Prohibition really has it all. It’s an ad for cup noodle. Kaito tells miku(dayo) to kill herself. Kagamines Caramelldansen reference. Mystery meat. Inexplicable existence of two kaitos. Luka and Meiko are just there to serve cunt. Random horse noise added in for flavor. Edo period japan disco (historically accurate). Ascending to heaven via the power of some really good noodles. Nene Kusanagi is there.

[mannien]

I Don't See Your Mistakes, I See You | Bucky x f!reader

Pairing: Thunderbolts*Bucky Barnes x enhanced female character

Summary: A peaceful evening in Brooklyn turns into emotional chaos when Bucky comes home and brings unexpected guests.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers!, established relationship, enhanced female character with magical powers, third person narration but no name is called, swear words, angst, soft comfort, slow burn, sexual tension, heavy petting, dry humping, (not porn but +18 minors pls stay away!), teasing, flirting, protective and tired Bucky, mild wound description, talk of magical powers, depression, references to past trauma, English is not my first language

Note: Watching Thunderbolts* got me heavily daydreaming about Bucky and his new friends! It's also been a very therapeutic experience to write this for the past 2 weeks (yes, that long). I hope at least someone will enjoy it!

(Edited)Tagging @loving-barnes @kinanabinks @real-jane @cheekybarnes @marvelstoriesepic @aquaticmercy @witchywithwhiskey @sergeantbarnessdoll @mercurial-chuckles @navybrat817 and @captainsimagines because when I think of writing, I immediately think of you! I won’t tag you again if you don’t want it, just wanted to share my inspo with you

            The late afternoon carried an ambiance of comfort. The smell of cooling air after a slightly warmer day; the soft hum of the city somewhere in the distance, broken by a clutter of local shops closing down nearby. The sun already hid behind the tall horizon of Manhattan, but the city was still very much alive. 

            The apartment in Carroll Gardens was like a safe haven. Nested in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, close to the park and surrounded by families or people who crave a respite in the middle of a crowded city. A quiet street of brownstones and aged trees led to a renovated block, slightly modernized to facilitate to the everchanging world, yet still full of soul, of Brooklyn heart, of the things that brought Bucky the most peace.

            The long-stretching Thursday was coming to an end, but her night was only beginning. A quick and effective plane trip from D.C., an overly expensive taxi drive from the airport, and you made it to your second home. 

Or first, depending on the day of the week, time of the year, time of their lives.

            The home in Washington was where legislations, reports, and analyses were read. Where congressman and strategic liaison ate quick breakfast and indulged in a late-night dinner on a commitment-free evening. Walls were bland, countertops marble, and kitchen big enough to fit a multigenerational family. Something that felt closer to a temporary solution rather than a home for years. Only a couple of personal touches here and there – misplaced accessories, loose change, a piece of jewelry she took off once and forgot to put back on. A pair of colorful mugs, because she refused to drink from plain whites that came with the interior. Bucky’s suits and tuxedos were there, fitted to perfection, dry-cleaned and delivered straight to the door, only a couple blocks away from the center of the country’s government life. A place where she managed not to kill only one succulent, because the time spent inside these walls was not dedicated to hobbies. This is where they worked, where they came back after their long days – Bucky from the Capitol Hill, and her from the Agency. 

            But the home in Brooklyn? 

            Not ideal or picture-perfect. With mismatched furniture in their bedroom, because they couldn’t agree on one style, yet somehow creating their own world. A soft, off-color sofa, deep and slouchy, remembering many movie nights and hushed conversations. Soft lighting, making the bookshelves glow with colors of many loved and exchanged titles. Spare blankets thrown over bedding and chairs. A place where they laughed, cried and loved. A safe haven for the time they need to breathe, be in peace, be themselves. With a kitchen that hosted a few too-many gatherings for Bucky’s liking, but that proved to them that they can live a normal life. 

            Entering the building of their Brooklyn home felt like a ray of sunshine after months of gloomy winter. Unlocking the door was a warm hug. 

            The apartment was empty, but the familiar walls spoke to her in their own way. When she breathed deep enough, she could sense the good, soft comfort of a judgement-free space. The empath in her recharged in a place full of hers and Bucky’s things and memories. She quickly fell into a routine that brought her so much ease. She took a shower, to take off the smell of office buildings and public transport, put on a quick laundry load, and slowed down. 

            Slowing down was as close as she could get to relaxing, when she hadn’t heard from Bucky in two days. Three, if we count the whole day he was held up in meetings, before he shared with her a change of heart, a new plan, and promised to be back soon. She knew he had reasons, had a hint of what this might entail, and just waited, trying to carry on. 

             The soft glow of the semi-open plan kitchen welcomed her. The floors were soothingly cool against her bare feet, grounding in the moment. With hair still wet from the shower and seeping through the shoulders of Bucky’s old t-shirt, she fixed the waistband of her leggings and exhaled some of the tension that was still left and strong in her body. 

            The quiet whirring noise of the washing machine died down in the background when garlic and shallots started sizzling on the pan. When she occupied her hands, her mind could focus more and wander less. She tried really hard not to look at her phone, and really poured her heart into making a hearty meal. A therapeutic resolve, some might say, but it really was one of the healthy outlets she could use so that her magic doesn’t go on an uncontrollable rollercoaster of anxiety. She stirred in two cans of the good tomatoes from the Italian shop two streets away and let the sauce simmer. With the dinner slowly cooking away, she leaned on the kitchen island over a notepad and a bright screen of her laptop, reviewing some of the files from the last intel she requested, before the CIA went through a major lockdown due to events that Bucky was supposedly notinvolved in. She knew better than to read too much into it, so she focused on the facts – the data logs, mission reports, and a side of agency’s new recruits’ evaluation, that she was actually being paid for. 

            Long minutes passed, the sauce sizzling away and pasta water ready in the pot. She was rinsing her hands when she felt it – an emotional tug at her heart. A sprinkle of tension pulling her magic through the veins, making her aware of her heartbeat and suddenly perked up attention. She stopped the music playing from her laptop and turned off the stove, listening in. She was hyper sensitive, but lacked the enhanced hearing of a super soldier, so the silence that followed only frustrated her. She closed her eyes and tried to listen to her senses, but a heavy bang at the door startled her instead. She visibly flinched, loose sparks flying around her fingertips at the intrusion. 

            Another harsh movement against the door and before she could even react, it burst open, the handle hitting the wall in the hall. She spun around and felt the heat trickling down her fingertips, right when a familiar voice rung out through the apartment.

            “Hey, it’s me. Not alone. Don’t hex anyone.”

            Right when she exhaled, she felt how tight her chest had been a second earlier. The sparks swirling around her hands died down with the flow of his voice, and she briefly touched her chest, taking one more grounding breath. 

            “I swear, if you scare me like that one more time…” She walked out to the hall and saw him. A bloody bruise on his cheek, dusty forehead and a trickle of either dirt or dried blood down the side of his neck. His tactical shirt cut in a few places, definitely by something sharp and she hoped not by a knife. Left shoulder lifted in slight discomfort and right palm of his hand flexing uncomfortably. But he was standing, breathing, and looking at her with a tinge of relief. 

            He was most definitely not alone – the crowd behind him was bigger than she could have expected:

            John Walker, scrunching his forehead so hard that at least one of these wrinkles could become permanent. 

            Yelena, assessing her surroundings with caution and desperately needing a band aid to her temple. She let go of the forearm of a guy whose picture covered half-a-page in the files that she briefed through mere minutes earlier. 

            Red Guardian, blocking off almost the entire entryway, smiling in awe and in a suspiciously cheerful nature.

            Ava, leaning her side on the door, limping and tugging at the neckline of her suit with desperation. 

            When her eyes were quickly assessing the situation, Bucky stepped closer to her and exhaled with visible remorse.

“I should’ve given you a heads up,” he said, voice low, eyes scanning her face. “I know we planned a quiet weekend. Things just went sideways fast.”

She lifted her hand to his chin, angling it gently to examine the gash above his stubble. The blood had dried in a jagged trail down his neck. “You need patching up.”

“We need to lay low and figure out our next step,” he said, though his eyes stayed on her more than the group behind him. His tone held that familiar thread of guilt — like he’d brought more than dirt into their home.

            She did pay attention to what he was saying, but not more than to the exhaustion visible around his eyes, the tension that he carried in his muscles and nerves that trickled from behind him, from the group of guests he brought. 

            “When you said you know someplace safe, I thought you meant like a safe house,” John pitched in, taking measured steps forward, still cautiously watching his surroundings as if it was a trap. 

            “It is a safe place, and it is a home. Anything else you need to fit the description?” Bucky turned back and gestured them to move forward. He made sure to close the door with the secure lock and offered Ava his arm to offload her weak side. 

            Some of them knew who she was, but she offered her name anyway, just to stick to the friendly pleasantries. They needed security, she could feel it. She invited them in and made a beeline for the heavily equipped first aid kit hid in the bathroom. 

            She carried the large box and a few towels in to the table, laying the kit out. Bucky gestured for Ava to sit down and helped her find the antiseptic and sterile bandages. 

Yelena leaned over the table with a surprised look on her face.

            “That’s not an ordinary first-aid kit.”

            “You’re in a house of people who refuse to go to urgent care,” she piped in with a lightness to her voice. She took a look at Yelena’s gash on the temple and sprayed an antiseptic over a gauze. “and in case you didn’t notice, he is the type to attract knives and bullets.”

            “Yeah, I know the type.” Yelena replied, nodding in thanks for the help. 

            “If you want to clean up, bathroom is down the hall,” she pointed to the corridor and already started walking that way. “I’ll get more towels.”

            She got accustomed to tuning out people’s feelings. It took years of practice as an empath. But the moment a group of troubled, battered and bruised fallen heroes entered their home, her mind was struggling. So, she switched into action mode, preferring to be of service and of help, rather than linger around and fight the feelings that creep in. She piled the spare cloths on the dresser in the corridor and made sure Yelena got the right door – which she did, because she immediately let out an impressed whistle. 

            Taking a moment to breathe in the empty hall was a mistake – she started spiraling. She didn’t understand why. Bucky is home. He is safe. He trusts these guys, because he brought them in. Why is my mind screaming?

            The apartment became too loud. Not in volume, but in energy. Something was stretching her mind to stay open, and she couldn’t contain the input of feelings. She didn’t dare pull on the threads – they weren’t hers to play, not tonight. But something definitely triggered her soul – something powerful and unknown. A new source of energy that she hadn’t felt before. 

            She moved. Mechanics and focus were a taming tactic, so she settled on a kind attitude and acts of service. A large pitcher filled with water, ice packs that were always on the top shelf in the freezer, and almost all of the glasses they owned. She set them all on the table. The heat on the stove put back on, water slowly coming to boil under the pan. 

            When she carried a bunch of napkins to the table, Bucky was closing the first aid box. She looked up to his face and still saw the bright red scratch atop of his cheekbone. That woke her up from the haze.

            “No, no. You’re getting cleaned up.” She tried taking the box from him, but he pulled it behind him too quickly. 

            “I’m fine.” He said it too calmly and too confidently, so it riled her up. Steered her hears away from whatever ate at her, and made her narrow her eyes at him. 

            “Fuck fine, you’re bleeding.” She tried reaching out for the box again, but took a hold of her hand instead. He shook his head lightly and let their gazes meet for a silent conversation. 

            “I am fine. Later, I promise.” He softens his voice, squeezing her palm briefly in reassurance. It makes her release a heavy breath and finally nod in acceptance, understanding that she won’t be able to push him now. 

            “We’re waiting for pasta to boil. Dinner should be ready soon.” 

            That sparked interest. While she was still looking up his gorgeous eyes, trying to find comfort in his presence, the word dinner seemed to have perked up almost everyone in the room. 

             A packet and a half of spaghetti was carefully thrown into the boiling water, barely fitting and almost overflowing the pot. People started moving, matching the rhythm of the bubbling heat on the stove. Someone dragged a chai and moved the table to fit more people; the clinking noise of jackets taken off and weapons meeting the floor echoed through the walls almost naturally. A few relieved exhales followed, mimicking a moment of peace for the loud minds. 

            “Can I help you with anything?”

            The question startled her, pulling at the invisible trigger of her anxiety even harder, making her drop the spoon. The quietest guy, Bob, shyly lurked into the kitchen. His eyes were kind, soft, almost scared, but something dangerous and dark tingled her fingertips when she paid too much attention. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

            The harsh noise of the metal spoon against the tiles kept on ringing in her head, but she tried to shake away the feeling. The unnerving moment stretched until Bob took a cautious step forward, probably in worry, and Bucky walked into the room, intentionally. 

            “Yeah, um…” She started to break off the static that clouded her brain in weird, dark clouds. “The plates are just above you,” she pointed to the cupboard and started moving towards him to help.

            “I got it,” Bucky stopped her, and pulled the door open instead. He looked to her with quiet concern painted on his face, lips pursed. The unusually tall stack of plates was laid on the counter near the stove. She focused on trying if the pasta is soft already, adding spices to the sauce and stirring more than necessary.

            In the fleeting moment of quiet cooking, Bucky stayed with her. Eyed her for a moment, resting his hip against the counter and switching his attention between her determined movements, aggressively boiling pasta and focused eyes that watched the steam blow away from above the pot. He moved closer, his side meeting hers, and rested his hand gently on her waist, enveloping her in a cautious embrace. The heat that travelled from his body made her eyes flutter and upper back lean into his side, resting some of her weight on him. The thread of anxiety loosened where he held her. He was leaning in, the way he always was when he wanted to kiss her head, but his breath only escaped near her forehead, interrupted. 

            “It smells like you’re actually gonna feed us,” Yelena appeared, hair slightly wet and skin visibly cleaner, even the gash on her temple was smaller once the dust was not sticking to it. Bucky moved away towards the fridge, and her fingers subconsciously wandered over the countertop to find the oven mitt and safely drain the pasta. 

            “Well, it looks like it,” she gently poured the pasta into the pan with bubbling sauce and blew air over her hands, feeling the heat from the steam prickle at her skin. “I don’t expect you all had a shawarma on your way here,” she glanced at Bucky, who has already taken out cheese and still fresh enough salad mix from the fridge, but was still fidgeting to find a quick snack. “I’m not going to eat by myself and have you watch me. That’s creepy.”

            “Ah! That’s a good home with a good hostess. Whatever else would you need from a safe house?” Alexei’s loud voice shook the walls and made Bucky sigh with exasperation. 

            “Your hands to set the table,” she smiled, holding out a handful of forks and knives. He took them with a small bow and a hand salute, and it weirdly fit to his huge posture, bright red costume and a crooked smile. 

             With focused precision, she laid out hearty, more or less even portions of pasta for their guests. 

            “You are so calm for a person whose night just got ruined by a bunch of strangers with guns and knives,” Ava wondered in curiosity from her spot at the table and showed a shadow of an honest smile when a steaming bowl was set in front of her.

            Others were already coming in to the table and grabbing a bowl, only John was still standing off to the side, his eyes cautiously eyeing the corridor to the bedrooms, lurking in to get a peek of what is on the pictures hung on the wall. 

            “Walker,” Bucky’s warning made everyone look up at him in curiosity, “if you’re so desperate to snoop around, there are spare chairs in the entryway closet.” It made the others snicker or hide a chuckle. 

            “I’m not snooping around,” he mumbled like a stubborn child. Before she carried in the last two portions – a bigger one for Bucky, smaller and just enough for her - John was already carrying in four folding chairs, a confused grimace still glued to his face. “I just- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful or anything,” he turned to her briefly with a somewhat apologetic tone. She only raised a brow and took a seat at the last free corner of the table, next to Bucky.

            “Usually when you say you don’t want to be disrespectful, you already are.” Yelena chipped in, blowing on the pasta wrapped neatly around her fork. 

            “No, listen –“he hesitates, rubbing his eyes in frustration. She could feel the bubbling confusion threatening to slip out from his aura, and it made her hide her smile. She should not laugh at their guests, even if it was John Walker. “it just doesn’t make sense. Why would Barnes bring us to a place like this?”

            “Like what?” Bucky raised his eyebrow, which could pass as a warning, but she could see a tint of amusement in the way his lip twitched.

            “I don’t know, this feels too… cozy,” He gestured vaguely around the living room. “I didn’t expect you to hide away at a place that has colorful pillows and scented candles.”

            Ava snorted, “You thought he sleeps in a cell?” 

            “No,” he replied almost too quickly, defensive mode kicking in. “It just doesn’t fit the general description, I guess.” He shrugged, then looked from the flickering candle on the countertop, to the soft lights that shined near the corner of the living room. “I thought you would crash somewhere between government reports and military bases.” He said the last sentence directly to Bucky across the table. She could feel his chest rising heavier than before, so she laid her hand on his thigh, massaging in calming rhythm. 

            “That’s not really a nice thing to say to someone who trusted you and invited you to their home.” She said calmly, with a tint of a kind smile on her face, looking carefully to Bucky. Her sentence made him loosen up, exhale a breath and almost chuckle. Almost, because it died down in the awkward series of coughs from the team, and earned a wide-eyed stare-down from John. 

            “Wait, hold on—” 

            “You really didn’t see that coming, Walker, did you?” Ava cut him off between bites.

            “You’re a clueless boy, John Walker,” Yelena mused, and then turned to her. “This is really good, by the way. Do you have any hot sauce?”

            “Yeah,” she nodded and almost got up, but Bucky beat her to it, putting away his napkin and steadying her on her chair with a warm hand on her shoulder.

            “I’ll get it.” 

            John watched Bucky retreat back to the kitchen like a hawk, the gears in his brain working overtime. Then he looked back to her, like he tried really hard to match two puzzle pieces together. 

            “I know you.” He said bluntly, which made her smirk. 

            “Do you?” She asked from above her bowl, twirling the fork around another string of spaghetti. She tilted her head, almost in a challenge, surely in amusement. 

            “You were there when we fought in Riga,” he started, his eyes focused like in a distant memory, “and then in New York… Shit, yeah. You were with Sam and Bucky there.”

            “And you were acting like authority, yelling and breaking things.” She blew on another bite of pasta before eating with composure. The unnerving feeling danced around the table, she could still feel it, but John provided her enough of a distraction to lower the tension in her chest.

            “Ha, I wish I could see it!” Ava’s chuckle lifted the atmosphere.

            Bucky came back with a bottle of sriracha and passed it to a brightly smiling Yelena.

            “Okay, alright – as far as I remember, you weren’t exactly a definition of peaceful, either.” John held up his hands in defense. “I mean, you were waving your fingers with this weird energy, making people dizzy.” John doesn’t let go, but at least manages to sit down at his waiting spot and take a hold of his fork. “You were giving very strong ‘weird glitter witch’ vibes.”

            Bucky chose to walk around the table to his seat. His stride didn’t break, but only faltered for a millisecond, when his open palm flicked into Walker’s head with dull force.

            “Hey!” He held his hand up and recoiled. Bucky was already sliding into the chair. “What was that for?”

            “For the weird glitter witch.”

            She bumped her knee into Bucky’s and sent him a grateful look. She put down her fork and cleared her throat, before speaking up with a measured tone. 

            “I like glitter. My magic shines like sparkles when it’s visible, look,” she turns to Alexei right next to her and lifts her hand above the table. She let a tingle of emotion to travel through her body and stop at her fingertips. A few light sparks started to dance around her nails, swirl around like calm beacons of energy, delicate enough to mesmerize whoever watched. 

            “Oh, that is pretty.” Alexei widened his eyes and leaned closer, admiring the spark of magic.

            From next to John, Bob spoke up with curiosity and fascination. His voice resonated with calmness, but it made her hand tremble with something unknown. “What else can you do?”                   

            She pursed lips and tried to choose her next words wisely. Looking to Bucky and seeing no hesitation from him, she took a breath and continued.

            “I’m an empath.”

            “So, you mess with people’s heads. I thought so.” John nodded to himself, but his face was not dismissive anymore.

            “Do you really?” Yelena perked up, more curious than wary. 

            “Not exactly,” she started, letting the sparks die down. With elbows now resting on the table and soft focus, she looked at John and just listened. “Right now, John is curious and very defensive. He’s angry at himself for…” she pauses, filtering what to display for others, and what could be too private. “…some of the things that happened today. And you hate it that the clasp on your jacket is broken.” She smiled up at him gently, trying to not add on to the overwhelming situation. 

            The table was silent for a moment, broken only by a soft clutter of a fork against the plate. Ava whistled under her nose and avoided eye contact. 

            “You do that to everyone?” 

            “No.” She shakes her head lightly and feels Bucky’s fingers rest on her thigh in quiet comfort. “I control it. I know when there’s a lot of emotions bubbling up in a room at once, but I won’t listen in without consent. Well, not unless my line of work requires it.”

            “The most accurate intel I’ve ever worked with.” Bucky said quietly, and the fond look in his eyes wrapped warmly around her heart. 

            “And you make a very good pasta. Impressive, for a last-minute host.” Yelena’s nod of appreciation was enough for the conversation to die down a tone, and everyone to continue their dinner.

            She took a deep breath, playing with the last few strings of spaghetti in front of her, letting the twinkles of magic settle in her body. At least Bucky’s arm was still brushing hers, reminding that he’s back home. 

            They clink of plates slowly died down, everyone resting more comfortably and enjoying the moment of peace. Exhaustion was written all over their faces; some deep in thought, others slowly scrapping off the outer layers of their suits. 

            Bucky’s arm laid atop of the back of her chair, fingers brushing her shoulder briefly. It made her look up to him, notice his irises already shining. She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Her fingertips brushed the stubble of his cheek for a fleeting moment, before they locked gazes in a silent conversation. He nodded towards the group – a movement barely noticeable, but she could feel it against the palm of her hand. He exhaled a heavy breath and she knew what it meant – they needed shelter. She could only agree to that, so she sent him a sad smile and let him kiss the inside of her hand.

            “If you want to avoid being chased by Valentina, her strike force or reporters, I suggest you stay the night,” Bucky cleared his throat. Someone sighed, someone nodded pensively, but she only looked at him with patience and curiosity. “I guess we could fit everyone, right?” He looked back to her, to which she immediately nodded. 

            “How do we know they won’t knock on your door in the next five minutes?” Yelena asked, pushing away her plate. 

            John immediately agreed with that, “Exactly. I mean, she’s Val, right?” He looked around the table, “nothing should surprise us anymore.”

            “Well, if she has a reason to, I’m sure she will try hard to find you,” She spoke up carefully, but kept on eyeing Bucky. A slight raise of her brow told him that she has questions, but whether they should be answered right now or later, she left for him to decide. “but she won’t succeed here. We made sure it’s a secure home. Only a handful of trusted people can find it.” 

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that a lot more happened than they managed to share. She kept her eyes on Bucky’s face, watching as it scrunched in confusion at a comment that someone made. The way the corners of his eyes dropped told her that he had a long day, and endured more than he was prepared for. With the omnipresent unnerving feeling of anxiety that drifted around the table, she felt even more braced and worried, struggling to not let anything inside her consciousness. Keeping her magic at bay after a bunch of neurotic, special people faced something difficult, was harder than she wanted to admit. Already zoned out of the conversation, she stood up slowly and grabbed a few plates to start cleaning up. Bucky watched her, but was still talking back to John and Alexei about something, so he didn’t manage to stop her. 

Ava and Bob helped. She was mid-rinse, still holding the dirty pan, when they came in with two stacks of dirty plates. 

“You should be careful with that wound,” She pointed to her bandaged side, but knew better than to stop a hurt agent who wanted to feel useful. “There are some more pain meds in the box if you’ll need them during the night. Just… take it easy.”

“Thanks,” she showed half of a smile, “I’ll be fine.”

She let them take over the dish duty and paid attention to the notorious buzzing that resonated from the countertop. Her long-lost phone laid on top of a closed laptop, screen facing down, but vibrating as if it was ready to burn a hole in everything nearby. 

Four missed calls and a long list of new text messages.

SAM WILSON: Call me back. 

SAM WILSON: We need to talk.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You need to see this

Then, a stream of breaking news alerts and notifications. Against the better judgement, she started scrolling through all of the key words and headlines. Her heart rate sped up and her mind started tightening in a mix of worry, confusion, fear and disbelief. 

DARK CLOUD ATTACKING MANHATTAN 

DISRUPTIONS AND DISAPPEARANCES IN THE CITY. WHAT CAUSED THE MASS PANIC?

THE NEW AVENGERS ASSEMBLED.

VALENTINA DE FONTAINE: ‘THE NEW AVENGERS!’

DID CIA PLOT THE TRAGEDY TO UNVEIL THE TEAM OF FUGITIVE HEROES?

“You didn’t know what happened before we arrived, did you?” Yelena’s voice broke the nauseating screams in her head and made her look up. Cheese grater and an empty glass in hand, her eyes were almost sympathetic. Ava and Bob looked at each other but didn’t speak up. 

“No.” 

Even though her response was quiet and measured, it sparked a burst of fearful emotions to try and kick into her soul with a crashing effect. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, but with Yelena turning back to wave Bucky over, nothing would make sense. It could be a combination of everything, so she didn’t look for the cause of overwhelming feelings. She only looked up at her partner, walking into the kitchen with a worried look on his face, eyes resembling those of a scared puppy. 

“I was going to tell you later,” he started, taking slow steps and looking briefly to Yelena. She didn’t back off, but just leaned on the opposite wall and pretended to help with the clean-up. 

“Tell me what?” She didn’t know what was she expecting, but she needed something. She showed him the screen of her phone and let him look through her notifications, speaking for themselves.

“There’s a lot more to the story than the news is covering.”

This feeling, again. A simmering tension, pulling at her emotional strings harder than anything that Bucky’s words could cause in that moment. Sparks shone in her eyes as she quickly looked around the room, uncomfortable enough to break up the conversation. A particularly louder clank of a dish in the sink and that’s when she noticed it – Bob’s staring. Not dangerous, but fearful. Scared, but also fierce and with underlying certainty. He looked away quickly, but not enough to lose her attention. 

“What’s up with Bob?” She suddenly asked, and the weight of emotions sounded like shrill cry. Everyone looked up at her and then to Bob, who straightened up and dried his hands on the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m okay…” 

“Bob’s just fine.”

Him and Yelena replied at the same time. Bucky sighed in defeat. She felt cornered, attacked by everyone in the room by asking just that question, so she took a breath to calm down. She could read the room. 

“That didn’t sound nice, I’m sorry.” Apologizing seemed to have a calming effect. Yelena leaned back on the wall, losing her braced stance. Ava continued to put away the dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, the world moved on. 

“You said you’re an empath,” Bob started quietly, with a shadow of a kind smile. “Maybe you could, you know…”

“Not happening,” Bucky suddenly cut him off, stepping one step in front of her, like a predator ready to pounce. He then turned back to her with a determined look, “you are not reading him.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t.”

“Huh,” she breathed, “thank you, honey, that explains it all.” 

That shut him up. With squared jaw and soon-to-be pleading eyes, he didn’t have any immediate response. He started to understand that he might not win. 

“Bob,” she turned to him, forcing a gentle tone. Bucky’s eyes were burning holes in her face but she just let him. “Are you sure you’ll be fine with this?”

He shrugged, but took a moment before speaking up again. “How does it work?”

“To make it easy on the mind, I would touch your hand and just… feel whatever you feel right now. I might see the emotions that drive you, or how they manifested for you recently. You won’t feel a thing.”

“You might do, though.”

Yelena’s comment made her turn her head. 

“How so?”

“I’m a little enhanced, too.” Alexei’s boisterous laugh echoed through the apartment at Bob’s response. “But-but I won’t do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He added immediately. 

“This is a terrible idea.” Bucky shook his head, disappointed. 

But she did it. She crossed the short distance to Bob and reached out, waiting for him to take a hold of her hand. When the palms of their hands clasped around each other, darkness filled her mind. 

She felt it all. The darkness. The Void. The fear of a regular guy who just wanted to be better. The overwhelming dark cloud, turning the minds of thousands of people into their darkest memories. She could seeall of it. She was everywhere with him: in the lab in the Philippines; in Utah, feeling the first spark of something hopeful; in the old Avengers tower; on the streets of New York in the spotlight of cameras, giving way into something too forceful to fit inside her mind. The overpowering depression and its camp set up in Bob’s mind. The depths of it stretched onto everyone who came into their home today. Disturbing images of people struggling, fighting their old demons. A soul-crushing image of screaming Bucky, tied up to a chair. 

Then, something strong pulling her in – a weave of power different than hers. Pulling her into a very specific scenery from her childhood, where the sight of her mother was the first alarming point. She was slowly losing control of her magic and giving way to Bob’s powers, and it took a toll on her. Dark fumes wanted to hide her sparks flowing through her blood, and she couldn’t let it happen. The only way was through pulling his darkness in and shifting it into something better, so she focused on the beauty of being an empath. She imagined taking care of a broken mind, tending to a hopeless soul, giving reassurance and caressing the thoughts. She didn’t want to be trapped in a memory she knew as long gone – she pushed away, let the darkness slip, imagined a stream of golden power that could light up every room and pushed it away, towards the heavy train of thoughts. 

She let go of his hand as soon as the light gave her enough strength to pull away. The eyes of everyone in their apartment were focused on her; Bob stood there, as if nothing happened, still shyly looking up at her with an expectant look. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked around, trying to ground herself in the walls of their home. Bucky was immediately next to her, steadying her frame against his side, letting her rest. The silence stretched for a very long moment, until she managed to find her voice again.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Bob.”

The rest of the evening carried on with more of a quiet understanding. After they finished cleaning up, spare pillows and bedsheets were pulled out of the depths of the hallway closet. Bucky was in charge of setting up the pull-out bed in the living room and the extra mattress on the floor, and she worked in the peace of the guest bedroom, fluffing the fresh sheets and adding an extra blanket on the armchair. It was comfortable enough for a mid-reading nap, so it had to suffice for a few hours of sleep. 

When she carried the last of the decorative pillows that could help someone sleep better into the living room, some guests were already setting camp in their sleeping spots. Alexei started to doze off in the armchair so the voices – if any – were now a bit more hushed. 

She noticed Yelena in the corner of the room, standing still, eyes focused on the wall where a few pictures were stuck to the corkboard. The makeshift office corner was full of papers, files and random things that they didn’t clean up the last time, but that didn’t matter. The picture of Natasha was the sole focus, radiating happiness from her captured smile and the tight embrace that they had on each other. The took it during one of their cheer-up movie nights, two years into their new reality after Thanos had snapped his fingers. Another shot from the same night, but with Steve in the frame too, was right next to it. 

“She talked a lot about you, you know?” She was careful with her words, but poked Yelena’s hard to read exterior anyway. “She never really stopped looking for you during the blip. The same way I always kept looking for him,” a finger pointed at a slightly bigger picture of the couple, Bucky hugging her from behind and looking down at her with love painted all across his face. “Steve was the only one to actually try and move on, before we found a way to get everyone back.”

Yelena’s eyes didn’t leave the picture of her sister, when she finally spoke up. “She called you Sparkles. Didn’t say much, but enough for me to understand that you kept her company in times she least expected it.”

Her face scrunched in grief, but only for a fraction of a moment. Neither of them moved, just stayed still with heads full of memories that spoke without words. She didn’t have to look into Yelena’s mind to know that grief has started to mix with grace. It reassured her, knowing that her friend’s sister is finally coming to terms with some of the more difficult truths. Natasha would want her to find peace.

“The bed in the guest room is still empty, you can still beat Walker to it if you make it before he leaves the bathroom.” She said after a moment of silence. A corner of Yelena’s lips twitched upwards and she simply nodded, sneaking away to find respite in the more convenient sleeping arrangement. 

Most of the lights in the living room and in the hall went off. A peaceful quiet was broken only by random murmurs of movement around the apartment. Their home was full, a questionable mix of characters, preferences, and assassin skills sizzled in their safe space, but there was an odd familiarity to it. Something that she sometimes felt hanging in the air back in the Avengers compound. 

Before entering their bedroom, she hovered by the doorframe for just a second. She could still feel the tension hanging low between her and Bucky, the unspoken heaviness was starting to lift slowly with the layer of exhaustion that took the reins of their bodies. 

The bedside lamps were on, and a trickle of light traveled from underneath the bathroom door. Their bedroom felt like a soft embrace, even though her heart was still probed at with a stick of emotions. Darkness threatened to loop around her veins, especially when she sat down on the bed and opened her laptop that still had classified files open, screaming at her. Her fingers tapped on the mousepad until they reached the last documents that were sent to her: the designs behind the Sentry Project. Eyes scanning the page, her hands shook with nerves. 

The water in the shower was still running when she stopped reading. His shower was now longer than usual. With something forceful still squeezing her heart in discomfort, she let go of the intelligence, files and access passwords. She closed everything she worked on earlier and put her laptop away, desperate to ease her consciousness into something easier. Something she missed in all of this. 

She softly knocked on the door that would usually stay creaked open when they were alone. Her knuckles made a rather quiet sound on the wood, so she thought he did not hear her, but then a very low “Yeah?” travelled through her ears.

He was in the shower, standing still under the forceful stream of water, his back to her, arm resting on the wall for support. His head hung low, tilted only slightly when she came in, enough to recognize her presence. He didn’t turn back to her. Didn’t stop the shower or make any move to finish it.

She stripped of her clothes, leaving a pile on the tiles next to the door. Without thinking, she stepped into the shower. Tried not to hiss when she felt how cold the water was. It made her hurt for him, so she reached his body in no time. Wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight, her lips finding the skin between his shoulder blades. He was tall, stood strong, muscles almost ripped at the seams, and the tension in his body pulsating with each breath. Her hands travelled higher, to his chest, finding the spot where she could feel the steady beat of his heart. He exhaled with something that reminded her of relief and covered her hand with hers, intertwining their fingers. Her lips kept on pecking his wet skin until she also breathed, inhaling the familiar scent that followed her every time they were close. Her mind, gentle touch and kisses begged, Come back to me.

One of her hands wandered off to the shower knob, twisting it until the water warmed up at least a little bit. His muscles softened almost instantly, his skin giving way for her fingers to hold his skin tighter.  

“You’re freezing,” she mumbled, caressing the skin of his chest, letting her hands rub on his skin up to the shoulders and down his arms, just to help him get rid of the goosebumps quicker. 

“Got lost in thought for a minute,” his voice was softer around the edges now that they were alone. He got a hold of her hands and slowly detached them from his skin, taking measured steps in place to face her instead. 

Lukewarm water streamed down their bodies, scars lined up on his torso glistening under the shower. Her hands traced his chest and arms with subtle movements, until she reached his head. Wet hair flopped down the back of his head and she run her fingers through it, gently massaging the scalp and taking out any remaining bubbles of shampoo that he didn’t manage to rinse out. He hummed in soft contentment at the drag of her nails, his hands landing on her waist for grounding. 

“Cold shower and poorly washed hair?” Her voice was soft, but with a tint of something bright and warm. She tilted his head under the stream for the last good rinse and rested her hands on his cheeks, caressing his rough stubble. “I might think it you wanted me to come and save you from your poor washing habits.”

He breathed out a small laugh at that, light enough to mistake it for a gasp of air. 

“You got me, baby.” 

She leaned in to his chest, landing a kiss above his heart and feeling the way his hands started to weight more on her hips. 

“I do,” she murmured into the bruised skin. “always.”

She tugged him out of the shower and passed him a fresh, fluffy towel. They both dried each other slowly, and then stood close when they brushed their teeth. She slid back into her underwear, pulled the same t-shirt over her head and grabbed the small tubes of ointment and antiseptic from the drawer. 

She made sure there is enough light on his side of the bed, but not too much to disrupt their tired haze. She pulled out the covers so they could slide right in, and sat down on the side of the mattress. He came in to the bedroom a minute later, clad only in his black boxers, excess water shaken off from his dark hair. 

“Sit down, Mr. Soldier.” She pointed to the bed and sent him a barely-there smile, mocking the name Alexei kept on using all evening. He shook his head in disappointment, but climbed in bed and rested his back on the headboard nonetheless. 

“He thinks I got the ‘fancy stuff’ with the Hydra serum.” His low voice leaked annoyance, but his face was too tired to show it, too. 

“Well,” she breathed out a chuckle. She went up on her knees on the mattress and walked up to him, climbing over his lap. “I think you are my fancy stuff.” 

That put a brief, but cheeky smile on his face. He took a hold of her hips and helped her land in a comfortable spot on his thighs, but never let go of her body. His warmed-up hands traveled underneath her shirt and set camp on her skin, moving around ever-so-slightly, but never breaking contact. 

She leaned to his torso to inspect the bruises that were already formed over his ribs, checking for any cuts. There was an already closed-up gash on his side, wide enough to think that a sharp object was pushed into his skin, and then pulled out quickly. The line was faintly pink, healed nicely because of the serum, but still enough of a tell that recently something caught him off guard.

Bucky watched her in silence. Eyes scanning her focused face, looking down at the delicate inspection of her fingers, and the caring and focused way she watched him, reserved only for him. 

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered at some point, when her focus switched from his chest to his face. She held his chin gently, inspecting the scratch above his cheekbone. She sat back on his thighs and worked with the ointment tube, pushing out the right amount on a cotton swab. “I should’ve told you that the situation changed. Not just barged in with a group of strangers. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Her eyes still focused on dripping the antiseptic on the right spot beneath his eye. 

“You’re allowed to do your thing. You can bring people home,” she started gently, while the cotton swab precisely rolled over the torn tissue. “Just…” she sighed, straightening up and putting away the medication. “Seeing how severe the situation was, what unveiled and how messy it will be now…” Her mind kept going back to every image that Bob showed her earlier. “I just wish I knew sooner.”

“I know. I’m sorry, doll.”

“I didn’t even know you were hurt until I saw your face.” She whispered with a sad smile, caressing his clean cheek. He leaned into her hand and sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I wasn’t watching the news, I had my notifications off - except for yours, of course,” she kept on talking, feeling her chest swell with the accumulated worry and affection. “and then Bob showed me everything. I saw the pain you were in,” she gulped, trying to contain her emotions. He tugged on her hips to bring her closer, letting her fall forward and rest her forehead on his. “It’s been a minute since you were out in the field. I guess it scared me.”

Bucky took a deep, shaky breath, his fingers flexing on her skin, slowly drying hair loosely falling over his ears. 

“I didn’t think it would escalate this quickly.” he whispered right into her lips. His flesh hand traveled up to her face and caressed her cheek, wiping underneath her eye to take away the first tear that threatened to drop. 

“I know.”

“And now with Valentina claiming us as the New Avengers?” He mused, letting out a dry chuckle. He kissed her nose affectionately and let them breathe together. “This definitely wasn’t on my campaign.”

She smiled at him then, locking their gazes in a comfortable stare-off. She could feel her magic start to turn blue, the same color as his eyes. Something that happened whenever their hearts were on their sleeves, and where they both were feeding off each other’s love. 

“Sam needs an explanation. He called so many times.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, a fake seriousness flashing across his face. “good luck with that.”

She gasped at that, smacking his arm playfully.

“What? He called you, not me. My phone was dead.” He smiled. She started to climb off his lap but he stopped her, sitting up and tugging her in for a very tight embrace. “No, don’t leave me. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“You better do it before I do.” He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, kissing her skin and smelling it deeply. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky looked up at her, eyes shining, smile threatening to break. 

Finally, she relaxed into his body, leaning in with purpose. Her nose touched his gently, before their lips connected in a gentle, loving kiss. Her hands hugged his shoulders and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss and breathing in his scent. Bucky let out a quiet sound from the back of his throat as they pushed toward each other, with more relief than desire at first. Then, with each of the caress against the other’s lips, with each tug of his hair and delicate scratch of her fingernails, the need grew. 

She kissed him like she almost lost him, and he kissed her back like he never wanted to let go. Her thighs firmly wrapped around his hips as she moved impossibly closer, earning another groan from his wet lips. She smiled into his mouth and he bit her lip in response, grazing his teeth across tender skin and teasing her with purpose. 

“I thought you were tired,” she murmured against him.

“I am,” he agreed, “but I missed you more.”

His breath got heavier. Their mouths kissed harder, hungrier, chasing each other like careless teenagers who have just realized how magnetic it is to make out with someone you love. Her hips rolled forward, out of habit, causing a whimper to shake her lips against his. He held her tighter, vibranium palming and kneading her ass, the other hand moving freely under her shirt. Magic trickled at her fingertips, making each of her nervous ending even more sensitive to the feeling of his body against hers. Another move of her hips, a raspy groan from Bucky’s throat, and—

A creak of the floor, movement on the pull-out sofa, or maybe even a footstep towards the kitchen. A quiet sound that made them stop, freeze in their embrace. Her hand travelled to his chest, letting his heart beat hard against her fingertips, catching a breath. 

“Don’t,” he almost begged, leaning in again to kiss her neck in places that make her shiver. “If we stop now, I might cry.”

A breathy laugh escaped her mouth. She tucked her face into his shoulder, holding him close. 

“If we can hear them moving, they will definitely hear us, baby.” She whispered, peppering his jaw in short and chaste kisses. “We’re enough of an entertainment to Walker.”

Bucky groaned in response, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly and rolling them over. With a huff, she landed on top of her pillow and spread her legs enough to let him lay between them. He caged her head with his arms and leaned down for another kiss.

“Don’t talk about Walker when you’re making me hard.”

She chuckled quietly, letting his nose travel along the side of her face. Warmth enveloped her whole body and she wished they could stay like this forever. With no care in the world about politics, agendas, no missed deadlines or events to attend. No one else around them, just her and Bucky, tangled in the sheets of their Brooklyn home. 

“Hey,” he nudged her cheek and searched her eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments, engraving this moment in their memories. “How was your day?”

“You’re asking that now?” She lifted her eyebrow in question, gently caressing his face and tucking away the loose hair that threatened to cover his eyes.

“Now is perfect.” He mumbled into her cheek, leaving a wet kiss behind. “It’s just me and you.”

She sighed, trying to focus and gather her most mundane thoughts of the day. 

“They put me in the middle seat on the plane from D.C.” 

Bucky fake-gasped at that, “How dare they?” 

“I know, right?” she smiled at his disappointed face. “but I survived in that middle seat. Can you believe it?”

“Impossible,” another kiss to her cheek, before he rolled over and landed on his side, his legs tangled with hers, tugging her as close as possible so they could still stare in each other’s eyes. “What else happened?”

He listened to her until her eyelids turned heavy. Until her lips started moving slower and slower, pushing forward one last time to touch his skin. He covered them with the sheets and held her close, watching as a single blue spark flew away from her fingertips, fading into the night. Her breathing evened out, arm still tucked in his torso. A quiet ‘I love you’ mumbled to each other in a sleepy haze, like nothing else mattered. 

[kynimdraws]

References in the older generation of demon hunters from the movie KPOP DEMON HUNTERS

It is not the BEST animated movie of all time but it got all the little Korean cultural references that feel like it is catering to me....in particular I really loved the narration sequence of how the Demon Hunters came to be!!! So I decided to make a post about it

The first generation of demon hunters we see are set in the 조선 (Chosun) era, which is a VERY common place to start for a lot of Korean media. There are no specific singers/performers they are referring to here, but they are based on 무당 (mudang). Korean female shamans. There are male shamans as well but those are not as well known and not popular. That is why the boy band Saja Boys are based on 저승사자 (Jeosung Saja) aka Korean underworld magistrate/grim reaper.

Anyway the mudang have various roles in Korean paganism/spiritualism. Instead of flashy musical numbers with weapons, they perform 굿 (gut), rituals that vary by region and function.

The second generation of hunters we see have the flapper girl aesthetic (American 1920s fashion) which was popular in Korea around the 1960-70s. This also is probably shouting out to the og Korean "girl group" aka the Kim Sisters (김시스터스) of the 1950-60s. They might not have been the MAIN influence but the trio singer composition and their fame for being popular among US troops in Korea (which launched their career in the US) doesn't feel like just coincidence.

The third generation we see has the Korean 1970s to maybe super early 80s aesthetic. I couldn't think/find any trio girl groups during this time, but they feel like a mix of Lily Sisters (릴리 시스터즈) and Kye Eunsook (계은숙). Not the most confident with this one. Unfortunately there are no EN websites that talk about them (and I don't know them in a lot of detail other than they were popular during their time)

The fourth generation is the 1980s, which is when the word "k-pop" starts being used to describe the songs. BUT MAN, THIS SET PISSES ME OFF BECAUSE WHY ARE THEY ALL DIFFERENT 80S KPOP STYLES? COORDINATE GIRLS!!! Again no specific girl groups jump out at me but looks like this is a reference to Settorae (세또래, aka "The three friends"). Not extremely obvious in terms of appearance but the dance moves have the vibe.

The fifth and final generation we see before Rumi/Mira/Zoey are STRONG 90s K-POP. The whole aesthetic of stars and the hairstyles SCREAMS S.E.S which is one of the classic 90s kpop girl groups of their time.

In particular their appearance for the music video "Dreams Come True" comes to mind. The video now feels really dated but back in the day, the effects and stuff they used were the HOT SHIT. Extremely nostalgic for Korean media.

Of course there may be some other stuff I missed or got wrong possibly, which I will fix if anything comes up. Feel free to correct me as well in the replies!

[the-secret-keeper]

Where MC Tells the Obey Me Brothers About How Horribly They Were Treated in Twisted Wonderland

This was requested by @sweetlicorice I hope you like it! It was taking longer than expected, so I only did the brothers, but I will do the dateables in a part 2, don't worry.

Part 2 with the Dateables out now! (Characters included: Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke)

Part 2 of this but where MC reunites with Grim and the boys are in Twisted Wonderland is out now!

TW: Talk of being Overworked and Burnt Out, Abuse of Power, Very Angry Demons (but not at you), mental breakdowns, missing a pet (he's not dead, don't worry), and nightmares

Reader is referred to as MC by the characters (though I don't think they say it here) and MC is gender neutral, but this is mostly in second person, so for the majority of the story you'll be referred to as 'You' by the narrator.

Characters include: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor

Could be read as romantic or platonic

This will be long, so the stories under the cut

This is organized by character, with a bit of context at the beginning. Enjoy!

First, it was a coffin. You were kidnapped by a horse-drawn hearse, woke up in a coffin, in another world. A world of magic, and wonder, but also one of pain, as you quickly learned. But you met people. You made friends, allies, and you were learning, even if you couldn't use magic.

And then, it was you landing rather harshly in a room that looked like an old-time, very fancy courtroom, surrounding by tall and intimidating looking young men. It was soon explained to you that you were in the Devildom, and were an exchange student, one that would be living with the Seven Deadly Sins for your own protection.

You didn't know what to feel. Gratitude for the much improved living conditions? Fear for living with a bunch of demons and going to school with demons that would likely have no qualms with snapping you in two if you stepped out of line? Sadness for the friends that you don't know how to get back to? Upset for being forced to leave the place you were finally starting to feel like you fit in at and having to leave Grim? It was a whirlwind inside, and for a time, that's where it stayed. Kept inside.

Slowly, the Devildom revealed to have similar problems as Twisted Wonderland, in the fact that it seems everyone in power here, aside from Diavolo and Barbatos, would like you to die.

Most of the brothers tried to kill you. One of them succeeded! Congrats to them you guess, though, no offense to Belphie, you don't think it was particularly hard for a demon to kill a human.

Through all of this, you got closer to those you were staying with, even forgiving Belphegor after everything. It only made sense that eventually, what happened to you, you started to open up to them about your past. About those that you met and bonded with, all that had been put onto you, and all that was different.

Lucifer:

You were in his office, as you did somewhat often. It was quieter in there than it was in most of the house, and no one would bother you if you were with him. Plus, sometimes he would let you take care of some of his paperwork, just the stuff that wasn't too sensitive or important, but it lightened his load a bit.

"Why do you insist upon helping me?" He asked, not looking up from his paper, as you looked at your own.

"I'm used to doing more work, and if it makes your job easier, then I don't mind." You shrugged.

"More work? Do you mean like a job?" He asked, somewhat curious. Your file had listed a lot, but you had, apparently, been missing for a while when you were brought to the Devildom, so he didn't know what you had been doing before coming there.

"Something like that." You vaguely answered, finishing a paper.

"I am always here if you need to talk." He glanced up at you, as you pulled out your homework instead.

"Thank you."

A comfortable silence fell over the you two. The ambiance of the fireplace, paired with the low volume on the record he was playing, along with the light scratching of his pen, was calming. His office was always dimly lit, enough to see easily, but also darker than the average room.

It was a quiet environment that reminded you of the days when you would sit in the office of Crewel, him taking pity on the amount of work shoved on you and attempting to help at least a little. Or the days when you would study with Ace and Deuce in the Heartslabyul Common Room, Riddle sitting nearby doing his own paperwork, and Grim resting lazily along your shoulders. It was comforting, yet sad, at the same time.

"Back, in the place where I was," you started softly after a few moments of silence, "there was more that was required of me."

"In what way?" He asked, and though you couldn't tell, off in your own world, he had stopped doing his paperwork to focus on what you were saying, fully enraptured in wanting to know your backstory.

"The headmaster, at my last school, his name was Dire Crowley. And he was terrible at his job." You laughed bitterly. "I showed up there one day, against my will, and practically started running the place once he thought I could handle it, or when he was certain I wouldn't complain." You glared at your paper, thinking back on all that was unfairly thrown at you.

"Like what?"

"Paperwork, was the majority." You answered without thinking. "But there were.... others."

"Others?" He prompted after a few moments of a now, much tenser, silence.

"Your demon form is scary." You looked at him, making eye contact. "But it is not as scary as facing seven Overblots within the span of a year."

"Overblots?"

"The manifestation of out of control magic and strong negative emotions that result in the transformation of the magic user, and the creation of a sort of monster. The magic user loses control of their entire being, and it's very taxing on the magic user." Your eyes were glazed over as you seemed to recite the information with no emotion in your voice. "I don't blame them, for Overblotting, and losing control, the world is cruel. I do blame Dire Crowley, however, for making me responsible for dealing with them."

"That sounds dangerous, for someone without magic."

"It was." You agreed, still looking towards him.

Not at him, but through him, as if you weren't registering how much you were saying. This made him all the more concerned, as he got up and walked over to you, sitting beside you.

"I was also responsible for whatever Dire Crowley wanted me to do. Feed the fireplaces over winter break, find out why our sports players are getting injured, stop that one student from taking over the student body, house these people for this inter-school competition, and on, and on." You listed, beginning to spiral. "I practically ran that school. Me! A magicless human who had no idea what they were doing or where they were or how to handle what was happening to me. He stuck me in a shack, filled with mildew, and mold, that was covered in dust, infested with ghosts, and falling apart at the seams with a fire-breathing cat. And he didn't even make me a student at first!" You looked at Lucifer, tears pricking your eyes. "I was a janitor! And when another student got myself, Grim, and another student in trouble, he was going to throw me out! Onto the streets with no understanding of the world, how it functions, or anything at all!"

Lucifer nodded, trying to get you to calm down silently, wanting to hear about your past, even though it was painful.

"And he'd threaten me, Lucifer! He'd threaten my housing, my food budget, and I had no means of income! I couldn't pay for myself in any regard, I was completely dependent on him! I was his little puppet. The puppet of the 'oh so gracious Dire Crowley'." You began to sob as emotions started to overcome you, them all spilling out as you finally let yourself feel safe enough to feel these emotions. "I was so scared! About what would happen to me, and my friends. I didn't know what the next day would bring."

He brought you into his chest, hugging you tightly, and allowing your tears to stain his red vest. He let you sob and weep as you finally allowed yourself to process the emotions you'd been keeping inside this whole time. He kept his breathing even, trying to get you to match it subconsciously, and he gently rocked you, trying to calm you down as best he could.

"I miss Grim!" You cried out, into his chest. "I miss him so much that it hurts. I feel so anxious without him around."

He didn't ask who Grim was, but he knew it was someone important. He'd ask you about it when you were calmer, for now, he'd just let you cry to your hearts content. It had been a long time since someone had come to him, and allowed him to see them crying, but he didn't mind it so much when it was you. He took pride in being someone you felt safe enough to cry around.

No more paperwork got done that night, but he didn't care. You were more important at that point in time, and Diavolo would understand, he assured you of this, when you tried to apologize for taking up his time and crying on him. He brought up that Diavolo would be more mad if he hadn't comforted you, which made you laugh. You were so tired from crying that not long after you calmed down, you drifted off in Lucifer's arms, on the couch in his office.

Mammon: 

You were hanging out in Mammon's room one night, trying to help him study. Mammon was a lot smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for, the main issue you were having was the effort in which he was putting in. Which was zero. He was much more interested in his video game than his homework, despite the fact that Lucifer had threatened to string him up from the ceiling should he not get a satisfactory grade.

It was almost nice, how familiar this felt. The arguing with him about studying gave you a nostalgic feeling, for when you would study with your First Year friend group, and you would try to pry Ace away from his video games. It was never effective, much like now, but the nostalgia made you keep trying to convince him.

Mammon himself didn't seem to notice the effect this was having on you, too focused on his video game. Not that you cared, better for him to remain oblivious that try to pry your secrets out of you.

You sighed, closing the textbooks that you had brought in, accepting the fate of his grade, and making a mental note to find a spot to at least try to hide him from Lucifer. You watched as he played the game for just a few more minutes before you crawled over, sitting beside him as he played, watching the screen.

"Why're ya so good at homework in the Devildom anyway?" He asked, in the blunt way he normally does.

"Diavolo adjusted my curriculum because I don't know much about the Devildom, so I get assignments that are easier." You admitted, leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "I appreciate it, my last headmaster wasn't nearly so accommodating." You mumbled bitterly, thinking back on that incompetent headmaster.

"Really? How's that?" He asked, only half-paying attention, as he spam-clicked the button on the controller to his video game.

"Eh, don't think too much about it. Crowley was stupid, and though he claims he was gracious, he was really anything but. At least to me."

"What's 'at supposed to mean?" He asked before exclaiming nonsensical, frustrated sounds at his loss in the video game.

"I was basically his Barbatos, but I wasn't paid. Hell," You laughed mirthfully, "what money I was supposed to get was threatened, actually. More than once."

"Really?"

His attention was still diverted, and you noticed this. He was likely only wanting to hear your voice for background noise while he played, but you didn't mind so much. At least now you can say you told someone. Even if he wasn't listening.

"Yeah, Crowley threatened my food and housing budget more than once. And he'd push all his work onto me, even though I really shouldn't have had that much responsibility put on me. After all, I was someone without magic in a magic-teaching school, from another world. I didn't know anything." You shrugged lightly, trying not to move Mammon's arm too much, because your head was still resting on his shoulder. "I can't say I miss that part of it."

"What do ya miss then?" He asked, eyes still glued to the screen.

"My friends. I had a group of friends that were pretty tight-knit. Trauma bonded, more like it." You laughed. "And Grim. I miss Grim."

"Grim?"

"My cat."

"Ya sound like Satan."

"Grim was a special cat. He could use magic, and talk. You remind me of him sometimes." At that he finally paused the game to look at you.

"I, remind ya of... a cat?" He asked incredulously.

"Yeah." You smiled, laughing lightly. "He was sarcastic, and demanding, and greedy. He called me Henchman, you call me Human." He rolled his eyes. "But underneath your... bravado, is a very nice person, who cares a lot. Grim and I... we only had each other. So it just makes sense that we bonded. I miss him, a lot. He used to sleep in my bed, and he'd always be there with me. I've been having trouble sleeping without him. It just feels like there's something missing." You admitted in a soft and sad tone. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"I'll be yer Grim 'til we can convince Diavolo or Barbatos, or maybe Solomon to get yer cat." He said quietly, rubbing your upper arm. "Ya can sleep in here whenever ya need, ok?" You nodded. "Wanna watch a movie?" You smiled at him, nodding once more, as he turned the TV to one of the bajillion streaming services the family all pay for, because they share, and arguing with you about the best movie to watch.

Leviathan:

Leviathan was out in public with you, having gone to an anime themed event at a cafe in the Devildom. He was so excited, that you just couldn't resist when he asked if you wanted to go with. It was nice to hear him rant and ramble about all the things that he was passionate about.

"There's a cat in the anime that waitress is from! And he's super cool!" Levi started. "He can talk, and use magic. He's also very stubborn, like a donkey. But he's a favorite in the fandom because of how cute he is."

"I know someone like that." You mumbled without thinking, your mind wandering to your feline friend.

"You do?!" He asked excitedly.

"Yeah." You smiled. "His name was Grim, and he used to live with me, back in the time before."

"Really? Tell me more!"

"He wasn't super smart, or very hard working. He used to call me Henchman, and demand cans of tuna. But when it came down to it, Grim was the one I could rely on the most. But, that might also be because we literally couldn't leave each other." You told him.

"You couldn't?"

"No. I don't have magic, and he did. I'm human, he was a cat. The headmaster of my last school decided to be 'oh so gracious'," you quoted, making air quotes around his catchphrase, "and make the two of us one singular student, allowing us to attend his magic school."

"That seems... dumb. To say the least."

"It was." You deadpanned, before the both of you laughed. "He was a bad headmaster. Towards the end of my stay there, I was practically headmaster, just because of how much work he pushed onto me because he could. But while I was at that school I made friends. And I had Grim. Even if the situation I was in was less than ideal." You smiled as the waitress delivered the food you ordered, with a bundle of silverware.

"Ah. I bet you'd prefer them to an otaku like me."

"Not true!" You defended, pointing your fork at Leviathan. "I like you plenty fine, Levi. You actually remind me a lot of my friend Idia. But," you laughed awkwardly, "at least you leave the house sometimes, and aren't afraid of confrontation. Or, at least, you're not afraid to confront some people. Like your brothers." You set your fork down, stopping your silent threat at Levi, that wasn't actually very threatening to him.

"He was an otaku too?"

"Yes indeed, and a master gamer to boot."

"Better than me?"

"It's hard to say." You shrugged. "The games you guys play are similar, but different. It's not a fair comparison." He seemed placated by this answer. "Your brothers remind me of a lot of my friends from there." You said vaguely.

"Do you miss them?"

"Yeah. They're my friends, of course I miss them. And it's not like I know if and when I'll be able to see them again." You explained gently. "I don't miss the work though. Diavolo was nice and assigned me a tutor and easier assignments until I get the hang of the normal work here. And no one makes me do any extra work, or threatens my food or housing. Well, Lucifer threatens punishments sometimes, but he would never threaten my food or housing, and I won't get punished as long as I do my best and behave." You rambled, smiling at how nice it was here, compared to it was in Twisted Wonderland. "Plus, I have all of you, and Diavolo, and Barbatos, and the other exchange students. I miss my friends from there, and I really wish that I had Grim here with me. But I am happy here." You beamed.

"Maybe if we ask Lucifer, he may know how to get your cat." Leviathan suggested, smiling lightly.

"I would love that. He acts like Mammon, but he feels like an emotional support cat. And, I bet Satan would seriously love having him here too."

"You know, we're all here. If you want to talk."

"I know." You glanced around. "What anime is that cosplay from?" You asked, gesturing at another waitress, changing the subject.

He glanced, and started beaming, immediately launching into a rant about the anime it's from, and the character themself. It was nice that he didn't question the change in subject. You'd tell Levi and the others all about what happened to you, and about what Twisted Wonderland was like. Eventually. Maybe.

Asmodeus:

Saying Asmo was flirty, was an understatement. Possibly the understatement of the century. And while he flirted and charmed nearly every being in existence, he did understand consent, and took every no at face value, stopping when asked. Of course, it's a rejection, so at the beginning you had to explain that no, you're not rejecting him as a person, you like him plenty fine as a person, you just don't always want to be flirted with.

He still did it, but when you asked him to stop he'd make a show of whining about it, but stopping nonetheless. It was annoying, but he did take your 'no' seriously, so in the end it was kind of worth it. Asmo was good for conversation, and he knew all the gossip, so he was nice to hang out with.

You had mentioned a handful of times that he reminded you of someone where you were from where you used to live. But all he ever said in response was that there was no one like him. Which is true, as no one else could truly embody Lust like Asmodeus does.

He was doing a skincare night with you, when you brought it up again.

"You know a lot about skincare already, it's quite impressive." He complimented.

"Yeah, had a friend who took it very seriously." You agreed.

"Is this the same friend that I remind you of?"

"Tis." You smiled, gently rubbing the moisturizer onto his face. "He was an interesting man."

"Interesting man? Interesting how?"

"He was insanely hard working, yet it seemed no one saw that." You started, taking a deep breath. "He was an actor, and social media influencer. And he was talented. Extremely talented. He worked hard to get where he was, but he had the means to get there."

"Anything else I should know about this person?"

"Well, he was good at potions. And like, just as good if not better than Satan and Solomon, good. He had the harshest study routine, but it was worth it. Never failed a potions class if he was tutoring me. He didn't have much time to do so, but I was always grateful when he did." You thought back on the memories fondly, smiling, as you stopped rubbing the moisturizer into his skin, and moving onto the next step. "His methods were.... intense, to say the least." Your smile became strained, remembering the VDC. "But, they got the results he wanted, so I guess he didn't see much issue with it."

"Intense in what way?" Asmo asked, noting your tenseness.

"I was appointed manager for a dance team, an interschool competition thing, you know how competitive people can get." You shook your head lightly. "They all came to live in my dorm because it was mostly empty. But, despite me being manager, he decided I needed to follow the same diet as everyone else. My friends said it was a 'we're all in this together' thing, but I thought he was just being unreasonable. I mean, come on, hexing my food? That's just wasteful. And he didn't even pay me back. I didn't get much money for food in general, because I was the magicless student, and there he went, just wasting what I had." You laughed mirthfully, remembering your anger at the situation, and your frustration.

"Well, in his defense, if he was just looking out for you."

"I would have no problems if that were the case, Azzy." You slightly chastised, but it was playful, and held no real bite. "I took your diet in stride, didn't I?" He nodded in acknowledgement. "I would've been fine with it, if that were the case. But he never paid me back for the food that he hexed, or replaced it. I didn't have much, so no one being able to eat those foods, it was wasteful. I mean, it's not like I got much money, if any, from the school for dorm food, like every other dorm."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I was the magicless student. The errand person. The pushover. The unpaid therapist or headmaster. Depends on the day." You sighed. "The headmaster didn't want to have to rewrite the budget to factor in an extra dorm, when it only had two students in it, that really only amounted to one student."

"Wait, I thought you've mentioned before that you had a roommate."

"I lived with a fire-breathing, talking cat named Grim, who could use magic, and several ghosts. I say technically one student, because the ghosts were faculty members, technically, but Grim had magic, and I didn't, but I was human and Grim was a cat. So, when I popped out of the woodwork, with no magic, no identification, no way to go home, and no clue about how this world worked, the headmaster was 'oh so gracious'," you mocked, "and put us both in a run down dorm, enrolled as a single student."

"Run down?"

"I mean Run Down. It was called Ramshackle, by other students, and it certainly lived up to it's name. The heater didn't work, I had to curl up with Grimm under every blanket I could find in that house. It was caked in mold and mildew, and dust, until Crowley cleaned it for the VDC. I injured myself more than once." You pointed to a scar on your forearm, where you'd hurt yourself in an attempt to fix up your dorm. "I am, honestly, very grateful, for the opportunity to stay here, in much better conditions. I do miss my friends, and I miss Grim." You admitted.

"Is that why you named that stuffed animal Grim? I thought you were just taking after Mammon in your greed."

"I miss Grim." You stated simply. "He was always with me. We were inseparable. We fought, we bickered, but at the end of the day, I knew if there was one thing, one being, I could rely on consistently, it was Grim. He was my ride-or-die. I named my stuffed animal after him, because I have a hard time sleeping without him. Even just, relaxing, can be hard. I miss him, and I don't know if he's ok. I genuinely, worry about him. And I miss him so much, that it's hard to fully put into words."

"I'm sorry." He offered, and you just smiled at him.

There was not much more Asmodeus could say. He couldn't provide you the comfort that you craved, as he was not your cat, nor could he get you your cat. So, he extended his sympathies, and access to his bed whenever you would like. For cuddles, or for more, he was always down for whatever.

He only hoped that his efforts to be there, and open for you, helped to heal you a little bit in the long run.

Satan:

Satan was nice to be around. He was curious, and he liked to know things and ask questions, so he did tend to pry into your past. But he was always good for book recommendations, and was always happy to discuss any book you wanted.

You found comfort in his fondness for cats, finding a kindred spirit in that regard. You didn't tell him about Grim, not wanting to get his hopes up about maybe meeting your beloved companion. He did notice your love of cats though, and had gotten you a giant cat plushie, as a gift.

You had named it Grim, and it lived on your bed. It was much quieter, and honestly, a bit boring compared to the real thing, but it was good for cuddling in the night when you couldn't sleep because you missed your furry friend. You were grateful that Satan had brought you just a bit of comfort in those moments, even if he didn't know it.

"I had a cat." You started one day when he started reading off cat facts enthusiastically after you had expressed the slightest bit of interest. "He was a rather interesting thing."

"Really? What was he like?" Satan liked to hear you talk about your past in general, but he was especially excited to hear about your cat.

"His name was Grim. And he was big, like 2 feet tall. He had a very distinct look about him. Grey fur, with a white chest," Satan nodded, listening intently, "bright, big, blue eyes. So round they almost looked scary sometimes. His ears, they had blue fire coming out of them, and his tail was shaped like a pitchfork. And he could use magic! He could breathe fire effortlessly, and use magic. He could talk too. Used to talk my ear off." You smiled fondly, happy to be able to talk about your favorite creature. "He'd call me Henchman, or Hench Human. He was a trouble maker. Mammon reminds me of him that way."

"Oh." Satan almost groaned.

"But much like Mammon, at the end of the day, push comes to shove, you can rely on him. That was one of the few things I knew for certain back then. Grim was the only one I could fully rely on. I had other friends, but Grim and I, we were inseparable. He was my best friend. He used to sleep in my bed with me, every night. I'm so used to it, it's honestly.... kind of hard to sleep without him." You admitted, laughing tiredly. "I miss Grim."

"Were you allowed pets, or familiars, at your last school?"

"No. No, I don't think we were." You answered after a moment of thought. "But Grim was a special case. He and I crashed the entrance ceremony. I wasn't supposed to be there, and got yoinked out of another world, but he was just straight up trespassing because he wanted so badly to go to that school, and become a great mage." You laughed at the memory. "He committed arson, I helped calm him down, and the rest is history. We weren't students, originally. We were janitors. The Headmaster only let us stay because I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I proved that Grim could be helpful."

"I thought you said you were a student?"

"I was. Half. I was half of a student." You smiled, taking a tired, yet fond, sigh. "I didn't have magic. But Grim did. So, Crowley determined that we would each be half of a student. He got us both into so much trouble, but he always helped me get out of it. I could always rely on Grim. Except in schoolwork," you admitted, laughing a little, "I was alone in that portion."

A million questions ran through his head, and you could tell the gears were turning. It was almost amusing, seeing him trying to decide on what topic to pick. Should he keep going about your cat? Pry about your headmaster? Ask about your clearly troubled past at this school?

He was quiet, but it wasn't tense, or awkward, just comfortable silence, as you patiently awaited his next question. You knew Satan would choose his words carefully, so as to not make you uncomfortable, so you had no fears. You really didn't want him to ask about Grim's homework habits though. Satan prioritized intelligence, and knowledge. You wanted him to have a good impression of Grim, since you thought the two would get along, despite Grim being similar to his older brother, Mammon.

It took him a few moments, you, peacefully sipping your favorite hot drink, as you waited patiently, reading your book, before he finally picked a topic.

"Was your headmaster, truly that bad?" He asked softly.

"His favorite trick to get me to do what he wanted, when I didn't want to, was to threaten me. My food budget, my housing budget, or even my security at the school. I had others I could rely on, should this happen. The other Housewardens tended to take pity on me when I would show up, practically begging for food, because Crowley wouldn't allow me to have any. They were good people. But I always made sure Grim had stuff to eat. I never let him suffer. He actually learned to share through this. But, a diet of tuna sandwiches, just isn't that good for your health. It was better than nothing though." You shrugged, not looking up from your book. You looked up, to see him looking at you, sadness painting his eyes. "I'm doing better now, Satan." You smiled.

"I don't want to pry, but I do have more questions." You took a deep breath.

"Can I answer them later?" You asked, to which he nodded.

"Take your time."

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you look through your books, to see if there's a spell, or an incantation, or a potion, or a ritual, that will help me get Grim? I'm worried about him, and, as you can see," you gestured to your eyebags, which Asmo had tried to hide using makeup, but it was late, so they were started to peek through, "being without him takes a toll. He's like my emotional support cat, you know? My sassy, lazy, loud, annoying, emotional support cat, that I love. And I miss."

"I'll see what I can do." He nodded. "No promises, but I'll look into it."

"That's all I ask." You smiled tiredly.

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub had eaten the majority of the fridge again, and it was your turn to make dinner. You sighed, as he looked at you guiltily. It was getting too close to when you absolutely needed to start cooking so you could serve dinner on time, so you couldn't go shopping for more. You just shook your head, and got to work taking everything out of the fridge and pantry, just to see what was left.

"I'm sorry." Beel offered. "I'll help you cook."

"I've done more with less." You said, not registering his offer, and looking over the ingredients that were left, as you had caught him before he could eat everything. "I just need some time."

"I didn't leave you much. I could go to the store, and get some more." He offered.

"Beel," You looked at him, smiling in amusement. "How much of what you get me would you eat on the way home?" He looked down guiltily once more. "I'm not mad," you assured, "really, I'm not. And I appreciate your offer of help. But I've got this." You smiled once more, before turning back to the ingredients, and picking up a few.

With what little you had, you'd started to make a large delicious meal. Beelzebub watched, in what could only be described as awe, as you stretched what you had into enough to feed the brothers, and something that tasted good. He still felt guilty about eating the majority of what you could've used to make dinner, but he was grateful you weren't mad, and he was curious as to how you knew how to make so little go so far.

After you served the brothers, you kept a little for yourself, and Beelzebub noticed. He noticed that you didn't take much, and when he tried to comment on it, you just winked at him, smiling. After dinner, he was designated for clean up, and you went into the kitchen to keep him company, as he had while you were cooking.

"How did you do that? There wasn't much left, but that was a good meal."

"My last school.... I didn't have much." You started vaguely. "My food budget was small, and often taken away, so I would take what little I was able to beg or barter for from the shop keeper, or the other Housewardens, or my friends, and I'd make it stretch. It helped that they often had some leftovers, especially Scarabia, with their feasts every week. And Jamil was a fabulous cook." You complimented, your mouth watering at the thought of his delicious and carefully prepared food. "But I digress. What I'd do is, I'd prepare meals in advance, as many as I could. I had to. Starvation sounded rather unpleasant, to me."

"It was that bad?"

"Not if I planned correctly." You smiled.

Beelzebub related to the feeling of hunger, and starvation. He was often brushed aside as always hungry because he's the Avatar of Gluttony. But the pain was always there, and it was hard to describe the pain aside from, hungry. You were always patient with him, even if he got grumpy because of his hunger, and now he was starting to see why.

If you understood the feeling of being hungry all the time, and starving to a painful point, it makes sense that you'd not get mad at him. It makes sense to him, that you'd be patient with him. He had always appreciated your patience and kindness, but he had never questioned it. Now he was starting to think he should've.

"Was it just you?"

"No. I had a cat with me. His name was Grim, and he was a lot like Mammon." You described cheerfully. "He mostly ate cans of tuna, which I could get for cheap at the school shop, they weren't super popular, and students tended to leave them at the shop after realizing they were the cheapest option of food I had." You laughed awkwardly. "It was a school of ruffians, and bullies, and people who hated me. But they had the decency to not want me to starve to death."

"You were hated?"

"By some. I wasn't popular, but I had my fair share of friends, don't worry." You assured. "I had the first years friend group, and the Housewardens, and the vice-housewardens and honorary vicehousewardens. Even a lot of the teachers liked me. And even if they didn't, I still had Grim. He was my best friend."

"Was?"

"He's still there, so he still is. We're just not together right now. It's like... it's like a part of me is missing, because he's my best friend." You tried. "And he's still there, but I can't see him, and I can't talk to him. I miss him, a lot. I think you'd like him." You smiled. "He used to sleep on my bed, every night. And he'd complain, and whine, and get both of us into trouble, but he was loyal to a fault, and he was always there when I needed him."

"Was your old headmaster that bad?"

"Oh yeah." You nodded enthusiastically. "He went on vacation so often, and it was more like I was the headmaster towards the end of my time there. What with the amount of paperwork and such I was handling in his stead. On top of schoolwork! And he put me in an old decrepit house, with a fire breathing cat. Granted, I asked for the cat to remain with me, but still. I'm sure he could've found somewhere else to put me."

"That sounds awful."

"It could be. But hey, think of it this way, now I'm prepared if you do this again." You teased. He nodded. "Don't feel too bad, Beel. You didn't even know I existed, you couldn't have done anything."

"I wish you would've told us."

"It's not easy to talk about." You admitted. "It's not like... I had the best experience with a lot of people there. I mean, Overblots, burnout, hunger, on top of basically being an unpaid therapist, an unpaid headmaster, and a full-time student? I was busy, and not every experience is a pleasant one. But it's a part of my life, and I wouldn't change it for anything. Because it was my experience." You explained. He nodded in understanding. "I think you'd like the people I met before. So many good cooks. And Lilia, who is on par with Solomon." You shuddered. "But there was also so many athletics clubs. I bet you'd really like Spelldrive." You smiled.

"Spelldrive?"

"Yeah!"

As you launched into an in-depth explanation of the sport, at least as you understood it, he simply watched. He was glad you'd opened up to him, and to hear that you weren't always alone. He would probably ask Satan if he could find anything about getting your cat for you. But for now, he was just happy to see you being comfortable enough to talk about your past.

Belphegor:

Belphegor liked to visit your dreams whenever you'd let him. They were always so interesting. They almost matched you, in that regard. As you were so strange in his eyes. He was very lucky, able to explore your good dreams. Dreams that told of friends, and adventure. Light hardship, sure, but mostly wonder. And happiness. Along with a cat that seemed to pop up in every dream. He didn't know that he only saw this because he didn't always tune into your dreams. Not every dream is a happy one.

It was one day, when you happened to be taking a nap in his general vicinity, that he drifted off, and entered your dream. He prepared himself for the bright light of the outside of Night Raven College, and for the happy smiling faces, or the sound of laughter, as he usually saw when he joined your in your dreams. What he wasn't expecting, was the fire. The screaming, the fear. He was prepared to watch on happily as you got to see your friends, the people you consider family, in your dreams, but instead, he only saw your terror.

He couldn't look away as you looked on in terror as eight towering figures, covering in black ink, with massive ink monsters behind them cornered you. He recognized some of these faces, they were those of your friends. They were friends, friends who would drive you to work harder, and do better, but would always be there to help in any way they could, if they could, when you asked.

But there was one face he was shocked to see, moreso than the friends. It was your cat. Your cat that had been changed into a hulking, massive beast, and it looked more wild than he had ever seen. It wasn't talking anymore, none of those smart ass comments he'd overhear, it was growling at you, roaring at you. It had never done that before.

Belphegor, unable to stand by as you feared for your life, even in a dream, quickly made his way to in front of you, his back to you.

"You need to wake up."

You heard him, but his voice was muddled in your panic, it sounded like he was under water. You looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Wake! UP!" He commanded.

You shot up, gasping for air, as you woke up. Belphegor followed not long after, making his way over, and sitting beside you, as you began to calm down from such a panic-inducing dream. He sat beside you until your breathing was under control, and you weren't shaking as much anymore.

You leaned onto him, your head resting on his shoulder, and feeling embarrassed. It wasn't often that you had these nightmares, but they were always intense and unpleasant when you did. You didn't think he knew, he'd never visited those dreams. It's not as though you were actively hiding it, you'd told him that you'd had nightmares before, but you were ashamed that he had seen them firsthand.

You both just sat in silence for several moments, before he spoke first.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, softly.

"They don't know about the nightmares. I mean, my closer friends do, but those who the nightmares are about, don't. They don't need that."

"Why are they in your nightmares? And why did they look like that?"

"They lost control of their emotions, and their magic overwhelmed them. They weren't in control, when they looked like that. That was their anger, and sadness, their pain, that was in control of them, with their magic creating the ink monsters behind them." You explained, quietly. "I don't blame them, no one can be expected to hold it together for so long, but that doesn't make it any less unpleasant."

"And your cat?"

"I don't know why I have nightmares about him like that." You admitted. "I think it's because I miss him, and I'm scared of what will happen to him without me there."

"How long have you had these nightmares?"

"They started after the first Overblot, that's what they're called," you explained simply, "but they only got worse as more Overblots happened."

"Was there no one you could go to?" You shook your head.

"I couldn't go to Crowley, he was useless," you laughed humorlessly, "the teachers were nice, but they couldn't do anything. I told my friends, and they tried their best, but nothing ever really helped. Grim used to sleep on my bed with me, and that would chase the nightmares away pretty well, but," you trailed off.

"You don't have him with you now, so the nightmares are back with a vengeance?" You nodded, smiling a little at his wording. He wrapped an arm around you. "Do you miss him?"

"I do."

He knew you did, he knew that was a redundant question. But he wanted to hear it from you, as a sort of confirmation. He felt bad that you missed your cat, and he wished he could do something about it, but he knew he couldn't. So you two just sat in silence, comforted by the warmth of the room, and the calm atmosphere around the two of you.

He had always wondered why, or even how, you'd taken his actions in stride. How you'd forgiven him so easily. He knew now, that it was just in your nature after having gone through so much at your last school. He decided in that moment that he'd make an effort to be the person to hold a grudge on your behalf, to let people know that you may have forgiven them, but he certainly hasn't, and he hasn't forgotten what they've done to you. He didn't voice this, but he knew that you knew how he felt.

But for now, you two just sat there, comfortable, and warm. He wanted to apologize, and say he'd do everything in his power to get you your cat, but he didn't want to say that without a guarantee that he could do it. So there you sat, close, and comfortable.

"I'll chase your nightmares away." He offered, just barely a whisper, yet because of your proximity, you heard it.

"Thanks Belphie." You smiled tiredly, happy to hear that he would protect your dreams.

You drifted off not long after, Belphie following close behind. But he kept his word, and your nightmares didn't plague you after that, whenever Belphie could help it.

[kxsagi]

Hello \(^O^)/

can i make request about babydaddy bllk? (specifically sae my man🫦🫦🫦🥵🥵🔥🔥) plis? thank u, love u!

“𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲? 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲?”

a/n: i want a baby with isagi

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

isagi printed out a parenting checklist before the baby was even born. laminated it. color-coded it. 

but the second he saw his baby all swaddled up and blinking like a sleepy potato burrito? brain: gone. 

he cried. actual tears. like he just watched a world cup final. 

calls you “mama” now in the softest voice ever. “mamaaaa, guess who rolled over today??? he’s basically an olympian.” 

obsessed with milestones. he’s got a whole spreadsheet labeled “baby boy's stats 🍼🔥” 

but he’s also lowkey dumb about baby stuff like: “so uh… does the soft spot ever get… hard? do we water it?” 

keeps trying to teach the baby soccer, but ends up with a pacifier in his shoe. 

one time he fell asleep while burping him and you walked in on them both passed out upright on the couch like twin corpses. 

narrates diaper changes like a sports analyst: “... and he’s going in for the wipe– OH! a rogue kick to the chest!! what a move! daddy’s down!” 

his phone is 90% baby pictures. 10% baby videos. all with the caption “my reason 🥹❤️” 

itoshi rin

rin was fully ready to be a distant father at first. “i’ll provide. i don’t need to be all cuddly.” 

and then you placed your baby in his arms and she cooed and he just short-circuited. 

it was like watching the grinch’s heart grow three sizes. 

calls her “my girl” in the softest, lowest tone that could melt solid ice. 

constantly holding her like a bomb, but won’t let anyone else touch her. 

once got so mad at shidou for making her cry that you had to hold him back. 

reads her old european literature like a bedtime story. “you will grow up to be smarter than everyone. daddy will make sure.” 

if you catch him holding her while his forehead is pressed to hers and his eyes are closed? girl just marry him again. 

baby girl is the only one allowed to pull his hair and survive. she once drooled in his mouth and he just went: “guess we’re sharing fluids now. that’s fine.” 

itoshi sae

the man had your baby's name engraved into a cartier bracelet before you gave birth. 

pulled up to the maternity ward in sunglasses and said “is she cute yet?” 

was not prepared. she opened her eyes and he looked like he saw god. 

“oh. she’s expensive.” 

immediately takes 300 photos. hires a private photographer. commissions a painting. 

teaches her to ignore annoying people by giving them side-eye. “see that, princess? that’s called judgment. you’ll be great at it.” 

baby cries? sauntering over like: “let’s go buy you something to fix that.” 

sleeps with her lying directly on his chest like a designer accessory. refuses to move even if his arm goes numb. 

the type to whisper “daddy loves you more than anyone” while handing her a birkin rattle. 

if she doesn’t like a toy, he fires the toy manufacturer. 

nagi seishiro

this baby is attached to him like velcro. she’s in his hoodie. in his lap. on his head. 

once you turned around and found him asleep with the baby inside his shirt like a kangaroo pouch. 

naps together so much you start calling them "the nap twins." 

sings lullabies in a monotone voice, but somehow she loves it. 

“go to sleep… don’t cry… too much energy… daddy’s tired…” 

lets her chew on his hair and just goes, “guess she’s teething. that’s chill.” 

can play video games with one hand while cradling her in the other. 

she slapped him once and he said “valid.” 

if you try to take her during nap time, he just pulls her closer and goes “no. i need her warmth.” 

mikage reo

bought a baby rolex. “she can’t tell time yet, but she deserves luxury.” 

his baby bag has compartments for: wipes, diapers, and emergency gold bars. 

hired an interior designer for the nursery. baby has a chandelier. 

she sneezed once and he booked an appointment at the pediatrician, a private clinic, and a homeopath. 

constantly filming her like a vlogger. “hi guys, today baby mikage is eating puréed mango for the first time! say hi, princess!!” 

baby girl sneezes: “bless you, heiress of my heart.” 

choreographs her little dances and makes everyone clap. 

keeps getting you matching outfits like “family slay day!” 

secretly worries she’ll grow up and marry someone who isn’t rich enough. “i need to build a moat. maybe a baby bodyguard.” 

shidou ryusei

was banned from diaper duty at first because he kept yelling “SHE POOPED OUT A WHOLE GROWN MAN???” 

but then she gripped his pinky and he turned into a puppy. 

does backflips to make her laugh. if she cries, he starts barking. 

teaches her nonsense like “kick anyone who doesn’t give you snacks.” 

paints her nails bright pink and yells “SHE’S A PRINCESS, YOU GOT A PROBLEM?!” 

accidentally gave her a sip of juice laced with chili powder (he forgot it was his). cried harder than she did. 

tucks her in like: “sweet dreams, little menace. bite someone in your dreams for me.” 

calls you “hot mama” in front of the baby 24/7. 

secretly practices baby sign language so he can be her favorite parent. 

kaiser michael

refuses to call her “the baby.” only refers to her as “my heir.” 

makes her little crowns out of tinfoil. 

got matching custom jerseys that say “KAISER 1” and “KAISER 2.” 

tried to teach her german as a newborn like: “repeat after me: ich bin besser.” 

brags about how good her genes are like she’s a show dog. 

doesn’t let people hold her unless they “pass the vibe check.” 

if she so much as frowns, he goes into “who hurt you?? WHO DID THIS??” mode. 

took a video of her yawning and edited it with dramatic music and captions like “a queen awakens.” 

if you fall asleep with the baby? he tucks a blanket over both of you and whispers “my whole world.” 

bachira meguru

his baby is his sidekick. he calls him “bug” or “my gremlin.” 

built him a mini art studio with finger paint, sparkly glue, and glitter that will haunt your floors forever. 

they have their own handshake. it ends with both of them blowing raspberries. 

turns every stroller walk into an imaginary mission. “we are astronauts now. avoid the sidewalk cracks, those are lava.” 

sings to him like it’s a concert. “this one’s for my no-teeth king!” 

gets emotional when he smiles at him. “he chose me. i’m so special.” 

if he’s cranky? he draws a mustache on his face and says “sir? your mood, please.” 

the baby once fell asleep drooling on his face and he whispered, “art.” 

karasu tabito

baby strapped to his chest in a carrier? check. sunglasses on her face? check. dad swagger? activated. 

calls her “little homie.” 

teaches her fake vocabulary. “this is a snack. say it with me: schmackle.” 

carries her around the grocery store like a backpack and narrates everything in an announcer voice. 

uses baby socks as puppets to do stand-up comedy. 

if she drools on him, he’s like “she baptized me. i am born anew.” 

has a million nicknames for her: booger bean, stink nugget, boss baby, lil’ goblin. 

accidentally taught her to blow raspberries after every kiss. now she does it to everyone. 

will 100% defend her baby drama. 

“your baby stole her toy? that’s WAR, karen.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[flux1563]

The Beast Party

Another part of The Best Party

tags : orgy, sex party, squirting, ass and pussy gape, gangbang. 

Words : 11245

On a relaxing afternoon, Kim Minju, a former member of the idol group IZONE, and Kim Chaewon, a current member of LE SSERAFIM and also a former IZONE member, were hanging out together in the heart of Seoul. It had become somewhat of a tradition for the two to catch up whenever their busy schedules allowed — a comforting return to familiarity amidst the whirlwind of their separate lives.

Chaewon, true to form, was a whirlwind of energy, her laughter echoing through the cozy café they had chosen for their meetup. A free spirit with a penchant for spontaneity, she launched into vivid tales of her latest adventures, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her stories, often filled with late-night escapades and unexpected twists, left Minju both amused and slightly horrified. As Chaewon animatedly shared the latest gossip, her hands moved like a silent film starlet narrating a scandalous drama, drawing laughter and wide-eyed reactions from her old friend.

One evening, as the two friends lounged on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes and forgotten TV shows, Chaewon's latest idea struck like a bolt of lightning. "Remember that wild party we had?" she began, her voice low and mischievous. "What if we went even wilder? Like, really wild. We could go on vacation and throw a beast party!"

Minju's eyes widened, and she sat up straight, a forgotten chopstick slipping from her fingers. "Africa?" she whispered, her mind racing with the possibilities. The continent was a canvas of adventure, a place where their most daring desires could become reality.

Their conversation grew heated, a tangible excitement charging the air. They scoured the internet, eyes glossing over images of vast savannahs and exotic beasts. They weren't just looking for a party, but a once-in-a-lifetime experience that would blow the doors off their mundane lives.

Their excitement grew with each click, and before they knew it, their dreams of a wild African adventure had crystallized into a plan. They'd leave the concrete jungle behind and immerse themselves in a place where the rules were theirs to rewrite. Little did they know, this journey would be the catalyst for a tale of passion and debauchery that would make their previous escapades seem tame.

Minju and Chaewon took a much-needed break from their frenzied preparations and stepped onto the golden sands of a secluded African beach, the sun setting in a fiery blaze behind them.

The villa they'd rented was a modern marvel, nestled in the embrace of lush palm trees, its gleaming white walls and thatched roof whispering of luxurious secrets. Inside, the cool embrace of air conditioning and the scent of tropical flowers greeted them like a soothing balm. They flopped onto the plush couches in the open-plan living area, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Can you believe we're actually here?" Minju said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's like a dream come true."

Chaewon leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. "I told you we could make it happen. Now, let's get down to business. We've got a party to plan!"

But Minju's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the fiery sun melted into the sea. "But we need to take a rest first," she murmured, the fatigue of their travels finally catching up to her.

The next day, they prepared themselves for the ultimate beach day, each donning an erotic bikini that screamed of their daring spirits. Minju's was a simple yet elegant black two-piece that accentuated her curves without revealing too much, while Chaewon opted for a flamboyant red number that barely contained her ample assets. The fabric was so skimpy it was practically a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minju felt a jolt of excitement as she took in Chaewon's reflection. She'd never seen her friend look so... predatory. "You're going to turn heads," she said, her voice thick with desire.

"That's the idea," Chaewon purred, her hands smoothing over her hips. "But we need to make sure everyone's invited. Let's start with the locals. They know how to throw a party like nobody's business."

They spent the next few hours exploring the beach, their eyes peeled for any signs of life. The ocean rolled out before them, a vast, untamed sea that mirrored the wildness they sought. They approached a group of muscular young men playing beach volleyball, their dark skin gleaming with sweat. Chaewon wasted no time, sauntering over with a seductive smile. "Hey, guys," she called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "You wouldn't happen to know how to throw a party around here, would you?"

The men stopped mid-game, their gazes drawn to the two foreign beauties. The tallest one, a man named Kofi, grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "We throw the best parties on this coast," he boasted. "But we need more than just us."

Minju and Chaewon exchanged glances, their hearts racing with anticipation. "We want to invite everyone," Minju said. "Make it a week-long celebration. We've got the villa, the drinks, and the stamina. What do you say?"

Kofi's eyes lit up. "Seven days, seven nights of pure madness," he mused, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're on. But you'd better be ready for what we bring to the table."

The two friends nodded eagerly, their imaginations already running wild with the possibilities. They had eight days to make their wildest fantasies come true, and they were going to use every single moment to its fullest. They returned to the villa, adrenaline pumping through their veins as they set about transforming the serene retreat into a hedonistic playground.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of excitement and preparation. They spent hours on the beach, soaking in the sun's kiss while they discussed party themes and guest lists. They swam in the warm waters, letting the waves crash over them as they laughed and plotted. The local market became their personal treasure trove, as they bought exotic foods and decorations that would make their event the talk of the town.

"This night gonna go wild for us," Chaewon said with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling like the diamond necklace she'd bought from a street vendor. She lounged on a sunbed, sipping a cocktail that was as vibrant as the setting sun. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and she began to dance to the music playing softly from a nearby radio, her body moving in a way that was both sensual and uninhibited.

Minju watched her friend with a mix of admiration and nervousness. She knew Chaewon's power over men, and she hoped that their plan would not only be successful but also safe. They had spread the word far and wide that their villa was open to any man who sought a night of unbridled pleasure, a promise that had sent whispers through the local community like wildfire.

As night descended upon them, the air grew thick with anticipation. The scent of spicy meat sizzling on a makeshift BBQ mingled with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers, creating an intoxicating bouquet that hung heavy over the partygoers. The DJ, a local talent they had discovered in the market, had set up his decks on the beach, the bass thumping through the sand. The lights from the villa cast a warm glow over the gathering, which grew by the minute.

Minju and Chaewon didn't know how many men had responded to their invitation, but as they surveyed the growing crowd, they realized it was more than they had ever dreamed of. Each one was a potential dance partner, a conversationalist, or perhaps even something more. They felt a thrill of excitement, their hearts pounding in their chests like drums echoing the rhythm of the night.

As the party grew wilder, so did their drinking. The cocktails flowed freely, each one more potent than the last, and the two friends threw caution to the wind, letting the alcohol dissolve their inhibitions like sugar in water. Minju giggled as she sipped from a concoction that changed color with every sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body like a lover's embrace. Chaewon, ever the social butterfly, flitted from group to group, her laughter as potent as the drinks she handed out.

The music grew louder, the beats pulsating through the night like the heart of the jungle itself. The sand beneath their feet vibrated with the rhythm, and before long, the two friends found themselves at the center of the makeshift dance floor, their hips swaying to the hypnotic melody. The men watched them with hungry eyes, their gazes lingering on the way their bikinis barely contained their voluptuous forms.

Suddenly, the DJ couldn't resist the siren's call any longer. He abandoned his decks, leaving the music to play on repeat, and strutted over to Minju and Chaewon. His movements were fluid, almost feline, as he slipped between them, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. They laughed in surprise as he began to grind against them, his muscles flexing with the beat. The other partygoers cheered, creating a circle around the trio, egging them on with whistles and claps.

The air grew electric as the music's tempo increased. The men in the crowd, their eyes glazed with lust and alcohol, began to step closer, reaching out to touch the two friends. Minju felt a hand slip beneath the fabric of her bikini top, and she gasped, her body tensing. But instead of fear, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was what they had come for. Chaewon's eyes met hers, and she saw the same hunger reflected in her friend's gaze.

As if on cue, the DJ reached behind him and untied the string of his board shorts, letting them fall to the sand. He stepped back, revealing a cock that was indeed larger than any they had ever seen. It was thick, with a girth that could easily wrap a fist and a length that seemed to stretch on forever. The men in the crowd murmured in awe, their own desires swelling as they took in the sight.

The DJ's confidence grew with every beat of the music, and soon, more men began to follow his lead. They pulled down their swim trunks, exposing themselves to the warm night air. Each cock was a testament to the raw, unbridled lust that pulsed through the gathering. The sight was overwhelming, a veritable smorgasbord of male virility.

But it was the DJ's member that truly stole the show. With a diameter that could easily wrap a hand and a length that defied belief, it stood proudly before them like a monument to carnality. The crowd's murmurs grew into a dull roar, a primal chant that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath their feet.

The sight was both terrifying and thrilling, and Minju felt her pussy throb in response, wet with a need she hadn't realized she had. Chaewon's eyes widened, and she licked her lips, a wicked smile playing on her face as she took in the display before her. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride," she whispered into Minju's ear, the heat of her breath sending shivers down her spine.

Minju could only nod, her eyes still transfixed on the monstrous cock that seemed to have a life of its own, pulsing in time with the music. The DJ took a step closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the promise of pleasure and pain wrapped up in one delicious package. She knew that she'd never be able to handle something so... substantial, but the thought of trying sent a thrill of excitement through her body.

"All of us are naked now," they murmured in unison, their voices a siren's call that echoed through the night. One by one, the partygoers began to shed their clothing, revealing their own desires for the world to see. The beach became a sea of naked flesh, each body a canvas of wanton need.

Minju's eyes were drawn to one man in particular, his cock a testament to the beauty of the African night. It was as big as her forearm, thick and veiny with a girth that had to be at least three inches in diameter. "Look at that," she whispered to Chaewon, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. "It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

Chaewon followed her gaze, her pupils dilating with excitement. "Twelve inches lengths and three inches diameter, if it's an inch," she murmured, her hand absently reaching down to caress her own clit. The thought of taking such a monstrous member inside her was both terrifying and exhilarating. "I want to feel it," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music.

Minju felt a tremor of excitement run through her as the man with the colossal cock approached them, his stride confident and predatory. "You'll get it soon, baby," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate in her very core. His eyes were dark with lust as he looked her over, his cock jutting out before him like a spear.

The other men gathered around, their tongues already out, eager to taste the sweetness that was Minju and Chaewon. They began to lick them, starting at their toes and moving slowly up their legs. The sensation was strange, a mix of tickling and pleasure that made Minju's knees wobble. Chaewon moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the men took turns, their tongues dancing over every inch of their skin.

One by one, the men knelt before them, their tongues flicking out to taste the nectar that was their pussies. Minju gasped as the first man's tongue met her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt, a symphony of pleasure that had her bucking against the sand. Chaewon's eyes were squeezed shut, her body arched as she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

Their hands reached out, tentatively at first, to the men surrounding them. They touched, explored, and teased, learning the contours of each cock as if they were sacred artifacts. The men groaned in unison, their hips jerking with every stroke of the girls' soft fingers. The party had become a ritual, a tapestry of desire that wove together the wildness of the jungle with the decadence of civilization.

Minju and Chaewon's tongues danced over the velvety heads of the men's cocks, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded at their tips. They took turns, each one eager to prove their skill, to show the others what they were capable of. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady perfume that intoxicated them further.

The men groaned in unison, their eyes rolling back in their heads as the two friends worked in tandem, their mouths moving in a rhythm that was as ancient as it was erotic. Chaewon took the lead, her mouth sliding over one cock while her hand stroked another, her movements a symphony of seduction. Minju watched, her own desire spiking as she saw the effect they had on the men.

"Give us all that cock," Chaewon demanded, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. The words were a declaration of war on their inhibitions, a battle cry for their most primal instincts. The men didn't need any more encouragement. They surged forward, eager to satisfy the hunger in the girls' eyes.

Minju's breath hitched as she felt a cock nudge against her wetness, the tip teasing her swollen clit. It was the DJ, his member so thick it was like a battering ram at her gates. She spread her legs wider, welcoming the intrusion, the anticipation building to a crescendo within her. Chaewon, on the other hand, was surrounded by a group of men, each eager to claim a piece of her for themselves.

The man with the twelve-inch monstrosity didn't waste any time. He grabbed Chaewon's face and forced his cock into her mouth, his grip unyielding. Her eyes watered as she took him in, her throat stretching to accommodate his girth. He began to thrust, the sound of her gagging muffled by the cacophony of the party. Despite the fear and discomfort, she felt a twisted thrill, her body responding to the sheer power and dominance he exuded.

Meanwhile, two more men positioned themselves behind Minju, their cocks standing at attention. She felt the tip of one nudging at her pussy, the other at her ass, both so thick they seemed to be testing the limits of what she could handle. Her heart raced as she looked over at Chaewon, who met her gaze with a look that was a mix of terror and excitement. This was it, the moment of truth.

"Ready?" one of the men murmured in her ear, his breath hot and heavy with desire. Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she braced herself for what was to come. With one swift movement, they entered her, one after the other, filling her completely. She screamed out, the word "fuck" torn from her throat with the force of a tornado. It was more than she'd ever felt, a sensation that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The man with the colossal cock took his position at the back, his grip firm as he guided himself into her tight, unexplored depths. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretched to the limits of endurance, her body trembling with the sheer size of him. Chaewon, on her knees beside her, watched with wide eyes, her own mouth full of another man's cock. She could feel her friend's pain, a mirror to her own, and she reached out to grip her hand, a silent offering of solidarity in their shared debauchery.

The two men inside her began to move in unison, their rhythm a brutal dance that had her body jolting with every thrust. She could feel every vein, every pulse of their cocks as they claimed her, their girth stretching her to the point of agony. Her pussy and ass burned, but amidst the pain was a blossoming flower of pleasure, a sweet agony that had her hips rising to meet them, eager for more.

"Aghh, my pussy and ass stretch so much," Minju groaned, her voice a desperate cry that was swallowed by the roar of the party. Her words were a siren's call, drawing more men to her, eager to claim a piece of the exotic beauty before them. They watched with hungry eyes, stroking themselves as they waited for their turn, the sight of her being used so thoroughly only adding to their arousal.

Chaewon's mouth was a cavern of pleasure around the thick shaft in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with the effort of taking him in. She could feel his cock pulse with every beat of his heart, his excitement growing as he watched his friends claim Minju. The taste of him was musky, a blend of sweat and lust that she found oddly intoxicating. Despite her own discomfort, she felt a thrill run through her, a heady mix of power and submission.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body responding to the relentless pounding. She felt her orgasm building, a tsunami that she had no hope of holding back. The man with the colossal cock was a maestro, his strokes deep and sure, hitting a spot inside her that she didn't even know existed. The pressure grew, a tight coil in her belly, until she could bear it no longer.

With a scream that was lost in the din of the party, Minju squirted, the force of her release so intense it drenched the men behind her. Chaewon watched, her eyes glazed with a mix of shock and arousal as her friend's body bucked and writhed in pleasure. The sight of Minju's pussy gushing was a revelation, a display of sexual power that had the men around her stumbling over themselves to get closer.

The man with the massive cock took this as his cue to let go, and with a triumphant roar, he began to pump his seed into Minju's welcoming depths. The sensation of being filled so completely was almost too much for her, and she collapsed onto the sand, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Chaewon felt a wetness spread between her own thighs, the sight of Minju's pleasure triggering a climax of her own. She squirted, her pussy spraying the man who had been fucking her face, her juices mingling with the spit and cum that already coated her features.

As the first round of passion waned, the men withdrew, their cocks slick with the girls' cum and their own. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady mix that seemed to intoxicate everyone present. The men looked down at Minju and Chaewon with a mix of awe and lust, their seed spurting from their pussy and ass, painting the sand with a sticky, white trail. The girls lay there, panting and spent, their bodies limp as ragdolls.

"Our dreams come true, Chaewon," Minju murmured, her voice shaky with the aftermath of her climax.

"I think my pussy keep spasming," Chaewon gasped, her breathing still ragged as she leaned against Minju, their bodies sticky with a mix of sweat and cum. The feeling of the cool sand against her back was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had just consumed her.

"Mine too," Minju agreed, her voice a hoarse whisper. The man who had just filled her to the brim with his seed looked down at her with a smug smile, his eyes lingering on the gaping O her pussy had become. His friends crowded around, their own cocks still erect and glistening with pre-cum, eager to take their turns.

One by one, they stepped up, each taking a moment to admire the sight before them. They were like animals in heat, each more primal than the last, as they claimed Minju's body with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt their weight upon her, their cocks sliding into her, stretching her until she thought she would split in two.

The men took turns, their grunts and groans mixing with Minju's cries of pleasure. Each round was a new adventure, a new level of depravity that she had never before experienced. She felt her body respond to their every touch, her pussy contracting around their cocks as if it had been made just for this. Chaewon, not to be outdone, was busy taking on two men at once, her mouth and pussy a never-ending source of pleasure for them.

Their juices flowed freely, mingling with the sweat that coated their bodies. The sight of Minju's pussy, stretched and dripping, was too much for the men to resist. They took turns, each one more eager than the last to feel her squirt around them, to be the one to make her body convulse with pleasure. Her moans grew louder with each round, her voice hoarse from the sheer volume of her passion.

The partygoers watched, their own desires stoked by the sight of Minju and Chaewon being taken so thoroughly. The beach had become a carnival of lust, a place where inhibitions were left at the door and every desire was allowed to roam free. The music continued to play, the bass pounding in time with the rhythm of their hips, as if the very earth was in sync with their carnality.

As the night wore on, the men grew more aggressive, their strokes more frenzied. They were like a pack of wild animals, each fighting for dominance, each eager to leave their mark. Minju felt herself become a part of the landscape, her body a battleground for their desires. Yet, through it all, she never once felt less than the queen of the night.

The men took her to the edge and beyond, pushing her to heights she had never dared dream of. Her squirts grew stronger with each round, her body a fountain of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Chaewon, too, was lost in her own world, her eyes glazed with lust as she took on more and more men.

Ten rounds, then eleven, and still they came. Each man took his turn, each one more vigorous than the last. The beach was a blur of limbs and flesh, a tapestry of desire and debauchery that stretched as far as the eye could see. And through it all, Minju and Chaewon remained the center, their bodies a canvas for the men's pleasure.

Their cries grew louder, their bodies weaker, until finally, with a collective roar, the men released their seed. It spurted into Minju, filling her to the brim until she could take no more. She collapsed, her body trembling with the force of her climax, her pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaewon followed suit, her legs giving out as she was drenched in cum.

As the twelfth round came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause. The men, their cocks now sated, stepped back, their chests heaving with exertion. They had given the girls the experience they had craved, and in return, Minju and Chaewon had given them a night they would never forget.

The two friends lay there, panting and exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. They looked at each other, the reality of what they had just done setting in. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a moment that had surpassed any party they had ever thrown in Seoul.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking as she felt another round of pleasure build up inside her. She didn't think it was possible, but her pussy was still pulsing, begging for more. Chaewon, equally spent, leaned into her, their bodies sticking together with the remnants of the men's passion.

Their breathing grew shallow, their hearts racing like wild horses as the men continued to worship them. Each new cock brought with it a fresh wave of sensation, a symphony of pain and pleasure that seemed to never end. It was as if their bodies had been taken over by some primal instinct, a hunger that could never be fully satiated.

With each new round, Minju felt herself slipping further into the abyss, her mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The men's grunts and groans grew fainter, the world around them a blur of color and sound. The only thing that remained clear was the feeling of their cocks inside her, a never-ending dance of dominance and submission.

As the night grew darker and the stars twinkled above them, the men grew bolder. They pushed and pulled at her, their hands roaming over every inch of her flesh as if they could never get enough. Her pussy clenched around them, her ass spasming with each thrust, a silent scream of pleasure that echoed through the night.

The girls' moans grew weaker, their bodies no longer able to keep up with the relentless onslaught. Yet even as they reached their breaking points, the men didn't relent. They had become beasts, driven by a lust that seemed to have no end. Minju felt her vision swim, the world going dark at the edges.

Suddenly, with a gasp, she felt it. Her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, her body arching off the sand as she squirted once more, the force of it so intense that it sent shockwaves through the very air. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head, her own body responding to the symphony of pleasure.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The men stepped back, their cocks still erect but their eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and awe. They had taken the two friends to the very brink of their limits and back again.

Their bodies lay still, their breathing ragged and uneven, as the reality of what they had just done set in. They had given themselves over to the night, to the wildness of Africa, and had come out the other side forever changed.

"I think we should stop, it's been fifteen rounds," one of the men spoke up, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder that even the most hedonistic of nights must come to an end.

Minju's body continued to quiver, her pussy and ass clenching around the two cocks still buried inside her. Her squirts had turned into a constant flow, a river of pleasure that seemed to have no end. She could feel her muscles protesting, begging for respite, but the desire was too strong, too all-consuming to ignore.

Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climaxes. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, her eyes glazed over as she too succumbed to the relentless pounding. The men had become a blur of skin and muscle, a never-ending stream of cocks that filled her to the brim.

Finally, with a collective groan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth, the men withdrew. The last of them pulled out of Chaewon's pussy, leaving it gaping and swollen, a testament to the night's excesses. Minju felt a pang of jealousy as she watched the cum dribble out of her friend's tight hole, her own desires flaring up once again.

The beach was silent except for the sound of the waves and the heavy breathing of the exhausted partygoers. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a reminder of the carnival of lust that had unfolded before their very eyes. Minju's body was a map of bruises and bites, a roadmap of pleasure that she would wear proudly for days to come.

Her eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus slowly. Chaewon lay next to her, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her face a mask of exhaustion. The men had moved away, leaving them alone in their post-coital bliss. Minju pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting the movement but her spirit unbroken.

Her eyes traveled down to her pussy, still glistening with cum, and she watched in amazement as it spasmed, releasing another stream of fluid into the night air. It was as if her body hadn't gotten the memo that the party was over, the orgasms still coming in waves even when she thought she had nothing left to give. Chaewon's body seemed to echo her own, her pussy clenching and releasing in a silent symphony of pleasure.

"Done for tonight guys, they got faint," one of the men announced, his voice a mix of concern and satisfaction. The crowd of men around them nodded in agreement, their cocks still hard but their eyes filled with a newfound respect for the two friends who had taken them on a journey they would never forget.

Minju and Chaewon were hoisted up by the strong arms of the beach volleyball players and carried back to the villa, their legs limp and their bodies covered in the sticky residue of the night's festivities. The moon cast a soft glow over the path, lighting their way as they stumbled through the door, their hearts racing from both the exertion and the excitement of the evening.

The girls were brought to a grand floor-to-ceiling bathroom, the white marble gleaming in the dim light. They were laid down gently on the cold, hard surface, their bodies shivering from the sudden change in temperature. The men looked down at them with a mix of lust and affection, their own cocks still standing tall despite the hours of use.

Without a word, one of the men stepped forward and positioned himself between Minju's legs, his cock still slick with her juices. He began to piss, the warm stream hitting her swollen clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Chaewon watched, her own desire flaring up again as she felt the warmth of another man's urine cascade over her. It was a strange, almost tender act, a communion of bodies that transcended the mere physical.

The men took turns, their golden rivers mingling with the cum and sweat that coated the girls. The scent was pungent, a potent mix of sex and bodily fluids that seemed to fill the room. Minju's body reacted involuntarily, her pussy clenching around the warmth, her squirts joining the stream to create a small pool on the marble. Chaewon moaned, her own pussy spasming as the urine hit her sensitive flesh.

The sensation was oddly soothing, a balm to their abused bodies. They lay there, letting the piss wash over them, cleansing them of the night's excesses. It was as if the very essence of the men was being transferred into them, marking them as their own.

When the last man had emptied himself, they stepped back, their eyes never leaving the girls' prone forms. The music from the party outside grew faint, the night air a gentle caress against their skin. The moment hung in the air, a tableau of desire and submission that neither Minju nor Chaewon would ever forget.

With a nod to each other, the beach volleyball players turned on the jet shower, the powerful stream of water hitting the marble floor with a sharp hiss. The spray arced over the girls' bodies, the water a warm embrace that began to wash away the evidence of their night of unbridled passion. The men stepped aside, leaving them to the mercy of the water, their eyes lingering on the two friends as they retreated from the bathroom.

Minju felt the water hit her face, her eyes still squeezed shut from the intensity of her experiences. She let out a soft moan as the warmth began to soothe her, the pressure of the jets massaging her sore muscles. Her pussy, though still pulsing with need, seemed to have finally found a moment of reprieve. Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

The men had been surprisingly gentle in their aftercare, their rough hands tender as they had helped clean the sticky residue from their bodies. They had worked as a team, wiping away the evidence of their passion with a thoroughness that was almost clinical.

As the last of them left the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click, Minju and Chaewon were left alone. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the showerhead, a gentle reminder of the river of fluids that had flowed between them.

Minju's body was a canvas of ecstasy, her pussy and ass gaping open like a pair of surprised O's, a silent testament to the men's unyielding dominance. Chaewon's legs were sprawled out, her own pussy and ass still pulsing with the aftershocks of their shared experience. They lay there, unmoving, their bodies a testament to the unbridled passion they had just endured.

"Wow, their pussies are still gaping," one of the men said to the others, his voice filled with amazement. The rest of the group chuckled, their laughter a mix of disbelief and admiration. They had never seen anything quite so depraved, and yet, there was something undeniably alluring about the two women's vulnerability.

The night had been a blur of pleasure and pain, a symphony of flesh that had left them all reeling. But as the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the reality of what they had done set in. They had pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable, and the aftermath was both exhilarating and terrifying.

 

Minju and Chaewon lay there, their bodies a tapestry of bruises and bites, their pussies and assholes gaping open like open flowers, begging for more. The cool water from the shower had brought a slight respite, but it was the gentle touch of each other's hands that truly helped to soothe their spirits. They climbed to their feet, their legs wobbly as newborn foals, and stumbled into the massive bathtub that was part of the villa's luxurious bathroom.

The shock of the sperm continuing to ooze out of them was something they had not anticipated. It was as if their bodies were a sponge, soaked in cum and now slowly releasing it back into the world. They giggled to themselves as they slid into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the last remnants of the men's seed slide out of them with a soft plop. The tub filled with a murky white mixture, a silent testament to the marathon of fucking they had just endured.

"Did we go too wild last night?" Chaewon whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Minju chuckled, her body still buzzing from the endless stream of pleasure. "Maybe," she said, her voice equally raspy. "But look at us now. Our pussies are still giving us a standing ovation."

They slid into the tub, the warm water enveloping them like a comforting embrace. It washed over their sore muscles, the jets massaging away the tension of the night. The sperm and piss swirled around their bodies, a bizarre mix that seemed to symbolize the unity they had shared with the men.

As the water grew murkier, Minju reached for the soap, her hand shaking slightly. She began to lather herself up, her movements methodical and precise. Chaewon watched her, a strange sense of awe filling her chest. Despite the pain, she felt a sense of pride at what they had achieved.

They had pushed themselves beyond their limits and come out the other side, forever changed. The soap slid over Minju's bruised skin, bubbles popping as they touched the myriad of bites and scratches that adorned her body. Chaewon followed suit, the foam clinging to her curves as she washed away the remnants of their wild night.

When they could no longer ignore the call of their weary bodies, they stepped out of the tub, the water draining away and revealing their exhausted forms. The plush bathrobes that had been left for them were like a warm embrace, the soft fabric caressing their sensitive skin as they wrapped themselves up in them. Their feet padded softly against the cool marble, leaving wet footprints as they made their way back to the bedroom, the warmth of the robes a stark contrast to the chill of the floor.

The bed was a heavenly sight, the crisp white sheets beckoning to them like a cloud. They collapsed onto it, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Despite the pain and the stickiness that lingered, they felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a bond that went beyond friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared experience. They lay there for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts slowly returning to a more normal rhythm.

Then, the knock came.

It was a firm, insistent knock, echoing through the quiet villa, a stark contrast to the symphony of pleasure that had filled it just hours before. Minju's eyes snapped open, her heart racing. Chaewon stirred beside her, a sleepy groan escaping her lips as she too was jolted from the haze of their afterglow. They stared at each other in shock, the reality of their situation crashing down upon them like a tidal wave.

Minju's hand trembled as she reached for the knob. As she pulled the door open, she was met with a sight that was both erotic and intimidating: a sea of naked, aroused men, their eyes hungry with desire.

"We heard it was a week-long party," Kofi, the DJ from the beach, said with a wink. "We didn't want to miss our turn."

Minju and Chaewon shared a look that was half fear, half excitement. They had never intended for things to go this far, but there was something in the air that night, a primal energy that had taken control of everyone involved. With a collective sigh, they allowed their bathrobes to be taken off, their bruised and swollen bodies once again on full display.

The men's eyes were like those of hunters who had just spotted their prey, filled with a mix of awe and greed. They had seen these two women in their most vulnerable state and were eager to claim them once more. The air grew thick with lust as the robes fell away, revealing the two friends' still-dripping pussies and the marks of the previous night's passion.

Minju felt a rush of excitement and fear mingle in her chest. Her body was still raw from the previous night's festivities, but the sight of the men's hard cocks made her stomach flutter. Chaewon, ever the wild one, gave a low, guttural growl, her body visibly responding to the challenge laid before them.

With a grace that seemed almost predatory, the men stepped forward, their bathrobes sliding off their muscular frames to reveal their arousal. The room was filled with the sound of fabric hitting the floor, the gentle thuds echoing in the quiet. Their cocks stood tall and proud, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

The first man approached Minju, his cock thick and veiny, the head glistening with pre-cum. Without a word, he pushed her onto her back, her legs falling open as if on instinct. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one swift movement, he plunged into her, filling her up without a moment's hesitation.

"Fuckk, still sore," Chaewon screamed, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain as she was claimed by another man. Her body arched off the bed, her toes curling in ecstasy as he slammed into her, his cock stretching her beyond what she thought possible.

Minju felt a similar wave of sensation as she was taken by Kofi once more, his rhythm relentless and demanding. Despite her exhaustion, she found herself meeting his every thrust, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. Her body had become an instrument of pleasure, a vessel for the men's desires.

The days turned into a blur of sexual excess, each night more intense than the last. The local men took turns with them, their appetites seemingly insatiable. They had become the main attraction of the week-long party, the center of a sexual circus that never stopped. The girls' bodies bore the marks of their encounters, a tapestry of bruises and bites that grew more intricate with each passing hour.

And yet, through it all, there was a strange sense of camaraderie that had developed between them. They had become a team, each one pushing the other to new heights of pleasure, each one eager to explore the depths of their sexuality. They had discovered something within themselves, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the week progressed, the men grew more daring in their requests, eager to claim every inch of the two friends. They had become a part of the fabric of the party, a symbol of the unbridled lust that had overtaken the beach villa. The other guests watched with a mix of envy and admiration, their own sexual escapades seemingly tame in comparison to the marathon sessions that Minju and Chaewon endured each night.

The two women had grown to crave the attention, the pain a strange comfort in the sea of pleasure. They had become addicted to the feeling of being used, of being the object of so much desire. And with each new cock that filled them, they grew more confident, more in tune with their own desires.

The days passed in a haze of orgasms and exhaustion, the two friends rarely leaving the bed except to eat or use the bathroom. Their bodies were pushed to the brink, their pussies and assholes gaping and swollen from the constant attention. Yet, they never said no.

On the final night, as the party reached its peak, the men gathered around the bed, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. They had saved their best for last, a night that would be talked about for years to come. The girls lay there, their bodies trembling with anticipation, their hearts racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

The last man stepped forward, his cock the largest they had ever seen. Chaewon looked at him with a mix of trepidation and desire, her eyes wide with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Without a word, he positioned himself at her tight, stretched asshole, her pussy already filled to the brim by another man. With one hand, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat.

With the other, he pushed into her, the head of his cock stretching her open. She screamed, her body bucking against the intrusion, but he didn't relent. Inch by inch, he filled her, his cock claiming her in a way that was both brutal and beautiful.

Minju watched, her own pussy being pounded by a different man, her body a trembling mass of nerves and pleasure. She felt a strange sense of pride as she watched her friend take the final challenge, her body stretched to its limits.

And as the night grew darker and the music grew louder, the two friends reached new heights of ecstasy, their screams mingling with the crash of the waves outside. They had become legends, the center of a sexual odyssey that had changed them forever.

As the last man pulled out, their bodies lay there, spent and used, their eyes glazed over with a look that was half-defeated, half-triumphant. They had done the unthinkable, and in doing so, had discovered something new about themselves. They had become more than just Minju and Chaewon, the roommates and idol from Seoul. They had become the embodiment of desire itself, a living, breathing testament to the power of sexual freedom.

The partygoers erupted into applause once more, their cheers a cacophony that filled the night air. The two friends looked at each other, their bodies slick with cum and sweat, their spirits unbroken despite the relentless onslaught of the past week. They had become the embodiment of sexual endurance, a spectacle that drew both admiration and envy from the crowd.

The men took turns, each one more eager than the last to claim his piece of the two exhausted women. They approached with a hunger that was almost feral, their cocks hard and insistent. The rhythm of their fucking never changed, a steady beat that had become a part of Minju and Chaewon's existence. The pain was a familiar friend now, a constant companion that they welcomed with each new thrust.

Each man took his time, savoring the feel of their tight, abused pussies, pushing deeper and harder as if trying to conquer some unspoken challenge. Minju felt a strange mix of pride and fear as she took each one, her body adapting to the relentless pace, her mind a haze of sensation. Chaewon lay beside her, her body a mirror image of her own, a symphony of pleasure and pain that seemed to have no end.

The night grew wilder, the air thick with lust and the scent of sex. The men grew more aggressive, their movements more primal as they claimed the two friends in every conceivable way. They were no longer individuals; they were a single entity of desire, a living, breathing representation of the human capacity for pleasure.

And through it all, Minju and Chaewon held on, their bodies stretched to the limit, their minds soaring on the wings of ecstasy. They had become one with the night, with the beach, with the very essence of the party. The line between reality and fantasy had blurred, leaving them in a state of perpetual arousal that seemed to have no end.

The final round approached, the air in the villa electric with anticipation. The men had saved their most extreme desires for last, a crescendo of depravity that would leave the girls forever changed. They had pushed them to their limits, and yet they still hungered for more.

The local DJ, Kofi, took the lead, his eyes burning with a hunger that was almost frightening. He pulled Minju onto all fours, her ass in the air, a silent invitation to the men who waited eagerly. One by one, they took her, filling her pussy and ass with their seed, the sounds of their pleasure a symphony of grunts and groans that seemed to shake the very walls.

Chaewon watched, her own body being used by the others, her eyes never leaving her friend's. There was a connection there, a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond any experience they had ever shared. They were in this together, two souls forever linked by the wildness of the night.

The final man stepped up, his cock the largest of all. With a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he plunged into Minju's gaping asshole, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. She took it all, her body shaking with each powerful stroke, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's.

The tension in the room grew palpable, the men holding their breath as they watched the two friends reach the peak of their endurance. Chaewon's own climax grew closer, her pussy clenching around the cock that filled her. The room was a blur of skin and sweat, a maelstrom of passion that seemed to have no end.

And as the final man reached his climax, filling Minju with his hot cum, the two friends shared a look that was part triumph, part terror. They had survived the week, their bodies a testament to the power of sexual desire. They had become more than mere mortals, they had become goddesses of lust, worshipped by the men who had sought to conquer them.

As the last of the men withdrew, the two friends collapsed onto the bed, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. They lay there, their breathing shallow and uneven, the room silent but for the sound of the waves outside. The party had reached its climax, and as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over their bruised and spent forms, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

The second night of the week-long party had been just as intense as the first. The local men had once again claimed them, their hunger for the two friends seemingly insatiable. As dawn approached, they had been led into the bathroom, their legs shaking with fatigue. The men had taken turns pissing on them, their warm streams washing over their bodies in a strange ritual that had become a nightly occurrence.

But this time, something was different. The men didn't wait for the shower to be turned on, they didn't watch the water cascade over the girls' bodies, washing away the evidence of their lust. Instead, they simply left, their eyes filled with a mix of respect and awe. The urine grew cold on Minju and Chaewon's skin, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that had been established.

Their bodies continued to spasm, their pussies pulsing with each aftershock of pleasure. They had pushed themselves to the brink and come out the other side, their bodies no longer under their control. The men had used them, claimed them in the most primal of ways, and now they were left to bask in the aftermath.

The silence was deafening as they lay there, their breathing the only sound in the cavernous bathroom. The marble was sticky beneath them, the floor a testament to the night's events. They were alone, their hearts racing from the sheer intensity of their experiences. And yet, there was something exhilarating about it all, a sense of freedom that neither had ever felt before.

Their bodies grew still, the tremors of pleasure subsiding as the last of the men's cum oozed out of them. The bruises and bite marks stood out starkly against their skin, a roadmap of their week of excess. But amidst the pain, there was a sense of accomplishment, a knowing that they had tapped into something deep within themselves.

As the last of the men disappeared from view, Minju reached for Chaewon's hand, their fingers entwined in a silent promise. They had been through hell and back together, and their friendship had emerged stronger than ever. They had become warriors of desire, untouchable and unbreakable.

They lay on the cold marble floor, the stickiness of the cum beneath them a constant reminder of the night's events. Despite the discomfort, exhaustion claimed them, their bodies succumbing to the much-needed reprieve of sleep. Chaewon's breath grew deep and even as she drifted off first, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when they were jolted awake by the acrid scent of urine and the sticky warmth of cum seeping from their overused pussies and assholes. Their eyes snapped open, the harsh reality of the new day assaulting their senses. Minju groaned as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting every movement. Chaewon's hand found hers, a silent offering of comfort as they took in the aftermath of their sexual marathon.

"I think... I regret it," Chaewon 

murmured, her voice thick with sleep and pain. The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wild cries of pleasure that had filled the villa just hours earlier. Chaewon stirred beside her, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze.

Minju looked down at her own pussy, still sticky and bruised from the relentless pounding. A small trickle of cum slipped out, a silent answer to Chaewon's question. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It still feels... full."

They managed to get to their feet, their legs wobbly and unsteady. The floor felt like it was moving beneath them, a gentle reminder of the waves that had crashed against their bodies the night before. Chaewon reached for the shower handle, her hand trembling with the effort. The water came on with a rush, the steam billowing out to fill the room.

"Come on," she said, her voice still thick with the night's pleasures. "Let's clean up."

They stumbled into the shower, the hot water washing over their bruised bodies like a balm. They stood under the stream, letting the warmth soothe their sore muscles and wash away the stickiness of the night. Minju looked at Chaewon, the question in her eyes. "Did your pussy keep squirting a little bit until now?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Chaewon nodded, her eyes closed as the water cascaded over her face. "Mine too," she murmured. "It's like it's not finished with us yet."

They stepped out of the shower, the steam clinging to their skin like a lover's embrace. They wrapped themselves in plush towels, the softness a stark contrast to the rough treatment their bodies had endured. The bedroom beckoned, the bed a sanctuary from the world outside.

And, as if by some unspoken agreement, the villa remained pristine, the evidence of their depraved night erased as if by magic. The sheets were fresh, the floor clean, the air faintly scented with the sweet smell of tropical blooms. It was as if the very walls had absorbed their cries of ecstasy, the room a silent witness to their sexual odyssey.

Minju couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude as she looked around the space, her body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. "We are lucky," she said to Chaewon, her voice filled with wonder. "The guys always clean up the room for us."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes distant. "It's like we're in some kind of twisted fairy tale," she murmured, her fingers tracing the fresh bruises that adorned her breasts. "But instead of a dragon, we have an endless supply of cock."

They climbed into bed, their exhausted bodies sinking into the plush mattress with a sigh of relief. The clean, crisp sheets enveloped them in a cool embrace, a stark contrast to the sticky mess they had left behind. They lay there, side by side, their hearts beating in sync with the gentle pulse of the ocean outside.

Minju closed her eyes, her mind racing with images of the men's faces, the feel of their cocks inside her, the sound of their moans. Despite the pain, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a feeling of having conquered something profound. Chaewon's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they lay in silence.

The third night of the week-long party had started innocently enough, with the two friends sipping cocktails by the pool as the sun set over the horizon. The local men had been more attentive than ever, their eyes never leaving the girls' bodies as they flitted from guest to guest, ensuring everyone's needs were met. But as darkness fell and the party grew more raucous, the air thick with desire, something within Minju had shifted.

As she lay on the plush bed, her body still sticky from the shower, she felt the mattress dip as the first man of the evening joined them. She didn't even bother to open her eyes, the anticipation of his touch already making her pussy clench with need. But when she felt his cock pushing against her, she was taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Without a word, without a single gesture of consent, she was filled once again, his thickness stretching her already tender pussy. Chaewon stirred beside her, a soft moan escaping her lips as she too was claimed by another eager participant. They had become so accustomed to the constant intrusion that it almost felt natural now, a part of their daily routine.

"When did you come in?" Minju managed to ask, her voice a hoarse whisper as she felt the weight of the man's body on top of her. "Is it already night?"

Chaewon moaned with a little voice, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of the man's rough entry. "I don't know," she murmured, her hips already beginning to rock back to meet his thrusts. "Does it matter?"

The man chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not at all," he said, his voice a dark rumble. "You're both so beautiful, so open." He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "So eager."

Minju felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as she heard the click of cameras, the flashes of light piercing the darkness. She knew they were being watched, their every move recorded for posterity. It was a thrill that she had never experienced before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability. She looked at Chaewon, whose eyes were open now, the same mix of emotions swirling in their depths.

The men took turns, each one eager to leave his mark on their bodies, to claim a piece of the two friends for himself. The cameras rolled, capturing every gasp, every moan, every drop of cum that spurted from their abused holes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, a symphony of desire that seemed to have no end.

The night was a blur of cocks, of hands and tongues and teeth, of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. They were drilled in every possible way, their pussies and assholes stretched beyond what they had ever thought possible. The men took turns, their faces a mix of lust and concentration as they sought to outdo one another in their pursuit of pleasure.

And as the gallon of cum filled them, their bodies quivering with each new round, Minju felt something within her shift. It was no longer about the party, the fashion line, or even the money. It was about this, the raw, primal connection between flesh and desire. She had become a conduit for their pleasure, and in doing so, she had discovered something about herself that she never knew existed.

The local men had noticed their lack of vocal response and took it as a challenge. "The video is bad when you two don't moan and speak," one of them said, his voice low and demanding. The words sent a jolt through Minju's body, and she understood what he wanted. The cameras were rolling, the audience eager to hear the sweet sounds of their pleasure.

Chaewon, ever the performer, took the lead, her moans growing louder, more exaggerated with each thrust. Minju followed suit, her voice joining the chorus of passionate cries that filled the room. They spoke to the men, whispered sweet nothings and dirty words that made them growl and pump harder. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of their surrender to the night.

Their lovers grew more aggressive, their strokes more punishing as they sought to elicit the reactions they desired. Minju felt a strange sense of power as she watched the men respond to their cues, their eyes glazed with need as they pushed themselves closer to the edge. She had become a maestro, conducting the symphony of their desires with her voice and her body.

The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The men took turns filming and fucking, their phones capturing every moment of the two friends' degradation. And amidst it all, Minju couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. They were the stars of this show, the center of a universe that revolved around their pleasure.

"Again, squirt for us," one of the men ordered, his voice gruff with desire. Chaewon's eyes snapped open, a look of determination crossing her features. She knew what they wanted, knew the power that lay in her ability to perform. With a deep breath, she pushed back against her partner, her pussy contracting around his cock as she forced herself to orgasm once more.

The room erupted in cheers as she squirted, the evidence of her pleasure arcing through the air like a fountain. The man filming her let out a groan, his hand shaking with the effort of capturing the perfect shot. Minju felt a thrill run through her at the sight, her own pussy clenching with envy. She had never felt so alive, so in control.

The third night had started with a ferocity that had taken even Minju by surprise. The local men had wasted no time, their cocks already hard and demanding as they claimed the two friends the moment they had settled into the bed. There was no gentle warm-up, no tender kisses or sweet whispers. It was raw, animalistic, and it was exactly what they needed.

Minju's mouth remained open, a silent scream of pleasure escaping her lips as cock after cock filled her to the brim. Each time she came, the cum of the man before spilled out of her mouth, mixing with her own saliva as she gagged and swallowed. Chaewon, equally lost in the haze of pleasure, had her face buried in the pillow, her cries muffled by the fabric.

The party had become a marathon of lust, and the two friends had become its champions. As the night stretched on, their bodies had become a canvas for the local men's desires, painted with sweat and cum. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent cocktail that intoxicated them further. They had transcended the limits of pleasure, each new sensation a revelation of their own carnality.

It was almost 3 AM, and yet the party showed no signs of winding down. The local men, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. They took turns with Minju and Chaewon, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. The girls had become more than just participants; they were the embodiment of desire itself.

As the night grew later, the rhythm of the music grew more primal, the bass thumping through the floorboards like the pulse of a giant beast. The air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aphrodisiac that only served to drive the men to greater heights of passion. And yet, amidst the chaos, Minju and Chaewon remained the calm center, their bodies accepting each new partner with an almost mechanical grace.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, the men grew satiated. They had taken everything the girls had to offer and then some, leaving them trembling and spent. With a final round of applause, they helped the exhausted duo to their feet, leading them unsteadily back to the bathroom. The cold marble floor was a stark contrast to the heat of the bed, sending a shiver up Minju's spine as she stepped onto it.

Chaewon's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The men chuckled, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they stepped over her, heading back to the party. Minju leaned against the vanity, her hand shaking as she reached for the shower handle. The water was cold, almost painfully so, but it was exactly what she needed.

The spray hit her body, the chill making her gasp as it washed away the sticky mess of the night. She looked down, her pussy still gaping, the muscles inside spasming with each aftershock. The sight of her own body, so used and abused, only served to heighten her arousal. Chaewon joined her under the spray, her eyes meeting Minju's in the steamy mirror.

They were a mess, cum dripping from their mouths and down their chins, their breasts red and bruised from the rough handling. Yet there was something undeniably erotic about it all, something that made Minju's heart race even as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Chaewon leaned against her, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climax. "We can't keep this up,".

Minju nodded, her eyes glazed over with the intensity of the night's events. "We need to rest," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the pounding of the water.

Their legs finally gave out, and they collapsed to the floor, the cool tiles a welcome reprieve from the sticky mess that had been their bed. The water rained down on them, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered in their loins. They leaned against each other, their bodies trembling with the effort of standing.

The men had retreated, their laughter echoing through the villa. "After they faint, they can still keep squirting and shaking" one of them said, his words carrying a mix of amazement and contempt. "Such sluts, the two of you."

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Winter (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Mature language. Grief. Toddlers. Unreliable narrators. Miscommunication.

A/N: I was so excited about this chapter! These scenes are the ones I wrote first. Also, the biggest hug to anyone who is reading this. I had not expected the amount of love my first chapter got, and I am so grateful!

THERE WAS AN old northern superstition —more like an old wives’ tale, really— that said if there was snow on the wedding day, the marriage was doomed to be a cold one.

It hadn’t been snowing the day Cregan had married you, but his marriage was proving to be icier than the lands beyond the wall. You weren’t interested in spending time with him at all, and you actively tried to avoid him. He had tried to convince you to share rooms, trying to foster some intimacy, to no avail.

Cregan had hoped that if not a loving wife, he would get a caring mother to Rickon. The boy was too small to grow without one, not yet having reached his third nameday. But you hadn’t shown interest in that either. Instead, you pretended the two of them didn’t exist.

He would like to say that the days went on the same way they did before he wed you, but it would be a lie. Winterfell ran much better now there was a lady present. Cregan had been wrong about you. It seemed like you could run a keep, and you did so with ruthless efficiency.

The castle had never been warmer, the meals so well planned. Even the servants seemed happy, now that they didn’t have to follow Cregan’s too broad instructions. It seemed that asking them to clean and cook was a little too vague for their tastes.

As for you, grief still followed you around, like a too long shadow that refused to budge even in the face of Winterfell’s brightest light. Sara had befriended you, with little success. While you had been far more welcoming to her, you still looked constantly tired and sad.

The lack of sunlight had made you lose your southron tan, leaving you with a look of quiet frailty that made Cregan want to wrap you in a thousand blankets and keep you safe. He just was unsure of the execution.

You scared him. He was man enough to admit it. People were often afraid of things they didn’t understand, and Cregan was no exception. You were made of absolute ice. There was no better description. Cold, but as fragile as glass.

He was running out of ideas on how to bond with you. Invitations to tea were denied, nor did you want to ride with him to see his tenants. You seemed at ease enough around Sara, and some other northern ladies, so social interaction wasn’t what you disliked. It was him.

Never had Winterfell’s corridors been filled with so many women. The northern lords already called you Queen Alysanne’s second coming, with your all female court. The only thing missing was your husband. You didn’t have Cregan’s ear, simply because you didn’t wish to. He would support your endeavors if you asked him to. He had offered his help with your attempts to establish a charity, since the North didn’t have Septas to take care of it, but you had proudly rebuffed him.

There was no pleasing you. He was at his wits’ end. Hence, the awful choice he had made that day.

To try to force you to be in his company.

“Why are you ordering my servants around?” You complain, barging into his chambers. While usually the kitchens were the domain of the Lady of the household, Cregan didn’t know you took it so seriously. “Do you not think me capable enough?”

“I do!” Cregan sits up in his bed, bewildered. He had given the orders around lunchtime, hoping you would not find out, yet here you were, less than half a day later. Far more soon than he had expected. “I just want to throw a feast to honor you.”

“You intend to honor me by giving me more work?” You place your hands on your hips, highlighting your figure, and Cregan is but a man. He cannot help himself, his eyes lingering for a second too long, and his brain coming with no response to your statement.

You seem to take his silence for affirmation.

“Seriously? Do you at least have a guest list?”

And your tone is so haughty, your words betraying you believe Cregan to be an absolute imbecile, he cannot help but give a heated retort.

“Of course I have. Truly, I am more than capable of organizing it on my own. Arra let me do it a few times, and I was unmarried for quite a while. I am experienced enough to…”

It is the wrong thing to say. You bare your fangs then, and Cregan has a moment of absolute and utter clarity. You are not a seahorse. Such a puny creature could never hope to deliver the utter destruction that you cause with your next words.

“Yes, and your precious Arra is dead! She is gone! Why can’t you understand it?” You turn on your heel, face absolutely thunderous, and go to rush out of his chambers.

Cregan loses his head fully, then. He grabs you by the arm, hard enough to hurt, and forces you to face him. For a frightening moment, he fears himself. Fears the wolf, the one screaming for him to strike you and remind you of your place.

How dare you come in his chambers, uninvited, after rejecting all his offers of companionship, to lecture him on grief? As if he could forget Arra was dead. It wasn’t so long ago that Rickon cried for his mother still, unable to understand why he didn’t have one. It wasn’t so long ago that Sara had to take over the role of Lady of the House, and suffered mockery from it. And it wasn’t so long ago, Cregan woke with a scream choked in his throat, reliving that awful morning in every dream he had.

He still did, sometimes. Less, now that he had more urgent matters to occupy himself with. Cregan was ashamed to admit it, but before Jacaerys and your arrival here, Winterfell had been far too empty to keep the ghosts away.

Now, with the war, and the flurry of activities that seemed to follow you, Cregan had little time to dwell much in his dark thoughts. Throwing himself into his work had allowed him to begin healing a wound he wasn’t even aware existed.

And wasn’t that a terrible thought? That Cregan was a man who thrived on war and hunger? Winter was coming, after all. It wouldn’t catch him unprepared.

He had sworn a vow to protect you. As long as Jacaerys had no children, you were third in line to the Iron Throne. To think of hurting you was not only to think of staining his honor, but to think of treason.

Cregan holds you there for a second longer, curious about your reaction. His grip must be bruising on your arm, he can feel the delicate bones under your flesh shift with how hard he is holding you. Yet, you show no fear. Your hands are balled into fists.

Were he to strike, you would strike back. Your face is the very picture of anger, your body coiled and ready to tear him apart.

He throws the feast. You sit next to him in icy silence and somehow manage to speak and dance with all the guests but him.

Cregan does no longer dream of trying to hunt a seahorse. Instead, he sees the world at a much lower angle than usual, and runs for his life. Somehow, in the dream, he knows a dragon is hunting him.

OF COURSE IT is today. The only day you actually wish your Lord Husband to be in the castle, and he is not.

You had spent many of your days fervently praying for him to leave on an errand, and yet, the day he does, you cannot even enjoy it.

Because the boy has gotten sick. And look, you have visited the nursery before, it is a part of your duties. You also cannot deny that you had been curious about the tiny version of your husband that will inherit everything.

The boy is cute, you suppose. In the manner all babes are. He is well-behaved, and quiet, and takes well to his teachings, even if they involve only naming things aloud.

Had you not hardened your heart to it already, you would want one of your own. You know, though, that their only inheritance will be tears and petty squabbles over land, so it’s best they are not born at all. It had been so between your husband’s father and uncle, and it was being so between your mother and your uncle Aegon.

The only assurance a woman has in a life spent as little more than property is her children. They are to inherit their father’s lands, and that is supposed to be enough. But for the second sons, said promise is always broken.

You had never, not once, thought you would come to understand Alicent, yet here you were.

You reflect on this as you hurry to the nursery, worried the damn boy will die before you reach it. When you get there, you feel the urge to scream. There is not one, but three serving girls hovering by the door, and the Maester is mixing some herbs in a chalice.

The child sleeps peacefully, unaware the surrounding turmoil. He looks impossibly small in his bed of furs, shirt open and chest covered in strange poultices. The boy… No, Rickon, had taken ill after the first snow. Perhaps he had been spending too much time playing outside, or he lingered too much in his wet clothes. You wouldn't know. You tried to avoid him as much as you could.

After this was over, you would have a stern talk with his maids. They shouldn’t be this careless. This was your husband’s heir. Someone had to care about him.

Not you. Never you.

“Will he be alright?” You ask, as the Maester places a wet cloth on his forehead. You have never liked children, never having had the chance to be one yourself. Your mother’s constant quest for the Iron Throne and her love for Daemon had often left you in the hands of the help. And when you were old enough, you had to take the role of the mature sibling alongside Jacaerys, helping raise your brothers.

Jacaerys. You hoped that wherever he was, he was suffering. You despised this place, and he had dared plot with your mother behind your back to get you here. With your beast of a husband, and this child of a previous marriage, whose existence would forever ensure your future children would inherit nothing.

You weren’t going to have children. Despite loving children, you despise your husband too much to ever lay with him. But most of all, you are beginning to fear you will become a damn Hightower. You feared that if you had children and faced the prospect of them only being second sons, you might be tempted to start a war too.

“He will, Princess.” The Maester, unaware of your inner turmoil, places a reassuring hand on your arm. He surely believes in the gentle hearts of women, or some nonsense like that. “The fever will lower with the tea we gave him, and the cool cloth on his forehead. His lungs are strong. He will breathe normally soon.”

The boy’s chest flutters oddly. His ribs show with each inhale, depicting his trouble breathing. You cast a dubious look at the cool cloth. If this was all they could do, it was no wonder your grandfather had been rotting alive.

“Is that all you have to say? Why do his ribs show?” You do your best to channel your mother, tone imperious. “If this is truly…” Before you can insult him by calling him the worst the Citadel has to offer, a boy comes in. You let out a sigh of relief, your desire to berate the Maester subsiding. It’s the same boy you had sent to Castle Cerwyn to retrieve your husband.

“Princess!” He says, extending a hand to you. Much to your astonishment, he hands back the message you had sent to Lord Cregan. “I have grievous news. The road to Castle Cerwyn is fully blocked. I couldn’t get past the river. I cannot go over it either and avoid the forest, for it is not fully frozen.”

“This cannot be!” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. Cursed your husband, and his plans to visit the Cerwyns’ tenants today, of all days. “You have to get Lord Cregan. Send a more experienced rider.”

“My lady, I would advise not to.” The Maester says, meekly. “Even if the rider does manage to get past, it is very likely Lord Stark is in the village, snowed in.”

“Well, then send a damn search party!” You yell, uncaring your language is unbecoming of a Princess. You cannot be here while the child… While Rickon dies. The child has a parent, and it is your husband, you do not even care for him!

“It is not as simple.” The Maester cringes when you turn on him.

“Of course it isn’t. The only simple thing is the cure for the child’s malady, isn’t it?” You growl. “Do something useful, if you think a rider cannot reach my husband. Get me someone who can, and fix the boy.”

It would be easier for you if the boy died. You could have the children you so craved. The obstacle would have removed itself. Relationships between half brothers are never as strong as between full ones. At the very least, this child could cast out you and any children you birth when Lord Cregan passes. At the very worst, he might have them killed, as your mother intended with her usurper brother.

But you are not so craven as to let an innocent die. He is still a boy, no older than three namedays. He is vulnerable, and his father is not here.

You sit next to the bed, eyes fixed on his chest. Rickon will not die on your watch.

THE SOUND OF a door opening jerks you awake. Disoriented, you sit up on your chair, and check that Rickon still breathes.

He does. He has awakened with the sound of the door opening, just as you did. But unlike you, he has begun wailing. You get him. You would like to cry too.

“What is it?” You snarl at the serving girl who dared enter in such a manner. The sound of Rickon’s cries grate in your ears, shrill and loud, awakening you fully. You try to coax him into laying back down to no avail.

“Milady…” She stammers, holding a breakfast tray. The reason for her interruption becomes clear. Had it been so long already? You remembered standing vigil over Rickon until sundown, and changing the cool compress a few times after, but no further. By the Seven, you were a terrible caretaker. “I… There are…”

Rickon wails harder.

“Father! Father, want father!” He cries. He then attempts to remove the cool cloth from his forehead, and get up, escaping the furs laid over him.

The serving girl stares at the boy. You stare at her. Rickon continues to squirm. When it is clear she is expecting you to soothe him, you sigh and turn to the child.

“Rickon, you have to lay down again.”

“Father! Father!” He wails, face beginning to turn red, his breathing labored. You are unsure if it is his distress or the sickness, but it worries you nonetheless. The child cannot die. You are not prepared to deal with it.

“Shh, Rickon, I know you are hurting.” You tell him, as you pick him up. “Father is not here. He is trapped by the snow.”

At this, he cries harder. You can hear him gasping for air as he squirms in your arms and kicks at you. His snot is getting everywhere. Good Gods, what if he dies? Would your husband actually force you consummate the marriage if he loses his heir? The thought alone is enough to force you into action.

“He is not trapped. He is snowed in, just as when you cannot go out and play. Happens all the time.” You reassure him, rubbing his back. You know your words to be a lie, but the boy doesn’t. The weather has been especially rough this season. The snow storm is unusual in its fierceness. “He will be back soon.”

Rickon perks up at that.

“He will?”

“As soon as he can.” You promise, hoping it is the case. In truth, you do not know. Your husband is unaware Rickon is ill, and holds no fondness for you. You doubt he will be rushing once the road clears. In fact, you think he might be celebrating the weather and praising his northern gods for the excuse to get a respite from you.

Well, too bad. You would send men each hour to check if the storm waned and the road was accessible once more. He would have to come and tend to his child.

“Where is father?” Rickon asks you, a suspicious look in his little face. He is eerily similar to your husband. His sobs have turned more subdued.

“With Lord Cerwyn.”

“Why? Hurts! Father!” The boy demands, petulantly. He is clearly feeling better if his lungs allow him to shriek like that. You are no healer, but his agitation is worrying you. What if he has a fit because he overexerted himself and then dies?

“I want your father too.” You mutter under your breath. “You do not see me wailing.”

“I love father.” He sobs. “Want him.”

And you are not made of stone. You have never been, no matter how hard you pretend. He is still a babe, hands chubby, face round. He still smells like one, a mix of the nursery, and sweet innocence.

Without even realizing it, you have cradled him into your arms and begun rocking the two of you. He keeps wailing, so you begin singing.

“I loved a maid…” There is no need to be a good singer to soothe babies. You are unsure of what they like about it, but you know it works. It had worked for Aegon and Viserys, why not for Rickon? “As fair as summer, who had sunlight in her hair….”

You begin to rock him as you pace through the room. As his tears begin to subside, and he begins to grow curious about the soft song, you realize he is not the threat to your future children you had envisioned. Rickon is beautiful in the manner all babes are, soft and sweet. His little fists cling to your wool cloak, gray eyes meeting yours with fascination.

Charmed by him, you keep singing. Seasons of my love is enlarged and repeated ten times over, and now includes verses about northern babies who look exactly like their father.

“I loved a boy…” You hum, softly. It feels like hours have passed when Rickon’s eyes finally begin to drop. Of course he would enjoy the verses about winter the most. “As white as winter, with moonglow in his hair.”

The door opens, slowly. You hear the wood groan as it does, but Rickon takes no notice. He burrows his head next to your heart, yawning.

You turn to look at the newcomer, pleased that having put the fear of the gods into the maid who had dared enter before had proven fruitful. The pleased smile drops from your face when you realize it is your husband.

Lord Stark is drenched to the bone. His hair is stuck to his head and shoulders, dripping water onto his furs. The cloak he had worn is wet, and he is quick to remove it, leaving him in simple breeches and a jerkin. His face is the picture of worry.

“I rode as hard as I dared.” His voice is low, pleasantly so. You had never considered the northern accent he sported attractive, but when his voice is gruff, and pitched low, you might see the appeal. “How is he?”

He shouldn’t have bothered with the low tone. Rickon would recognize his voice everywhere because he perks up considerably.

“Father! Father!” Rickon claps. He attempts turning in your grip to look at your husband, which makes you fear he might fall, so you perch him on your hip so he can do so.

“The fever has broken.” You hand Rickon back to him, feeling a hint of embarrassment when his eyes linger on the way you had been holding him. “He’ll live.”

“Thank you.” And his voice is earnest and soft, and it makes you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Is it her still? Does Arra Norrey stand in this room with you, too?

The embarrassment from earlier, and the anger at the thought of your husband being soft because you remind him of her make you snap at him.

“It’s fine. I missed my siblings.” You cross your arms over your chest, awkward. Why does he keep staring at you? Is he… Oh, by the Seven, he is smiling at you? So softly? You cannot stand it. “I will send for a bath for you and Rickon, after washing myself. Less I catch a cold too.”

Look, princesses do not flee. They simply walk hurriedly. Very hurriedly.

[demie90s]

Heyyy!! This is my first time sending a request I’m so excited and I love your work!!!! Maybe like the reader got their wisdom teeth out and shows up to practice and everyone is like 👀 why are you here and reader is just like 👁️👄👁️ and just acting chaotic bc of the meds with whoever either like UConn or DT

I also love anything like DT UConn or Sue but I don’t have any ideas specific ideas

Sedated & Unbothered

UConn WBB x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Wisdom teeth taken out and somehow still shows up to practice, cheeks swollen, high off meds, and completely chaotic. The team’s like “Why are you even here?”

Warnings: Post-surgery chaos, drugged behavior, team banter, light fluff, harmless delirium

Word count: ~ 0.4k

I walk into practice like I own the place.

Which, to be fair, I kinda do. Even if I am high off gas with gauze in my mouth and the swagger of a sleep-deprived toddler in Jordans. Hoodie half on, laces untied, lips chapped, eyes glassy—fresh out the oral surgeon’s chair like it’s a damn press conference.

The second I stumble in, everything stops.

Paige freezes with a Gatorade half-raised. Azzi tilts her head like I’m a math problem she wasn’t prepared for. Nika looks concerned, which means I probably look bad. And KK—KK is already recording.

“Why are you here?” Caroline asks gently, like I just wandered into the wrong building.

“I’m…” I pause. Blink. “I’m an athlete.”

Aubrey covers her mouth to stop from laughing.

KK’s behind the camera narrating: “Day 1 post-op. She think she in the Final Four.”

Geno comes out of his office at that exact moment, sees me standing there swaying with gauze peeking from my mouth and a crooked smile.

He stares. Hard.

“Why…” he sighs. “Why are you here?”

I sniff dramatically. “Y’all woulda missed me.”

He rubs his face. “You had surgery.”

“I’m healed.”

“You’re drooling.”

“I’m multitasking.”

The team is wheezing at this point. Paige drops her Gatorade. Azzi sits down. Nika turns to Ice and says, “If she falls, I’m not helping.”

“I wanna shoot,” I mumble, voice all muffled and wet.

“No, you wanna sit,” Geno says.

I pout. Legit pout. Lower lip trembling, blinking slow like I’m about to cry. Whether it’s from pain or dramatics, not even I know. It’s all the same at this point.

Geno stares me down for five more seconds while I hiccup. Then turns to Paige.

“Give her a basketball before she starts sobbing.”

KK lets out a full scream.

“GIVE THE BABY THE BALL!” she yells, running over like it’s a parade.

I grab it with both hands like it’s the holy grail. Hug it to my chest.

Then I look up, completely deadpan: “Y’all wanna run 5v5?”

Geno’s already walking away. “Don’t pass her the ball. She’s concussed on accident.”

Nika, mid-shootaround, mutters under her breath, “She’s playing better than me and she’s sedated.”

By the end of practice, I’ve taken five corner threes (made three), hugged Azzi at least four times, told Paige she looked like a golden retriever “but sexy,” asked Geno if I could get my name tattooed on the floor, and cried into KK’s TruFru bag because it tasted “like God kissed it.”

I don’t remember most of it. But apparently? We still ran sprints. And I beat Caroline. Sedated and still elite.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

[riacte]

Unconventional format / mixed media / meta / epistolary fic ideas:

Script format but the characters slowly break fourth wall until they grow self aware and scream to leave but the script confines them.

Mock up notes of an author's fic outline only for a "fan favourite" / "author's darling" character to gain sentience and influence the story. The character changes the outline to suit their own agenda, and their changes are marked with a different colour whereas black text means it's the author's will. Maybe another character using another colour gains sentience. The different colours fight for dominance. Mom says it's my turn with the keyboard hey what the fuck man excuse me I'm literally trying to save my family can you guys let go and let me write your character arcs in peace OH FUCK OFF

Recipe fic. The story is told via those unnecessarily long backstories on a recipe blog in which you learn about someone's grandma or a breakup or literally anything. Bonus points if the actual recipe deals with worldbuilding (what ingredients are available? What utensils are used? How to serve this meal? Woohoo Dungeon Meshi) or in-cheek recipes (eg. "Recipe for making up with your estranged mother - Step 1: Mix patience, nostalgia, and filial piety and let it marinate for ten years. Step 2: Throw that shit into the trash because you're better than that")

Travel fic. A character is lost and trying to find their way somewhere. GPS directions, googling "x place to x place", tickets and dates, train station maps, leaflets. It gets weirder and weirder. You never get closer to your destination. You're walking around in circles. It's always 10 meters away. Where are you going and where have you been?

Receipts. Try to infer what a character is doing judging from the weird things they buy together. Also yipppee inflation tracker. On the other side, maybe it can be about a cashier/ shop owner getting to know their customers and what they order.

Written from the pov of an non-native English speaker, all the English words are italicized whereas their native tongue are the only words not italicized. Inspired by Kupu rere kē by Alice Te Punga Somerville. This is because I got salty about people from Ao3 Reddit saying they won't read a fic in all italics.

Murder mystery / "Among Us" style impersonation fic strictly using the chatfic format. Characters and readers will have to figure out which character has been killed and replaced from the way they text and use emojis. This is also because I got salty about Ao3 Reddit being a wee bit pretentious about emoji usage in fics. Maybe emojis can be important plot devices! Some people prefer to sign off messages with a heart emoji of their signature colour, so won't it be weird if they use another coloured heart? How about someone using lapslock suddenly using proper capitalisation and full stops? Can you tell if someone's phone has been stolen? What if someone's mother is pretending to text like their child? Why is someone suddenly only using UwU speak? Is it a bit, or have they been replaced?

Innocuous second person POV until the last line where it's suddenly revealed to be first person POV all along and the "I" has been stalking and narrating "you".

Other fun bits / Easter eggs / secrets to hide:

Decoding within the text itself. Maybe we get given instructions to find a word in x chapter on page y on the nth line. And when we as readers collect all the words, they form a sentence that spells out an important fact which the characters are oblivious to. Or maybe the in-universe characters find a book with the same title as the irl fic with a bookmark in it, and if you go to where the bookmark is stuck irl, you'll find the murderer plainly stated. The rest of the fic is about the readers having hard confirmation of who the murderer is while characters don't know.

A phrase is subtly repeated throughout the text of the fic and is spelled out with the letter that begins a sentence. It gives off the effect that the narrator is screaming and crying into the void (to the readers in the fourth wall) while trying to avoid detection. Bonus points if the same word is repeated for pages and pages to the point the lack of sentence variation feels weird and clunky.

Morse code!! I love morse code! Using onomatopoeia to convey the dots and dashes! The sound of rain pattering on the tin rooftop— drop, drop, drop. A low whistle of a train rumbling in the distance. He slowly sharpens his knife, creating a shiiing sound. A lengthy, high pitched squeal from his kettle. A dog barks. A sharp knock. His heart thumps. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS. Maybe a character's death scene spells out the name of their mysterious murderer. Maybe a character is reminiscing their deceased loved one and the scene spells out what the deceased person would've wanted to tell them— "LIVE ON" or "I LOVE YOU" or something.

[postracehair]

trust me

max verstappen x reader | 2.3k

after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.

cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.

a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.

__

The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.

Max Verstappen wins the São Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.

But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.

Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.

You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.

"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"

"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.

"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.

"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."

That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.

But you should know better, it seems.

"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."

You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."

He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.

"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"

You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.

"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."

Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.

The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.

"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.

"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."

"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."

That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.

You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.

"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."

"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."

Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"

You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?

"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."

He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.

But how do you explain this?

"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.

But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.

You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"

His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."

Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"

Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."

You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.

"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."

One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.

"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."

"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"

If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.

"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."

He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.

"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."

He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.

Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.

"You trust me, right?"

"Of course," you say right away. "Always."

"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."

"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.

"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."

Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."

You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.

Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."

He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.

"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."

Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.

"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.

"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"

Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"

"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"

The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.

And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.

"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."

"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[gemsalive]

re: that HEFTY siffrin sweep on id5’s isat favourite blorbos poll — this might sound silly but i do actually think it’s kinda fascinating that isat, as a game so inseparably steeped in (for lack of a better way to describe it) queer fandom culture, managed to so completely sidestep the common Fandom Phenomenon that i suspect was behind the poll in the first place by creating a main character that is also overwhelmingly the fan favourite character for once.

obviously there are any number of factors we could point at to explain the extent to which siffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames manages to grab people and absolutely not let go, but personally i think one of the most interesting ones to consider is the one specific to the medium — that is, how siffrin subverts the “silent blank slate video game protagonist” archetype in such a way that happens to be primo brainrot breeding grounds.

like, when a video game dev makes a silent protagonist it’s usually a bid to maximize immersion by closing the aesthetic distance between player and character as much as possible, right? which is especially true of rpg video games — players find connection in the generic, as that is what gives you the freedom of motion to insert yourself into the story in whatever unique shape suits you best. you are your character and your character is you.

(as ever, post ran long. yall know the drill. tossin in a quick header pic before thoughts on blank slates & blorboification continue under the cut)

and then you’ve got siffrin, who is expressly pointed out to be the taciturn type; who when initially giving the player exposition about their journey so far doesn’t seem to hint at a life or history or even really any motivations outside the journey; whose every thought and action is narrated in second person so as to keep tracing and re-tracing the connection between him and you.

even their design — all darkless and shapeless, bundled up in that big cloak, as if an invitation for you to fill it in with whatever lets you relate to them most! at this point they are their own character for sure, but they also have enough very clear parallels going on with the silent protagonist archetype to feel more than accidental.

of course, as you keep playing you start to recognize that his blankness is much, much more than just a grab at immersion; his apparent lack of backstory, itself a fundamental piece of backstory. this is where he flips dramatically in the player’s perception from “generic vessel for story delivery” to “thoroughly multidimensional character trapped within endless torment nexus custom-built to target and exacerbate all his very specific worst traits rooted in very specific traumas”.

yknow, the good stuff !

but by then you have also been playing enough to be feeling the effects of the thing isat’s design does best of all. i’m talkin bout that ludonarrative lockstep baby. every piece of isat’s gameplay is designed to make you feel what siffrin is feeling — you understand by now that he is not a stand-in for you, but all the same you share in his frustration, his grief, his rare moments of joy and the subsequent heart-in-your-shoes devastation when that joy is inevitably poisoned — and through it all, the desperate grasping for anything new — all as if they were every bit your own.

so in this way the connection is maintained, even if you were someone for whom siffrin’s particular traits & struggles might not otherwise cause you relate to them at all if you had encountered them elsewhere, in a setting where you weren’t actively controlling them as a player. siffrin still gets to carry all the “just like me fr” impact of the blank slate protagonist in the tropes he embodies and in the game mechanics’ design, while totally free to evolve completely into his own character and keep you relating to closely them all the same. now toss back in the fact that said traits & struggles very much ARE of a flavour that a great many people Would Tend To Relate To and just like that you’ve got a perfect storm cookin.

too individual and compellingly written to be an empty vessel for plot delivery. too closely connected with the player’s emotional state to be a story observed impassively from the outside. he has 92 mental illnesses and for the low low price of free u can give him yours to carry too. nobody is doin it like him. congratulations on your well-deserved nose sniffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames <3

[shinigamigloss]

lazuli

✎ two years since the night Leon left you, and today is Leon’s 23rd birthday (yes yes yes!! part two of bye bye baby blue <3)

cw: emotional hurt / comfort, angst, grief, second chances, hallucinations, post-traumatic stress, unreliable narrator, and one more chapter to go! (written with leon in mind in the opening scene of re4r) word count: 2.5k and tagging some lovely people here: @preeyas-world + @carmendanny2 + @senawashere

⌕ part 1 ┃looking for a playlist while reading?

You have been, for a while, in the habit of mingling with the gloom and the rain – either your ally or your persistent nemesis.

Ever since the night of September 30th, you’ve been suspended in an ambivalent state. Insomnia and carmine question marks prowled in the depths of your mind.

The trouble is that your memory, like your very dreams, has grown weary of storing the minute remnants of Leon.

So long has it been since you’d last seen or heard from him that sometimes, even when all alone – or in the midst of friends and interim ‘lovers’ – you’d find yourself searching for him in the measly details of your apartment.

And the flat was a big, bare space.

The bedroom had become a strange void. The lonely, withered corner of the mattress felt too wide on its own. You were very small in that perfect bed, and yet so enormous – like some foolish victim of Procrustes, who should have been cut and reshaped to fit, just to feel whole again.

There were also certain days when you’d find yourself evading people's and coworkers’ probing questions as though skirting bullets.

Queries about the boy you were once engaged to, back in your hometown, would venture into your private matters like razor-edged knives through gauze. Mercifully, the silence that followed a lethargic ‘we broke up’ – spoken to eyes dilating with anticipation – came as ephemeral as the flight of a butterfly.

Friends, relatives, and colleagues soon learned how to retreat into the safety of their own routines, folding away their curiosity like a letter that needn’t be read in the first place.

Many more years rolled by, yet not once did he answer the letters of penitence you sent.

---

Time only ever flies, and all you ever do is wander through the decay of memory.

There begins the first stage of separation, ringing your doorbell.

Recognizing his absence, you suffer the lesions and tears of a once-treasured love, now gathering only grayish dust. All you’ve got left is a proper heartache, followed by sundry seasons of naked solitude.

Nightmares precede a mosaic of nights and intricate dreams that can no longer be manually captured. Phase two comes out of the blue.

You sell the apartment on some peripheral morning, donate what little remains of Leon’s belongings to a local orphanage, pawn the ring that once mattered, cut your hair shorter than ever before, and leave the shelter with a cat.

So, it happens. Leon is no more.

Blessed by the passage of seasons, you grow inured to this new state of reality. A Leon-less life, if you will.

April arrives, bearing its recognizable heat.

It’s a crisp morning with the aroma of damp earth and tentative blossoms. The cemetery is deserted, save for the distant whistling of the brisk wind through the rows and lines of stonework. You still stall around.

There are very many names written on the tombstones.

A bouquet of lazuli-pigmented forget-me-nots in your hand, the petals evanish glum beneath your grip. Always the same flowers. He would’ve liked them, you suppose. A pretty blue had always been his hue.

You once read it with a lump lodged in your chest: the contents of a frosty letter sent by the department. At the bottom, a single signature. No words of clarification. No remission.

Nothing but a grave and a date: September 30th, 1998. The date of the ice-cold night he stormed out of the house you two nursed.

Your fingers splay out to touch the name carved in stone.

Leon S. Kennedy.

Crouching next to the epitaph, you sow your flowers beside him, ritualistically so.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper aloud, although you’re not sure if your hushing has even left your throat. It’s all a misguided venture as it is.

Two whole years. So easy to count. So hard to go through.

And yet, for some odd reason, you never believed that he was truly gone. Not ever, not so much for the sensitive elements of a moment in space.

It may be your mechanism that’s playing a backstage trick on you. Perhaps science has another name for it: a molecular aversion to recognition, a chemical romance with escapism.

Does it matter, and to whom?

Such is the viscosity of your staircase of thought that you barely register the voice beside you, even the second time it demands attention.

“Dying. It’s so strange,” the voice intones, neutral and dry.

What an absurd observation. Who even says that?

No, wait.

Who dares to say that?

Why should anyone seek a stranger’s take on the great hard knocks?

Much as this puts you in a tailspin, you decide not to look up and face the man talking to you. There are weeds growing underneath Leon’s tombstone, and you pluck them out in lieu of bothering yourself.

“Strange or not, it’s the most real thing there is,” you mouth all the while.

“No kidding,” the man carries a glimmer of amusement in his phrasing.

Quietness creeps in between you. The April chill mingles with drifting dust motes from spring blossoms. The stranger, patient and hollow-eyed, waits for you to finish tending the grave.

“Who is this Leon guy again?” he asks.

Why prod, and to what end?

It’s his words, his calm, his stillness – all coalesce into one terminal voltage, a shock so searing that it rends your very composure.

You turn, face twisted into the sourish form it identifies itself with.

He looks back at you. An unfazed kind of smile touches his lips.

It could be right then – that moment when your world collapses in on itself. Your knees give a gross shake. The reflection of the man in your eyes dilates your pupils enormously.

“Hi, love,” he greets heartily, and you blink at the dead.

No dream has ever felt as visceral on the skin as it does now. No dream until today: the middle of April, the twentieth of the month. Leon’s 23rd birthday.

Tearful, as if bullying your brain, which signals your twitching lower lip to halt. A blue color rudely paints the flesh as you worry it.

Love? What love? How come love?

Leon holds out his hand, but you don’t so much as flinch.

He stands there, breathless and tall, as if Hades had granted a day-pass for the dead men.

You’re still falling through the dented tunnel of disbelief, allowing reality to make its grand entrance into the spectacle.

“You’re dead,” you lock your jaw.

His helping hand comes to naught. On your own, you get back on your feet.

“I’ve got no time for this anyway.” You wear an overly stern expression and gesticulate awkwardly to be entirely convincing. Cast out the unwanted from your vision.

Leon sighs in the wake of this. His brows crease with something sedated, whilst the downward curve of his mouth speaks of a telltale concern.

He looks devastating.

His clothes (all dark and ink blue, tailored well to his physique) are disheveled and distinctly perfumed with the pleasant tang of his cologne in the breezy, pollen-laden air around him.

“Maybe I was dead,” there’s a bounce in his voice.

Does he ever hear the things he speaks? How completely impertinent can he be?

“Don’t give me that shit,” you blurt out the first thing that lights up in your thoughts.

“What shit, exactly?” Leon exhorts you to give voice.

“This. Shit. This and that.”

Your gaze wanders to him. The patches of the past on his skin remind you of young bruises: yellow, pallid, and rimmed with green.

He’s as in your sleepless visions: cynical and, above all, blinkered. Maybe if you looked at him from a good angle, you could feasibly see the riverscapes of the things he had been up to. Pity you can’t do such a trick in a million dreams.

“Hmm,” is the most Leon says.

Hot reds pump through your veins. You tell yourself that if you only close your eyes, all should be well. 

So, you close your eyes, reopen them, hoping to be taken all the way back to the earthly population of your dull, mean world. 

“That won’t be at all necessary, sweetheart.” Endearment escapes him through a habitual slip of the tongue. 

Fuck. 

“No, it’s absolutely necessary,” you counter sharply. 

“It’s not.” 

“Why won’t you shut the hell up?” 

In that little snippet of the reunion scenario, the cooling affection of his hand falls from your shoulder and lingers in the palm of your hand. 

“Can’t,” Leon says calmly. “I found you once. I’m not just going to leave you. Not like this.” 

Your lover assumes the shape of your sightline the minute you blink into existence. A larger Leon, with a face marred by the lines of tiredness. Longer hair that has faded to a shade of silken gold. Mocha once fondled his crown, but no longer. 

What your eyes behold is not the sum of what your heart already knows. 

“Bullshit,” your teeth kiss the bottom of your lip; Leon curls his fingers about yours, as if you might slip away from his hold. 

“You can’t be real,” you breathe in deeply, “this has happened before. Happens all the time. You just walk in, piss me off, and walk out.” 

“I’m here anyway,” he returns in a controlled intonation, lest he wake the world around you. 

“I had to come back for you.” 

He brings your hand to the right side of his face. No other layer of skin has felt so genuine since flesh forgot tenderness and, instead, digested the mechanics of sex. 

Cautiously, you take a small step. The gravel underfoot crunches listlessly away. 

“This is a hallucination. That’s all it is. Side effect.” You shake off a chill first. 

“The doctor told me.” You go quiet then. 

Rubbing his chin with a gloved hand, Leon adopts the barest of attitudes. 

“If I were your imagination, I would have a better way in. And what doctor are you—” 

“Stop talking! It is not funny.” 

The admonition strikes a jarring chord. A privilege, even after all these years, to have known him well enough to catch that flicker of mortification sparking briefly across his face. 

This sting – not so readily trivialized. It hurts still. 

He needs to see what an impossibly starless path you’ve meandered since his omission. 

“They said you were dead. You were buried.” You broach the matter; he’s already marrow-deep in your gaze. 

The buried aren’t meant to return, and it’s to the banshee’s dismay that the living should witness what has already died. It’s the rule, is it not? 

Leon’s stare glaciates to shades of electric blues. 

“You think I wanted this?” His question fractures like the snap of a twig at his feet. 

Impulsively, he closes in on you, one more step into your orbit. That’s his vivid tint shimmering in your irises. 

“I was protecting you,” he talks trash under his breath. 

(Classic.)

“By dying?” 

“No,” he rasps, “by staying dead.” 

“Oh, my God! Of course you did. Played the hero as always. Well, Clark Kent, where might your glasses be?” Sarcasm gushes from your tongue, and with good reason. 

How utterly vulgar you can be when you want to be. 

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Is it really that damn hard to put your trust in me?” he gnashes his teeth. 

“Funny, I remember how you gladly dumped me that night.” 

“That’s the part you know!” 

“And that’s more than enough to hate you!” 

Leon teeters and flutters an eyelid, gobsmacked in the most graphic condition possible. 

The air chokes the soul. Pinpricks of raindrops splatter in the heart of a moment of whirlwind daze. Dappled on his shoulders and dripping on his face, a drizzle catches on his lashes like the dew on cast iron. 

Hell, Leon’s everything aches: his cadence, his posture. His hand twitches in an attempt to gloss something indecipherable and unspeakable. You no longer listen to him. 

Against all sense, you come one step to the fore. You desperately need to be sure he’s the genuine article. 

Halfway through his sentence – “If I had stayed, they would’ve—” your mouth collides with his. Teeth knock. 

There’s no precision to it. No poetry written into the pell-mell kisses. No. It’s rather an open wound under the gelid water. 

His lips are mist-tinged and piteous, but just a touch belated. Yet as your hands reach for his collar and fist the sodden fabric, something inside him gives way. His breath betrays him. Mouth softens, and the kiss burrows deeper with a distant clap of thunder in the sky. 

His fingers clamber up to frame your mizzle-kissed face. Flesh and heat and bone. Salt too. 

He feels it all in the precious jostle of a millisecond into the present. 

At last, the skin honors the color of his touch. 

“I fucked up real bad. Shit, sweetheart. I lost you.” He leans close to you then, severing the kiss. 

His eyes twinkle like they’ve been washed in the storm and then reddened in the incandescent flames. 

You trace a cool hand along the faint arch of his jawline, newly chiseled since the last time your lips connected with his. 

To draw him closer to you is to abrogate every wound that is still healing. 

To pull away would be to abandon the part of you that has never stopped waiting. 

Oh, but this is no fantasy; gone is the brutal game born from the illicit marriage of chimera and sorrow. 

He’s real. 

What a way to get a hit in. What a kiss. 

Like the first breath after drowning, it’s a lovely but cold blue sinkhole. Takes much to last. 

“Oh, God,” you breathe through lips bitten raw. “The letters… they… god. No way.” 

A shallow draft of wind punches through your lungs. You come to a stop. 

“They said… ‘Leon was like this and like that. Very brave, and—” 

Beautiful cursive on blank paper – robotic condolences from men and women in polished shoes – flare up behind your eyes like credits ticking down within the frame of a movie’s swan song. 

Something feels out of sync. 

“Sweetheart, I can’t really understand you when you’re like this.” Leon holds you by the arms with a kind of makeshift smile in some strange sort of shape. 

(Or it’s your fallibility playing mind games again and against you.) 

“Do you also feel the ground moving, or is it just—” 

Your knees give out as if you’re an archaic scaffold. A marionette whose cords have been snapped. 

Leon catches you in the nick of time – but only just. 

Your sepia-tinted filter, already bleeding at the margins, begins to blur his features. 

Leon’s flustered shock hangs above until his visage is brush-stroked in a moonless black. 

[eden031]

First meetings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Pairing: Jack Abbot x intern!f!reader

Warnings: fluff, kissing, confession of feelings (?), literal sleeping together, implied nudity, reader wears Jack‘s clothes, implied sexual content (between other characters)

Summary: Somtimes confessions don‘t happen in a grandiose way, sometimes they happen over a shared breakfast.

A/N: Sooo, this part will start the last arc of the story I guess? I kind of got attatched to this story and my narration of it, but it feels like I should be ending it within the next two or three parts (which one of them will probably be just smut I have decided), there are still many more ideas I have reagarding Jack Abbot so, even when this will be done there will be more Jack Abbot content coming from this little corner of the internet. The second part of „Sweet boy“ is in the works at the moment and another Jack Abbot idea is growing in my mind even though I am not sure how far I will take that. I still hope you will enjoy this part of the story, it is a lot lighter than the last ones. Lots of love <3

Being back at work had been hard at first. Sometimes it felt like there was this weight trying to crush her, like it was suffocating her. The memory of the hand wrapped around her throat sometimes came back at unexpected times, hitting harder on some occasions than others. Still there was the ever present comfort of Jack lingering close to her, sometimes it was just a gentle squeeze of reassurance, other times it was a hug that lasted longer than it probably should in the quiet of the breakroom. He was there, always the quiet comfort when she needed it the most, but he never came too close, never let her be part of his thoughts. It was like he was worried that if he said too much there would be no going back. Though she knew that he knew that going back had not been an option since the moment they had met.

Standing under the roof of the PTMC she sighed. The downpour had started almost half way through the shift and had not gotten any less. The drainage system had trouble keeping up with the amount of rain coming from the sky and even people with an umbrella looked to be drenched to the bone. It made her feel a certain melancholy. Days like these somehow reminded her of her time in college, when she would run through the rain with her friends, laughing and joking. Even if it had not been that long ago it felt like she had gotten much older in that time, like something had started to weigh her down. Glancing at her phone she saw a new message from Tommy, hoping that it was something along the lines of ‘I’m coming to pick you up’, her car was in the workshop and she had walked to work that morning, taking a lesson out of Jack’s book, though now she regretted it. Opening the phone, a silent groan left her lips as she read the actual text. Mild annoyance started to seep through her mind.

Masie is not feeling well. Could you maybe manage to eat breakfast somewhere else for an hour or two before coming home?

Rolling her eyes she simply sends a thumbs up emoji. This just translated to ‘Masie and I want to have some alone time, could you maybe stay away from the apartment for another hour or two?’ At this point she was seriously considering moving into a new place, not because she didn’t enjoy living with Tommy and Masie, but because she often felt like an intruder in their relationship. Maybe also a bit because it started annoying her when all she wanted to do was go home and sleep and he and Masie would tell her that they were in the middle of something. It had also happened on multiple occasions that she had walked in on them, not something that she wanted to repeat, but apparently she had some talent to always come home when they were in the middle of it.

“Waiting for someone?” the low voice of Jack came from right beside her. He was standing there, even in this cold and miserable weather with only a thin sweater jacket thrown over his scrubs, arms crossed over his chest. For a moment she frowned, but then thought about the fact that the man was practically a walking radiator and never seemed to freeze.

“No, just thinking about where to head off to,” she muttered under her breath as she mentally cursed Tommy and Masie for not being able to wait with their shenanigans until she was dead asleep.

“Huh?” Jack gave her a mildly confused glance. Brows furrowed as he looked at her with a certain glint of concern in his eyes. It dawned on her that it probably sounded like she had nowhere to go. Shaking her head quickly she elaborated.

“I am temporarily banned from entering the apartment,” she paused, having to suppress a laugh as she shook her head, “Masie and Tommy wanted some alone time,” she put alone time in quotation marks with her fingers. Jack snorted and nodded.

“You want breakfast?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. Nodding slowly she was not sure where this conversation was going.

“Honestly? I would kill for breakfast and a bed,” she sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “And probably a hot shower,”

A soft laugh came from the man standing beside her, glancing over at him she saw that he was already looking at her, his hazel eyes softer than they usually were. The butterflies in her stomach had dissipated over time, though they had been replaced by this warm and fuzzy feeling that settled over her mind every time he looked at her like that. Like all he wanted to do was hold her and protect her.

It had set something free in her mind, that look he started giving her. Those eyes, those looks fuelled her fantasies in both her dreams and waking moments.

“If you want to you could come to my place, there all three are freely available,” he gave her a look again, this time it was more hopeful than the one before, there was more to the question than just him offering his hospitality, there was the underlying question of how far she was willing to go.

“You are an angel, Dr. Abbot “ her tone was slightly teasing as she called him Dr. Abbot, though she knew that he would not be too mad about it. A soft snort came from him as he smiled at her.

“I definitely am not, but that sounds like a yes,” he titled his head in the direction she knew his apartment was in. “I think we should get going before you fall asleep standing,” he teased softly. She nodded, bracing herself to get drenched to the bone, because she had of course forgotten to take her umbrella and her jacket was not waterproof.

Both of them were drenched to the bone the moment they entered his apartment. Her scrubs clung to her body like a second skin and she could feel the water in her shoes. Shuddering slightly she pulled off her jacket. There was little relief against the wetness clinging to her body. Jack had done the same and simply dropped the wet jacket in the basket standing by the door.

“Just throw everything in there, I am going to run a load of laundry,” he muttered as he sat down on the small stool in the hallway. Toeing off her shoes she shuddered, the cold rain was not doing anything for the exhaustion and she felt like she might just collapse. Quickly she pulled off her socks, now standing barefoot in the hallway, throwing them into the basket she moved around slightly, trying to see how wet they were. A sigh left her lips as she saw that she was leaving wet footprints on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered as she opened her backpack, checking to see if its contents were as wet as the rest of her.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jack sounded as tired as she felt, hearing shuffling she let out a soft groan as she saw the contents of her backpack. To her dismay everything in there was wet as well, the worst thing about that being that it meant that her change of clothes was dripping as she pulled it out of the backpack.

“Just put that in the basket as well, I am going to get you something dry,” Jack muttered as he pulled off the prosthetic, a groan escaping his lips as he placed it by the shoe rag. The crutches were standing beside him as she continued to peel off the scrubs. She knew that it was a general rule in the houses of most healthcare workers to take off the scrubs before doing anything else. The scrub shirt was like a blobfish as she threw it in the basket as well, the long sleeved shirt underneath was just as wet as everything else, though it was not dripping, which was good. She heard rustling coming from beside her, though she was too busy with her wet clothes and the disgusting feeling of her wet scrub pants to look. Quickly she shimmied out of her pants and a sigh of relief escaped her, she really hoped she wouldn’t get a UTI from this.

“You wanna go shower first?” she asked as she glanced to the side, seeing Jack sitting on the small stool, only in his boxers, his dog tags resting resting against his sternum. It was a sight to behold, his broad shoulders and the freckles that spattered his entire upper body. She had almost forgotten how magnificent the man looked under the scrubs.

“Nah, you shower first, then you don’t need to move around the shower chair,” he muttered as he turned around to grab one of the crutches. She swore that if she wasn’t as tired and exhausted she would be flustered about this situation. Peeling off the tight shirt she muttered a quiet thanks and headed towards the bathroom. It was strange, she knew exactly where all the rooms were, it was not her first time in this apartment, but still it felt like she had never been there before. Maybe it was because this time it was more domestic. Slipping out of her underwear she stepped into the shower, the hot water taking some of the stiffness out of her body. Even if she would have preferred to have a longer shower she knew that Jack also needed one. Stepping out of the shower she grabbed one of the clean towels in the cabinet, wrapping it securely around her.

A soft knock sounded from the door. She told him it was okay to open the door. Jack poked his head in, his salt and pepper curls sticking to his forehead from the rain, though his face looked a lot more relaxed than it usually did. For a moment she thought about what life would be like if it was always like this, if they would always come home from shifts together. Shaking her head she smiled at him.

“I put out some clothes on the bed for you. If you want to eat there is food in the fridge,” he spoke softly as she walked up to him, a small smile on her lips.

“Thanks,” she stopped right in front of him, his upper body and legs looked mostly dry, he had probably dried off a little so that he wouldn’t get too cold while waiting for her. She stood there for a moment, wanting to reach out and touch him. To run her hand through his hair and pull him in for a kiss. His breathing had become deeper as he looked at her, eyes flicking around. It was tentative, but he reached out, giving her time to draw away if she wanted, his touch was light as a feather as the tips of his fingers ghosted over the soft skin just over her collar bone. For a moment something came over his face, like he was debating something, then he drew away, sharp, quick, like her skin had burned him.

“I think I am going to let you shower in peace,” she spoke softly, carefully trying to squeeze past him, a shiver ran down her spine as his hand accidentally brushed over her thigh. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she quickly hurried away from the bathroom, only hearing the door to the bathroom closing just as she entered the bedroom.

He had put out a very new looking pair of boxers, sweatpants in a light gray that looked like they had seen better days, the cuffs of the pants frayed slightly and an old worn out hoodie that smelled like him, it must have been black at some point, but it looked more grey than black, but it was comfortable. Padding towards the kitchen she rummaged through the fridge, trying to find what she was looking for.

Humming softly to herself she fished out the pieces of toast from the toaster, spreading some butter on all of them, then putting cheese on them. The scrambled eggs sizzling in the pan filled the kitchen with a great smell. She had filled up two glasses with water, she knew that neither of them wanted to drink coffee now, not if they wanted to sleep soon. The quiet clanking of crutches made her turn her head to the side, a soft smile grew on her lips as she saw Jack standing in the doorway. Black shorts that hung loosely around his hips and a white t-shirt.

“Hey,” she spoke softly as she put some of the scrambled eggs on both of the plates. Carefully picking them up she turned to look at him. He was still standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her, there was this strange expression on his face, the kind of expression she usually only ever saw in the eyes of a lover in the ED. Gently placing the plates on the table she took a seat, that got Jack moving, he came over to her the table, taking the seat across from her. Staring at the food in front of him she swore she could see his eyes mist over.

“Thanks,” his voice was quiet as he picked up the slice of toast. Looking at him for a moment she could see the way his shoulders seemed to have sagged slightly, she was not sure if he was relaxed or if something was bothering him.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, trying to keep herself from sounding too worried, but she knew that the worry was evident in her tone as she looked at him.

“Yeah, I just,” he paused, he looked like he was about to regret saying what he said then, “I just realised what I could have had a long time ago and what I missed out on,”

These words felt like someone knocked all the air out of her lungs, like the rope of tension between them finally snapped. Slowly she placed the fork down, the piece of scrambled egg still on it as she looked at him for a long moment. It felt like her brain was sizzling, like there was too much information to keep up with and it was about to shut down.

“Jack…” she breathed out, it felt strange calling him by his first name. He looked up at her, those hazel eyes as intense as they always were, they shone softly in the light of the kitchen, though there was a sadness behind them, a sadness she understood all too well.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, you know?” he sounded so regretful that it almost broke her heart. The usual intense eye contact wavered as he looked away from her while he spoke, like he was not sure if he should be saying these things.

“I really thought,” his voice became tight, she reached over the table, like he had done all those weeks ago when she needed comfort, though this was different, this was a quiet question. He stared at her hand like it was a sacred offering, hesitantly he reached over the table, his fingers brushing against the skin on her wrist. Gently wrapping his hand around hers, there was a certain reverence to it, a certain kind of care that he had only exuded a few times over the time they had known each other.

They finished eating breakfast in silence, their hands resting against each other. It felt like everything was spinning around her when she got up from where she was sitting, Jack still seated at the table, eyes fixed on her as she moved closer to him. Their hands stayed intertwined as she stopped right in front of him. He had to look up to be able to look at her properly, head leaned backwards as he licked his lips, eyes slightly glossed over, the bags underneath them deep. He was tired, so was she and maybe that was what caused her to move.

Gently with her free hand she cupped his cheek, the soft stubble prickling beneath her hand. He nuzzled his face in the palm of her hand, gently pressing a kiss to it, reverent like her hands were the ones of a goddess. It sent a wave of tingles up her arm and right towards her heart.

“You thought you did what was best,” she spoke softly, ending his statement from a few minutes ago, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. He hummed softly as he leaned into her touch again. They were both dead tired, the exhaustion wearing on them, she knew that otherwise they wouldn’t do this, not this openly at least.

“Yeah, and it came back to bite me in the ass,” he looked at her now, those hazel eyes burning with that fire that sent tingles down her spine, settling in her lower belly. Her breath became heavier, like she had to fight for every single bit of air.

“It certainly did,” she chuckled, a soft gasp escaping her as his free hand grasped her thigh, just below her ass, he pulled her in even closer than she had been before, standing right at the juncture between his legs. Slowly she leaned down, they were close, their breaths intermingling slightly as she stopped, their noses brushing as she looked at him. For a moment she hesitated, but before she could move he pushed forward, their lips connected. This was not the same as it had been when they had first kissed, this was not need driven. It was driven by longing and care, a certain desperation to be close to each other again. Their lips moved perfectly together, just like they had before, his lips were plush, but chapped, she could still taste the scrambled eggs on him, but there was more to him than that. There was the comfort, there was the warmth of him. The familiarity of his taste. As they pulled away he gently brushed his nose against hers, pressing a second, quicker kiss to her lips. This time she nuzzled her nose to his, a content sigh escaping her lips. It was almost like something had moved into place, like something finally aligned that had been out of order during the past.

“Let’s go to bed,” his voice was low and gravelly, as he looked at her. The burning in his eyes had not gone away, but they both knew that they were too tired, they needed to sleep. She knew that there was more that he would like to do, she did as well, but the tiredness was still at the forefront of their minds.

Letting Jack get up she began turning off the lights, slowly they moved into his bedroom, it took them about ten minutes to get settled, the soft blankets wrapped around them, black out curtains drawn closed. She was facing Jack, nuzzled close to him, head resting on the same pillow his head was resting on her forehead pressed against his neck, one arm supporting her own head, the other one pressed against her chest. Jack had wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. the other one was curled under his head. They both knew that they would not be staying like this for the rest of the morning, but right now this felt right. She could hear the steady beating of his heart as she slowly began to drift off to sleep, his hand drawing a soothing pattern on her back. Safely cocooned up with him she knew that no one could hurt her here, not if he was with her.

——————-

Tags:

@antisocialfiore @fudosl @smileykiddie08 @darksparklesficrecs @tommosgirl06 @rosieposie88 @moonshooter @wowitsafemale

[the-secret-keeper]

Where MC Tells the Dateables + Luke About How Horribly They Were Treated In Twisted Wonderland Part 2

Part 2 to my previous post that was requested by @sweetlicorice but with the Dateables + Luke. I hope you enjoy it!

First Part (Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor)

TW: Talk of being overworked, burnt out, starvation, hunger, Abuse of Power, Very Angry Demons/Angels/Sorcerer (not at you), mental breakdowns, nightmares, a lot of talk of food in Lukes, and missing a pet (he's not dead, don't worry)

Reader is referred to as MC by characters, and MC is gender neutral. Having said that, this is in second person POV, so for the most part you are referred to as "you" by the narrator.

Characters include: Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke

Can be read as Romantic or Platonic (EXCEPT FOR LUKE, HE IS STRICTLY PLATONIC)

This will be long, so stories under the cut

This is organized by character with some context at the beginning (it's the same as the original post, so if you've read that, then you can skip it if you like)

~

First, it was a coffin. You were kidnapped by a horse-drawn hearse, woke up in a coffin, in another world. A world of magic, and wonder, but also one of pain, as you quickly learned. But you met people. You made friends, allies, and you were learning, even if you couldn't use magic.

And then, it was you landing rather harshly in a room that looked like an old-time, very fancy courtroom, surrounding by tall and intimidating looking young men. It was soon explained to you that you were in the Devildom, and were an exchange student, one that would be living with the Seven Deadly Sins for your own protection.

You didn't know what to feel. Gratitude for the much improved living conditions? Fear for living with a bunch of demons and going to school with demons that would likely have no qualms with snapping you in two if you stepped out of line? Sadness for the friends that you don't know how to get back to? Upset for being forced to leave the place you were finally starting to feel like you fit in at and having to leave Grim? It was a whirlwind inside, and for a time, that's where it stayed. Kept inside.

Slowly, the Devildom revealed to have similar problems as Twisted Wonderland, in the fact that it seems everyone in power here, aside from Diavolo and Barbatos, would like you to die.

Most of the brothers tried to kill you. One of them succeeded! Congrats to them you guess, though, no offense to Belphie, you don't think it was particularly hard for a demon to kill a human.

Through all of this, you got closer to those you were staying with, even forgiving Belphegor after everything. It only made sense that eventually, what happened to you, you started to open up to them about your past. About those that you met and bonded with, all that had been put onto you, and all that was different.

And after you opened up to them, it only made sense that you started to speak more candidly to the others as well, right? They deserve to know, just as much as the brothers.

Diavolo:

Diavolo confused you, more than anything. At least at first. He held the same position as Crowley, yet he acted more like a mixture of Kalim and Hornton. You were wary, obviously, as you should be. But you never excluded him. You always listened when he spoke, and asked his opinions on things that most would consider trivial. You went to him to ask questions about events, because, while Lucifer or Barbatos could answer your questions, you wanted to see if he was doing his job, or if this was another Crowley situation.

But he exceeded your expectations every time. He'd recognized that you would struggle with the curriculum, so he assigned that teachers would give you easier assignments and asked Satan to tutor you. He'd answer any questions about events and such, in detail, and always with an excited tone, and always willing to take suggestions, or ask your opinions. He never dismissed your asking his opinion, and he always seemed to appreciate that you were actively listening to him.

He even went out of his way to ask you questions, and ask your opinions. He'd invite you to spend time with him both in and out of the castle. And while he'd let you sit in his office as he worked, he never made you do anything more than your schoolwork. He took the time to learn about you. Your interests, your hobbies, your preferences. How you dress, what you like to eat, what you don't like to eat, and everything in between. Discussion never seemed to cease with Diavolo.

He took note of your lack of willingness to talk about the time you were gone, and he'd seen that time in your file. Barbatos seemed to know, but also told him that if he wanted to know he should ask you. He did ask gently a few times, but if he sensed he was overstepping even by a toe, he would withdraw. He didn't want to risk the progress he'd made in becoming closer to you.

One day, he had invited you out to the garden as a catch-up, because he hadn't been able to see you as much as he would like recently. There was cookies, some cake, and your favorite hot drink, made to your preference by Barbatos, who left the two of you alone. You and Diavolo did, indeed, catch up about the time you'd not been able to speak. But he noticed that a gargoyle he had recently had brought in had caught your eye.

"Do you like it?"

"It's not one I've seen before, is it new?" You asked, sipping your drink.

"It is! I just had that gargoyle installed." He smiled. "I'm surprised you noticed."

"I take note of the decorative statues, force of habit. I didn't know that the gardens were having plumbing problems?" You commented innocently.

"They are not. Why do you think that?" He asked, just as innocently.

"So, the statue doesn't have the rain spout function?" He shook his head at your question. "Then it is not a gargoyle, it is a grotesque. They look similar, but gargoyles have a rain spout function, and they're usually installed to prevent damage to buildings through erosion." You smiled knowingly.

"Fascinating. I did not know you knew so much about the subject."

"I don't." You set down your cup. "I had a friend, his name was Malleus. Malleus Draconia. But he let me call him Hornton. He had a club at our last school, called the Gargoyle Appreciation Club. He was the real expert, I just know the base level stuff."

"Did you join this club?"

"I wasn't officially a part of the club, but I attended all the meetings I could. We were both rather busy people, so we weren't able to meet up as much as we would've liked." You admitted.

"In what way?"

"Well we were both full-time students. And we were both housewardens. His dorm, granted, was much bigger than mine. But I'd stand to argue that my only roommate was more of a handful than half of his students." You laughed. "He was crown prince of Briar Valley, so he had a lot of responsibility to his kingdom, on top of schoolwork. I had a lot of schoolwork too, but it was harder because I didn't understand most of it." You sighed. "And that's not including the errands Crowley would have me run, and the paperwork he'd push on me. On top of picking up extra shifts at the Mostro Lounge for extra funds, in order to supplement what little I was given by the school. Not to mention, making sure no one Overblotted, and taking care of Grim." You listed.

"He made you do his paperwork?" You nodded. He gently tilted his head to the side, before righting it. "Did he pay you to do his work for him?"

"No." You shook your head lightly. "He often took away my housing and food budget, if I didn't do what he wanted, or, if I didn't do what he wanted in a timely manner." You admitted. "It was stressful to live there."

"I'm sorry to hear that you were stuck with such an incompetent person in charge of your care, he sounds truly awful. I am grateful to hear that you did so well despite it."

"It's not your fault." You smiled at him. "I miss my friends, truly. But I am happy here. I feel welcomed here, and safe. It's odd to say that. Yeah, any citizen of the Devildom could snap me in two if they really wanted to, but they don't. And they won't. But there were no such limitations back at Night Raven College. If anyone wanted me hurt, I'd have to fight them tooth and nail. Luckily, I did have people that had my back." You hummed at the memory. "My friend group is great. I do hope I get to see them again some day. But I miss Grim most of all."

"Who is Grim?"

"My cat." You beamed. "Grim is my cat. He's a special kind of cat. At least, I think he is. I don't really know what he is, in all honesty." You laughed. "But he could use magic, and breathe fire. And he could talk! He used to talk my ear off." Diavolo smiled at your elated state. "He really wanted to attend Night Raven College, so he broke in, in order to get accepted. He and I were accepted after a short stint as janitors, each as one half of a whole student. He had magic, and I had opposable thumbs." You joked, making Diavolo laugh, a loud, hearty laugh. "He would call me Henchman, and he was greedy, and sarcastic, but boy, I love that cat. When it came down to it, he was the one I could rely on the most. He was always there when I needed him. And if he couldn't help, he'd find someone who could."

"He sounds like Mammon." He commented.

"Mammon does remind me of Grim. Perhaps that's why I'm so fond of him." You hummed, smiling at the thought. "Grim and I were practically inseparable. He'd sleep on my shoulders, or in my arms, or in my bag during the day. He'd sleep on my bed at night. If you saw me, you knew he wasn't far behind." You smiled at the thought.

"You miss him that much?" Diavolo asked lightly. You nodded, without much thought.

"Don't get me wrong, I love it here. You guys are so nice to me, and I'm not overworked, or burnt out. You're nothing like Crowley, and that is a wonderful thing. But I do miss Grim." You sighed, after assuring him.

"I am sorry to hear that you have gone through such hardships. I did not know."

"How could you have? I never told you." You shrugged. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Hmm?" He tilted his head to the side once more, eyebrow raised in confusion. You laughed at the sight of the crown prince of the Devildom looking like a confused puppy.

"I knew you were curious, about why I didn't trust you, about my past. But you didn't pry. Thank you, for letting me come to you on my own terms." He smiled, righting his head again, and nodding.

"Of course. You're someone I hold dear, I'd never want to make you uncomfortable."

"That's very sweet of you." You took another sip of your drink, before looking at him again. "Would you like to hear more about my friends from Night Raven? I think you would like them."

"Yes, I would like that very much. And you simply must tell me more about this talking cat of yours. I am curious." You smiled, before nodding.

You started to regale him with tales of your adventures at Night Raven, and all about your friends. He smiled, nodding along, and letting you talk, even though you both continued to chat long after your drinks had gone cold, and the treats stale. He didn't even want you to stop when Lucifer had come to fetch you from the palace, but he knew he should let you go.

Now knowing more, he was certainly going to look into finding this talking cat of yours. He would love to meet him, and he's sure you'd love to have him back as well. And if the internal anger he'd started to feel towards your previous headmaster was released in the process, well then, he supposes that kills two birds with one stone. Maybe literally for one of those birds, but who is he to say?

Barbatos:

Barbatos knew a lot. He knew you were wary, and he knew you ought to be. He knew where you were when you were missing, he knew a lot of what you went through. He knew that you were scared Diavolo would be like your last horrid excuse of a headmaster, and he knew that the brothers, and others, reminded you of your friends from the time you went missing.

But even Barbatos can miss things. It's rare, but it does happen, and he doesn't always realize it right away. However, he always does his damnedest to fix, or take a second look at what he missed the first time.

Barbatos had welcomed you into his kitchen numerous times. If he didn't want your help, you wouldn't, but you were good at taking care of little tasks when asked, to make things easier for him. And while the silence that filled the room was always warm, and comforting, light conversation wouldn't hurt. At least, that was what he assumed.

He had decided to make a chestnut tart, and you couldn't help but think back to your first official day as a student at Night Raven, or rather, the night before. It was a fond memory. One that you laughed at when you looked back on it.

"What has you chuckling over there?" Barbatos asked, a teasing tone slipping into his normally formal speech pattern.

"Just, thinking about my old school."

"You do not often talk about Night Raven, so do tell me if I am out of line by asking, but what are you thinking?"

"My first official day as a student there, or, the night before, a friend of mine came to my door with a collar around his neck. Apparently, his housewarden had put it on him, for eating a tart. A chestnut tart," you smiled, lifting up the handful of chestnuts you had been holding, so that he could see, "and we had to do this whole big thing to get enough chestnuts to remake the tart, and it ended up being all in vain, but I think it was fun."

"A collar? Like a dogs collar?"

"Sort of. It's kind of hard to explain, but it took away his magic, as punishment."

"For eating a tart?"

"Yeah, Riddle... he was going overboard on the rules. But he was doing better when I left." You admitted. "This was the first time my friends had relied on their upperclassmen for help, and I got to meet some of my friends that way. Trey was an exceptional baker. And Cater... Cater didn't like sweets." He laughed at the way I phrased it. "Cater was nice! I didn't mean it in a bad way!" You tried to defend, but he just laughed harder. "No! Stop laughing!" You laughed.

After the two of you calmed down, a silence fell over you once more. It was comfortable, but something was telling you to reach out. If anyone would understand, even a little bit, it might be Barbatos. And even if he didn't, Barbatos has always been someone you can rely on. It wasn't like he'd judge you, Barbatos was nice like that.

"It wasn't long after that, that Riddle Overblotted." You admitted quietly. You knew he heard you, you could've barely breathed it, and he still would've heard you, he was perceptive like that. "That was the first, of seven Overblots that I had to deal with. And, admittedly, he was one of those I had the best relationship with afterward, aside from maybe Hornton. But, that's because I was friends with two of Riddles first year students." You shrugged.

"You sound quite fond of this Riddle."

"He was a friend." You hummed. "Riddle was great, and he was doing a lot better when I left. I like to think I had something to do with that. But I was closer to other people. Like Ace and Deuce. And Grim."

"Who?"

"Which one?"

"Grim. You have spoken a bit about Ace and Deuce before, comparing the arguments Mammon has with his brothers to arguments they would have. But I know nothing of this Grim."

"Grim was my cat. Well, to be honest, I don't know if he was a cat. I call him a cat, because he looked like a cat, and he kind of acted like one, but I don't know what he was." You admitted, finishing your task. You stopped, and turned fully to face Barbatos' back. "He could speak, and breathe fire. He could use magic. That's how come we got stuck together. But I wouldn't change that for the world, I could really rely on Grim."

"To chase away rats?"

"He would do that, yes," you laughed at his question, "but mostly if I was in danger, I could rely on him to help. I mean, I'm magicless, and I was in a magic school. I needed him, and he needed me." You smiled, looking at all the peeled chestnuts, and thinking of all the fond memories of your cat.

"Do you miss him?"

"Yes. I miss him more than anything." Your head snapped up to look at Barbatos who had turned to face you. "Please don't misunderstand, I love it here. Everyone is so great! I just miss my cat. He's been such a big part of my life for such a long time, it just feels weird without him, you know?" He nodded.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, and for once, it was stifling. You could tell he was angry, but you didn't know at what. For him, he was upset, because he knew a little bit about what had happened, but he didn't know that you'd had to deal with a life-threatening situations like Overblots before. He felt terrible that he couldn't protect you.

"So, grind the chestnuts, yes?" You asked, wanting to break the palpable tension in the air.

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "And MC?" You looked up at him, waiting for him to finish speaking. "You can always talk to me. About anything."

"Thanks Barbatos. I appreciate that." You smiled, before turning back to your task.

He didn't say anything more than that, but you felt the tension slowly disappear. You didn't know that the chestnuts he was grinding up, he was imagining were tiny skulls of your previous headmaster, as he plotted his demise. But he didn't let you know that, wanting you to feel comfortable talking about your past in his presence, or to him in general.

Simeon:

Simeon was someone you felt drawn to. You didn't know why at first, but you chalked it up to either him being an angel, or him simply being a person you felt was good, and you hadn't been around anyone that purely good in a long time. He didn't mind very much, he thought you were lovely. Despite your flaws, and imperfections, he loved to spend time with you.

It helped that you loved Luke, and were very willing to help him whenever you could. You were always so nice to Luke, and to Simeon, which is what made him like you quite a bit. He knew something had happened, but you had made it pretty clear that you didn't want to talk about it, in a rather polite way. And he respected that. He didn't want to push you before you were ready.

While a lot of the time that you were over at Purgatory Hall, you were baking with Luke, or studying with Solomon, you did take the time to just exist with Simeon. You could be doing separate activities in the same area, and occasionally asking a question, or having a full-blown conversation very animatedly with him. He didn't care which. He just liked your presence. It's nice to be around someone who has common sense.

Simeon, for all his angelic qualities and traits, has an aura that makes you want to open up. He's very warm, and inviting. You find yourself having to restrain yourself from talking about the past with him, because you don't really want to put that on him. You knew that it was inevitable, but you kept putting it off, not wanting to have him ask questions about your past.

Occasionally, you would take naps in Purgatory Hall. With Simeon and Luke's angelic presence, it wasn't often you had nightmares while there. It seemed that they warded off nightmares simply by existing. But that means nothing when they were both out of the house, and Solomon was in his bedroom, looking for a book, leaving you to fend for yourself in your horrible dreamscape.

Simeon returned from dropping Luke off with Barbatos, to see you asleep on the couch of their living room. He smiled at the sight, one that he was accustomed to seeing every now and then. But his brows furrowed when he noticed your tense expression, and how you seemed to be breathing a bit heavier than would be normal. He glided over, graceful as ever, and gently kneeled next to you, placing a comforting hand on your face.

It was warm, like a comforting hug from your grandma, or when it's just starting to get warm during spring. Your expression eased, feeling comforted by his presence and touch, and you woke up soon after, your nightmare no longer existing, and your brain waking up.

You groaned lightly, opening your eyes slowly, still adjusting to the light. You saw Simeon sitting there, smiling at you, his thumb rubbing your cheek comfortingly. You smiled back at him, soothed by knowing he was there. He backed away, allowing you to sit up, and he took a seat beside you on the couch.

"Did you have a nice nap?"

"It was ok." You smiled, strained a little from realizing that you'd been having a nightmare, and Simeon's presence was what warded it off, not from it ending naturally.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare." He gently prodded.

"I was." You admitted, nodding to your own words.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asked, gently placing a hand on your shoulder.

"It... it's hard for me to discuss sometimes." You admitted, looking away from him. "It's not like my memories of my time at my previous school are all good. Most of them are. The memories of studying, and my friends, along with the things that I learned, the things I experienced, and the people I met, they're all amazing. I wouldn't trade those for the world. However," you hesitated, pausing for a moment to try to choose the right words, as Simeon remained silent, simply listening to you, "there were many instances in which I suffered. It wasn't always easy, living there, and dealing with Crowley. My life was in danger quite often. And there was usually little that could be done to prevent such things, other than training. And their training consisted mostly of magical training which as we know, I don't have, so it was useless to me. Grim was always so happy to learn more about it, even if he hated studying, he always did want to learn more about magic, and become a great mage."

"That sounds like something Satan would admire."

"Well," you laughed at Simeon's gentle comment, "Grim is more like Mammon than he is Satan, so while Satan loves cats, and Grim is one, I doubt they'd get along very well, as much as I loathe to admit it." He laughed as well. "I would get nightmares there too."

"What would you do when you got them?"

"Usually, I'd just sit with Grim sleeping on my lap, or lay with him sleeping on my chest, and pet him. I'd pet him and stare at the ceiling, or out the window, until I was too tired and went back to sleep, or until it was time to get up for the day. Grim was the only comfort I had at the time. He and I, we were like an unstoppable duo, you know? Inseparable."

"It sounds like you love your cat very much."

"I do. Grim was one of the few things in that world that brought me comfort. He brought me a lot of stress too," You laughed, "one time he got stuck in a contract and ended up having to serve another Housewarden while underpaying them. I had to find a way to break that contract. Oh, and, and that time he got kidnapped. I had to travel, with help from two students, well, a student and a Vice-Housewarden from another dorm, to help get him back. I love Grim, he's my best friend. Don't tell anyone else I said that though," you joked, raising your pointer finger to your mouth in a shushing gesture, "the demon brothers and others are quite jealous people." He laughed.

"Your secret is safe with me." He assured. You leaned onto him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You're so good, Simeon. Someone as good as you is rare in the Human Realm, but it felt nonexistent in Night Raven. Everyone had an ulterior motive. It's nice." You hummed.

"You'll always have a place with me. No ulterior motives." He promised, smiling at you.

You separated not long after, as Solomon called out for you, wanting to have you help him with something. But he didn't forget your words. He'd heard Barbatos and Diavolo talk about it, as well as the brothers, so he knew how bad your Headmaster had been, and he had an inkling about the other Housewardens. But he had never heard about your cat being stuck in a contract, or him being kidnapped. It made him worry about what you went through that you weren't telling them.

But he knew he'd always be there for you, no matter what you told him about your past.

Solomon:

You talked to Solomon about your cat, Grim, quite often. It took you a while to open up to him, but when you did, you told him about Grim, and your friend group. All the happy memories that you made together. You always alluded to the not so happy memories, skirting around them, and dodging his questions when he asked. Doing so told him more than you realized.

It told him that you weren't comfortable talking about it. It told him that the bad times were really bad, and you likely didn't want him to direct any rage against one specific person. For a while it made him think you didn't trust him, but once he realized you weren't telling anyone about these parts of your past, he realized it wasn't just a thing you did with him.

Solomon loves to learn about Grim. The fact that he looks like a cat only adds to his curiosity. He wants to meet him, wants to know what he looks like, and why he's able to do all that he is. You made him swear not to summon him just to dissect him, or pester him with questions he doesn't have an answer to. Of course, this was after you made him swear not to summon him without telling you.

He realized after a while, that you weren't homesick for Night Raven. You never considered that place a home, and told him as such. But you missed the people. Especially Grim. You miss your friends, the people you considered family. He did look into interdimensional travel, but it wasn't so easily done, and it wasn't something he could do on a whim. Even just summoning one person or creature from another world wasn't very easy. Even for Solomon the Wise, who was an extremely powerful sorcerer, it wasn't going to be simple.

"Can you pass me that?" He asked, pointing at an ingredient on the table as he read his spell book.

"What're you doing?" You asked. "I mean, what's this potion meant to do?"

"It's a simple healing potion, but this recipe is new, I've not seen it before, so a colleague of mine asked me to peer review it." Holding the jar he had pointed at, you peeked over his shoulder.

"Oh I know this one!" You beamed. "Crewel taught it to us."

"Crewel is?"

"The potions teacher! He also taught poison refining. This was the first potion he taught us."

"Really?" He asked, looking at it. "That's strange. How on earth did the same recipe occur in both?"

"I mean, it's not really that strange." You shrugged. "Minor healing potions are pretty common in both worlds." You said, looking at the measurements. "It's not that weird that someone managed to figure out how to make the same potion in both worlds. The measurements are off in this one though."

"How do you know?"

"Crewel is very specific, and also Grim kept messing it up. By the end of that class, I had the recipe memorized because of how many times I did it." You told him. "Here, let me just,"

You picked up a pencil, and penciled on a separate, blank piece of paper, the recipe you had memorized, and showed it to him. He compared the two, noting the small difference in measurements that didn't line up with doubling or halfing the recipe. The ingredients were the same, or mostly the same. It was likely they had the same effects, and were similar, despite being from two different worlds.

"Why don't we make both recipes? One according to your measurements, and one according to theirs. That way we can give them your recipe if yours ends up being better." He suggested.

"Sounds like fun." You smiled.

A moment of silence passed over the two of you, light requests for ingredients came from him, and you obliged. It wasn't tense, not by any means, but he could tell there was something you wanted to tell him. He didn't pry though, knowing you'd tell him when you sorted it out yourself.

"I think you'd like him."

"Crewel?"

"Yeah. He was very smart, and an awesome teacher. He'd let me hang out in his office sometimes while I was doing schoolwork. I bet you'd like a lot of my friends. A lot of them were really chaotic, but that's part of their charm." He laughed. "Grim added to that chaos, definitely. But they were just as chaotic without him." You smiled at the memories. "Crewel, or perhaps Trein, would be a much better fit for headmaster than Crowley. I'm sure you'd approve of both."

"I've heard you speak of Crowley, vaguely, but I don't know if I've ever heard you say very much about him, in general. Is he really that bad of a headmaster?"

"He is a bad headmaster. Full stop." You told him. "You'd be a better headmaster than he was. Hell, at the rate he was going, Belphegor, would be a better headmaster than him."

"Belphegor sleeps more than he's awake."

"I'm aware of the comparison I've made." You nodded to your own words. "I was more of a headmaster than he was, towards the end of my stay there. Always doing his paperwork, and handling his duties." You muttered bitterly. "Crewel and Trein did try to make it easier on me, whenever they could, but they were full-time teachers, so they couldn't very often." You shrugged. "It was what it was. Can't change it now."

"Was Grim never any help?"

"No, not usually. But he was pretty good at taking our friend group away from me when I was about to explode from stress so I didn't blow up at them." You acknowledged. "And he did like to sit with me as I did the work, usually on my shoulders, or my lap."

"Sounds like he liked to keep you company."

"Grim and I were practically inseparable." You smiled. "We did have other friends. Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, even Sebek, but Grim and I were still really close. I think you'd like them all."

"I think you forget that I'd likely be the oldest one there."

"In my friend group, yeah, probably. But certainly not the oldest in the school. I mean, Malleus is a fae, and he's pretty old despite looking and acting rather young. And Lilia is even older. Granted, I don't know either of their exact ages, they're funny like that, never very forthcoming with information about themselves." You explained. "And I'm sure they'd still be fun to be around, my friend group. I mean, you've got Ace and Deuce, who never stop fighting, Grim, who is a talking, fire-breathing cat-like creature, Jack, who's a very loyal wolf beastman who can turn into a wolf, Epel, who looks somewhat feminine, but is the epitome of a raised on a farm in the middle of nowhere southern boy, and Sebek, the half-fae who has trouble with volume control and social cues of humans." You laughed as you explained them as if they were strange foreign beings, rather than some of your very best friends. "I miss them." You smiled, fondly, as you thought of them.

"I'm still looking." Solomon said simply, as he continued with what he was doing. He looked up. "You'll be the first to know if I find anything."

"I appreciate that." You nodded.

Nothing more was said until Solomon finished both potions, a silent acknowledgement of the fact that you felt comfortable enough with him to want to introduce him to those you hold dear was enough to keep him from wanting to break the silence. Just the thought of you trusting him that much was enough to make him giddy. It made him realize that to you, he wasn't Shady Solomon, or Solomon the Wise. He was Solomon. Your friend. Someone you care very deeply for.

He continued to do his research after that. Looking for a way back to Twisted Wonderland. He wanted to meet your friends, and your cat. He wanted you to be able to see and talk to them again. He wanted to be able to see the place you lived, and watch as you interacted with your friends, be a part of this important piece of you. And, if he happened to find a way to transform your former Headmaster into a crow, and give him to Diavolo or Lucifer as a gift, under the guise that he accidentally summoned a new type of crow that was even more intelligent than the average one, then you'd never hear about it from him. You might hear about it from them. But that's a bridge he'll cross later.

Luke: (STRICTLY PLATONIC)

"What! You mean to tell me you've met someone who's a better baker than Barbatos and me?"

"I didn't say better, Luke." You laughed. "I said on par with. You guys are on the same level. And since you're from different worlds, imagine the recipes you guys could swap."

Luke was always eager to learn about your past. He got disappointed when you didn't tell him much, but he was the first you really started talking about your fond memories with. Your fond memories of the food there, that is.

He learned first about the horrors of Lilia's cooking, when he saw you being able to choke down Solomon's cooking. He didn't question it until Solomon was gone, but then you regaled him with tales of how awful such an ancient being could be at cooking. He made a vow to himself that day, and to you, for self-preservation, that he and you should never let those two meet.

But soon after he learned of the wonderful cooks and bakers. He learned first of Jade, Floyd, and Azul, who's cooking you had most often, as they gave you an employee discount. He learned of Jade's love of mushrooms, Floyd's love of Takoyaki, and Azul's love of fried chicken. He heard of their wonderful menu, and how Jade liked to experiment with mushrooms, and how Floyd's level of cooking depended on his moods.

He learned of Jamil, and his wonderful cooking, combining a variety of spices, along with the sheer amount he cooked on an average basis. He learned of Kalim's lavish parties, the load of cooking that each party demanded, and how often you were invited.

You talked of the wonderful takeout that Idia would order, along with the lectures you'd both get on nutrition from Ortho afterwards. You held Ruggie in high reverence, citing how he taught you the best ways to stretch a budget and cook on that budget. You compared Vil's diets to Asmodeus's, explaining their strictness and the reasons behind it.

Out of everyone, it seemed he knew the most about your last school, even if only through how often you talked about the food. He tried his best to recreate the dishes you really liked when you talked about them, and others he simple listened in wonder, wondering how these dishes worked, how they tasted.

He learned last of Trey. You specifically kept that away from him, as a sort of homage, so he could learn about who you knew would be his favorite one last. Trey who was raised in a bakery, and made some of the best sweets you've ever had. You knew he and Luke would get along, and you also thought it was a shame that they'd likely never meet.

"Trey was raised in a bakery, so he grew up baking. He's made sweets that I've never had before, and he's an expert at so many of them." You smiled at the memory. "Trey and you would get along great, I'm sure of it."

"You said that about Kalim and Epel too."

"Well, you're just so likeable. And so are they." You shrugged, laughing as he crossed his arms, not satisfied with that answer. "I'm sure that you'd all get along, Luke. Because you are all wonderful people." You smiled.

"Tell me about Grim again."

"Again?" You asked in a playfully incredulous tone, smiling at him as he enthusiastically nodded. You decided to play along, since the treats you both were baking were in the oven.

"Grim was my cat. My best friend. We lived together, we slept together, we ate together. He and I did everything together. He was very mischievous, and never wanted to study. He called me Henchman, and he loved his cans of tuna." You told him, having recited this information to him a number of times. "Grim loved food. And he'd eat anything. He and I were in it together, we were never apart. I could trust him more than anything. And he could always depend on me, should he need to. We were two halves of a whole, literally." You hummed.

"Was Grim that much of a glutton?"

"Oh yes. He ate anything. The only person who could get him to stop eating would be Kalim. Because he'd stuff him so full, and then continue to try to make him eat. I had to lecture him a number of times because he just wouldn't stop. I was, usually, unsuccessful." You sighed. "But Kalim always meant well. And he got it eventually! Now that I think of it, the only other person who could get Grim to stop eating would probably be Lilia, because he just couldn't stand his cooking." You both shuddered, at the thought of someone as bad at cooking as Solomon.

"He sounds a lot like Beelzebub."

"That's the first time I've heard that comparison." You acknowledged. "But no, Grim was more like Mammon. Loyal to a fault, greedy as hell. He called me Henchman, like how Mammon calls me Human. And they were both always there when you needed them, no matter how much trouble they got into along the way."

"I wish I could meet him."

"I wish that too. I wish you could meet all my friends. I think they'd really like you. But, I think we'd be staying away from Lilia if he's been in the kitchen." You laughed, and Luke quickly nodded in agreement.