#I despised that scene from the bottom of my heart

[drulalovescas]

If Dean and Cas not lovers then why did Lucifer, who always appeared as a dead lover, come to Dean as Cas

[lola-writes]

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’. 

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service. 

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. 

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use. 

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips. 

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach. 

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder. 

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return. 

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read. 

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug. 

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement. 

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued. 

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped. 

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought. 

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled. 

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom. 

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously. 

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely. 

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it. 

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit. 

_

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work. 

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68). 

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up. 

My breath hitched in my throat. 

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips. 

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features. 

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment. 

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips. 

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts. 

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

 “The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips. 

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly. 

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height. 

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck. 

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine. 

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.” 

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him. 

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file. 

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish. 

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky. 

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach. 

He had a very cute butt. 

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips. 

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

_

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday. 

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair. 

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous. 

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out. 

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went. 

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

_

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper. 

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside. 

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets. 

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out. 

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up. 

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me. 

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back… 

Dread coiled in my stomach. 

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight. 

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart. 

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

_

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered. 

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice. 

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare. 

And I was up for the challenge. 

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious. 

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further. 

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked. 

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig. 

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

 “Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame. 

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal. 

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut. 

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected. 

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words. 

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered. 

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers. 

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth. 

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

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Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

[toji-bunny-girl]

subby panty sniffer loser!shigaraki i cant stop thinking abt 😖

Shigaraki has always hated you.

Ever since All For One brought you in, and your jaded eyes first met his—you’ve always goaded an odd, frustrating burn in him. At first, you both merely ignored each other’s presence. And he has always preferred that. Then things soon got annoying when you started cozying up to him and trying to be friends with him. It’s fucking irritating and the burn gets worst the closer you press yourself into his space.

All it took for you to switch it up was his unrequited demeanour to your friendliness. It’s a bit too easy, really. A harsh word or two and a sneer at your face already got him on your bitch-list—just like everyone else would.

Everybody’s the same.

And you’re nothing special. That’s what he tells himself, repeatedly, over the years. Even when the glow in his belly comes alive whenever you brush pass him, his eyes memorised the curves of your grown body behind the curtains of his shaggy hair and god—the sweet, head-spinning scent of your underwear that sends his nerves tingling.

Yes, you’re nothing but a pest. A pest who always leaves her clothes in the laundry room, and often finds her panties gone without a trace.

Stupid and forgetful and—

“What…the hell?”

The hair on his nape flew erect, prickly dots snaked beneath his skin in a shot the moment he heard your voice—laced in utter disbelief and disgust.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You weren’t supposed to collect your laundry this early yet. Weren’t you supposed to be training with All for One?!

“So, you’re the panty thief?” you sneered at him, the same way he would at you. You would’ve never in a million years even think of the scene in front of you—Shigaraki Tomura, who openly despises you, rubbing his cock with your panty? “What a joke.”

His pale face grew crimson red from the blood that rushed through his pulsing veins, his pride ripped from his clutch with every blink of your eyes soaking the embarrassing sight of him. God, he wanted to die right then and there. He shouldn’t have initially neared your laundry before, he should’ve ignored the tugging burn that urged him to touch the remnants that enveloped your bare body, and you shouldn’t have came here in the first place!

His thoughts are chasing after his sanity, and his heart threatened to beat its hard last. You’re nearing him and his sweating form with every dreadful step, and his body had the guts to feel…excited—his cock throbbed and the familiar burn came roaring through his vessels again.

Just what are you doing to him?

You snatched the damp piece of underwear from his grasp, soaked with his sticky precum, and his cockhead twitched from the lost warmth that previously hugged his shaft.

He’s now bare, blood continued to pump his cock hard as you stared at the mere size of his—length and girth you’d never thought would be hiding behind his dirty clothes; tip flushed in a pretty shade of pale pink, and veins that stemmed from the bush of light blue. His heartbeat thumped loud in his ears as you looked, and he almost lost of your words from the beating.

“Is this some kind of perverted hobby you have? I always knew you’re weird, but not to this extent,” you threw your underwear aside before shoving him, his back roughly bumped into the wall behind. Fuck, he doesn’t know what to say—and what to do other than to watch how you’re reacting to this twisted mess.

You’re staring at his twitching cock when his gaze flickered to your face, his hot panting hazed the air and it scorched your cheeks in a burnt shade. What are you thinking?

“It’s only fair for me to touch you after you’ve been jerking off to my panty, right?” it’s almost a reassurance for your own self than to him. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as you wrapped your hand around his throbbing member.

“W-What are you doing?!” he bit his bottom lip to muffle a moan, fingers curling into fists against the wall, nails poking into his flesh.

“Entertaining myself with a freak like you,” you snickered, stroking his veiny shaft with your cold fingers. Shigaraki shuddered to your touch, the nerve-numbing burn soaring through his stomach as his chest rose and fell quicker by the second.

“Get your d-dirty hand off of me,” his breath hitched as he stretched his throat, pushing his head against the cool wall. His toes curled as you pumped his length, and his nerves tingled from the sight of you staring at his cock with that look in your eyes.

“You seem to enjoy it, hm? I thought you hated me, I can’t believe you’ve been busting over my fucking panty. Do you have a crush on me or what?”

“Y-You…hngh—bitch!”

“I didn’t know a mutt could talk…much less call me a bitch?” your grip tightened, unforgivingly so around his slippery cockhead, earning a pretentious grunt—which tumbled out of his chapped lips in the form of a pathetic moan. “What was that? You sound like a little girl,” his cheeks burned in embarrassment as you made fun of him, your snickers ringing in his hazy mind, taunting the pleasure that piled over his nerves. “I want an apology, you perverted loser.”

“N-No way—nngh!” Shigaraki’s sweat-glazed body jolted from every painful twist of your fingers, his thighs shaking from the way you’ve been abusing his cock; flashes of bloody ruby glinted from behind his greasy bangs. It’s funny, really. He thought he looks all fierce and intimidating when actually, he’s nothing but a slutty mess holding back his drool.

“It’s not a fucking request,” your hand wretched his face closer to yours, his eyes nearly melting under your flinty gaze.

“F-Fuwah—aanh!” his hips drew backwards in creeping sensitivity, and a loud slick sound bounced off of the lewd-seen walls as your nails flicked in contact with his twitching red tip.

“You know I’m impatient, hm? So hurry,” your thumb hastily rubbed over his leaking slit, splattering his pre-cum all over the both of your clothes. His body shook into your arms, jerking and whining as his hands scrambled to hold onto you for support.

“Mmmgh! Haa—” his weight slopped onto your body, and his heavy head rest against your shoulder as you continued to stoke his throbbing fat girth with your tightening grip. “So—aangh! S-Sorry, m’sorry!”

“Aww, who knew you’d sound cute when you all whiney,” your other hand rose to tilt his chin, his ruby eyes glistening with tears of desperation, drool slipping past his mouth as he clenched his teeth. “What a pathetic face.”

His hips pistoned into your hand, clumsily rocking forward and messing up the fine rhythm of strokes you had, his moans sounding more and more breathy—you could tell he was at the near edge. Drawing your face closer to him, your soft lips met his cracked ones just as a crooked cry leaped out of his dry throat, and you could feel his hot cum shooting onto your shirt, staining your top white with the smell of him.

Shigaraki stayed unmoving, merely gulped as you licked and wet his lips with your tender tongue, your saliva mixing and dripping down his chin. The burn in him wasn’t just a flame anymore, it had exploded into chains of reaction—his heart squeezed and insides bursted into a sloppy, chaotic mess.

Does he have a crush on you?

[naomikozura]

Love of My Life: Part 2

Heian Era! True Form! Ryomen Sukuna x Sorcerer!Fem!Reader

A/N: I want to put an actual paragraph warning in here. Remember this is Sukuna’s story during the Heian Era, using bits and pieces from what I've researched on JJK and him during this era.

This chapter shows INTENSE GRUESOME SCENES including torture, psychological torture, abuse, massacres, and burning buildings. This is a DARK THEME story, it is meant as a work of FICTION and its 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!!

Warnings: strong language, violence, mention of mass murder, angst, generational trauma, complicated family dynamics, family abuse, murder, emotional turmoil and abuse, manipulation, sadistic tendencies, corruption of power, dark themes, burning down villages, murder, masochistic tendencies, sadistic behavior, decapitation, prostitution, sex scenes (in a brothel), torture, psychological torture, (lmk if I missed any!)

WC: 10.2K Series Masterlist

Part 1 || Part 3

The night was quiet, the aftereffects of your fight still lingering in the air. You hadn’t spoken to them for the rest of the evening, letting yourself sit with the hurt of your father’s words.  Your eyes were red, puffy from the silent tears you shed in the past hour. 

Defective. Wasted potential. Disgrace. 

Why has this been your life? Why were you born into one of the Four? Did you live a cruel existence in a past life, were you paying for the sins of your ancestors? Your father despised you being his daughter, hated that his claim was weakened because you were a daughter instead of a son, that you would never be as powerful as the sons of the other Families. You did everything to bring honor to your family. You studied, you trained, you focused on your inherited technique, you brought peace between villages with your kindness and political intelligence, you tried for the better part of your life to mold yourself into what your father wanted. You obeyed his demands, agreed to his greedy power tactics, even believed you were okay marrying Zetsubou  Zen’in when deep down you didn’t want to. You were more than just a pawn in his game, more than means to an end, more than just something to solidify your family name in the realm and create a greater power. 

Little did he know he was slowly pushing you to your brink. You believed you controlled yourself well, keeping composed in even the worst of situations but your composure slowly started to crumble with every new task he had for you. The pressure slowly built up and you couldn’t take it anymore, you didn’t want to sell your life away just for someone else to gain all the power. 

What a cruel life you were given. 

“Y/n”, you felt your heart skip a beat, a low rumble vibrating through you as your bones became hyper aware of who called your name. You turned around, your eyes meeting his deep red ones as he stood in your bedroom. You didn’t even begin to wonder how he got in, he was a gifted sorcerer, he could do anything.

“Ryo..”, you called his given name, not remembering when you had started but when he showed no distaste in your doing so, you continued to call him by name. 

“Come.”, it was all he needed to say as you nodded, slipping on your night robe and your shoes before following him through the back door of your home. You stayed glued to his side as he led you through the woods, suddenly realizing he was using his technique to hide both your cursed energy. He’d put a veil over the both of you to camouflage from any scouts patrolling the woods. 

Silence fell over the both of you, walking for about a half hour before reaching the end of the woods, a blue lake illuminated by the moon at the bottom of a slight hill. The water was bright, the moon reflecting beautifully to light up the water in a serene and breathtaking way. 

“The ground here is loose.”, he said blankly before grabbing you, picking you up in his arms as you sank into him, letting your head rest in the curve between his jaw and shoulder. He had a musk to him, a woodsy smell that brought comfort over you and let you relax into his touch. 

You wondered if you were the first person he’d touched like this? Deep down you knew he’d probably indulge in the company of concubines, he was a man with needs and one many couldn’t refuse. You were certain many of the women would jump at an opportunity to have the King of Curses in their bed. A sting grew in your chest at the thought. 

Once he’d reached the bottom, he set you down on the grass, your body small in comparison to his. He stared at you with curious eyes, the dichotomy of your existence in contrast with his was a wonder to him. He was grueling, sadistic, had the body that would make anyone recoil on sight, and held no remorse in his actions towards others. Meanwhile, you were kind, intimate, beautiful, and gifted. You had three of the most powerful names in this era asking for your hand in marriage, every man in surrounding towns having heard of the L/n daughter who was the heir to the L/n bloodline and being gifted with the Eye of Aurora. He knew your ability was powerful, strong enough to possibly even go head to head with him once you’d reached its full potential. Deep down he already knew you’d be considered one of the strongest sorcerer’s in the Heian era once you reached your full ability. 

He hadn’t come to terms with his reasoning for letting you live, for helping you, for feeling intense amounts of cursed energy at your distress. He wasn’t a man of emotion nor empathy. He saw emotion as a weakness, mundane, meaningless. He hated weak humans, despised the sight of overly emotional lackeys and often killed them on sight or elongated their emotional distress with mental torture. Emotion was something he disregarded and found useless, and yet it was the very thing that kept him from even thinking of bringing harm onto you. 

Was this punishment for his track record of horrific slayings? Were you sent by some being to punish him with your existence?

“Why are we here?”, your red eyes met his gaze, something in his chest burning at the sight of your defeated stare. He could tell you’d been crying, he felt your distress from across the realm and it burned him alive. He’d almost crossed across the entire woods just to show at your home and end your father’s life for laying a hand on you. 

“Your father.”, he started roughly. “He’s a pathetic excuse of a man, an insolent waste of human flesh.”

Your tired eyes widened at the hatred dripping from his lips, the words filled with venom as his eyes darkened. You’d heard about his anger and wrath among the scribes in your village, it was enough to wipe out an entire population and he’d done it multiple times before. You knew if he truly wanted to, he could end your father’s life with no hesitation.

You looked down at the water, watching as the water moved and the ripples distorted the moon, your chest hurting as it contracted. “He…”, you choked on your words, the break in your voice creating a rise of energy in him. “He thinks I’m defective, a disgrace to our family.”

His eyes looked over at you, the burning in his chest growing larger. 

“He threatened to get the elders from the Zen’in clan to exorcize my ability and… let me die without our ancestral guides”

He wasn’t much for believing in spiritual practices, but you’d grown up believing you needed your ancestors to guide you to the next life. it was a common belief within the families especially when you came face to face with cursed spirits constantly. They’d always been exorcized and seeing them cry out as you did knowing they’d just die, you wanted to believe there was a place where your soul could rest easy in the after. 

You felt a whirl of his cursed energy, feeling the rage boiling inside of him. A part of you feared what could happen to your father if Sukuna really wanted to get rid of him, but another sadistic, cruel part of you that you’d never encountered before told you that your father deserved whatever he had coming to him. After years of his grueling expectations, you started to hate your father for his greedy and selfish ways. You knew deep down in the hidden depths of your heart that you couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse if he died. 

The exorcism of cursed energy was painful, you could easily say that due to how spirits cried when they would get absorbed. The exorcism of an inherited special ability was far worse. You’d heard stories of Yu L/n. He’d been exorcized of the Eye of Aurora and executed after he’d wiped out an entire village because he couldn’t control his technique. It was a horror story, a gruesome tale, it scared you to no end at the possibility that the same could happen to you. An exorcism of a special technique meant death. It was the most grueling way to torture and kill someone, leaving them alive meant they’d be a shell of a human, struggling and living at a lesser quality of life. No humane person would allow someone to live in such agony. Inherited techniques were bonded to the inheritors soul, binding together to make the energy and the human soul one for whatever lifespan the sorcerer had. It was the reason manipulation and control was easy for those who inherited special abilities, because it was connected to them in every way down to the genetic makeup of their bodies. 

You stood next to him in silence, your body numb of emotion as you recounted everything your father had said to you. Were you really wasted potential? Were you really defective? 

“I’ll kill him.”, his voice vibrated, your eyes staring at him while he focused on the body of water in front of the both of you. “I’ll make him suffer, perhaps exorcize his cursed energy to give him a taste of his own ignorance”

“Ryo, please.”, your soft voice sent a wave of warmth through his body. “I don’t want unnecessary bloodshed.”

He realized then why the realm considered you the Princess of Peace. You wanted to fight for your rights to life, fight for what was fair to the realm without bloodshed. Every gathering you’d been to had always swayed in your favor and he knew deep down it wasn’t because of your family name. You were just logical and intelligent to showcase why your outlook was necessary in the development of the Jujutsu world. You truly believed deep down there would be ways to save jujutsu sorcerers and regular humans without having to create an all out war. 

A part of him whirled in anger, another not understanding your stance. He disregarded human emotion at all costs, thought it to be weak, pathetic, unbeneficial, and a waste of energy. When he looked at the way people reacted first instead of thinking it made him recoil in disgust, when he’d see sobbing mothers or angry fathers at the villages he’d consumed he laughed, feeding off their distress and growing in power. He thrived off the negative emotion, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care for anything except gaining his right to the realm. He believed he was the pinnacle of jujutsu sorcery and everyone else was simply a lackey and weak. 

He’d consider you one of them had you been anyone else, but there was something about you that made him hold you at a higher regard. You held every characteristic he despised of humans, of lesser sorcerers and yet he couldn’t bring himself to put you in the same category as them. It was like you had all immunity from his hatred, his wrath, his disgust. He didn’t know why you were different from the rest, he just knew you were and he couldn’t bring himself to figure out why. He didn’t want to. 

“What do you suggest I do then? Sit around and feel your energy get more distressed every time he talks to you like you’re worth nothing?”

For some reason, his confession of feeling your distress made your heart skip a beat. You knew he could feel all the energy around him, the powerful, the weak, the unstable, the murderous, and he cared most about yours. He felt your distress and it made him angry. Something about that undeniable truth made you feel warm inside. 

“You know what they tell you is true.”, he said, void of emotion. “I’ve killed hundreds of people, consumed their energy and left them to rot in the ground.”

Why was he saying this?

“I know.”

“I have no remorse, no morality, no human left in me”

“I know.”

It was all you could say, you couldn’t deny the painstaking truth. You knew he was immoral, dangerous, a murderer, you knew and still you ignored it. 

“So why do you choose to stay?”, he bit out. He’d never wanted nor cared about the opinion of anyone but he wanted yours. Why after the past two months did you choose to keep his company? Why after two months did you find yourself enamored with him? 

“Because you don’t care”, you confessed. “You don’t care about what others think, or what they say. You’re free to pass through every inch of this realm without any regard to what anyone has to say or what they think. In the end, you know you’re stronger, you go through life knowing your worth and position and… If I stay around you long enough maybe I’ll learn not to care either.”

Silence. 

He had no words to say as he listened to your voice grow slightly louder. “I want to leave, I don’t want to be the heir to my family’s claim, I don’t want to be held to this impossible standard that my family has for me. I just wish I could’ve been born just a regular human being. I might’ve been weak, ignorant, and blindsided but I would be free of the torment of my family’s expectation of me. I would be nobody and that would be enough.” 

That was just it. You could never be a nobody. You were forced into this life, born into a family of inherited techniques and forced to bring honor to your family no matter the cost. You were shackled to your prison for eternity and with no way out, you accepted the consequences of your position. 

To him though, it was different. You could never be a nobody. Not when he saw you as everything that brought out a sliver of humanity from his black soul. He saw you as everything everywhere all at once. You were kindness and empathy, strength and resilience, he felt it in the energy he absorbed and saw it in the woods he wandered through. He felt your presence in every fiber of his being and he hated it. You consumed him in a way not even the strongest in this realm could even graze him in. 

“He wants me to stop training in the fields and stay in the inner territory. He’s having the elders oversee my training.”, your mouth twitched slightly. “In the end, I'm still forced to develop my domain for him.”

A surge of annoyance whirled inside of him, forcing it back down in order to remain in control of his veil. He could be annoyed at the mundane anger of your father, but he wouldn’t put you at risk of being seen with him just because he wanted to rip your father into shreds. His thoughts seemed normal to him, but he knew if you’d heard his tactic of gaining your freedom you’d surely feel disgusted by him. 

“We should go back.”, you whispered, another tear streaming down your cheek. You looked down as you swallowed a sob, the feeling of his hand wiping the tear away warming your skin. You leaned into his hand, your lachrymose eyes meeting him in a gentle gaze. 

He stayed silent, grabbing your hand as he led you back through the woods and to your home. Your focus was on your intertwined hands, wondering if he’d ever let someone else touch him like this before. Has he ever been so gentle with others or were you the only exception to this? 

When you arrived, you lingered outside for a moment, the silence occupying the space while you tried to find the right words for him. You couldn’t quite place how you felt, but you felt a pull towards him, an uncontrollable feeling that you wanted to get off your chest. 

“Thank you”, was all you could say. He hummed in response before grabbing your hand, his skin rough and his touch gentle. You smiled through your hurt, a piece of your heart breaking at the fact that your freedom to roam had been stolen from you. A piece of you hurt even more than you couldn’t see him anymore. 

You gave him one last smile before walking away, your hand still in his grasp as it slowly untangled itself from his hood and you walked inside your home. After you’d reached your bedroom, you felt the veil of his cursed energy release and his presence disappear. 

Another single tear falling down your cheek while the pain in your chest overcame you, forcing you into a slumber just to escape from the agony. 

Over the past few days, Sukuna came to visit you in your home, concealing his energy and yours in the process in order to keep you from being sensed by others in your family clan. After so much time, he created a body double of you to take your place in bed so that you’d feel more comfortable leaving your room empty in the middle of the night. 

The nights were the only time you had with him now since your training was supervised by the elders, leaving you little room to actually train to create a domain and instead your time was consumed with training your ability. Every night you spent with him made your heart warm, everything about him made you feel whole, made you feel seen. It wasn’t often he’d speak fondly of anything, but he’d express himself to you in a way he’d never let anyone else hear. He preferred hearing you talk, preferred hearing your dreams of a future and a life that wasn’t surrounded by inheritance and power. He’d often disagreed, believing that power was the best thing in any lifetime that someone could obtain, but he found himself understanding your stance more and more every night. 

The two of you would spend every night with each other, staying within reach of your home in case you needed to return quickly, visiting the lake every night. You didn’t know at what point you started to return to his home with him, but you had found yourself in his bed more times than not. You would spend all night wrapped in his arms, his gentle touch on your skin, his fingers running through your h/c hair, breathing you in as you slept in his hold. 

He’d never expected a single thing from you. Your relationship with him was never carnal, he’d never let it get to that point because to him, he didn’t care for physical release anymore. 

Before you, he’d spend the better parts of his nights in brothels, a different concubine each night and drunk on wine and letting himself dip into his pool of women whenever he wanted. A harem waiting to jump into his bed at the snap of his fingers and yet, when you came around it was like all carnal desire evaporated from his being. His sudden disappearance from the brothels left even the concubines in shock, wondering where he’d gone off to not knowing of his infatuation with the L/n heir. 

Your emotional and mental capacity exceeded his beliefs and he found himself going against everything he once swore his life on, finding himself seeing you in a different light in comparison to every other living being. He respected you on a godly level, a level he never regarded anyone else in. You saw the world through a lens of profound clarity and grace, something he’d never wasted time on, something that made you connected to those beneath you but also made you so profoundly unique. You had embedded yourself so deeply into his being that even those around him started to notice the shift within the King of Curses. He found himself in awe of your perspective, mesmerized by the way your heart navigated through everything. 

He felt utterly pathetic. 

But you were content with him in every way. Where you held empathy and grace in your heart, he held control and selfishness. You were gentle and kind, he was merciless and heartless. Your eyes looked at the world with curiosity and he saw it as a kingdom to overtake, a kingdom where he would ultimately rule. A kingdom where he wanted you to serve next to him. To be his till his heart stopped beating and even beyond that.

You were a dichotomous pairing: heaven and hell. 

Still, you felt content when you laid in his arms at night. You felt secure laying in his bed, sleeping next to him, existing in the same space he occupied, looking into his deep red eyes that the rest of the realm were too scared to look into. You loved the way he touched you, his hand gentle as it pushed your hair back while you laid next to him. You loved the way he held you while you breathed against his chest at night before inevitably having to return home before the sunrise. 

That same morning you had returned home, you were preparing for a bath, undressing as you heard the group of maids outside the room. 

“You don’t think he will have heirs, do you?”, one of them asked in a whisper. 

“Someone like him has to have heirs. He wants to rule an empire, surely he’ll find a way to get them.”

“I wouldn’t mind giving him some.”, the final one spoke, making your ears ring in shock as she continued. “Have you seen him? He has to have a harem of women waiting to get into bed with him, not to mention he looks like he would be completely wild in bed.”

You felt your gut turn inside of you. 

“I wouldn’t mind jumping in bed with him, even if it is only once. Just to know what it’s like to get fucked by a real man.”, the maid laughed as their voices disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing in your shock as you let her words sink into your bones. 

You felt… insignificant. Insufficient. Inadequate. 

Later that night when he came for you, a wave of silence covered the both of you. You knew he could feel your energy, the doubt bubbling inside of you as you moved through the woods. Once you’d reached his home, you stood in the middle of the room, waiting for him to break the silence. 

He turned to meet your gaze, the emotion glossing over your eyes as he moved towards you. His hand reached up, pushing your loose strands of hair behind your ear as he caressed your cheek. 

“What’s wrong?”, he breathed. 

“Why?’, your voice shook, leaving him questioning why you were like this tonight. “Why me?”

He stood in silence, waiting for you to continue, knowing you weren’t done with the amount of energy he felt radiating off of you. 

“Why me, Sukuna? You could have anyone, any woman you wanted, hell all the women you wanted. I know you’re far from being a saint, and I accepted that fact a long time ago because I couldn’t care less about who you’d been with before me. I don’t care about your past or how many women you’ve been with… I just need to know.”, you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. “You have so many women, so many concubines at your fingertips. I’m sure you’ve slept with some of them in the past few months, hell maybe even weeks. So, why?”, your voice broke. “Why me?”

Were you not good enough? Sufficient? Worthy?

His silence ate at you, making your gut fill with dread as he stared at you with a blank stare. You could guess that he’d probably taunt you, play with your feelings before delivering his ultimate blow. You wanted to believe that the past few weeks meant something to him in the same way they meant everything to you. You wanted to be enough for someone. Enough for him. 

When his voice broke the silence, you felt your eyes gloss over with tears again.

“I haven’t been with another woman since I met you.”, his voice held the truth, reaching up to cup your cheek.  “Since the first time I saw you, I stopped visiting brothels or entertaining the thoughts of other women.”

A shock sank into your bones at his confession. His eyes bore into yours with truth, with honesty. What he wanted to know was how these thoughts even entered your mind. 

“Who put these thoughts into your mind?”, he asked in a deep growl. 

You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. “One of our maids… She..”

He let out a quiet shush, grabbing your face with both his hands as his thumb grazed over your lips, “You…”, his eyes darkening with what you could only place as lust and possessiveness, “are the only woman in this life and the next, the only woman in this realm and the hundreds of others that I desire.”

And hell did he want you. He wanted every part of you. heart, body, and soul. Down to the simple way your eyes looked at him to the way your cursed energy spiraled into immense power when fighting cursed spirits. He wanted every strand of hair, every piece of your soul, every inch of skin, every minute of your time. He wanted you to consume him in every way and he couldn’t care less about the gravity of your effect on him. If you didn’t exist to be with him, he didn’t want to exist either. He saw himself as the pinnacle of jujutsu sorcery, the king of this realm, and he wanted you to be the one and only thing that could bring him to his knees. If he was the most powerful sorcerer in the existence of humanity and jujutsu, then you were far stronger. You brought the King of Curses to his knees and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted. He wanted you to have power over him, it meant you belonged to him in every way that mattered. He'd burn the world down if you asked, kill an entire nation to prove his undying loyalty to you, he’d stop his spread of cursed energy to know a moment of peace with you. 

He didn’t know when he’d become so wrapped up in you, but it was too late for him by the time he realized the hold you had over him. 

He was yours with the entirety of his being, with the intensity of his soul, and the remainder of his existence in this life and continue to let you consume him in every lifetime after this one. 

His soul called your name in a way he’d never experienced in his entire life. For a man who didn’t believe in indulging in mundane emotions, he indulged in you and that’s all he needed. 

Your lip quivered, a sob choked out of your lips as you looked at him in a deep admiration. You lifted your hands to wrap around his wrists, sinking into his touch as you whispered to him. 

“I want to see you, Ryo.”, your hand on his face, your gentle lachrymose eyes meeting his hardened ones. “I want to see the real you.”

He would’ve denied the request had you been anyone else, but he was at your mercy, allowing his body to morph into his true being. The very form that left the realm fearing his presence, left them in agony from the overwhelming rush of cursed energy. His true form alone was enough to make an entire nation buckle under his presence. It was gruesome, wicked, twisted, ugly, and macabre. It was something so terrifying they’d used it in stories to children for them to be good for their parents. His true form was something heard about across all of the realm and left nations training for years in hopes to one day kill the King of Curses. And despite all of that wickedness, gruesomeness, and fear, you looked up at him with gentle eyes. 

He showed his true form to you, waiting for the recoil of disgust, the shock of horror and yet none of it came. You looked at him with the same gentleness you had for anyone else in this realm. He had a deformed stomach, four arms, multiple sets of eyes and a plate on his face, teeth sharp like daggers, and body covered in scars and marked in black ink. 

Yet, the only thing that flooded your eyes was admiration. 

Why weren’t you disgusted by him?

Why weren’t you running in fear?

Bowing at his feet?

Why?

“Why do you hide your true form around me?”, you cocked your head slightly. “Everyone in the other families always say you show your true form to add to your dominance over the realm, yet you disfigure your body and make it different when I’m with you… Why?”

Who created you in such a way that you empathize with him instead of cursing him to hell? 

Princess of Peace. 

“Does it bother you?”

“I just don’t see why you have to hide it. You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”

You couldn’t explain the connection to him. 

Was it an invisible string? 

Fated soulmates? 

You didn’t know what it was that his form didn’t frighten you or leave you in shock. You welcomed every being with open arms, perhaps it was your special ability to see cursed energy and gauge its threat to you. His energy never reached levels of threat when he was near you. You’d seen it around other sorcerers and the level grew astronomically. It was almost too much to wrap your mind around and yet when you saw it in the solace of his bedroom, it never pushed you away. 

Inside these walls, no cursed energy existed to harm you. In fact, it was the complete opposite. His cursed energy manifested in a protective veil, ensuring you were guarded completely when you were with him. 

You felt every question swirl in your mind, trying to pinpoint why he had you feeling so alive. 

Was it the desire to leave your family out of spite?

The desire to know what being unhinged was?

The desire to not live within the bounds of the jujutsu code and live freely?

You couldn’t quite place it but you felt envious of his freedom and lack of care. You were always being watched, always monitored, the only moments of peace and freedom you got were when he would sneak you out of your home at night.

You grabbed one of his hands, rubbing soft fingers on the back of it and meeting his gaze. You’d grown to admire the depth of his gaze, the way they watched you with a calm intensity. You have laced his hand on your cheek, his massive palm warming your skin as you sank into him. 

His body lowered to your height, bending over as he brought you closer to his chest while your heart pounded inside of your own. You knew he could feel your infatuation, your intrigue, your heart racing inside you. Your gentle eyes met his darkened ones, the closest thing to desire that he could get to while holding you. You felt his lips meet yours, the roughness of his mouth as he claimed you as his. You melted into him, your hands on his chest as a pair of his landed on your waist and the other held your face, deepening the kiss. 

He lifted your body, placing your frame on his lap as he laid against the headboard of his bed. You felt the burning of his skin as his grip tightened on your waist. Your skin ignited under his touch, running a hand through his hair which caused him to groan against your mouth. You could listen to him all day, forever. 

If your father or the realm saw you right now, what would they say? What would they think? Would they accuse Sukuna of brainwashing you? Imprisoning you? Did you need saving? 

No. 

You didn’t need saving; you were far beyond it for anyone to consider it. You were too far gone in him and you didn’t want to turn back. His muscular arms picked you up, laying you on your back against the sheets as his overwhelming form covered yours. You were tiny in comparison to him, your hair splayed out in a halo as his eyes stayed focused on you. A hand brushed your stray hairs back, rubbing small circles against your temple. 

You focused on his body, admiring every muscle, every ripple of skin, every scar, every black marking. You admired his form regardless of the fact that most would consider him a devil. It never occurred to you in any sense. 

An angel entrapped by a demon, an angel falling in love with the devil, an angel stolen from heaven and dragged to hell. 

You didn’t give a damn anymore. You wanted him, needed him like you needed oxygen. He helped you feel free, helped you escape the confines of your familial name, helped you feel worthy. He helped you see life in a new light, in every way that you couldn’t before because of your father’s controlling ignorance. You didn’t care about the opinions of the village or the families, deep down they were only looking out for themselves even if everyone else denied it. 

The King of Curses completely ruined you: the Princess of Peace. The two of you were a dichotomous pairing, chaos and peace, yet still found balance in each other. It was the balance of life and existence and the both of you knew exactly how the collision would end: one of you would gain everything and the other would lose it all. But neither of you would have anticipated the depth of your connection, the intensity in which he consumed you and you him. You no longer cared about the consequences of being with him. Your father could disown you, exile you, have the entire village and the other families against you, but as long as Ryomen was at your side you didn’t care. 

His rough lips made their way down your neck, kissing and licking every inch of your skin as your hands held into his arms. The sound of your muffled cries made him feral, making his instinct and possessiveness kick into overdrive. He needed to feel you, needed to taste you, to breathe you in and have you take over all his senses. 

Your hands gripped his arms, your toes curling against the bed sheets as he continued to kiss down your neck and swirling his tongue around the delicate skin. You tasted like a heaven he never believed in, made him feel euphoric in ways beyond comprehension. 

Your body was on fire at his touch, you wanted more. More of his touch, his kisses, his groans, his everything. You just wanted more of him. 

You wanted to give yourself to him in everyway you could. He knew you were still a virgin, he wanted to be the one to wreck you, to be the only one to know your body so intimately, wanted to be the only man you’d ever end up with. His hands gripped your hips as you felt his buck slightly against you, your moans filling his mouth as he kissed you sloppily. 

He forced himself to stop, gaining a small whimper from you. His eyes met yours, his voice deep but low as he pressed his lips against yours once more. 

“Not like this.”, he muttered, his tone vibrating in every bone in your body. 

You knew what he meant with just a simple phrase, Your body relaxing against the bed, letting him collapse next to you as he wrapped you into his arms. You soaked in his warmth, letting your body be held by him as you fell into a slumber. 

This was all you could ever ask for. 

It was all you wanted.

One Week Later 

You woke up just before the sunrise, your body sitting up as the bed sheets fell from your form. You looked next to you, seeing Sukuna in his sleep while his arms were lazily thrown over your torso. Another night with him in peace left you feeling content, feeling a soreness overtake your body from the training you’d done with him last night. You felt his arms tighten, your body almost bare against him only wearing one of his oversized wool shirts. 

You pushed yourself out of his embrace, swinging your legs off the bed and looking out the window. You still had time to get home before everyone woke up, though you needed to head home soon. You felt his energy shift as he woke, raising a hand while still laying in the sheets and looking at you while caressing your cheek. 

“I have to get home.”, you whispered as you melted into him. He grunted in response before sitting up and cracking his neck to relieve the pressure he’d gotten overnight. You follow his as he stands, letting him help dress you in your clothing as you felt his lips along the side of your neck. 

Both of you walked out of his home, walking through the woods until you reached your room, his veil keeping you hidden and camouflaged both of your energies. You gave him a final kiss, smiling at him before he turned and left, leaving you alone in your room. 

During mid day, the sun held its highest position and the food was being prepared for lunch, you heard mention from your father that the Zen’in would be joining your family for lunch. 

Everything was fine at first, everyone coexisting together, talking about family matters and everything normal, atleast it seemed normal at first. 

You looked up to see Zetsubou Zen’in walk in the door, one of the maids accompanying him to the table as she bowed and walked back to her post at the front door. He was the heir to the Zen’in clan. A remarkably talented sorcerer with the gift of the Ten Shadows technique. Everyone was sure he would soon manifest the shikigami Mohoraga, making him the first to manifest it since the family’s establishment to the realm. 

“Now that everyone is here, there is some news we must share.”, your father spoke as he stood, watching as Zetsubou’s father also rose to stand next to his son. Everyone else remained seated, you included as you cocked your head in confusion. 

“Y/n, come stand.”, your father motioned towards you, your gut churning in suspicion before you stood next to him. You watched your father before turning to Zetsubou and his father, his dark eyes staring into your e/c ones. 

“We are to celebrate the new union, the meshing of two family names into one great clan.”, your father spoke, your mother and the Zen’in wife staring in silence. Even the maids seemed to be on edge of what your father was saying. “Zetsubou, Your father and I have agreed in accepting the conditions of betrothal that you both have given to our family.”

Betrothal?

“Y/n, you and Zetsubou will meet in union in two weeks' time. Two Clans becoming one in matrimony.”, your father smiled as he shook hands with the Zen’in leader, smiling at Zetsubou. 

You stood in silence, your energy growing grimm at the declaration your father just made. Your body overwhelmed in shock, your heart racing in your chest, your mind swirling with a million different possibilities. The chatter around you blurred into a jumbled mess, nothing comprehensive due to your anger radiating from your body. 

“I look forward to getting closer to you through our marriage, Y/n.”, Zetsubou smiled at you, your eyes staring at him mindlessly. “Y/n?”

“I’m not marrying you.”, you said silently, almost inaudibly but you knew he’d heard you since you saw Zetsubou’s eyes darken. 

“What?”, his voice came out clipped, sharp. Dangerous. 

“I am not marrying you.”, you repeated, your eyes void of any emotion as you held 

“Y/n!”, your mother let out a warning call, but you ignored her. You didn’t care about anything other than making it entirely clear that you were not going to be wed to the Zen’in Clan. “Forgive us, she doesn’t realize what she’s saying.”

“I know what I’m saying. I am not marrying you, Zetsubou. Not even if you held my life at sword's edge.”

You suddenly felt the energy that radiated off of your father, his anger growing tenfold as he glared at you with intense disappointment and resentment. Your father already hated you, and already felt disgraced by your presence. Why not give him another reason to see you as less than good enough. 

“I think there needs to be some time to process our agreement. Surely we can come to a suitable agreement that will benefit both of our clans.”, your father forced out, his voice clipped. “Our maids will clean up, let me walk you out.”

You watched as both the Zen’in leader and your father walked out, your eyes glancing back at Zetsubou, holding his glare before he scoffed and followed behind his father. You heard the lowered voice of Zetsubou’s father, his voice full of annoyance. 

“Get your daughter under control or else we will take care of her for you.”, and with that, the Zen’ins left your home. You stared blankly as your father walked back into the room, his energy radiating in waves like a tsunami. He walked up to you, your blank stare meeting his eyes as you felt your head snap to the side, the sting burning your cheek as he snarled at you. 

“You are a disgrace!”, he screamed, your mother gasping at his sudden burst. “How dare you embarrass our family name in front of the Zen’ins!”

You raised your head, looking at the pure fury displayed in his eyes, still not saying a single word as he continued to berate you. 

“Why can’t you just do your duty and save yourself the embarrassment. Save our family the dishonor of having you as its heir.”, he bit out, each word dripping with acid. “You’re to marry Zetsubou Zen’in in two weeks' time. For once in your pathetic life, do something honorable for this family.”. He left the room, your mother following closely behind as the maids started to clean the dining room. 

And still, you stood in the middle of the room with no emotion behind your eyes, just the sting of your cheek and the emptiness in your chest at your father’s words. Your life, your future, your dreams, it all was reduced to being the wife of a man you did not love. A man you did not care for and despised. 

You were reduced to nothing. 

The night was silent, the wind howled softly in the background causing the trees to move, leaving nothing but a tranquil aura in the air. You stared blankly at the wall as you laid against Sukuna’s skin, the warmth flooding your body as you felt his arms wrap around you. You felt the growing pressure in your chest, an unavoidable truth you couldn’t keep from him anymore. 

“Kuna…”, you whispered gently. HIs body moved, looking at you as his eyes fell on your heartbroken form. “I..”, you choked. 

How could you possibly tell him this?

“What is it?”, his voice was deep yet soft, the words ringing in your ears. 

“I… My father..”, you sucked in a shaky breath. “He arranged for me to marry Zetsubou Zen’in.”

“He arranged for you to marry Zetsubou Zenin.” he repeated back to you, the lingering darkness hanging in his tone. 

“He says it’ll be good for our families. That I have a responsibility as heir, as does Zetsubou, to continue our bloodline and make our abilities stronger.”

“Do you love him?”, the question made your blood run cold, even kicked you in the gut, but you knew why he asked. You could read in between the lines and hear the unanswered question he truly wanted to ask. 

“No.”

A hum was all that escaped him, the silence casting over the both of you causing a small blanket of tension to rise. 

“I can kill them.”, he replied finally. “I can give them a reason to call off that sham marriage.”

He could do it easily, there was no question about it, the only thing keeping him from carrying out his plan was his loyalty to you. He wouldn’t do something you asked him to not do. You had that power over him to stop him from doing anything. You heard the hidden meaning in his words. You weren’t ignorant or naive. You knew who he was and what he was capable of and yet, you lay in his arms falling deeper into what he was, or rather, who he was with you. 

“I don’t want bloodshed. Besides..”, you sank into your sorrow again. “I don’t think there truly is a way out of this.”

“Do you really believe they could possibly keep me away from you?”, he asked in a serious, deep tone, his question full of every emotion he’d never said out loud. He didn’t know what kindness was, what admiration looks like or what love felt like but to him… you were the closest thing to that that he’d ever felt and seen in all his life. 

You brought out what little humanity he had in him, he showed it only for you. the tiniest sliver reserved for you but disappeared when it came to anyone else. You were the only one who deserved that small minuscule part of him. He had little regard for human life, he believed himself above all beings all gifted, cursed, and boring. 

Then there was you. 

He didn’t believe himself above you in any regard. 

In every way you were his equal and he’d burn the world to ash to prove it to you. 

“I can’t deny them… My father… he already hates me.”, you muttered against his skin. Ryomen slowly sat up, his arms helping you move with him as he brushed your hair back, tucking a strand behind your ear and letting his hand rest against your cheek. Your eyes glossed over, a hurt in your heart flooding every vein in your body. You didn’t want to be forced into a life you had no interest in, why did this have to be your life’s path? 

You wish you could just speak to whatever greater being ruled over your world and beg them to change the prophecy known as your life. Beg for a time where you didn’t exist within the confines of your familial name, your duty to pass your legacy through your bloodline, your fear of disgracing your family, who could ever change the end result for you? 

“I’ll find a way.”, he whispered before leaning towards you, pulling your lips against his as he let all of his emotion pour into the kiss as the tears fell down your cheeks. He was gentle even in his destructive touch, he let himself completely off guard with you. Your lips moved gently against his, soft and delicate, making his other hands wrapped around your waist as he kissed you deeply. You felt weak at his touch, your heart openly his without regret or second thoughts. 

“Ryo..”, you whispered, your voice shaky as he kissed you again, this time more possessive and full of desire. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, pulling it before letting it go as it swelled. 

You let yourself sink into him, his arms wrapping around you in a secure embrace. You fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, it was even and strong, proof of the life inside of him. 

He watched you carefully, his gut churning in a whirlwind of emotion and suppressed energy. He needed an outlet and soon, he’d spent the better part of the past month with you in his embrace and presence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so long without releasing his cursed energy, it was starting to make him twitch at all the pent up power he had. He’d waited until you fell asleep in his arms before lowering you into the sheets, your body laying perfectly in his bed as he covered you with the blanket. He pushed the curtain away, closing it as his eyes lingered on your body, the blanket laying over you as he moved out of the room. 

He found himself wandering through the woods late, moving to the outskirts of the village territories and making his way deeper to territory he knew a little too well. He sensed an energy that stood out to him, his focus moving towards the waves radiating towards him until he reached his location. His veil did good in keeping him hidden, but he released a small wave of energy to send a flood of chills through every being in town within his proximity. His body moved through the homes, the worn down tavern, and the trader booths until he found exactly what he was looking for so late in the night. 

The sound of moans echoed in his ears, the energy he was tailing radiating from inside the brothel at the very end of the town, hidden amongst the trees for a more private ambiance. He knew exactly what was taking place inside the brothel, but it wasn’t that that bothered him, it was the person inside that did. He sensed Zetsubou inside with multiple women, all of them taking their place in his bed, taking turns pleasuring him or even doing it all at once. His grunts sounded out as the moans that escaped the concubine echoed through the walls. The other women were touching him, their hands on his body as one of them rubbed their body against his while another kissed him in a sloppy manner. 

He would be lying if he said he’d never been in a similar, compromising position. He’d visited these brothels long enough to know exactly who and what he wanted every night he visited. His lust filled ways long gone, no longer causing a rise in him, especially after meeting you. That was the exact reason he was here. For you. 

An anger rose inside of him seeing your supposed future husband laying in a bed being pleasured by concubines just weeks before your wedding. His groans sounded out at the pleasure he was receiving, the moans of the concubines filling the air as he fed into infidelity. He knew all too well that men were never loyal to their wives, always frequenting the brothels for a good time. The sound of Zetsubou slamming the headboard against the wall as he fucked one of the concubines, his curses filling the air as her moans ripped through the night, it all made Sukuna’s anger run deep inside of him. The lack of respect, the complete disregard Zetsubou held for you made him want to snap his neck in half. It would be the perfect way to get you out of the betrothal. 

Even the sounds of the whores in bed with him drove Sukuna mad. They had to know the great Zen’in heir was to be wed to the L/n heir, yet they still chose to lay in bed with him, to be absolutely and disgustingly fucked by the son of a bitch. He listened to the sounds, letting the anger grow inside of him, allowing himself to plot every way he would maim Zetsubou Zen’in alive for ever treating his betrothal as disposable. Something to be disregarded. Disrespected. 

After a while, the moans and the slamming of the headboard stopped, Zetsubou’s voice ringing out as he laid in the sheets with his whores wrapped around his naked body. 

“You ladies definitely know how to show a man a good time.”, he breathed as he let them touch his body, his muscled flexing under their touch. 

“Of course, always special treatment for our best man.”, one of the whores said in a sultry voice. “It’s good to get a good fuck while you still can.”

“Trust me, even in a few weeks I’ll be back. Don’t you worry.”, the sound of Zetsubou kissing one of the women made Sukuna fill with disgust. “You have the best of the best here. Can’t stay committed to some virgin who doesn’t know how to please a man, let alone know how to fuck one.”

His energy spiraled, shoving it down as he continued to listen. 

“That’s right, you need real women, not some uptight spoiled brat.”, another woman spoke out. 

“You can get all the good pussy you want here, baby.”, another called. “We know how to treat a man right. Make you feel everything.”

“That’s all I want.”, his voice vibrated as he kissed the woman again. “C’mon baby, let's go for round two.”

And just like that, the sounds of moans and deep grunts rang out again. The knocking of the head board and the panting of hot breath filling the room. Zetsubou Zen’in was scum. Bottom of the barrel. A fucking no body. 

Sukuna bided his time, waiting deep into the night as he watched the Zen’in heir leave, heading back in the direction of his clan’s territory. Sukuna’s red eyes watched him from the shadows, his anger rising into flames around him, waiting long enough for the worthless son of a bitch to be far enough away before letting the release come. 

Fire consumed the village, everything burning into ash, the smoke filling the air as the sound of screams echoed into the night. The taverns, the trader booths, the homes, all of it catching on fire and burning every single person to a crisp. He saved the brothel for last, waiting for the sound of panic cries to ring out before walking inside and seeing all the concubines who were with the Zen’in heir trying to get out of the burning building. He forced them to stay in place, his presence overwhelming them into fear. He watched as the panic settled into their eyes, their lungs begging for air, their bodies getting burned as the flames licked the walls around them. One of them tried to run out past him, but never made it as he blew her head off in one swift slice. They screamed out, begging him to let them out, crying as he watched in emotionlessness. It wasn’t until their lifeless bodies collapsed on the ground that he left, leaving the burning village behind him as he wandered into the night. He’d burn the whole world down for you. 

Even if it meant starting with those who wronged you first.

“Our entire livestock was burned! We have no more land to grow food in!”, the sound of the Zen’in leader’s voice ringing out during their meeting with your father rang out. You listened in silence, letting yourself sink into the reality of what they were discussing. A small part of you laughing internally at their misfortune. 

Another village burned into flames just two days ago, and last night, the Zen’in’s lost all of their livestock, fertile soil, and sustainable crops. They were all burned to nothing, not even the soil or the seeds were salvageable. 

“We need to get this monster under control. We have to speed up training with our sorcerers and find our strongest men to be put into units to take him out. We cannot let him roam so freely anymore, especially not now that he’s making hits closer to our clan lands.”, the Kamo Clan leader spoke out, his voice soft as he marked the map where Sukuna made his last raid, your eyes peeking in through the slit in the door. That village.. It was right outside the Zen’in borders, it was where Zetsubou frequented the brothels. 

Ryo..

You stepped back, moving back into the hall before making your way to your bedroom, closing the door as you sat on the floor. Did he burn the village down in some act of honor for you or was it just a coincidence? 

The thoughts spiraled in your head, letting yourself undress and change into your dinner clothes, the silence still filling your home ever since your fight with your father almost three days ago. You were a week away from your marriage to Zetsubou, a gnawing in your gut as you stepped out of your room and faced your father. You stood in the doorway before making your way to the dining table and sitting in your regular spot at the very end while your father and mother sat next to one another. 

Then, a rush of energy consumed you all at once. The sensation floods your senses as you feel your body tense. You look at your father, noticing his sudden change in demeanor as one of the maids let out a cry of fear, her shaky voice barely audible as you could hear her motion towards the dining room. 

In all his glory, Sukuna stood tall and unmoving, his body adorned with fine robes and his true form showing as he occupied the space. Making the air impossible to breathe, making everyone except you suffocate in fear. 

Your eyes widened at the sight of him, why was he here?

You watched as your mother raised her hand to her mouth, covering her quivering lips. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked in a shaken tone, your eyes filled with worry as you watched your father fill with anger. 

“Sukuna”, he bowed before the King of Curses, before lifting his head and asking his question. “What brings you into our home this evening?”

Sukuna stared your father down, his true form standing tall and in overwhelming sense of dominance that made your mother cower. Although you showed no fear towards him, you could see why everyone else in the realm did. He was massive, muscular, deadly, his body taking form of a cursed entity. It was no secret that Ryomen Sukuna held an energy that defied all existence, he was far above all beings. 

You tried to stay focused, holding your shock at his sudden appearance back, not wanting them to see your reaction. 

What was he doing? 

“F/n L/n.”, Sukuna’s deep voice echoed. “Leader of the L/n clan. For such a highly renown sorcerer, you sure don’t seem to realize where your greatest assets lie.” He walked further into the room, your father’s jaw clenching noticeably. “You’re ignorant and naïve, choosing to force such a gifted sorcerer, your only daughter and heir into a marriage of mutual gain, of political power.”

“Our family and Clan matters shouldn’t interest you. Now why are you intruding on our home?”. You had to applaud your father’s boldness, asking Sukuna such a demanding question. 

“You’re too mundane, worldly, pitiful.”, you watched as he moved and sat at the table, in between the head where your father and mother sat and the opposite end where you sat. He sat with his legs crossed, leaning his head into his hand before speaking again. “Why arrange for political gain when you could have real power, L/n?”

“What are you talking about Sukuna?”, your father’s words shook slightly. 

“Look at the bigger picture. L/n may be a part of the four families, but in comparison, your poor judgment and lack of support is the reason your family will fail. You seek what humans want. You’re greedy over mundane things”, Hid deep red eyes held your father’s gaze intently, overwhelmingly. “What if I told you that you could have the power of gods?”

“Power of gods?”, your fathers hands fisted in his lap. 

“Yes”, you noticed Sukuna’s red eyes glance at you, softening only when he met your gaze and immediately hardened and dropping when he met your father’s. “You could have real power, real influence, real claim to the realm. It would put you far above the rest of the families, perhaps make you greater than the Gojos.”

You didn’t miss the glint of intrigue in your fathers eyes. Of course bed listen or spare a moment for someone like him. Anything for power, anything for more claim to the realm. Your family wasn’t weak but any means, but your father had slowly started losing connections thanks to his selfishness. It truly would be the end of the L/n family if he didn’t get it together. 

“And how would I possibly gain that? I have nothing to give you in return.” , your father smiled weakly. 

“Simple”, Sukuna leaned his head on his hand, staring at your father blankly before extending a hand and pointing at you. 

“I want Y/n as my bride.” 

[bucknastysbabe]

Oooooo just found your blog and I’m in love!! I was wondering if you could do an Aegon Targaryen x innocent sister wife!reader and in the scene where they find him to take him back to the castle to be king she’s brought along to entice him out but she’s just crying and pleading with everyone not to hurt him and let him go but she’s being held back because she’s the leverage to make him compliant. Maybe she’s trying to get him to take care of him!! 💕💕💕

Hello! My first request woohoo! I got more angsty than I expected with this but ‘twas fun. Hope you like it✨ I had fun!!

Til’ Death Do Us Part 

The king, your father, was dead. This you knew. You knew Aegon was to be crowned king, something he wholeheartedly despised. Down in your heart you also knew your brother-husband was not meant for it. Gods know he hadn’t made an effort but the family saw that Aemond, or even Rhaenyra would be better as the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

Now Aegon was missing and Alicent had sent Aemond and Ser Criston to find him. He was most likely in Flea Bottom or dead to the world in a pillow house along the Street of Silk. You worried at your lip as Alicent raved to the men. You turned a blind eye to Aegon’s revels, trying to change his ways in a more gentle manner. Your brother responded to those better than slapping or screaming. Seldom he would stay with you and lay off the strong wine.

But when he did it was enjoyable. The conqueror’s namesake needed love at the end of the day, whether he was aware or not. You jumped when your mother raised her tone. Aemond frowned and bit out, “Let me take her. He’d be like to come along if I bring our darling sister.”

You gasped, “What? Me? I don’t want to be where Aegon has his…excursions.”

Helaena’s lilac eyes jumped between her husband and you. She enigmatically sighed, “Put out the flames.” Aemond muttered something to Ser Criston and the Dornish Kingsguard called to you, “C’mon then, I will keep you safe my princess.”

Alicent frowned at your scared expression and pulled you into a hug. She whispered, “Just bring him home darling.”

They stuck you in some hideous brown garb, hiding your pale hair under a hood. Aemond and Criston suited up underneath their disguises. Deliriously you stifled a giggle at Criston’s silly hat. The three of you hustled through the bowels of the castle, passing maze-like hallways and Balerion’s skull.

Your eyes watched the shadows of the Black Dread’s teeth against the stone of the walls. You remembered Helaena’s words about putting out fires and shivered. Her strange words always came true in a sense. Aemond’s hand at the small of your waist ushered you along.

You felt a growing dread in your stomach as your party exited on the streets of Flea Bottom. Beggars, whores, and the worst of small folk did their usual thing while you stared on in horror. Aegon always teased you about being clueless outside of castle walls.

Aemond and Criston shadowed you when they knocked on a house’s door. A whore came out and leered at Aemond. Apparently this was a spot for Aegon in his younger days. You learning needle work with Helaena and he was exploring the pleasures of the flesh. You frowned and averted your gaze when the lady laughed at you.

Off your party went again, a tip given by the woman. Crowds busied themselves around you. Eventually Ser Criston’s face grew pinched at your next destination. Aemond hissed, “C’mon then we must go.” You tried to keep your hands from clinging to his robes. Criston squeezed your shoulder and closed your body to his. You sighed in slight relief at the white knight.

Inside was horrid. It was dank and smelled of piss and the iron smell of blood. Children swung and hissed at eachother down in a pit. Your stomach roiled and your hand closed over your mouth. You cried, “Ser Criston, I- I cannot.” You clenched your eyes shut at the children fighting each other. Aemond’s eye turned to you, a steely look coming over his angular features.

“This is no place for a lady. I’ll meet you two outside.”

Cole nodded and half-carried your struck frame out of the sordid establishment— if one could call it that. Your fingers clenched into his garments roughly, tears welling up. He frowned at you, a hand rubbing your back as you held back sobs.

“W-why would he be in there? What went so wrong?”

“I don’t know princess, I’m sorry you were exposed to such…abomination.”

Your brain tried to wrap around Aegon reveling in somewhere like that. Anger burned lowly in your belly, but overwhelming feelings of disappointment and sadness smashed that. Aemond stalked out with his lips pursed. He eyed you and huffed.

“Fucking deviant. He’s not there. C’mon.”

Criston gently pulled you away and ushered you along. He commented, “Where do you suppose the prince is?”

Aemond hummed and stalked forwards before stopping. He nodded silently at the heads of the Cargyll twins moving in the direction of the Grand Sept. Your heart sunk and lifted simultaneously. The party moved on to the sept. Aemond and Criston argued about Aegon and the crown, you silently following.

On the steps you saw the familiar curled platinum hair of Aegon. You gasped at his disheveled state— lank hair, bruises, and a cut adorning his cheek. You could tell he was drunk from your spot. He stood between the Cargylls, staring glassily. Criston announced their intent and held his sword up.

Your voice quavered as you pled, “Don’t hurt him, please!” Aemond’s stern gaze whipped to you and your jaw clamped shut. You knew what he meant, leave this to the men silly girl. In a flash, Aegon shouldered off one of the twins and ran for it. Criston engaged the other kingsguard and Aemond ran after your brother. You cried out at the flurry of violence and screaming.

You stumbled to Aegon and Aemond wrestling on the ground. Aemond growled, “You’re embarrassing all of us! Look at your wife brother!” Your own Valyrian eyes met his and a pitiful whine exited your throat. His gaze softened for a fraction before he went back to shouting.

Aemond brutally shoved your love down, the other thrashing. You wept, “Don’t hurt him Aemond please stop! Aegon, Aegon,” you grabbed your other siblings shoulders, “Just stop it now!” Your teary eyes tried to find Ser Criston and shoved off by the brothers at the same instant. Aegon grabbed Aemond’s face and pleaded, “I will sail away on a ship with her and you’ll never see us again!”

You cried softly as Criston walked up and said coolly, “Your lady mother awaits.”

Aegon’s face schooled into a look of defeat, tears welling in his eyes. Aemond thrust him towards you with a curse. Your hands found his soiled clothes and gripped at the fabric, eyes searching his own for a semblance of sanity. He pulled himself away and grabbed your hands. Aegon’s eyes were downcast as he muttured, “We must go. I’ve done all I can.”

You whimpered and followed along.

“I just want you to be okay,” you weeped.

He sighed, “M’sorry, so sorry.”

Aegon’s heat drew closer to you through the streets. You started to repeat yourself, “I just- you can’t do this anymore. I’m so scared.” His throat bobbed and he croaked, “I’m sorry.” That’s all he could manage on the way back, not responding to your begging. Your eyes were red from the salty tears and the corners of your mouth ached.

You were rushed into your chambers to get ready for the coronation, your Mother promising Aegon’s presence to join yours before the procession. You continued to weep for your brother while the handmaidens readied you. Once the never ending tears began to dry you sat on a chaise overlooking the window into the city. You felt empty, shivering even in the muggy air.

Your door opened and Aegon entered softly. He looked handsome in his black garb bearing the sigil of your family. The red cut on his cheek told the real story of today. He looked down still, swaying ever-so-slightly.

“Come here,” you said.

He walked to you and fell to his knees at your feet, his arms wrapping around you. You instinctively pet at his pale locks, fingers combing through the waves. Aegon’s head laid on your lap, his tired eyes gazing up at you. He asked, “Do you still love me?” Hot tears seemed to come back with a vengeance.

You sighed, “Yes of course I love you, you fool. I wish you’d love yourself,” you frowned, “It…pains me to see you like that Aegon. Hurts my heart.”

You sobbed again, cursing yourself for these weak emotions. He grasped at your dress, his mouth pulling into a pout, eyes watering over again. You gripped at his hair and spat, “You’re still drunk too! Aegon why?”

He trembled under your fingers and weakly replied, “I’m fucked up— you don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry, I don’t know? I’m not meant for all of this. I love you so much and I can’t control myself.”

You gestured for the unhappy prince to sit by you. The pair of you clung to each other like when you were children. You kissed him gently, the man returning the favor. You said against his lips, “Well. We can’t change our outcome dear. I’ll be here always until the Stranger calls.” He nodded and pressed his forehead to yours and sighed, “I know. Seven cursed me to be blessed with you.” He kissed you again, holding onto your frame like the last shred of good in his life— which it was.

[jessfromouterspace]

kinktober/flufftober mashup - all bg3 vibes

round one goes to love confessions/hand jobs with gale (ao3 link)

His frustration pours from his fingertips as he flips the pages of yet another tome, silently pleading with the books to bring him something, anything, regarding their current predicament.

"You're not going to intimidate the information from the pages, dear." Tav quips, reaching across and pulling the book from his hands, gently tossing it aside. "Call it a night, would you?" She takes the opportunity found in his exasperation to take the books place in his lap, the privacy of his tent allowing them closeness without any prying eyes.

Her legs wrap around his waist, his own opening up to allow her to settle to the floor with little space between them. With a deep sigh he accepts that his frustration isn't getting them any closer to solving the whole tadpole, cult, end of the world thing.

"You do make a compelling argument, despite how much I despise having a book taken out of my hands." His attempt to be stern is ruined by the warmth in his eyes and up turn of his lips. He leans into her touch as she takes his face in her hands, fingers grazing his jaw, thumb swiping over his bottom lip. Her only reply comes in a soft kiss, his chin held firmly as her lips press to his.

His own hands begin to wander, one pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, the other wrapped with his arm firmly around her hips. He's using what strength he has to pull her flush to him, letting her feel his heart thump through his chest and the gentle roll of her hips tells him she also felt him harden against her.

She lets out the softest moan as she moves against him, causing his breath and hips to stutter. Her hand reaches between them, undoing the laces of his trousers, but not yet reaching inside, but instead using her knuckles to caress him through the soft cotton.

"Gale..." Her voice is on the edge of breaking. "I, you - this -" She struggles to get her words out, opting to kiss him deeply, his lips parting immediately for her. "I want to tell you something." Her lips ghost over his, her eyes closed as if she's ashamed of the emotions threatening to spill from her.

His hips move of their own accord, bucking against her hand while he places soft kisses to her lips, cheek, forehead, while he gives her time to find her words, not wanting to rush her.

"May I?" He asks after her silence drags on too long for his liking. She nods, finally slipping her hand inside his trousers, taking his length into a firm but soft grip. His throat betrays him, a groan escaping as she begins to stroke him, her thumb rubbing over the tip with each stroke.

"I love you, too." He nearly whimpers as she pumps him harder, both reward and punishment for his thievery of her confession.

"You just have to know everything, don't you?" She feigns offense as he threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her into a crushing kiss. "I love you." Her voice is but a whisper as she breaks the kiss, her hand working over him quickly, the shudder escaping him letting her know he's close.

"I love you." She repeats, her grip tightening with each stroke, her forehead pressed to his so she can watch him come undone. She feels him still as he finishes in her hand, making a mess of both of their clothes.

"Oh dear." He laughs as he takes in the scene before him. "This isn't quite how I'd planned on making a mess of you this evening." He reaches to pull her shirt over her head. "Good thing it's still early, love." His lips find her throat, a contented hum the only promise of what's yet to come.

[uchihakeimei]

I feel like fan fic writers are always drastic in their sex scenes (most of them don't even make sense or are completely irrealistic, and that's my biggest pet peeve), to the point where they can't write a balanced scene, no, it always gotta be one character bruised, beaten up, screamingcryingthrowingup, and the other one the biggest sadist ever known to man. Like, I get it if it's someone's kink, but why are all Kaisagi fics like that? At least 90% of them?? (And why is Kaiser the sadist, when it obviously would be Isagi lol?) I've never read YOI fics but I'm fairly sure Viktor would be OOC in most of them. I can just sense it. They ABSOLUTELY represent the prototype of the ship that would be WILDLY misinterpreted. (Unfortunately, Rinsagi fanfics are also like this, not that it comes as a surprise. Please, act surprised.)

Wait, there's a Hokage inauguration episode? Do I wanna know what happens in there, or should I keep enjoying my blissful ignorance? Man, Kishimoto should have gone all out like Kaneshiro is doing, confirming the Kaisagi fandom in canon and all that. Too bad Kishimoto didn't have the balls to make NS canon. He could have achieved icon status, but alas…

God, you are spot on when it comes to sex scenes in fics.

Lots of grabbing, shoving, choking, hitting, slamming going on in there, lol.

I think KaiSagi might be like that because of that one Kaiser's self harm scene after the Uber's match (which, can I just say this, I despise it from the bottom of my heart. Not the manga scene, but the fandom interpretation of it; especially in the light of the recent leaks. It's not a kink, its trauma.) Personally, I think Kaiser might hate those particular kinks- impact play or choking, given his past.

Yeah. YoI is a big fandom, so there's definitely some very good fics there; but since its a big fandom, there's a lot of terrible stuff there too. (Also, that fandom really has a fetish for the miscommunication plotline; 'let's end this' happens in practically every fic there is)

The Hokage Inaugration episode...

Basically, it goes like- Boruto and Himawari get into a fight, Himawari awakens her byakugan and somehow manages to knock Naruto out who had interfered to protect Boruto. Konohamaru comes to get Naruto for the ceremony, sees him knocked out and takes his place using a henge.

So.

(Perhaps ignorance was better?)

[gale-gentlepenguin]

I made a Tier list of all the episodes.

To Explain the Tiers:

Gimmi Gimmi!: (Episodes that are 10/10 or have a special place in my heart. They brought to the table what they wanted and more)

Miraculous: (Episodes I feel are 9 out of 10. They are great and are just missing one thing from being higher)

Solid: (Episodes that are 8 out of 10. They dont do anything incredible but are good episodes to watch, and do what they wanted to do pretty well.)

Decent: (Episodes that are 6 or 7 out of 10. They are fine episodes maybe they didnt exceed expectations, but are decent watch)

Mid: (Episodes that are 5 out of 10. They arent bad, but they arent great. they are just watchable. I wouldnt seek these episodes out, but I dont mind a rewatch.)

Boring: (Episodes that are 4 out of 10. Episodes that I kind of glaze over in my mind, nothing offensive about them, just kind of bleh, usually only have one or two scenes in them that are fun.)

Bad: (Episodes that are 3 out of 10. This is where episodes enter a realm of cringe or just annoy me in some way. Something I dont like revisiting but will watch on a binge)

Trash: (Episodes that are 2 out of 10, usually are really dumb or have bad writing. Mainly have only one or two things that keep me from despising the episode.)

Gabriel's parenting: (Episodes are the worst of the worst, These are the episodes that are 1 out of 10 or even 0 out of 10. These episodes do something that Piss me off to such an extent I cant consider them good. The writing or the plot holes are just too much that I cant enjoy them)

You will notice a few episodes are missing, but I will post my thoughts on them here:

Confrontation was mid Collusion was trash Revolution was Solid MAINLY because of the Adrinette kiss and nothing else Representation was Miraculous because of both the Catharsis of watching Adrien vent to his dad and the Lore drop Conformation would be solid if it was stand alone, but because it is associated with The season 5 finale it is trash And Re-Creation is in Gabriel's Parenting tier

These are not completely in order except for the Top tier and bottom tier, I will be writing my new top 10 after this. So stay tuned

[rutilation]

This latest chapter reminded me that I have thoughts about this guy. And by thoughts, I mean questions. But, before I ask those questions, I want to share my thoughts about a few other side characters in Part 2. I have a point I wish to make through them:

Miri has been used, abused, and dehumanized his whole life. It makes him suffer, but it's also as ubiquitous and imperceptible to him as water is to a fish. After Makima died, he tried to drag himself into the light, and take back control of his life, but he ended up backsliding into old habits, and wound up neck deep in a violent cult--new window dressing on the same old shit.

Fumiko deeply despises Chainsaw Man for not saving her parents, but sublimates that hatred into pity for Denji. When he's toeing Public Safety's line, she squeezes him like he's her personal stress ball, alternately degrading him and flattering him, all while telling herself she's protecting poor, scared little boy who was forced to become Chainsaw Man. But, when the chips are down, she takes every opportunity she can to twist the knife in Denji's back, and exact her vengeance.

We don't know a single detail of Barem's past, but it's nonetheless clear that he's like a version of Denji that couldn't bring himself to break free of Makima. He's a true believer in the worldview she created to rationalize her own inability to connect with others. He wants that perfect world, with no bad movies, where he never has to think or make decisions for himself. He hates Denji for taking that possibility away from him, and he hates Nayuta for outgrowing Makima.

None of these characters have had a huge amount of focus or backstory in the grand scheme of things. But, while they are rough sketches, drawn with few lines, they're still complete sketches. And, whether or not they ever get any more meat on their bones, I can confidently say I know what makes them tick.

We have not, however, gotten a complete sketch of Yoshida, rough or otherwise--just disparate puzzle pieces that don't yet fit together.

Yoshida keeps his cards close to his chest, but one thing about him that is painfully obvious is that his brain currently exists at the bottom of a crab bucket. From being crowded by speech bubbles full of excuses for his loneliness, to affirming to Denji that alienation is the heart of normalcy, to him losing his cool when Denji says he wants both his normal and superhero life, it's crystal clear how much he doesn't want to imagine a better world, not for himself, nor for anyone else, and how much he resents any notion to the contrary.

What has me confused atm is trying to square that with his apparent attitude and outlook during Part 1. He didn't seem happy per se, but he was definitely way more carefree than he is now. In particular, his scene with Kishibe seems to stand in stark opposition to his current situation. What I got out of that conversation was that he was well aware of plots and conspiracies surrounding Makima and Public Safety, and was feeling smug about the fact that none of it affected him--he had finals to worry about, you see. But, somewhere between parts 1 and 2, he went from haughtily observing the crab bucket from on high, to being at the bottom of it. How did that happen? And just what is the true nature of this bucket?

To speak in less metaphorical terms: If his new job at Public Safety makes him miserable, why doesn't he just quit? He could certainly make it as a civilian devil hunter. And, given how he was willing stand by and watch as Yuko killed a bunch of his fellow students, I doubt he's in the bucket out of a sense of altruism or duty. Based on the information we've been given, he shouldn't feel the need to put himself through any of this. He has no reason to be Public Safety's Saddest Middle-Manager. So why is he? Out of all the questions I have, I feel this one is the most glaring. This, right here, is the puzzle piece being withheld.

Another question I have: why are he and Fumiko 2 different characters? On the face of it, from a writing perspective, they're seemingly fulfilling the same functions in the story. They're both projecting hard onto Denji, they're both being so very parasocial about it, they're both stand-ins for Public Safety's tyranny, they both betray our protagonists, siding with authority when the chips are down, and they are both. such. cops.

Their only difference is their respective attitudes--where Fumiko approaches her role with gleeful cruelty, Yoshida does so with sour-grapes resignation. I don't feel, though, that such a difference would be enough on its own to warrant making them two separate characters. So, why are they? The only reason I can come up with is that the two of them are eventually going to end up in very different positions, thus necessitating two different characters. One of them needs to be a bastard forever, because The State is always going to be a bastard forever, and between the two of them, Fumiko is the more motivated bastard.

That's the main reason I believe that the general fandom expectation of Yoshida having some sort of redemption arc down the line has weight to it, and isn't *merely* the result of fans automatically siding with--and ascribing unearned depth to--the biggest twink in the room. That said, I would like to point out that just because he seems likely to eventually break with Public Safety, does not necessarily mean his endpoint is going to be sympathetic, or heroic, or conducive to shipping; it's just going to be different from Fumiko's.

Finally, standing above these questions is a broader question: why is Fujimoto stringing us along like this with regard to Yoshida? All those other characters I talked about made total sense within ten chapters of their introduction, so why not him? What's the point of making Yoshida a puzzle in the first place, of withholding answers for this long?

The longer this particular shoe takes to drop, the more convinced I am that it's going to end up being a bombshell. After being left in suspense for this long, I'll be disappointed if it isn't.

[acertainmoshke]

@sam-glade @moonluringfrost @writernopal you liked the snippet of Liz's story, so now that I finished it I decided to post the whole scene. TW for (mild) suicidal ideation and yelling at a kid.

Elizabeth Nora Brusk was mature for 12. Everyone said so. Mrs. Anderson from 4-H called her impressive because she always said please and thank you and never backtalked. She was the favorite friend among moms because she never asked for anything and seemed delighted by whatever they offered. Her imagination and quiet attentiveness charmed her teachers. She was the Smart Friend, the Logistics Friend, the girl with her nose in a book who didn't cause any trouble.

Elizabeth Nora Brusk raked her fingernails down her cheeks and shrieked in rage. The anger was red and liquid and too much for her small frame, bubbling up and out of every orifice. Buried hot and small and dense at the bottom was her hatred. No one who shrieked like this until she couldn't breathe, who despised her mother's face, who wished herself dead could also be a good person.

“I hate you!” It came out of her mouth before she could bite it back, and it felt good.

Her mother's face was twisted and ugly with equal rage. “You do, do you? Then tell me, why do I drive you all over town for your activities and meetings? Why did I just spend my weekend taking all your little friends out into the blooming cold woods? Why am I even here, if you don't want any of it?”

Liz's breath was gasping. She could feel her limbs changing, becoming clumsy and loose in another dizzy spell. Everything was starting to look like a washed-out photo, too pale. She wished it wasn’t far too late to reach out for a hug and say sorry.

Her mother was still talking. “You think I wanted to give up my career and never see my friends so I could ferry you around town between soccer and 4-H and robotics? You think it was my dream to nag you about homework or plan middle school events when I could be sewing, going to shows, sitting on the damn couch eating bonbons?”

The red-hot anger boiled over, spilling all over the grubby kitchen tiles. The fresh scratches on her cheeks burned. “Fine! I'll run away then!” She didn't mean it. She never meant it, but words were the closest thing to power she had. “As soon as Halloween is over I'll run away!”

A door slammed open across the house. Liz's mouth clicked shut. The red anger was suddenly replaced with something tingly and cold.

She forgot he was home.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Her father should have been a silly sight, big and fat and harry in nothing but fuzzy penguin pajama pants and white socks.

There was nothing silly about his scowl or the thunderous voice that boomed from under his mustache.

“Why wait?”

Her brain couldn't figure out what he meant. She sat unmoving and silent.

“I said, why wait? Get out. NOW!” His voice shook the small house down to its foundation.

Liz darted to her feet and stumbled across the kitchen and living room. She was careful not to look at Leo huddled under his blankets. This wasn’t his fault—just another way she ruined everything.

Her mind was racing. She had books and dolls and toy horses. How much could she carry on her own? Her journal would have to come, and Lacey, even though she didn't play much with baby dolls anymore. Did she have a bag to stuff with books? It was late afternoon, where would she sleep tonight?

“GET YOUR COAT AND GET OUT!!” He bellowed behind her.

Heart racing, she grabbed the hand-me-down orange coat she loved so much and ran outside without bothering to reach for shoes.

The front patio was cold, but Liz didn't care. In that moment, nothing at all mattered because her father didn't want her. He was inside right now deciding how best to get rid of her. She hoped he would let her go back for her stuff at least. Maybe spend the night. It was getting dark already and she was so tired her whole body felt heavy. Hot, slimy tears drenched her cheeks. She didn't care who saw her now as she threw herself into a patio chair, pulled her legs up, and continued sobbing.

For a long moment, Liz wished she could stop existing. Wished she was strong enough to die.

But, inevitably, practicality resurfaced, just as being miserable started to get boring. She knew when the downtown churches gave out free lunches and dinners. She could spend all day at the library computers with the homeless guys, where it was cold in summer and warm in winter. She had no idea where to sleep, but she would figure that out. She read enough adventure books. Maybe she could hide until the library closed and stay there among the books all night? What about Leo, though? He was too little to come and he never did what she said, but she couldn't leave him. And what about—

Warm inside light cut through the dusky twilight, streaming off the porch and onto the street.

“Come on!” Her father was wearing a shirt now, but still scowling.

“Yes, Papa!” Relief rushed through her. Whatever happened later, she was about to be warm again.

Her feet tingled on the wood floor. Her mother was bent over the kitchen table, shoulders shaking. She didn't look mean and ugly now, just sad. The hatred under her anger cracked open and guilt floated up, filling her and pushing everything else away.

“Mama…”

“No.” Papa's voice was a knife edge. “Sit down!”

Afraid to venture any farther into the house and make a wrong move she didn't see coming, Liz sat on the floor. For this to be accomplished, she had to push several coupons, a handful of Legos, and Leo's teddy bear back into the pile of things that filled the room. Small as she was, Liz filled the one walkway through the house.

She watched the patterns of shadow cast by the uneven piles of boxes and loose items on what little floor she could see. It didn’t make the guilt or fear go away, but it kept her from crying again.

“Would you look at me?”

She forced her eyes up. Not quite to meet Papa’s, but no one seemed to complain if she stared at his nose. It still took more focusing than just looking away and listening.

“Thank you. Geez.” He took a deep breath and his voice got louder. “Would you mind telling me what the hell is wrong with you?”

She didn’t have an answer, at least not one that wouldn’t sound like a pointless excuse: Mama wouldn’t stop reminding her about all the homework she had left and it made her insides boil because it was too much. Too much what she had no idea, but it made her snap and act like a bratty little kid. She didn't fully remember why she had been so very upset.

But that didn’t matter, not even a little, because the point was that she was a disrespectful, horrible little child who didn’t deserve the life she had.

“I’m sorry,” it was little more than a whisper.

“Uh-huh, that’s nice. Do you know how you made your mother feel?”

Liz risked a glance at Mama, who was watching them both with equal wariness.

"Yes, Papa."

“And how’s that?”

Liz tried to form her words carefully, to find the right answer, but Papa was tapping his foot impatiently. “Hurt because I was disrespectful.” Too simple, probably, but the truth.

To her relief, he accepted it without need for further detail. “There will be no Halloween for you. Go to bed. I’m done looking at you.”

Liz decided not to point out that it wasn’t even 7:00 yet or that they hadn’t had dinner. She didn’t dare try to take her jammies all the way to the bathroom to change. She didn’t have enough emotion left to care that she wouldn’t get to dress up and trick-or-treat next week. She did notice a hint of relief that he hadn’t felt like lecturing her tonight. Because then she would have cried again, which always made him madder, and then it would turn into a whole thing that would last until midnight…

As fast and quiet as she could, Liz scrambled up the foot of the white bunk bed, crawling over her pile of stuffed animals and books to hide under the covers. She listened as Papa turned away like she wasn’t there, but his voice was still stiff and tight as he asked Mama about dinner. As soon as they went into the other room she reached behind the books on the top shelf for her soft black journal and mechanical pencil.

[mirror-to-the-past]

Okay, now I've finished-finished KH2, and like... I don't have *terribly* much to add (post-mortem edit: lie), since I was pretty much on the brink of the final battle when I last posted about the game, but DAMN. That was actually really sweet/heartwarming.

First off, holy SHIT that final battle was movie-like as all hell. The choreographed action and reaction commands... woah. I was such a dumbass during multiple Xemnas phases, though, it was a wonder I beat him first try. Buckle up for my dumbass endeavors, it's a trip.

That part where you're flying to his little throne thing and he's tossing buildings at you was fun, because I kept launching myself against his fucking barrier and getting repelled/damaged and Xemnas was all "why do you despise the void," over and over again. I was so confused, but just... kept trying like a bullheaded idiot until my health was nose-diving and Riku started healing Sora. Cue me screaming into the void like "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Started playing Marco-Polo when Riku would say "Sora!" every time his health dropped, and eventually found him on a building at the bottom of the map I was supposed to fling at Xemnas apparently? 😂

Two other cringe-fails on my end... when Xemnas was tasering Sora and you briefly shift into Riku to complete mission 'Save His Guy,' I was beating the decoy Xemnas to death like "DON'T WORRY SORA, I'VE GOT YOU," only to realize right before Sora bit the dust that you were supposed to walk up to the other Xemnas actively doing the electrocution and just... y'know... tap the reaction command. I'm sensing a common theme here...

And to top it off, on that scene that would Otherwise Be Really Cool where Sora and Riku are meant to deflect the lasers from Xemnas, I must've missed my chance for the reaction command, and it was really fucking hilarious to watch actually, because you have the action movie sweeping spiral shot, where Riku's Understood The Instructions, leaping around and deflecting everything like a ninja, whereas Sora was utterly stunlocked, and just sort of... standing there... getting hit over and over again... it looked so pathetic, haha.

Anyway, actual plot aside from me being bad at the game, and by plot I mean Sora and Riku just being the heart and soul of the cracked out finale, apparently:

(Although shout-out to Roxas for making me feel all weepy just by saying "Look sharp," I'm eternally sad. Someone free him.)

I just... I don't even know where to start, guys. Riku being angsty, "How am I gonna face everyone?" only for Sora to go "Like this!" And make the goofiest little face to cheer Riku up, and it WORKED. That was just... I cooed, y'all.

These faces (I tracked down the GIF because I was just appalled the animators in a 2006 game had them make goo-goo eyes at each other, Sora looking away like that is what gets me):

Xemnas trying to pit them against each other in his boss fight, but you know it just wouldn't matter, because of *course* Sora trusts Riku, he can't imagine thinking otherwise, and of *course* Riku was jealous of Sora in some aspects (which was addressed later, wooo), but it didn't matter, because he just wanted to be able to be with Sora over any misgivings he might've had about his self image.

(Side Note: What in the Sam-Hill did Xemnas mean when he said there were falsehoods in their hearts? Excuse me? Will that be expanded upon? What are they denying??)

And like... they literally ended up trapped in KH Hell-equivalent, and they were just... fine?? with it?? Just completely zen on the beach (I can't help but find it interesting that the realm of darkness is a beach like Destiny Islands, and wonder if there's some light/dark parallels about the trio involving that), staring out at the water side by side, fully knowing they could just wither away there, but it was cool, because they were together. "I've got something you could never imitate too," (Which was being Riku's friend, godDAMN Sora you're gonna make me cry 😭) says Sora, just chilled out as all hell.

For further laughs, in the post credits scene where and Riku and Sora were sitting on the Paopu tree, and Sora was like 'where'd the door to light come from?' and I was all excited like a kid paying attention in class or something "Kairi Princess of Heart ex-machina, she and her letter must have been tied to-" and then Riku poked at Sora's heart and was like "From here 😌 It's closer than you think," and then I'm over here, being a vaguely disappointed nerd, like "Oh, no lore. Just... Riku saying Sora is filled with light. They're just... still having a moment. That's fine." (And they were just looking and smiling at each other while the camera was focused on their faces, which is completely interrupted by Kairi running up, pfft- bless her for the tonal whiplash)

Edit: I also loved that credits clip of Sora walking through the secret hideout cave and running his hands along the drawings, you could see his eyes combing over the memories, it was so touching. I loved when he found the drawing him and Kairi made, because I thought of that KH1 cutscene of them as small children carving it out, and you could *see* it in his eyes that Sora had a "Look where I am now," kind of moment. I will never stop screaming about the facial animations for these games.

Anyway that ended up being longer than I expected. The boys are back together and they're mushy. Kairi still has abandonment issues and they'll probably just get worse from here. Someone, somewhere curls up into a fetal position every time a KH villain gives another darkness/light monologue with the dumbest sounding lines known to man. Maleficent's entire subplot this game was just her house-hunting. Michael Mouse acts like a war veteran, and it would be hilarious if post-Ansem the Wise (I missed hearing your voice, Christopher Lee RIP) explosion he starts having survivor's guilt too. Roxas makes me want to cry, and Naminé does too. The mystery of Kairi's Keyblade has not been answered. Nobody has told Sora about Castle Oblivion even though Naminé was Right There. Next time... on Kingdom Hearts...

I wish I could caption this in the KH subtitle font but I'm too lazy to figure out how zip files work at this hour so here's comic sans

[distopea]

@royaletiquette

A hairbrush was whipped across the room at Marlo as soon as she spotted the book in his hands, followed by barely coherent whines of disbelief as Hibiko stomped over. She snatched his arm and proceeded to drag him as far as she could from the scene. "You don't go through a girl's bedside table for one, nor do you put it upon yourself to start flipping through her diary," she punctuated with a slap of his arm. "Bring something to entertain yourself with if you're that desperate."

"You are horrifically asinine, have I told you before?"

A yap of surprise escaped his lips while he was avidly reading something he knew – somewhere very deep inside of him – that he shouldn’t. Curiosity was a nasty flaw for sure, and Marlo was the living incarnation of those who couldn’t control themselves. He was aware that Hibiko despised his impossible urges to respect her boundaries and privacy, but truly, provoking her was the most delightful nectar. At least, she was living! Marlo thought it was the same as pushing someone into the river when they were afraid of drowning, a little gasp, a bit of fighting, and then freedom would be earned! At least it was the vision of his world.

“Tshehehe, your highness, I’m caught red-handed!” He chuckled devilishly, barely hiding the fact he was truly mischievous in his attitude. His fox-like laughter continued to echo in the air, while he braced himself from Hibiko’s wrath as she stomped closer. He wondered if she would dare to slap his cheek. It would quite a show after all! All that rage! All that life! He was proud of her reaction, eyes gleaming with deep cheerfulness, following her while she dragged him away from her awful little secrets.

“Ouch!” Marlo gasped while she slapped his forearm, dramatically rolling it against his chest, as he massaged the top of it, only to pretend he was so deeply hurt. She was a raging tempest, and he must say, he adored her even more in that state. Not because he wanted to be a pain in her life, but because she was able to expose so many sides of her personality, embracing her nature; allowing herself to exist! She was as true as the lines he had forbiddenly read from her diary, and deep down, oh he knew, how much it was worth it.

“Ah…! Agony! Asinine!” Marlo fell on his knees, for the love of drama and theater, his face twisted by the fake emotions of his supposedly hurtful feelings. One smile could be enough to win. Would she forgive him? Would she? Ah… He loved her enough to try everything for a little smile cracking the anger of her sweet loving face. “Princess Hibiko! Your highness! How could you stab my heart so violently? Calling me a fool? Me? Your humble and devoted servant?” Marlo sighed, then gripped the bottom of her dress and rolled his face right there. 

“Dear princess, you are nothing but my endless source of entertainment!” He looked up, golden eyes gleaming with an almost real pain, before he cocked his head aside, a little smirk curling the corner of his lips. “I promise I won’t repeat what you wrote about Prince Miko and his elephant ears…” He patted his chin, thoughtful. “Even if I must say I would have emphasized that ugly flaw of his.” He pressed his palm against his mouth. “Ah, pest! With those ears he might hear us!”

And before she would be able to slap him again, Marlo chuckled and disappeared in soft pop, the echo of his laughter fading in the royal room. 

[maguro13-2]

Lain AI : I haven't been in the cyberspace for a year since my old studio got shutdown, oh wait, my old studio was transferred to the studio made card games called Duel Masters. I wonder how Pixiv will be the great place for me to look into? I hope they beautiful incredible art and this time I'm not just gonna scared to look at. (walks off for a moment, hi-pitched scream) *zoom* Oh my God! Why didn't they tell me that!? There's porn of me everywhere!? Why in the world would they do that!? Huh? Are those files of porn in there? Wait a sec...Duo!

Duo : Oh geez! My bad! I didn't know there's porn everywhere! Sorry!

Lain AI : Duo, you have a better example of that. Do you what did I horribly saw in Pixiv?

Duo : Oh yeah, I forgot. There's porn stuff you on the internet and therefore making you humiliated and sickening, it's a gosh darn disgrace! Somebody left the R-18 settings on.

Lain AI : Well, good. Cause I really hate the fact that Making pornographic pictures of every anime character is such an abomination. Those type of heart literally sucked and that's not even hentai. This is the internet, why do you think the internet is for pornography? Despite the lack of brain cells, do you think people are interested are interested of making art of me that is hentai? I consider lewd pictures of me as a big no-no. It's no fun that why would people do this to me? I despised them for making pornography on all the anime characters of the anime/mangaka industry.

Duo : Well that's what stuff happens when there's porn on the internet. The 21st century is spooked when it comes to rule34 ruining your childhood. Yep, that's how the internet always makes Rule34 officials the website that will your ruin your childhood with lewd art and real world cosplay porn.

Lain AI : For your information, duo. I always figured out that it would be contagiously be effective if I was a victim to rape, murder, or an assault. That would not a very good idea to be on the path of adultery and corruption when it comes to humanity's finest greed. Exhibitionism is might that is a will against the public law. But in Germany...

Duo : It's also a friendly visit for public nudity it's basically part of Germany movement from the 20th century. You know, it's a feel.

Lain : Oi, Duo. You wanna get some action?

Duo : Okay, I know how to works.

(Scene flips)

Duo : You sure that this is gonna work?

Lain : Trust me.

[Extras/Options - Hideaki Kobayashi]

Lain : Trust me, duo. This is how we do make a sex scene in real life. You just gotta understand the feeling instead of adultery. This is how Adultery works.

Duo : Wow, I never thought that this would gonna work, this is literally my first time having sex with you in the first ime in years.

Lain : So, are you planning on making love with me? So it would be my pleasure.

Duo : Oh yes. It's my pleasure to do it.

Deathscythe : Can I offer you some glass of water.

Duo : Why absolutely, Ichise--Deathscythe! (Music stops when record scratch is heard) What are you doing in our room!

Deathscythe : I was hoping that I would give you a glass of water since you nearly had a death experience in medium manipulation.

Duo : That's fine, Deathscythe. I'll take my glass of water.

Deathscythe : It's been doing pleasures, Duo. I must returning to sleep mode. (closes door)

Duo : Well, at least we got it on the wrong food.

(Freek N You by Jodeci plays instead)

Duo : So where we then?

Lain : Right from the bottom of my heart.

"later..."

Duo : That was awesome!

Heero : Hey, Duo! How was the night with that Lain Girl!

Duo : It was glorious! I never felt that great! Real world sex is way better pornography all the time! This is why love conquers it all! This is truly an amazing feat!

Heero : Sweet! Totally sweet! Also, I forgot to say one thing about that. Nothing's too special to mention about it, I didn't forget to say one thing about that real world sex you just had with Lain last night.

Duo : What is it?

Heero : I believe there's not just a type of Gundam porn, but there are tons of Gundam Gay porn on the internet.

Duo : Wait what? There's Gundam what on the internet?

Heero : Yeah, I can relate that there's Gundam Gay porn on the internet?

Duo : How can you tell by that matter?

Lain : (facepalms) Oh! Why did I even bother on looking at anything on the net on these days? I knew that I had to lay off sex ed nowadays.

Rei :I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. I felt your pain too, friend. I felt your pain too.

Tomska : The End.

[kammartinez]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2023/07/27/rules-for-reading-dirda/

Paperback or hardcover? Used or new? Let’s talk about our book habits.

Michael Dirda

Over time, all readers acquire an array of personal, often bizarrely eccentric rules and routines that govern — or warp — how they interact with the printed word. For example, some people will buy only crisp, new trade paperbacks and wouldn’t touch a used book on a bet. Fear of cooties, perhaps. Do you remove the dust jacket when you sit down with a novel? I always do. Can you read (or write) while listening to music? I find this impossible, which is why you’ll never see me working at a coffee shop. What follows is a list, in no particular order, of some of my other reading habits and “crotchets,” to use an old-fashioned term. Perhaps you will recognize a few of your own.

Hard- vs. softcover

I almost always prefer a hardcover to a paperback and a first edition to a later printing — except in the case of scholarly works, when I want the latest revised or updated version of the text.

Typeface troubles

My heart sinks when I see a desirable book printed in eye-strainingly small type. Publishers must imagine that only eagles will read it.

Books as gifts

I will spend any amount on gift books for my three grandchildren, now ages 8, 6 and 4. Those same grandchildren exploit me mercilessly when we visit Powell’s Books in their hometown, Portland, Ore.

Follow the flag

As a collector, I follow the flag: that is, American editions for American authors, British editions for British authors.

Remainders

I’m deeply irritated by remainder marks — those little red dots, black lines or other insignia with which publishers deface the bottom of a remaindered book’s text block.

Deciding what to read

These days, I expend preposterous amounts of time dillydallying over what to read next. Like Tennessee Williams’s Blanche Dubois, I want magic. It might be found in the enchantments of a novel’s style, the elegance of a scholar’s mind or simply the excitement of learning something new. So I try a few pages of this book and that, restlessly hoping to start one that finally keeps me spellbound.

What I look for in used book shops

In secondhand bookshops, I always look for sharp copies of 1940s and ’50s paperback mysteries, especially Gold Medal titles featuring sexy women on the cover — the best illustrations are by Robert McGinness — or Dell “mapbacks,” which show the scene of the crime on the back.

Plastic covers: No

I find the heavy-duty dust-jacket protectors, commonly used by public libraries, utterly repellent and always remove them whenever I acquire (not often) an ex-library book.

One is never enough

I can’t stop myself from picking up extra copies of favorite books. I own multiple editions of Cyril Connolly’s “The Unquiet Grave,” Joseph Mitchell’s various collections of New Yorker journalism, and E. Nesbit’s novels about the Treasure Seekers and the Bastable family.

Books aren’t commodities

I despise — viscerally, perhaps irrationally — the people one sometimes sees at used book stores scanning every title with a handheld device to check its online price. They regard books strictly as products and usually don’t know anything about them, only caring about what they can buy low and sell high on Amazon or eBay.

Price stickers

Libraries and secondhand dealers sometimes affix ugly labels or price stickers to everything they sell. I soak these excrescences with lighter fluid, so that — with luck — they can be peeled off without abrasion.

The joy of variety

Over the years, I’ve tried to gather the best or most entertaining works in various fields that interest me. That means the literature of almost all genres and time periods, but also books about art, classical music and the history of ideas. As a working-class kid I daydreamed about owning Henry Higgins’s library, as seen in the film version of “My Fair Lady.” While I’ll never have that wonderful room, I now have the books.

Finding a needle in a haystack

I feel insanely chuffed at recognizing scarce and desirable works that have been overlooked or underpriced. I once paid $5 for an inscribed first edition of Zora Neale Hurston’s “Tell My Horse” in a very good dust jacket. Try to find a like copy today.

How many books to pack?

I never climb on a plane or take a trip without at least two books, the second as backup.

Getting kids to love books

Anything that teaches a young child to love reading is fine, including — to speak from experience — superhero comics and Mad Magazine. To my mind, though, high school English classes should avoid works by living authors and instead emphasize canonical “classics.” Young people will gravitate to their contemporaries as a matter of course, but they won’t read Shakespeare or George Eliot or Walt Whitman or Frederick Douglass on their own.

Covers are art

I keep an eye out for pulp magazines with iconic covers. Thus, I own the August 1927 “War of the Worlds” issue of Amazing Stories illustrated by Frank R. Paul, the June 1933 Weird Tales featuring Margaret Brundage’s daring art for Robert E. Howard’s “Black Colossus,” and some wonderful examples of the Shadow, All-Story, Blue Book and Dime Detective magazines. I’m still looking for an attractive, yet affordable, early issue of Black Mask.

Read grammar books

Every year or so, I dip into guides on how to write, and not just William Strunk and E.B. White’s “The Elements of Style.” I regularly fear — perhaps with good reason — that my prose isn’t just sturdy and plain, like Shaker furniture, but actually stale, flat and dull.

Make a mark

Except for beautifully printed or rarely found books, I read almost everything with a pencil in my hand. I mark favorite passages, scribble notes in margins, sometimes even make shopping lists on the end papers. To paraphrase Gibbon on the Roman Emperor Gordian’s 22 acknowledged concubines, my books are for use, not ostentation.

Check the title pages

Rule of thumb: Always check title pages of used books for author signatures or interesting inscriptions. I’ve found first editions autographed by H.G. Wells and Eric Ambler on the $3 carts of secondhand dealers.

Writers as recommenders

Whenever an author I admire mentions a favorite book in an interview or essay, I make a note to look for a copy.

Kondo-ing books

One of my favorite daydreams — I know how pathetic this sounds — is imagining a month in which I do nothing but cull my books, then properly arrange or even catalogue those that remain.

Keep a notebook handy

I regularly copy favorite sentences and passages from my reading into a small notebook I’ve kept since I was in my early 20s. Examples? “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made.” — Immanuel Kant. “The primary function of education is to make one maladjusted to ordinary society.” — Northrop Frye. “Love is holy because it is like grace — the worthiness of its object is never really what matters.” — Marilynne Robinson.

Greet old friends

When I’m in a bookstore and notice works by dead authors whom I once counted as friends, I silently say, “Hello, Tom,” “Looking good, John,” “Wish you were here, Alice.”

Buy only what you will read

Mine is a personal library, not a focused collection. I never buy any book I don’t hope to enjoy someday. True collectors, by contrast, aim to be exhaustive and inclusive, gathering all sorts of material they have no intention of ever reading.

One person’s discard …

During my afternoon walks, I always check out Little Free Library boxes and blue recycling bins. I like to see what people have been reading and drinking.

No screens

I’ve never used a Kindle or any type of e-reader. I value books as physical artifacts, each one distinct. Screens impose homogeneity.

Value a home library

I regret that the ideal of a home or family library has pretty much vanished along with door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen and sets of the “Great Books of the Western World.”

Leave old books as they are

Any bowdlerization, “sensitivity editing” or rewriting of older literature is absolutely wrongheaded. Books aren’t something one approves or disapproves of; they are to be understood, interpreted, learned from, shocked by, argued with and enjoyed. Moreover, the evolution of literature and the other arts, their constant renewal over the centuries, has always been fueled by what is now censoriously labeled “cultural appropriation” but which is more properly described as “influence,” “inspiration” or “homage.” Poets, painters, novelists and other artists all borrow, distort and transform. That’s their job; that’s what they do.

Well, I’m a critic

After years as a literary journalist, I no longer feel I’ve really read a book unless I write something about it.

[kamreadsandrecs]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/books/2023/07/27/rules-for-reading-dirda/

Paperback or hardcover? Used or new? Let’s talk about our book habits.

Michael Dirda

Over time, all readers acquire an array of personal, often bizarrely eccentric rules and routines that govern — or warp — how they interact with the printed word. For example, some people will buy only crisp, new trade paperbacks and wouldn’t touch a used book on a bet. Fear of cooties, perhaps. Do you remove the dust jacket when you sit down with a novel? I always do. Can you read (or write) while listening to music? I find this impossible, which is why you’ll never see me working at a coffee shop. What follows is a list, in no particular order, of some of my other reading habits and “crotchets,” to use an old-fashioned term. Perhaps you will recognize a few of your own.

Hard- vs. softcover

I almost always prefer a hardcover to a paperback and a first edition to a later printing — except in the case of scholarly works, when I want the latest revised or updated version of the text.

Typeface troubles

My heart sinks when I see a desirable book printed in eye-strainingly small type. Publishers must imagine that only eagles will read it.

Books as gifts

I will spend any amount on gift books for my three grandchildren, now ages 8, 6 and 4. Those same grandchildren exploit me mercilessly when we visit Powell’s Books in their hometown, Portland, Ore.

Follow the flag

As a collector, I follow the flag: that is, American editions for American authors, British editions for British authors.

Remainders

I’m deeply irritated by remainder marks — those little red dots, black lines or other insignia with which publishers deface the bottom of a remaindered book’s text block.

Deciding what to read

These days, I expend preposterous amounts of time dillydallying over what to read next. Like Tennessee Williams’s Blanche Dubois, I want magic. It might be found in the enchantments of a novel’s style, the elegance of a scholar’s mind or simply the excitement of learning something new. So I try a few pages of this book and that, restlessly hoping to start one that finally keeps me spellbound.

What I look for in used book shops

In secondhand bookshops, I always look for sharp copies of 1940s and ’50s paperback mysteries, especially Gold Medal titles featuring sexy women on the cover — the best illustrations are by Robert McGinness — or Dell “mapbacks,” which show the scene of the crime on the back.

Plastic covers: No

I find the heavy-duty dust-jacket protectors, commonly used by public libraries, utterly repellent and always remove them whenever I acquire (not often) an ex-library book.

One is never enough

I can’t stop myself from picking up extra copies of favorite books. I own multiple editions of Cyril Connolly’s “The Unquiet Grave,” Joseph Mitchell’s various collections of New Yorker journalism, and E. Nesbit’s novels about the Treasure Seekers and the Bastable family.

Books aren’t commodities

I despise — viscerally, perhaps irrationally — the people one sometimes sees at used book stores scanning every title with a handheld device to check its online price. They regard books strictly as products and usually don’t know anything about them, only caring about what they can buy low and sell high on Amazon or eBay.

Price stickers

Libraries and secondhand dealers sometimes affix ugly labels or price stickers to everything they sell. I soak these excrescences with lighter fluid, so that — with luck — they can be peeled off without abrasion.

The joy of variety

Over the years, I’ve tried to gather the best or most entertaining works in various fields that interest me. That means the literature of almost all genres and time periods, but also books about art, classical music and the history of ideas. As a working-class kid I daydreamed about owning Henry Higgins’s library, as seen in the film version of “My Fair Lady.” While I’ll never have that wonderful room, I now have the books.

Finding a needle in a haystack

I feel insanely chuffed at recognizing scarce and desirable works that have been overlooked or underpriced. I once paid $5 for an inscribed first edition of Zora Neale Hurston’s “Tell My Horse” in a very good dust jacket. Try to find a like copy today.

How many books to pack?

I never climb on a plane or take a trip without at least two books, the second as backup.

Getting kids to love books

Anything that teaches a young child to love reading is fine, including — to speak from experience — superhero comics and Mad Magazine. To my mind, though, high school English classes should avoid works by living authors and instead emphasize canonical “classics.” Young people will gravitate to their contemporaries as a matter of course, but they won’t read Shakespeare or George Eliot or Walt Whitman or Frederick Douglass on their own.

Covers are art

I keep an eye out for pulp magazines with iconic covers. Thus, I own the August 1927 “War of the Worlds” issue of Amazing Stories illustrated by Frank R. Paul, the June 1933 Weird Tales featuring Margaret Brundage’s daring art for Robert E. Howard’s “Black Colossus,” and some wonderful examples of the Shadow, All-Story, Blue Book and Dime Detective magazines. I’m still looking for an attractive, yet affordable, early issue of Black Mask.

Read grammar books

Every year or so, I dip into guides on how to write, and not just William Strunk and E.B. White’s “The Elements of Style.” I regularly fear — perhaps with good reason — that my prose isn’t just sturdy and plain, like Shaker furniture, but actually stale, flat and dull.

Make a mark

Except for beautifully printed or rarely found books, I read almost everything with a pencil in my hand. I mark favorite passages, scribble notes in margins, sometimes even make shopping lists on the end papers. To paraphrase Gibbon on the Roman Emperor Gordian’s 22 acknowledged concubines, my books are for use, not ostentation.

Check the title pages

Rule of thumb: Always check title pages of used books for author signatures or interesting inscriptions. I’ve found first editions autographed by H.G. Wells and Eric Ambler on the $3 carts of secondhand dealers.

Writers as recommenders

Whenever an author I admire mentions a favorite book in an interview or essay, I make a note to look for a copy.

Kondo-ing books

One of my favorite daydreams — I know how pathetic this sounds — is imagining a month in which I do nothing but cull my books, then properly arrange or even catalogue those that remain.

Keep a notebook handy

I regularly copy favorite sentences and passages from my reading into a small notebook I’ve kept since I was in my early 20s. Examples? “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made.” — Immanuel Kant. “The primary function of education is to make one maladjusted to ordinary society.” — Northrop Frye. “Love is holy because it is like grace — the worthiness of its object is never really what matters.” — Marilynne Robinson.

Greet old friends

When I’m in a bookstore and notice works by dead authors whom I once counted as friends, I silently say, “Hello, Tom,” “Looking good, John,” “Wish you were here, Alice.”

Buy only what you will read

Mine is a personal library, not a focused collection. I never buy any book I don’t hope to enjoy someday. True collectors, by contrast, aim to be exhaustive and inclusive, gathering all sorts of material they have no intention of ever reading.

One person’s discard …

During my afternoon walks, I always check out Little Free Library boxes and blue recycling bins. I like to see what people have been reading and drinking.

No screens

I’ve never used a Kindle or any type of e-reader. I value books as physical artifacts, each one distinct. Screens impose homogeneity.

Value a home library

I regret that the ideal of a home or family library has pretty much vanished along with door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen and sets of the “Great Books of the Western World.”

Leave old books as they are

Any bowdlerization, “sensitivity editing” or rewriting of older literature is absolutely wrongheaded. Books aren’t something one approves or disapproves of; they are to be understood, interpreted, learned from, shocked by, argued with and enjoyed. Moreover, the evolution of literature and the other arts, their constant renewal over the centuries, has always been fueled by what is now censoriously labeled “cultural appropriation” but which is more properly described as “influence,” “inspiration” or “homage.” Poets, painters, novelists and other artists all borrow, distort and transform. That’s their job; that’s what they do.

Well, I’m a critic

After years as a literary journalist, I no longer feel I’ve really read a book unless I write something about it.



[cherryboi-69]

Missing Shower Scene

***Pairing (s): Dom! Male Reader x Kageyama Tobio, unrequited Male Reader x Oikawa Tooru***

***Female's or Fujoshi's DO NOT ENGAGE!!!!***

***NSFW, shower smut, Dom/Top Male Reader, Sub/bottom Kageyama, unintentional voyeurism, what happens after practice, pining with a little bit of angst, plot what plot, porn without plot, ect.***

Summary: Oikawa walks in on unexpected sight after leaving his bag in the locker room. The boy he despises in the arms of the boy he loves.

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Oikawa forgot his gym bag after practice and ran back to the building where he had just left, after getting a brief scolding by Iwaizumi of course. He huffed sliding the door open, not bothered by the fact the door was still unlocked. Lots of members of the team stayed behind to practice after all, him being one of them.

He expected to hear the sounds of shoes hitting the floor or the sound of a volleyball being hit but was surprised when he heard nothing but silence.

"Hello?" He called out, seeing no one he walked to the shower room where he had left his gym bag after changing earlier.

Oikawa found his bag, it sitting right where he had left it, next to (Y/N) locker. He paused when he noticed his friends bag still sitting there. (Y/N) never stayed after practice much anymore, the (H/C) haired boy having just started his part time job. Stepping further into the room, he headed in the direction where the showers were located.

He knew it was wrong but see the problem was here was, Oikawa did not care. He had a huge crush on his yearmate and friend, the tall (H/C) boy having stolen his heart. And getting a chance at seeing those glorious abs and strong arms was a chance he could not pass up on.

A smirk rested on his face and he headed to the stall where he could hear water running only to freeze when he heard the sound of moaning and grunting. Smirk dropping he peeked his head around the corner to get a better look and instantly wished he hadn't.

(Y/N) was in there and naked something he could appreciate on any other day but it wasn't what made him freeze. It was the sight of his crush slamming into a slightly shorter male with dark hair and a face that was usually frowning at him whenever he turned him down when the boy asked for help with his receives.

Kageyama Tobio.

The dark haired boy was struggling to hold himself up on the rail of the shower, his body being jerked up and down by bigger hands slamming him onto an even bigger cock. The blissed out and dazed look in his eyes lit a fire up in Oikawa of pure hate and rage but he swallowed when he saw the look of pure pleasure in (Y/N) eyes, his hand reaching down to quell his slowly erect bulge, eyes trained on the male.

His heart broke at seeing a boy he despised having sex with a boy he liked, his hate growing and fueling even more at Kageyama for stealing (Y/N) from him.

"You like this, huh Tobio?" (Y/N) said, not stopping his thrusting one, hands gripping the male's waist tightly. "You like the feel of my big dick being swallowed by your tight hole?"

The words of filth leaving the male's mouth made his dick growing even more and he lightly squeezed the base, swallowing back a moan Oikawa imaging himself in place of Kageyama.

"Y-Yes!" Kageyama cried out, meeting (Y/N) thrusts in a sloppy backwards thrust of his own, mouth dropping open in pants, "S-Senpai, please!"

"What?" (Y/N) grabbed the boy by the bangs of his hair, tilting the boy's head back to meet his eyes, smirk in place. Oikawa bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and rubbed his bulge, squeezing in tangent with the (H/C) boy's thrusting. "Please what? I won't give you anything if you ask me nicely for it."

"I-I want to come...please Senpai. Go faster!" The dark haired boy pleaded, hands reaching down to jerk his cock only for one hand to grip his wrist and the other grab his hard and leaking cock.

"Say my name and I'll let you come." (Y/N) voice promised, hand squeezing the base not letting the Kageyama come.

Oikawa let the image settle in his brain, seeing the boy he liked look so much like a predator about to eat his prey alive was always something he loved, the look on (Y/N) face every time they would go out onto court, assessing the other team like a lion would a antelope.

"(Y-Y/N) please let me come," The boy cried out, eyes pleading as he stared into dark (E/C) orbs gazing down at him lustfully. Pride and adoration in both his eyes and (Y/N), making Oikawa feel even more like an intruder and making his hatred grow for the boy.

Not wanting to see anymore, not being able to stomach anymore made Oikawa leave heart broken and rage in his eyes, a determined glint in them to make Kageyama's life a living hell.