#i never thought the first one was clunky though so

[actuallysaiyan]

The First Time(Aka How Nanami Kento Lost His Virginity)Chapter Five: Drink Water To Cry Better

Chapter Five: Drink Water To Cry Better

warnings: mentions of alcohol, partying, slight suggestive themes, angst, bullying pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: you and Kento get invited to a frat house party and he decides to take you out even though he much rather stay in. you two have been getting closer, despite your own denial about your feelings for him. during a drunken make-out session, Kento soon learns what he believes is the truth about your relationship. things are left unsaid and things are colder than ice.

taglist: @beneathstarryskies @seireiteihellbutterfly @kenpachisbrat.

@marikuchanxo @harlekin6 @gennaray @markleeisdabestdrug

@entirelysein-e @brokennerdalert. @sugurusprettygirl

Masterlist

As the weeks go by, you and Kento find yourselves teetering on the edge of being in a relationship and still remaining casual. You really are falling so deeply in love with him, but you’re in denial. You try your best to remind yourself that this is just a college fling, but you wonder if maybe you could really be in a committed relationship with someone like him.

At night, you think of him. Even while in your bed alone, you cling to your pillow and wish he was here with you. In the last little bit, he’s been staying the night even though he’s not really supposed to be. You’ve dusted off your old Nintendo 64 for the two of you to play Ocarina of Time well into the wee hours of morning. If you’re not playing Legend of Zelda, you two are falling asleep to AVGN playing on your clunky laptop.

Kento has found a place in your heart, and you fear you won’t be able to let him go. You don’t want to consider him exclusive, but you are also not eager to share him with anyone else.

As the second semester comes to a close, you and Kento find yourselves invited to a party at a —---. He’s finding excuses not to go, but the minute you say you might want to go for just a bit, he sees the appeal in it.

“I think it could be fun,” you mention as you two have lunch together at your favorite cafe. “It’s a good way to unwind after exams.”

Kento nods and sips his coffee. “Yeah, I guess I never really saw it that way,”

“Will you come with me? I wouldn’t wanna go without you.”

This makes his heart flutter. Kento, on his end, has found himself completely head over heels for you. He’s gone through his denial phase a while back. He had tried his best to hide his feelings for you, but the more you two hung out, the more he found himself just hanging on to your every word. The more he would take an extra second to admire you.

And with every moment that passed between you two, he longed for the day that he could fully call you all his. He wanted to hold you in his arms, post-coitus and in that beautiful afterglow and to finally whisper those three words to you. For now though, it was just a singular fantasy. The one he imagines whenever he’s aroused and you’re not around to take care of him.

“Earth to Kento,” you wave your hand in his face.

“Yeah, sorry sorry…” he shrugs and tries to hide his blushing cheeks. “I’ll come with you if it means that much to you.”

You chuckle softly, reaching over the table to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Just that little touch sends shivers down his spine. He can’t quite look you in the eyes right now, and you love the way his cheeks and tops of his ears are tinged just a little pink.

“It’s tomorrow night around 9,” you mention. “I’d like for us to go together.”

The words play in his mind, even after he’s promised to come by your dorm to pick you up around 8:30. He wonders what you’ll wear. Kento’s mind is very active that night, while he lays in his bed. He holds his pillow close.

The thought of you wearing a cute dress with fishnet tights makes his heart flutter in his chest. You were that type of girl too. He sees what you wear when you’re not trying to dress business casual for class. It turns him on to see you in such alternative attire.

The next morning, you two meet up for breakfast before a short morning class. You notice how he’s in a much better mood than usual, and you wonder if maybe the promise of cutting loose for a bit is making him happy.

The night comes quickly and you’re in your dorm texting a few friends and listening to music as you get ready. You settled on a gray and black plaid skirt along with knee high red and black socks. Your shirt was a cut up Green Day shirt you had bought the last time you went to a concert. You finished up your makeup in the mirror plastered in polaroids and old pictures taken from music magazines.

There’s a knock on your door and you rush over to answer it. Your breath hitches in your throat when you see Kento standing there, a single red rose in his hands. He’s blushing as he thrusts it in your direction.

“For you.”

Your eyes widen and you smile sweetly. You gladly take it, bringing the rose up to your nose. It smells floral and lightly sweet. Then you take in the look of the man who stole your heart. Dressed in his signature black skinny jeans and ripped up Vans slip-ons, he looks so good. And you notice the new checker print hoodie he’s wearing with his thumbs poking out the holes in the sleeves.

“You look really good,” you comment. You invite him inside and he sits on your couch.

He stumbles with his words. He tells you that you look pretty, but he means you look beautiful. He wants to take you into his arms, kiss you softly and tell you not to go out tonight. You two could stay in and finally take your relationship to the next step.

“Thanks Ken! Do you want to head out now?” you ask him after touching up your makeup.

He nods. “Y-yeah. Let’s go.”

You take his hand and grab your purse before you two leave your dorm. The walk to the frat house wasn’t far, so you two had a little time alone to enjoy each other’s company. The night is so beautiful. The sun had just finished setting and the sky was getting darker. The stars would be shining soon. You felt like this was one of those nights you’d never forget.

The minute the two of you step into the frat house, you know that this party is going to be wild. Beer bottles litter the ground amongst a group of drunken college kids. You look around as you and Kento enter the house, moving around waves of bodies that are either getting drunk or dancing. You spot a group of girls in the kitchen and you notice a few of your friends within that group.

“Hey!” You wave at them. Your fingers still interlocked with Kento’s.

The girls giggle before your friends spot you and they wave you over. Kento feels nervous about this. He knows what others think of him. They all think of him as a loser, a loner and someone who doesn’t fit in. What makes him fall so deeply for you is that you see him for who he truly is.

“Hey girl, glad you made it!” One of the girls comments, her eyes darting towards Kento. “You too! Nice to see you out of class.”

Kento shrugs. “Is there a reason for us to meet like this?”

You bite your lip in an attempt to stifle your laugh. “Awh, be nice, you.”

Kento smirks when he notices how some of your friends are trying to hide their laughter too. Maybe he could truly be a part of your fold. He holds your hand a little tighter.

You two make it to the counter where a large stash of booze is displayed. Kento grabs the bottle of whiskey, pouring some into a red solo cup. He hands you one, and the two of you sip on your drinks. It’s nasty and strong, but you two long to get a little fucked up tonight.

Throughout the night, you two drink your fair share of booze. Kento keeps a tight hold on you, preventing you from stumbling over or ramming into anyone accidentally. 

And finally, the moment comes when the two of you find a room that’s unoccupied. Your mind is a hazy mix of alcohol and lust for the man who’s been glued to your side this entire night. You kiss him first; it’s sloppy and hungry. Kento follows your lead, cupping your face.

The two of you make it to the bed, and you pull him on top of you. You giggle as he groans, then he kisses you again. His tongue feels a little tied, but he wants to tell you just how much fun he’s having.

“Such a good time when I’m with you,” he slurs between kisses. “I wanna…fuck I wanna show you just how much you mean to me.”

The minute you squeeze his hardened cock through his jeans, it seems to sober him up a little. He then realizes maybe he needs to cool off before he does anything else. Kento pulls away despite your protests.

“Just gonna get us water, ‘kay? Stay here, beautiful.”

When he steps out of the room, he’s wondering if he should even be leaving you in the room like that. You’re clearly drunk and anyone could enter. He decides to make it super quick. He goes into the kitchen, quickly swiping two bottles of water before making his way to the room again.

But before he can go inside, he hears girls giggling. Kento looks over his shoulder at the group of girls that you two had been talking to earlier.

“So,” the leader starts. “You’re the virgin, huh?”

The word sounds so nasty on her tongue. Kento knows you don’t care that he’s a virgin. You’ve been so patient and sweet with him this entire time. You’ve shown him the right way to explore each other. But the way she’s saying it now, it makes him feel ashamed of being a virgin at his age.

“You really think she likes you, huh? Come on, you’re just a pity fuck.”

The words cut him deeply. “Shut up, you don’t know her.”

The girl smirks, “And you think you do? Come on, get over yourself! She’s only using you as a pity fuck…or well not even cause you’re still a virgin.”

His blood boils and his heart is in his stomach now. He thinks back on all the things you two have been through together. Would you really do that to him? He thought that you two were really becoming close and things would progress really soon.

“See ya later, you fuckin’ virgin.”

With his stomach in knots and tears of frustration in his eyes, he enters the room. There you lay, on the bed. You look so fucking beautiful and he wants nothing more than to make you his. But now, he knows that maybe he’s been nothing but a joke to you this entire time. He gives you the bottle of water.

“I won’t be bothering you again.” He states. He hates that he’s doing this, but it was to protect himself. He watches as you slowly come to terms with the words coming out of his mouth.

Your heart flutters in a panic. You sit up, but you’re so dizzy. Kento wants to help you, but he’s hurting. He doesn’t want to let this continue if all you were doing was stringing him along. 

“Just forget we ever met, okay? You and I are done. There wasn’t anything between us anyway. Just continue your perfect fucking life without me.”

You stare at him in disbelief. You swore that tonight would be the night that you two would finally go all the way. And if not, you were ready to tell him how much you loved him. You feel tears stinging your eyes.

“Kento…wait…” You cry out. He shakes his head and turns away from you.

But before you can continue, he storms out. It’s only a few minutes later that your friends come in, sitting with you and consoling you as best as they can.

Kento walks home alone, his heart pounding and his mind racing with thoughts of regrets. He just messed up the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

[foxstens]

blasphemous 2 yaaaaaaaaaaaaaas

[phyrestartr]

Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader

Main Fic W/C: 5.9k Bonus Drabbles W/C: 1.6k

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, I KINDA EDITED BUT I JUST WANT THIS TO BE YEETED INTO THE OPEN OK BYE SORRY IF PARTS ARE CLUNKY]

@better-imagination-9 I summon thee

--

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business. 

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as it was made out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders. 

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand. 

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I'm not.” 

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor. 

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–” 

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.” 

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room. 

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted. 

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.” 

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat. 

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too. 

–

Ding. 

He knew it was you. It had to be you. You were a good person, willing to let Uraume rest while you gave your ex the update he needed about his brother. After all, you didn't fear him, nor did you yearn to please him. You were more than capable of delivering shit news and getting off scotch free. 

“So?” Sukuna took a deep puff from his cigar and leaned further into the balcony railing as you approached. 

You hummed as you sidled up next to him, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as the breeze tugged at it. “He'll be fine. Yuuji's tough. He's a bit shaken up now that the adrenaline’s worn off, though.” 

“Maybe that'll teach that idiot not to get shot.” 

“Probably not.” 

“Probably not,” Sukuna sighed, tapping off a dash of ash from the butt of his cigar just before it was plucked from his hands. “Oi.” 

“These things'll kill you,” you scolded airily. “So will that.” You tried reaching for the crystalline glass of amber, too, when Sukuna scoffed and took a sip to spite you. 

“Don't,” he snarled. Any normal omega would have backed away. Any normal omega would have keened. Any normal omega would have tried to please him up with a sweet scent of submission. But you were a different breed entirely. 

“Don't growl at me–” you gaped as Sukuna downed the expensive liquor before whipping the glass at the skyline. “Sukuna.”

He stalked back into his penthouse with heavy steps as he ran his hands through his hair. He had to busy his fingers, his palms, just so he wasn't tempted to touch you, to grab you like he was used to. It'd been years since you were properly together–properly engaged in fact–but he still couldn't shake those infuriating fucking habits. You were a cancer in his mind, plaguing his body and thoughts. 

But he didn't want you to leave. Maybe he liked the chase. Maybe he just liked how his entire, explosive world narrowed down to just one infuriating thing that he wanted so badly. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't need to know. 

Sukuna poured himself another drink and collapsed onto his soft leather couch with a deep sigh. His arms draped along the back, one hand still holding the glass by the rim. He let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling. 

Thankfully, you wandered in. And you wandered toward him, not to the door like you usually did when his temper flared and he acted out. Something small and pathetic in him uncoiled and settled down, purring in content when you took a seat beside him. 

“What's going on?” you asked quietly. Your fingertips singed sparks of pleasure against his skin where you touched: his cheekbones, his hairline, his furrowed brow.

He lolled his head to the side to look at you, his stupid pretty boy. “Nothing.” Not even Sukuna believed that.

You brushed his hair back, and the stupid alpha in him rose to the surface and moaned. “Yuuji’s not behaving?” Your warm palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it. 

“That little shit never behaves,” he mumbled through the vibrato of purrs rumbling from his chest. “Gonna make me die young.” 

“Hm. Is that why you haven't slept?” 

“I'm sleeping.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Sukuna.”

“I said–” 

“You and I have different definitions of ‘enough,’” you chided lightly, like you were scolding one of your cats. “You look tired.” 

“Maybe it's because my mate scampered off in the middle of the night.” 

“Don't blame this on me.” 

“Why not?” Wine-red eyes glowered at you, deciding whether he should dominate or decimate you. “It's your fault.” 

You recoiled the slightest bit, your top lip twitching in that oh-so familiar way it did whenever you were close to snarling and snapping at him. You had such a temper for such a calm thing. Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't try to rile you up on purpose. 

“Ho? What,” he started, grinning wickedly when you made a move to get up, but his arms snaked around you and held like wrought iron. “Feelin’ guilty?” 

“No,” you hissed, half-pissed by his drink spilling on you, half-pissed by his accusation. “Let go. I'm leaving.” 

“Leaving?” He crooned. “You always get so pissy when I don't wanna talk, ‘n now that I'm in the mood, you're tryna leave? Come on, sweetheart, that's not fair.” 

“I don't feel like fucking fighting tonight,” you snapped, and Sukuna stayed quiet for a change. “Yuuji got shot. You look like shit. And we--I haven't–” you took a deep breath. “Can't we just be civil for a night? Can't we just talk about–”

“About what?”

“About whatever.” 

“Fine.”

“Alright. Okay.” 

Somewhere behind the haze of alcohol, Sukuna's consciousness celebrated–this could be his shot at starting to fix things. This was his moment to rebuild that lost relationship and maybe clean up a space in his life for you to sit safely in. Your expectant expression agreed with him. You looked quite cute, what with your big eyes and the way you leaned into him. But instead–

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Sukuna asked before taking a sip of whatever remained in his glass. 

You blinked and shook your head, eyes narrowing the slightest as you looked over his face. “What?” You asked. 

Sukuna snorted and turned to face you, one arm gesturing with his scotch glass while the other arm stayed slung across the back of the couch. “I said,” he started, gesturing to your stomach and chuckling through his low, bassy words, “boy or girl? If it was a girl, then maybe the world did you a favour. You know how it is for women in this day and age.” 

You stared blankly like you were shellshocked, and Sukuna bubbled with near-manic, reedy laughter until you got up and walked to the door. 

“Oi, where the hell are you going, huh?” He got up and followed you, hastening his steps when he saw you b-line for the door. “Omega.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, purring into your ear as he pressed his chest to your back. “Come on, we can make another one. You'd like that, huh?” 

“Get off,” you barked, ripping his arms away from you. But he grabbed you again and spun you back to face him. You shoved him back, your mind whirling in a chaotic waltz drenched with grey thoughts and crimson rain that almost drowned out the words he barked at you until–

Whack. 

He hit you. Backhanded, fingers adorned with thick, bulky rings and knuckles that'd seen too many fights. A natural disaster contained in the vessel of a mortal man–sometimes, he didn't know his own capabilities.

“Shit,” Sukuna mumbled, scrambling to set down his glass to, what, tend to you? Rewind time? Sure. “Babe–” 

But you, too, were a natural disaster. The tsunami that came after an earthquake, raising tides high and staring down at split earth with a taunt: you think you're bad? Watch this.

Thwack. 

You snatched up that bottle of fancy scotch and hit a home run, watching Sukuna collapse to the floor.

–

Sukuna woke up with a concussion, his wallet missing, and one of his favourite cars torched. 

It got him riled up. He was too ready to hunt you down and make you rectify your mistakes–that is, until he remembered why you did what you did. 

Boy or girl?

Maybe the world did you a favour.

Fuck. He flew way too close to the sun this time.

He watched you stack up expenses on his card instead of hunting you. Your little rage-filled crime spree was kind of funny anyway, and he couldn’t help but hope it made you feel at least a little better. 

Though he knew it could never. Nothing could make it better. 

–

“You should quit messing around with him,” Ieiri said as she tended to the half-dead gangster laying on her operating table. “He's bad news. A kid like you shouldn’t be getting involved.” 

The one little, wiggly lucid part of Sukuna wanted to strangle Ieiri; you were young, sure, but not stupid. Sukuna wouldn't go so far as to say you were mature for your age, no, but you'd been beaten down by life and forced into the role of an adult for long enough that it'd changed your way of thinking, of perceiving the world. You could make your own choices–just as long as it involved him. 

“You're not the first person to tell me that,” you said softly, words rising with a small, warm chuckle. “Good guys try way too hard to put on a show, to hide how garbage they can be.” You squeezed Sukuna's hand and ran your thumb over his split knuckles. “Guys like him show you who they really are right away. Then, you get to figure out what his good side is like.” 

–

You were there again. In the elevator, looking a little pensive beyond your cool exterior. 

Sukuna took a drag from his cigarette as he stepped in beside you. The button for his penthouse leered at him and whispered, “you have time.” 

All he had to do was think of what to say. The right course of action was obvious, but–well, was it really his fault? He couldn't accept that 100%. You clocked him upside the head with a fucking glass bottle and stole his– 

“Those things'll kill you.” Your fingers snatched the smoke from his lips before he realized it. He caught you butting it out on the fancy gold railings. 

“I like things that can kill me,” he hummed, lighting another cigarette and chuckling when you snatched that one too. “What, scared of a little competition?” 

“Yes.” 

Oh. Sukuna liked that.

“I, uh,” you started, fumbling with your pockets before handing something over. “Found this.” 

Sukuna glanced your way finally. He couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the wallet from your hands. 

“Found it, huh?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Such a benevolent, pious thing. I would've kept it.” 

“Yeah, well. You're a dick. ‘Course you would.” 

“Where'd you find it?” 

“My pocket.” 

“No shit.” 

“Yeah. Weird.” 

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty hall leading to the penthouse. He glanced down at the door before looking back down at you. 

“Have a drink with me.”

Your expression soured. 

Sukuna threw his arm against the doors to keep them open. “Coffee?” 

Your brows lifted, the creases smoothing from your face. “Coffee.” 

Sukuna's alpha bloomed with pleased content. He sidled up next to you and rested his broad hand on the small of your back, leading you down the hall. 

“With a bit of Baileys.”

“No Baileys.”

–

He let you try to sooth his stress while you waited for your favourite, poor-person coffee to brew. 

You straddled his thick thighs as you kissed at his neck. Your hands roamed and threaded through his gelled hair, your blunt nails dragged along his scalp, coaxing rumbling purrs out of your alpha.

“Shit,” he moaned, leaning back into your hands, digging his head into your digits and grumbling like an old dog. You hummed in sympathy, and gave him harsher scritches, making his knee bounce in double time like a dog getting the spot scratched.

You weren’t done, though. You licked at his neck’s scent gland and coaxed more of his natural musk to the surface to mix with yours–a classic way to get one’s partner to calm down. You were methodical as fuck about it, too, knowing how Sukuna’s stress abruptly blocked any good scents in favour of excreting foul, angry odors into the air when he was pissed. Or, sometimes, he’d shut down completely, the only scent coming from what clung to his skin and clothes. 

And so, he needed a little more TLC to get things flowing again, to make his body disarm and let the good vibes flow. 

You nipped the swollen spot lightly, eliciting a strangled growl from the man. “Too rough?” Your tongue pressed at the spot again, and pulled more of that deep purring out of him. “Maybe not.” 

“By all means, rough me up.” That was as close to a warning as you would get from a greedy bastard like Sukuna. He wanted you to bite harder, to break skin and set the wild tornado of a mating rut into motion. You were careful to avoid him when your unholy heats crashed down on you, but being in the presence of your estranged man when he was set off–well, it’d jumpstart your sex-crazed frenzy, too. 

“Raincheck,” you murmured. 

He huffed and rubbed circles in your hips before grabbing your ass and squeezing. “When's the last time–” 

The coffee maker sang a tune and you got off, saved from your warm, fuzzy marking daze. “Does it matter?”

Sukuna got up and stalked after you, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder. “Like it or not, we're stuck with our binding vow.” His chest pressed to your back, his arms slipping around your waist as he leaned down to nuzzle into your skin. “Mated for life.” He couldn't help the smile that branded into your neck. 

You cleared your throat and snatched up two mugs. “There're surgeries–”

“No.” 

“How do you take your coffee again?” Hah. You didn't even try to argue it.

Sukuna's ego boomed. His scent grew more dominating and demanding in tow. “You know how I like it. You know the way I like everything.”

You scoffed and slapped his hand away, the sweet, teasing omega that happily marked him up and scented him to high heaven gone, now replaced with your annoying, bratty self. Ugh. He loved it as much as he hated it.

“You used to be cuter,” Sukuna commented, quiet and breathy, so out of character. His hands retreated back to hold your waist instead of keeping you trapped against him. “What happened to–”

“You know what happened.” You sounded tired, too. Angry. But not at the Sukuna standing with you right then and there. 

Sukuna's old friend, unyielding frustration, bore down on him. He sucked his teeth and beat down the urge to snap, to yell and scream, claim it wasn't his fucking fault and that you never filled him in, so how could–

His forehead pressed against your shoulder. “I don't,” he sighed. “I don't fucking know, (Name). We lost our kid, I know that much, so what the fuck else is there?” 

For a moment, he thought he'd lost you again. He expected you to whirl around, throw a cup at his head and curse him to hell to start off another fight; instead, you slipped out of his hands gently, and replaced your warmth with a cup of coffee. 

“Come sit.” 

Sukuna complied. 

You tucked your legs up under you when you sat down. Your own mug was held snugly with both hands, yet your fingers fidgeted, twirling around whatever rings you had on while you thought of what to say. 

“So,” you started. “How much do you know?”

Sukuna leaned back and thought. “Uraume called. Said something was wrong.” He could remember their voice ringing in his ear, that usual, frigid demeanor exploding into something panicked and tortured as they tried to comfort you, order idiots around, and explain the situation. “They didn’t know what, but said you were bein’ taken to Ieiri. I met ‘em there, Gojo wouldn’t let me come in.” He sighed, the memories pricking his nerves. “Told me you miscarried, and–well, that’s more or less it.” 

You nodded a little, digesting the scraps of knowledge that’d been given to Sukuna. “I was alone,” you breathed. “I was–I’d been cramping. A lot. I thought–I didn't know–I just–I thought it was normal.” You cleared your throat, fidgeting more and only stilling when Sukuna's palm rested on your leg. You covered his hand with one of yours. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was dying. Uraume and Yuuji took me to Ieiri.” 

Sukuna remembered that, too. He remembered catching sight of you just before his brother carried you away from him. It was hard to forget the sound of your wailing amidst all that red–that damned noise came from hell itself, from the burning, fetid pits of agony and despair and up through your beautiful voice. For something so foul to touch you was nothing but blasphemous.

Sukuna tried to follow you in, but that moron Gojo wouldn’t let him in, spouting some bullshit about how he’d make things worse. Needless to say, Sukuna snapped, and Ieiri suddenly had more than a mourning omega to deal with.

“I pinned it on you to cope. I didn’t know what else to do.” You spared a shy glance at him before staring down again. “...Uraume filled me in, though. You were dealing with so much shit. All that crap with the Zenins. And you didn’t even–you didn’t even know I was knocked up until I wasn’t.” You sighed and sipped your drink before setting it aside. “Guess it was easier to blame you for everything than it was to just accept I got unlucky.” 

“‘Unlucky’?” Sukuna repeated lowly, void of mirth for once.

You nodded. “Chromosome bullshit, garbage genetics, a shitty cervix. Coulda been anything.” Sukuna watched your expression shift from desolate to bitter. “And if you fuck up once and lose your pup, odds are it’ll happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Science. Doctors.”

“You really gonna take their word like that?” Your eyes met his, doey and expectant. “I'll gut ‘em myself if they say that shit next time you're knocked up.”

You looked a bit bashful then, looking away from him with pursed lips and glossy eyes. For a second, Sukuna thought you were about to snap and argue with him about how you vowed to never get pregnant again (which he'd indulge in), or maybe even bolt for the door (which he wouldn't allow), but instead, you grabbed the remote. 

“Tch. Don't say such stupid shit. It's annoying.” 

Sukuna could only grin to himself as you settled in beside him, tucking up against his side. Neither of you could swallow your pride enough to properly apologize for anything ever, but that wasn't necessarily needed–understanding was what was needed. Things had just become a little bit clearer. 

–

For once, the alpha found himself at ease. Sure, you had your petty and some less-than-petty spats, but there was a coil of contentment that stayed at the forefront of Sukuna's mind through it all. Now, he no longer fumed nor bristled, no longer wondered if you really belonged to him, no longer thought about how to trap you if he wanted to keep you around. 

Because you made more of an effort to see him, to call when you couldn't, to set his vicious wolf's heart at ease so he could rest soundly. He rested the most when you were so gracious as to curl up in those black, silken sheets with him, too.

Don't get too excited. It's just because we're mated; we'd go insane otherwise, Is how you rationalized it. And, honestly, it was cute to see you act so flippant and uncaring when Sukuna knew you were so the opposite. 

Little liar. Loves playing pretend. He gently tucked stray hairs behind your ear as you snoozed soundly beside him. It was unlike you to sleep in so late (“late” meaning past 6am), and it was unlike Sukuna to wake up before you, so it must have been kismet. 

Because this moment was the first in a long time where he got to touch you. Beyond the playful ass slaps and grabs at your hips, you never really let him feel you. Or did he just never try to touch you like this? Gently, just for the sake of feeling your skin and your warmth? 

Sukuna was a brutal man. He didn't often have a chance to be careful. If he'd had that kid, then he might've learned how; he could've learned not to throw glasses at skylines, not to lash out at his omega, not to expect you to still love you when he broke you. 

He brushed his thumb along your cheek and down to your jaw, admiring the soft skin and strong angle that led him to the curve of your chin, and your perfect lips. God, he wanted to kiss you. It'd been an eternity since he had a taste of you. Maybe if he was gentle–

I can do gentle. Sukuna shifted the slightest bit towards you until his nose lightly brushed against yours, until he felt your light breaths fan against his skin. Ah, why was his heart beating so fast now?

He did his best to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his ears when he brushed his lips against yours once more, before he kissed you softly. Gently. Perfectly. And he took his time parting. He had to savour the taste of your lips against his because who knew when he'd get to kiss you again? 

I love you, he heard echo in his memories when your lips parted. But he never heard himself reply. 

“Love you too, brat,” he murmured. “Don't you dare think otherwise.” 

Your eyes opened a moment later. “You mean that?” came your reply, just as light and whispered. Sukuna felt waves of heat come off your skin–were you blushing?

Crimson eyes flickered from your bashful look to the slight parting of your lips and back again. “Always.” Even though he never said it. But he let you get away with everything to show that love–credit card theft, cracking him upside the head with a bottle, abandoning him for months on end.

A soft ‘hm’ hummed through you. Your sleepy gaze melted from Sukuna’s, and down to his lips, too, while your own pursed, pensive. Thoughtful. Christ, you were really something else–just a single look from you had his mind reeling, his chest easing into a warmth so reminiscent of a campfire, the sort you both used to sit around when you’d bullied Sukuna into buying one for his too-big balcony. 

Back then, you were just “friends,” though the flirting and meaningful touches said otherwise. You were still a street doctor, introduced to him by Yuuji of all people, but you had more pep in your step, especially when you worked to try and swoon the hardened, deranged alpha you’d decided belonged to you. You’re mine, you said simply after shooting whatever whore the big, bad boss had hired for the night. The look in your eyes, cold and determined, got Sukuna achingly hard in an instant. He never wanted you to look at anyone else like that–your rage, your obsession, it could only ever be for him.

“‘M I still yours?” You still want me? You still love me? Am I still just for you?

You looked a little sentimental. A little sad, too, maybe. But maybe it was just the culmination of your fears and worries, your wants and desires finally breaking through your solemn being. 

“I'm a minimalist at heart. I've only got room for so much.”

“Don't tell me you're back on that Kondo Marie kick–” 

“But you're something I can't do without.” Yeah, I love you. I want you. I don't want much, but I want you. You're mine. “You bring me joy, or whatever the saying is. But I wanna beat the shit outta you sometimes for being a dumbass.” 

Sukuna laughed and nudged your nose with his–a small, primal gesture of fondness. “Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Tch. You're gonna have to be careful--you're gonna send my old ass to an early grave if you keep up with all this fiery youth shit.”

“Then I can inherit your fortune,” you offered airily before kissing him teasingly. Sukuna growled when your small fangs dug into his bottom lip playfully. “That'd be nice.” 

“Hah. Everything's going to family–Yuuji, the old fart.” Sukuna pulled you in closer and purred as you complied. “You'd have to–”

“I'll marry you if that's what it takes,” you cooed, and Sukuna froze. You paused for a moment, too, before lifting yourself up to look down at his dumb face. “Oi.” You pat his cheek lightly but he scowled at you, half-cranky, half-defeated. “Eeeh? You mad?”

“Tch.”

“Awe, big alpha's mad.”

“Don't.” A command. A warning. One that had your subgender reeling and whimpering behind you, but your human side smiling, ready to mock. 

You slid on top of him, straddling his waist and splaying your hands out on his broad, solid chest. Sukuna still kept his gaze elsewhere. Honestly, you couldn't blame him--you were in a mood. 

“Oi,” you prodded, poking at his ridiculous pecs and tracing over the dark lines of his irezumi. “Hey. Don't pout.” But he grabbed your hands when your stupid fingers threatened to assault his nipples, and he continued to pout. “Come on, I said I'd marry you.” 

“Tch.” You've said that before. 

“I mean it.” 

“Tch.” You’ve said that before, too.

You leaned down, and nuzzled the hollow of his cheek while he grumbled and grumped. “You don't like the idea of breeding me anymore? You don't want me to yourself, all caught up in your bedsheets with you between my legs? Hm? You don't wanna fuck me through my heat, knock me up a few more times, make me bare your children for the world to see how I belong to Ryoumen Sukuna? You don't want me to be drenched in your scent–” 

You squeaked when your man flipped you around, pinning you before ripping off the sleep shorts keeping your skin from him. His rough fingers dove deep into your slicked up hole (apparently your long list of hypotheticals had worked you up into a soft, wet, pliant thing) and hurried to stretch you wide. 

“Such an annoying little shit,” Sukuna grumbled. And you laughed, lightly and so achingly genuinely through your fluttery mewls and moans. “If you try ‘n back out this time, I'll break your fucking legs and tie you down to the bed, you got that? I'm not gonna be so fucking nice this time.”

“Eh? You were being nice last–” you whined when his wet fingers jammed into your mouth. But you obediently sucked and bit at them, holding onto his muscled arm for leverage while he kicked off his bottoms and pressed his sweltering tip to your soft entrance. 

“You got no idea, princess.” Sukuna pushed in, groaning with ancient, cursed need as your insides welcomed him and obeyed, letting his uncomfortable size push you open. Seemed your body still remembered him. Wanted him as much as your stupid pretty mouth claimed. 

You were gasping, your molars chewing into his fingers as your missing piece slid back into place, filling you up until it hurt to breathe. Strong thighs clamped down against Sukuna’s sides as he dragged you down, forcing the last bits of his cock into your very depths, squeezing a reedy whine out of you, before he pulled out and slammed right back in again and again and again.

Your cry nearly sent him over the edge. It was a loud, bassy thing, something like a cello toppling or having its string plucked too hard by a callous touch–a sound Sukuna reveled in. You were the only partner he'd had that was like this, so demanding and bitchy, absolutely horrible and as poisonous as alphas were, and he loved it. He lived and died by your gospel, by the very life that thrummed underneath his touch.

And you promised to be all his. Sukuna could have everything, anything and anyone, and that apparently included trapping and claiming a god. One that only he prayed to. One that'd only smile upon him. One that only delivered to him divine blessings. 

What a divine gift.

He folded you in half with ease and blanketed your trembling body with his own. The fingers fucking into your mouth slipped out and down to your throat where they squeezed lightly; then, they traveled to the back of your neck, found your cute little nape, and squeezed. 

Your eyes rolled back as your body arched up into him. Words left you in some ancient tongue neither you nor Sukuna could decipher. But it was a language of love and pleasure, the sort that brought delicious submission coiling through your blood in offering to the lowly creature devouring your holiness. 

“Sukuna,” you choked out. Your fingers dug into his shoulder and fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to the old, scarred mark left there by him a decade ago. “‘Kuna, I need–” 

The boss laughed low, but with fluttery, manic high tones warped throughout. “Need me to bite you? Mark you mine again?” He taunted. His nails dug into your soft side as he fucked into you harder, lifting your waist up to meet his brutal angle as his base started to swell. “I wanna hear you say it–say you need it, you want it. Say you need me to fill your guts every fucking night. Say I'm the only one who can get you there. I'm the only one–” his other hand grabbed your nape harder, forcing your submission further, forcing your neck to the side to present it to him. 

Then, with a snarl, he added, “say ‘I do.’” 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you murmured those very words into his ear. 

I do. 

Sukuna's heart howled with the beast living inside him. Blood flooded his mouth when he tore into your shoulder, digging deeper than needed to brand you his again just before his pulsing knot squeezed into you and locked into place, stilling his wild rampage and holding you hostage beneath his hulking body. 

You shifted and writhed against him, so obviously overwhelmed by such an archaic, crazed union–your omega must have been going wild, willing you to fight against the monster pouring his seed into you, locking you in place, taking away your autonomy. But a short, rough warning growl settled your inner self the slightest bit and straightened out your thoughts enough for your human pettiness to urge you, too, to sink teeth into flesh and mark up your alpha to complete the re-bonding. 

Good boy. Sukuna's hips rutted against you in light pulses, attempting to jam his knot further into you to ensure you'd take everything he so graciously offered you. But every little move your bodies made together tore more hot strings of cum out of him and into your core. Apparently an eternity of not having you was culminating into this one moment. 

You were the one to let go first. You collapsed onto your back with a loud sigh, and the crushing constriction of your thighs laxed just slightly. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, wholly content and pleased. Your hand wiggled between your bodies and rested on the still-inflating curve that your partner had oh-so loving built out of cum and obsessive dedication. “That's gonna make a mess.” 

Good. Sukuna's chainsaw purr reverberated against your bloodied skin. He chewed into you further and relished in the taste and smell of you, the way it mingled with his own scent of existence and made him feel so irrevocably whole. 

Your fingers laced through his hair as you laughed. “Oi, let go already. Your knot's not gonna go down for like thirty minutes. I'm not going anywhere.” 

Your mate obliged, dislodging his chunky fangs from you and lapping at the wound dutifully until the bleeding staunched. Next, he got to work leaving an array of dark hickies and light bites all over your neck and shoulder, just in case the gnarly bite mark wasn't enough to ward off idiots who thought they had a chance with you. He grumbled at the mere idea of it. 

“So?” You cooed, running your hands up and down his muscled shoulders. “What do we do for half an hour?”

Sukuna scoffed. He tried to pull out just a bit, just to see if he was seriously locked in there, and you spat a vile hiss his way, your nails digging into him at the same time. And, fuck, you were tight–

“Fuck.” He didn't think this through.

-- DRABBLES --

“You're dumb as fuck, you know that?” 

“Ah, such romantic words to hear from my wife.”

“Husband, jackass.” 

Sukuna managed to open his eyes through the pounding of his head. God, he felt like shit. But that probably came with the territory of getting shot point-blank before bailing out of a moving car on the highway. Honestly, he was lucky only one car hit him when he hit the pavement. 

Still, it was bad enough to warrant him a ticket to the hospital. Uraume worked behind the scenes, ensuring their boss got a private room and that the police would stay the fuck away if they knew what was good for them, and it all somehow worked out. Uraume was definitely a sorcerer of sorts.

“Can you save it for home? Fucking hell,” Sukuna groaned, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Too tired to argue.” 

“That's a first,” You huffed, and marched up to his side, sitting down in the cozy seat waiting for you. Your careful touch prodded at his hand gently, as if assessing the damage, guestimating if you could hold his hand without hurting him, but he made the choice for you. He caught your hand weakly, and you held him safe with both of yours. 

“Missed you,” he grumbled, squeezing back lamely. “Have fun on the trip at least?”

“Yeah, until I heard what happened.” You sighed, watery and warbled. “I shouldn't have left. You're too stupid to survive alone.”

Sukuna laughed, then coughed. He felt you tense. “F-Fuck you, little shit. I'm fine.”

“You got shot.”

“Been shot before.”

“Jumped out of a car.”

“I've jumped outta faster.”

“Then got hit by another car.”

“That was a first.”

You sighed to fight back either a sob or ill-placed laughter, or maybe both. “This is so fucking ridiculous. Never make me take a vacation again. I can't be off fucking around in Hawaii when my baby daddy's getting hit like it's GTA.” 

“Christ, I already–” he paused, though, and cracked an eye open to look at you. “What did you…” 

He lost his words when he saw you. Your skin glowed in a way he hadn't had the luxury to see before. Your face looked rounder, too, like you'd put on a little bit of weight since you'd been gone. But your scent–your usual sweet, full-bodied scent of flowery coffee was cranked up to a trillion. If Sukuna's nose wasn't busted, he would've noticed the way it filled up the room, and he might've noticed how his own scent rose to meet it in greeting. Something strange was happening. 

“Oh. Right. Uh…” you cleared your throat and hastily tucked some hair behind your ear. You looked a little bit lost for words too, in all honesty. “I’m pregn–”

Sukuna sat up. You barked at him to lay down, your voice rising a few octaves when something that was probably important dislodged from his wrist as he reached forward when you stood. And you froze when his palm pressed against your stomach–a natural, maternal thing to do. Sukuna remembered when he caught your cat for you when she was trying to dart out the door whilst pregnant, and how she froze dead in her tracks when his hand caught her by her kitten-filled stomach, and let him carry her back inside. 

But this was different. This wasn’t his partner’s cat’s kittens he was feeling, it was yours. His. A shared little nugget doing its best to grow big for its expectant mama–and now expectant papa. 

“How long?” Sukuna rasped. When did his throat get so dry? 

“Two months. Ish.” You rested your hands over his again despite the awkward angle he caught you at. “I didn’t know until last week. I tried to call, but–” You got obliterated and couldn’t answer your phone.

“I get it. Don’t gotta explain.” Sukuna gazed at your stomach a moment longer with droopy, half-lidded eyes before looking up at you as nurses burst into the room. “You’re moving in.”

And for once, you didn’t argue. 

–

“Dude, you guys can't fuck when he's pregnant! You'll crush the baby like a tin can!” 

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth as your tea shot out your nose. You coughed and wheezed, turning away and waving at the brothers in a desperate plea for them to not look and continue their petty argument.

Sukuna, caught between the urge to mock you and kick the shit out of his annoying little fucknut brother, sighed and rubbed his face before handing you his fancy handkerchief he kept tucked in the breast of his jacket for nothing but looks. These days, though, the damn thing had been paying its dues. 

“You think I'm gonna listen to a fuckin’ virgin about this kinda shit?” Sukuna quipped back as he watched you clean up before trying to take a sip of your drink again. 

“Hey, man, I'm just saying. Your dick is like a third leg.” 

You slammed your hand down on the table after spitting a mouthful of tea back into your cup. “Yuuji. Please. Why do you even know that?” 

Yuuji pouted and scooted closer to you under the kotatsu. “Wh--we're brothers! It's not even that weird!” 

“It's weird as shit,” Sukuna offered as he reached out to rub your back. 

“So not weird.” His honeyed eyes locked onto the small affection the older showed you. “Man, so not fair you guys are ganging up on me now that you're, like, a thing,” Yuuji whined and let his arms and chest flop across the table like a petulant child. 

Sukuna smirked. “Jealous?”

You grumbled. “Sukuna. Don't start.”

Yuuji's ears turned bright red. “Jea–what?! No! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence, not--I don't–”

“N'awe, little pup's tryna cope with losing.” Sukuna grinned wildly when Yuuji's head snapped up, pinning a deadly stare onto the older alpha. “Oh? Finally grow a pair?” 

“Sukuna,” you warned again.

“You better shut it, dude,” Yuuji threatened next, and you knew it was a lost cause; two alpha brothers, both incredibly competitive, both pining for the same omega, spelled disaster. 

Your partner laughed that familiar, ugly laugh–the sort that was too genuine and sounded borderline insane. “Or what? You gonna make me cry–” 

Yuuji launched over the table in an instant, tackling his brother to the ground with a bratty snarl. You watched on, unimpressed, waiting for any signs of their wrestling turning into a serious fight, but it never came. So, you enjoyed it a bit. It wasn't everyday the two idiots played nice. 

You rested your hands on your curved stomach while the two growled and snarled half-heartedly in their dumb attempt to subdue the other. Sukuna could've won in an instant, you both knew that, but he'd let Yuuji think he had a fighting chance for a little bit. It was part of the fun for him, letting his little brother gnaw on him like it'd do anything, letting him try to use his horrible jiu-jitsu skills on his older, bigger brother. It reminded you of–

“Oh,” you peeped when a rowdy kick jostled your hand. It didn't come from the boys, no, it came from the tiny tot inside you. 

The boys froze and stared at you.

“Huh? What's ‘oh'?” Yuuji asked through his panting and straining. Sukuna had him in a headlock, one of his hands giving a brutal noogie to the younger's head. 

“No, just–I think she kicked. Maybe not, I don't–” but your expression brightened with delight when another little throw hit your hand. 

“No shit?” Sukuna grinned, waves of excited alpha scent rolling off of him. He face-shoved Yuuji away before sidling up next to you and pressing his palm against your stomach. You guided his touch to rest over the kicky hotspot, and sure enough–

Thump. Thump.

“Two kicks for your old man, hey?” Sukuna hummed, looking so damn triumphant. 

“Hey, hey, I wanna feel!” Yuuji scrambled over like a nightmare and wiggled up on your other side, pointedly ignoring the snarl Sukuna sent his way. “Come on, it's my niece, chill out.”

Sukuna growled again, but you pulled his hand off to let Yuuji feel the little life making herself known. His eyes, too, lit up when those tiny thwacks battered his palm. 

You looked up at Sukuna dreamily, making the other's ticked expression smooth down into just mildly-annoyed; if your omega wasn't threatened, then he wasn't going to threaten. Sukuna didn't think Yuuji would hurt you, absolutely not, but anyone who came near you, or so much as accidentally bumped into you, pissed Sukuna off, sending his over-protective instincts into overdrive. He always had to rely on you to know when not to react.

“That's so cool!” Yuuji squeaked. “She's seriously in there!” 

“Where the fuck else would she be,” Sukuna grumped.

“Don't ruin his fun, Sukuna.” 

“Yeah, don’t ruin my fun!” 

“Yuuji’s banned from the house.”

“WH–HEY!!”

“Sukuna.”

“Heh.”

“What about gramps, then?” 

Sukuna paused. His heart stopped for a long, long moment. 

“What about him?” He answered, nonchalantly as possible. “Old fuck cut me off years ago.”

“He still cares,” Yuuji offered with a shrug. “And I told him about the pup ‘n everything.”

Sukuna frowned. “Yuuji–”

“You seriously think he doesn't give a shit? Dude, be real, the guy raised us.” 

“That's generous.” 

“Didn't you say you were leaving everything to Yuuji and ‘the old fart’ originally?” You cooed, unhelpful as ever. 

Carmine eyes found yours. “...If he actually wants to meet her–” 

“Awesome, I’ll let him know!” 

“Oi, runt–”

But Yuuji jumped up and pulled his phone out, leaving Sukuna to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into while you laughed at his misery. 

[jenosbigtoe]

park jisung x bimbo!reader (M)

minors dni

summary: maybe the quiet boy isn’t as naive or innocent as you initially thought.

warnings: reader is kinda slutty but ji secretly loves it, dom!jisung, big dick jisung, fingering, size kink, creampie, fellatio, unprotected sex, college au!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i’m a jeno girlie but ji has been hitting sooo different. ESP THE BAT JISUNG OOOH

SORRY TO WHOEVER WANTED THE JAEMIN FIC FIRST IM GETTING IMPATIENT HAVING THIS SIT IN THE DRAFTS. JAEMIN FIC THIS WEEKEND POSSIBLY!!

god you wanted him so bad. park jisung, the quiet compsci major that sat in the front of every lecture you’ve had together since freshman year. the park jisung that walked around with his clunky black headphones around his head at all times. the one who had his head down and eyes averted wherever he went. the one who rarely raised his hand in class but when he did, god he sounded so sexy explaining topics you could never begin to understand. the park jisung you’ve never spoken more than 10 words to in the 3 years you’ve known him at uni.

you just wanted to corrupt him so bad. with those baggy clothes he always wore and those harry potter circular lenses you thought looked so so cute on his face, you’ve never seen him interact with the opposite sex. like ever. and with your senior year in uni, you knew you had to make a move on him.

operation seduce park jisung is a go.

you had your first lecture of the day together. it was a 9 am, one you barely showed up to but you knew he had perfect attendance to. and today you were going to make his knees weak when he saw you.

popping your sparkly pink lip gloss, you gave yourself another look over in the reflection of the window before stepping into the lecture hall. today, you wore a light pink mini skirt, a white crop top and lacy hot pink push up bra that peaked through, and a cardigan with strappy gold sandals. you walked in 5 minutes late, smacking your bubblegum, and scanned the room for your target.

there he sat in the front row, in his oversized black hoodie and khaki cargo pants, his laptop open and signature black headphones around his neck. he was chewing on the end of a pen cap as he typed, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. you smirked to yourself and sauntered over to the seat next to him, making sure to scoot behind him in order to accidentally rub your ass against his head.

“sorry, excuse me,” you whispered.

jisung scooted up to let you pass and gave you a tight lipped smile as you sat next to him.

you didn’t even bother taking anything out to write notes. as you pretended to focus on the lecture, your eyes drifted over to jisung periodically. the way his hands were so big and veiny. when his hoodie sleeve would lift up and tease you with the image of his slim muscular arms. the faint smell of his masculine scent—smoky cedarwood? you could feel your pussy throbbing.

after the lecture was over and jisung got up to leave, you stopped him. “hey, what’s your name again? my name is y/n i don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves before.”

“it’s park jisung,” he said curtly.

it was hard for you to decipher how he felt talking to you but you didn’t want to burn this bridge before it even took off. “okay, nice to meet you, jisung. see you around!” you gave him a bright grin and turned on your heels to saunter out of class, leaving him to stare at your turned back.

and the next few weeks it was rinse and repeat. you would show up wearing your cutest little outfits, showing the most amount of skin appropriate in an “academic setting”, and trying to strike up a conversation with the quiet sexy compsci boy you had a crush on. to be fair, it didn’t seem like your plan was working all that well though. you barely knew anymore about jisung than you did a month ago and you thought by now you would’ve had him melting in your palm. with all the curt responses he gave to your questions, you should’ve been discouraged by now. but no, you were more determined than ever to get this boy underneath you.

so today you decided to alter your plan a little bit. you found jisung in the same seat as always. you were wearing the cutest white sandals and a short mini sundress with a pink ribbon in your hair. you took extra care in your makeup today too, wearing just a little more blush, sparkly silver glitter eyeshadow, and frosty pink lipstick.

“hi ji,” you walked up to him and smiled, actually 10 minutes early this time.

he gave you a small smile and looked back down at his laptop. you puffed your cheeks and pouted a bit. you sat in your designated seat next to him in a huff and pulled at his hoodie sleeve.

“ji, you like me right?” you started to draw circles on his arm and leaned in closer so he could smell your cherry perfume.

jisung looked up at you and tensed up with hesistant look about his face. “what do you mean, y/n?”

you pouted your lip. “you know.”

jisung fidgeted in his seat a bit and looked every where but your tits that were spilling out your bra. “i don’t know what you mean.”

“well we’re friends, right?” you leaned ever so slightly over. god he looked so cute and delicious you could just eat him up.

“um,” jisung started.

you interrupted him. “well i like you ji. and you’re my friend. friends help each other, right?”

jisung stared blankly at you. “y/n we've barely talked except the past couple weeks.”

you ignored his last statement.“this is really embarrassing but,” you leaned over and whispered softly in his ear, “i’m failing this stupid econ class. it’s required for my major but i just don’t understand any of it.”

you leaned back and stared jisung directly in his eyes, close enough to count the eyelashes on his eyes. “help me, ji? please? i know you’re just so smart and i only need some tutoring.” you gave his arm a tight squeeze for reassurance.

poor jisung was so flustered and shifted around at the proximity. “w-well uh o-okay-“

you stood up gave him a tight hug, conveniently shoving his face into your juicy tits, and squealed excitedly. mission success. “thank you so much, ji! let me treat you out to lunch a few days a week to make up for your help!”

jisung’s face was so red and the hug left his glasses slightly askew on his face. adjusting his glasses, he fumbled out a “yeah no problem.”

after the lecture, you slid jisung a piece of paper with your number with a “text me :) <3” and practically skipped out of class.

later that evening you got a text from an unknown number.

unknown: This is y/n right?

unknown: It’s Park Jisung.

you squealed and kicked your feet around on your bed.

you: yup :)) this is y/n

jisungie <3: Okay. I’m free Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays after 2pm. Every other day I have work. Let me know when you want to meet up.

you: yayyyy!! perfect <3

you: let’s meet up at the library tomorrow at 2:30pm. my place is right by it

jisungie <3: Okay.

you: your so awesome ji 😎

jisungie <3: You’re*

jisungie <3: You’re welcome, y/n. And just so you know, I do like you. You are my friend.

you had to run laps around your room after that one.

the next day was a sunday. you told jisung to meet you at the library but you knew better. the library wasn’t open on sundays. so that meant your study date had to move somewhere. and with your place being so close, that somewhere would hopefully be your apartment.

so you arrived at the library 30 minutes early, knowing jisung’s little quirk of needing to be 15 minutes early to everywhere he goes. today you decided to wear black yoga pants that accentuated your ass and a cute crop with a teddy bear print on it. and you made sure your makeup was waterproof because you hoped jisung would make you cry it all off later.

when jisung arrived, you faked a pout and pretended to be upset. you ran up to him and grabbed his arm, big fake tears welling up in your eyes. “ji, the library is closed. i was so excited to hang out with you outside of class but we can’t even have our study date because the stupid library doesn’t open on sundays.”

jisung looked panicked at the sight of your tears. “uh, um, uh don’t cry.”

you let a few tears roll and rubbed them on the back of your hands. “sorry ji. i’m just so disappointed. sure i want my grade in econ to be better but i also just wanted to hang out with you.”

jisung grabbed a napkin out of his bag and handed it to you. he rubbed your hand in a reassuring way that secretly had your pussy throbbing from his big hand grabbing your small one. “uh it’s okay, y/n. i can probably make time tomorrow. i have work but uh-“

you suddenly interrupted him. “wait, i don’t want you to have to miss work for me. i have an idea. my place is just a 3 minute walk from here. how about we head over there instead?”

your tears suddenly dried up as you pouted up at him, puffed up cheeks and big doe eyes with a hopeful look on your face.

jisung seemed to look relieved that you stopped crying. “okay. if that’s what you want then i’m down.”

you squealed and jumped up and down, hugging his body close to yours. “yayy! thank you thank you thank you ji!!!” you grabbed his big hand in yours and practically dragged him all the way to your apartment.

your apartment looked exactly how jisung imagined it. so pink and girly, flowers and ribbons and stuffies everywhere. and it smelled so strongly of you, he was about to lose his mind. your fluffy white cat purred and rubbed herself affectionately on jisung’s leg as soon as he entered.

“sweet girl, he smells so good right?” you lifted her up and snuggled her into your arms, giving her kisses all over her fur. “ji, you can set your stuff down by the couch. let me change into some lounge clothes.”

jisung felt so awkward being in your apartment but when you came out, he knew he was really in trouble. you were wearing a lacy silk pink victoria’s secret pj set that looked so flimsy.

“ji, do you want anything to eat? drink?” you walked past him, underwear peaking from beneath your shorts as you walked to the small kitchen.

jisung stuttered. “n-no. i’m good”

you walked over with a glass of water and a pack of cookies. “okay just let me know if you need anything.”

after an hour of jisung trying to lecture topics of micro and macro economics into your head, you just about had enough. slamming the book shut, you felt your brain about to fry.

“ji, i know i’m a business admin major but this is so stupid,” you whined. “why can’t i be as smart as you? i just wanna marry rich and be a stay at home wife.”

“well y/n-“ jisung started but you cut him off.

“no. i’m sick of this.” suddenly you pushed him back on the couch and straddled his waisted, using your legs to lock him underneath you. suddenly you leaned close to his ear and whispered softly.

“baby, i think you are just so sexy when you explain this stuff to me. you are so smart and i want you so bad.” you nibbled on his ear.

and jisung snapped. he was tired of your teasing for the past few weeks. what, did you really think he was so naive and stupid to notice your seduction tactics? you’re quite literally the girl of his dreams and you’ve been the object of his fantasies since he first saw you freshman year. you were always so bubbly and sweet and outgoing, the exact opposite of him, how could he ever stand a chance with you? but now that you’ve finally made a move on him, that was it.

using his strength, he flipped you over and pinned you on your back, gripping your hands above your head. “fuck. you have no idea what you do to me. you think you can just tease me like this, dangling yourself in front of me like a piece of meat, and expect me to not snap? you have too much faith in me.”

your heart was racing and every word he said went straight to your pussy, growing wetter by the second. jisung started leaving wet kisses down your jaw, once hand still pinning your hands above your head and the other gripping your waist.

“jisung you are so sexy. you have no idea how much i have wanted this,” you looked him into his eyes and smashed your lips against his.

3 years of unresolved feelings went into that kiss. he was a much better kisser than you expected, which had you moaning into his mouth and grinding up into his thigh.

he ripped off your pj set, leaving you in just your lacy white bra and panties. “fucking slut. you planned this huh? wanted to bring me to your apartment so you could fuck me huh?”

you whined and started taking his clothes off too. and holy shit was he hiding a beautiful body underneath those baggy clothes. you could always kinda tell he was toned underneath those clothes but nothing compared to this. his body was so well built and chiseled, arms so veiny and thick, you were foaming at the mouth.

he went to take his glasses off but you stopped him. “the glasses stay on while we fuck,” you told him seriously.

he bit back a giggle and ripped your underwear off. your pussy was glistening with arousal. he wrapped his lips around one of your juicy tits and traveled his hands down your body until his fingers rested on your cunt. “does my baby want to be touched here? does her slutty pussy want to be touched?”

you whined and bucked your hips into his hand. “yes! yes please ji i need you to touch me.”

he smirked and started teasing your pussy with his fingers, rubbing them up and down your slit and ghosting over your clit.

“stop teasing me. need more ji,” you sniffled.

he shoved two fingers into your sopping cunt and started pumping them. you moaned loudly, wriggling your body around and clenching on his fingers. with his other hand, he continued to grope at your chest, leaving you needier than ever. god his hands were so hot and they felt so good. so long and big and veiny and the perfect size for touching your cunt.

suddenly, you shoved him off of you and pushed him back on his back. “your turn.”

jisung looked shocked at first but let you take control. you pulled down his boxers and let out a small gasp. “no fucking way.”

jisung smirked at you and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes with a knowing look on his face. his glasses were crooked and falling off his nose but he never looked sexier to you.

“ji, why did you never tell me you were hiding a horse in there?” you asked, completely serious.

jisung stifled a giggle. “never asked.”

“if i had known you were this fucking hung down here i would’ve jumped your bones so much sooner.” you were seriously concerned for your little pussy the next day but at this point you didn’t care.

you gave his massive cock a few pumps with your manicured nails, wondering just how you would be able to fit all of it inside. even his balls were massive and heavy.

you alternating between licking the base of his cock and lightly sucking on his balls. god it was so hot and heavy and smelled so good, so musky and masculine. jisung let out the sexiest groans as you did this, snaking his hands into your hair and gripping your head. “fuck baby that feels so good.”

you gave a small kiss to the tip of his cock and then started sucking, putting more and more of it down your throat as you went. tears pricked your eyes as it went further and further. jisung’s moans got even louder and he started to buck his hips slightly against your face.

you gave licks to the underside as his dick was deep in your throat. with one final push, you bottomed out on his cock and deepthroated him fully, leaving jisung’s mind hazy and body shaking. fat tears welled up in your eyes and fell down your face. good call on the waterproof mascara.

“fuck m gonna cum. you’re doing so good baby, so so so good,” he groaned as you kept going up and down on his cock, sucking and licking his shaft with every bob of your head.

without warning, he suddenly ripped his cock from your face and stood up, leaving you whining and tears staining your face.

“what a cock hungry slut. can’t even go a second without cock ruining her. well don’t worry baby, i’m about to fuck you so good. wanna cum inside your pussy for the first time.”

he reached into his bag for a condom but you stopped him. “no condom. want you in my pussy raw.”

jisung smirked. “naughty girl.” he pushed you on all fours on the couch and positioned himself behind you. “you’re already so wet baby, won’t even need to prep.”

he rubbed his massive cock on the outside of your pussy, teasing your hole and sticking the tip in before taking it out and rubbing it some more.

“ugh fuck me ji! stop teasing just fuck me right now!” you whined out, arching your back and shoving your cute ass in his face.

and without warning, he bottomed out inside you. you screamed at the sudden feeling, his balls pressing up against your clit. your arms gave out from beneath you, leaving his hands to gripping your hips for support.

“m gonna move now, m’kay sweetheart?” jisung groaned. your little pussy was just sucking him so tightly and it was driving him crazy.

his hips drove into your cunt, his big cock absolutely bullying your little pussy. you were a screaming and moaning and crying mess. “yes yes ji! oh my god feels so good yes!”

you felt your orgasm building up, leaving your pussy to clench and drip more around his cock.

“fuck baby. this pussy was made for me. you’re so perfect and gorgeous and i can’t believe i get to fuck this pussy,” jisung was going absolutely feral above you, thrusting hard and fast and deep into your pussy. he was bottoming out with each thrust, balls slapping against your clit.

“m close. where do you want me to cum baby?” ji groaned out.

“inside. cum inside my pussy. please ji, i need it, need it so much,” you cried.

your words sent jisung over the edge. he released his hot load into your cunt, giving a few last hard thrusts.

the feeling of hot cum inside you triggered your orgasm. you cried out in pleasure, feeling absolute bliss.

after you both got down from your highs, still panting heavily, jisung collapsed onto the couch with you on his lap. his head rested in the crook of your neck as you laid your head on his.

“this is a little late but be my boyfriend ji?”

[rogueddie]

Trinkets of Affection T | 700 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is not in the big things but in the small ones

Steve is Eddies first serious relationship. Even when he fantasized about what his future love life might be, he never thought he could get anything even close to what Steve gives him.

He loves with everything he is, Eddie quickly realized. If there's anything he can think of that might make Eddie smile, he does it. He turns up with flowers, or mixtapes, or rings.

One time he'd turned up with a paper rose that he'd made himself. He explained that he had thought Eddie might like things that were made, that took effort, more than expensive things.

He's right, of course.

But it all builds up, and Eddie wants to give Steve things too.

The first thing Eddie thinks to get him is a ring. He's noticed how much Steve's eyes linger on his own, how often he'll start playing with Eddie's rings when they hold hands, how he has favorites.

He can't simply buy Steve some ring he thinks he might like though. Anyone could do that. Eddie wants it to be special.

So, he digs through the tub he uses to organise all his rings. He separates them into two piles; rings he wears, and one he won't miss.

It's almost too easy to find one that Steve will like.

But, looking it over, he starts to doubt himself. Especially because it's not one of the rings he bought- it's the one he made.

The ring is painfully simple, and poorly made. Eddie is surprised it's lasted as long as it had.

It's little more than a a plain silver band with a cool rock he found on the ground stuck onto it. He can't even remember what he used to get it on there.

He had been so proud though. He had wanted to do something, and he did it.

He only hopes that he's right in thinking that Steve is as sentimental as Eddie thinks he is. That, or he also likes cool rocks.

"A gift?" Steve teases, immediately. "Aw, for me?"

"It's not much, it's..." Eddie awkwardly pulls the ring out, keeping it hidden in his fist. "I made it, like, years ago and... that seems like something you'd think was cool. Or, uh, romantic. Right?"

"Very romantic."

"Ok, uh... here."

Steve stares at the ring, dropped onto his palm, for a horrifyingly long amount of time.

"I know it's not-"

"You made this?" Steve cuts him off. He finally looks up at Eddie, with an unreadable expression.

"Well... yeah. I was only, like, thirteen so it's not very... uh... pretty?"

"What? No, Eds, this is- this is perfect."

He shifts the ring in his hands, before trying to squeeze it onto his pinky finger. It only just fits.

"I can get you something better."

Steve snorts, still looking at the ring as he turns his hand so he can see the different angles. "Good fucking luck," he mumbles.

Steve doesn't take the ring off that day, or that week, or ever. Eddie isn't sure he ever does take it off, outside of taking a shower.

"I don't want it to get, like, water damage!" Steve explained, when Eddie asked.

"It's just... isn't it annoying?" Eddie tried. "Wearing it all the time? It's clunky and-"

"And I like it. You made this, Eds. It's not a small thing to me."

"It's just a rock."

"Sure it is."

"Steve-"

"Eddie," Steve's tone is sharp enough that Eddie's mouth snaps shut. "This is something you made. It's your ring, and I get to wear it. Like... I can't tell everyone how much I love you, but this way I can at least show them."

"... oh."

"You get it now?"

"That- yeah. Yeah, I get it."

Steve glances around the shop before leaning in, stealing a quick kiss, before turning to the shelf in front of them. "Good. So, I was thinking this one might fit better. What do you think?"

"Yeah, it looks great."

But his eyes are still trained in Steve. He grins, barely paying attention to what he goes on to rant about, too lost in how his heart flutters when he glances down at his hand, at the ring he still wears.

[volturissideslut]

shy reader holds remus' hand for the first time in public

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖚𝖘 𝕷𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖓

I took this prompt and i ran with it, enjoyyy!!!

Though you and Remus had been together for a while now - not long having passed that awkward and clunky talking stage - you still hadn't really been physically affectionate with one another. No sex, no kisses, no cuddles, and not even daring to engage in premarital hand holding.

It's not that you didn't want to. You did. You really really did. But every time you wanted to you were left unsure if it was okay to do that. Seeds of self doubt planted themselves in your mind and the longer you let them fester the more they weeded your thoughts. It honestly got to a tiring point, where if the thought of being affectionate with him made your hands clammy and your mind race, heat creeping its way up your neck. And obviously you didn't want him to feel like he had to hold your clammy sweaty hands, it's just... icky.

To put it simply, you had built it all up in your head and it desperately needed to be pulled down from that pedestal.

So now here you were, in the library with Remus, your lovely boyfriend, wondering if it would be okay to hold his hand. He was slouched over (in a posture that was definitely not good for his spinal health in the future) with one hand holding the hard back on the book, and the other lazily resting on the table. Resting mere millimetres from your own hand.

Unconsciously, your hand twitched, like when your body is so filled with emotion and just has to move. Like when you're angry and your jaw and fists clench. Like when you're excited and your hands shake and move and you talk. Like when you're anxious and your leg bounces. Like when you really want to be touching your boyfriend but don't know how to go about it, and your hand twitches.

One slight problem, your hand was so so close to his already that he thought you had tapped him and had put down his book to give you his full attention. And with that adorable small smile of his on his face too.

"You okay, Dove?"

... I mean, it's now or never right?

"Yeah - uhm - Rem, can I please hold your hand?" Why does your throat feel so dry? You had just had a nice cup of tea with him, and now its like you're parched all over again.

And while he notices your rising anxiety and shyness, he pays no mind to it for now. Instead his smile grows wide and smug, eyebrows raised in surprise. But his expression quickly returns to its normal state and his voice is smooth as he speaks, though it doesn't to much to hide his own light blush.

"Of course you can, Dovey"

Like the gentleman he is, he doesn't make too much of a show of it, already knowing the inner turmoil in your mind right now. Instead, he laces his fingers with yours and gives one firm reassuring squeeze and picks up his book. He also gives another squeeze when he feels you tense up and watch someone walk past your little corner of the library, a proud smile hidden behind his book as he physically feels your body relax because of his touch.

But now you know in your head that its okay. Hand holding officially being removed from the pedestal. And he can't even tell your hands are clammy, because his are too.

[prismatoxic]

okay, shipping brainrot from my last post aside, i'm still thinking about the shapeshifter arc. the other sites i use don't have inline posting or do but it's clunky, so i guess i'm theorizing here. some of this may seem obvious; bear with me, i'm not trying to be patronizing, just working through things. this will probably be long.

(edit: i've since learned there's canon explanations for all of this. regrettably i don't like them. enjoy my ideas of what would be better maybe? but keep in mind i wrote this before i knew it had been explained anywhere else.)

(edit again: i've done a 180 and come fully around on the canon explanations! i have a lot of thoughts about them but this isn't the post for that. anyway i'm disabling reblogs, sorry. you can still look at this if you want)

laios reveals what he knows of shapeshifters, and that they function on memory:

no one ever really suggests in chapters 39 or 40 who thought of which fake except in the case of which ones laios must have thought of, but i want to posit who i think each one came from, and what it means narratively if i'm right. so, mostly a thought experiment/character study that i could be wrong about or that was never meant to be clearly defined in the first place. but maybe fun to think about? (i'm sure other people have done this before too, but i think it'll be fun to write up.)

from the outset, i think it's worth mentioning that chilchuck knows all three laios fakes are, in fact, fakes. two chilchucks say this, but the one on the right is the real one. senshi and marcille immediately corroborate this, though we can't tell which of them it is except that it's not any of the really obvious fakes.

what i think this suggests is that, brought to the surface, the warped perceptions of the rest of the party that chilchuck, senshi, and marcille have can be easily discerned when compared with the real thing. each of these laioses is from one of them, but they immediately figure out none of them are right with the real laios right there in the room. this is important.

as for who's who...

i think it's fair to assume that giant laios is from chilchuck. laios is the tallest member of their party, at six feet; while chilchuck sees marcille and senshi as their correct heights, laios is a giant to him, and his bulky armor doesn't help. that's why, even if this is his perception, it's glaringly obvious that it's wrong as soon as it's made physical. it's the only big one, and easily falls into the camp of "doesn't seem to know much about monsters" that the others also do.

stupid laios is, i think, from marcille. because the giant one is so likely chilchuck's and i don't think senshi sees laios as someone who stupidly wants to eat everything (even if senshi's opinion of him isn't stellar right now, "i have to eat it" wouldn't be paired with being an idiot to senshi), it tracks that marcille would be the one to remember him this way. to someone who doesn't appreciate their monster eating and otherwise thinks he's an idiot just as much as the others do, dumbly muttering about eating things seems like a reasonable portrayal of laios.

feminine laios, then, is from senshi. i think his physical perception of the other party members is the most off-base; this is likely because he's known them for the least amount of time, and his idea of what they look like is based more on their races than anything else. i think the resemblance to falin might not be intentional--someone suggested to me the other day that the dwarf perception of tall-men is probably more feminine in contrast to how Macho dwarfs are. i think that makes sense (if it ever comes up canonically, i haven't seen it yet). laios and falin do just... look like gender-swapped versions of each other, also. so if senshi sees laios as a feminine person, well... that just winds up looking like falin.

so this leaves us with only the real laios. confronted with their perceptions of him, his friends can immediately tell all three are incorrect.

moving on, we eliminate the three most obvious fakes from the rest of the party, starting with marcille:

if we take into account what i just said about senshi, i think this is his. racial stereotypes about elves being what they are, him not knowing the party as well as the other members do... she stands out, and that's why.

now this is where things start to get interesting.

the next two fakes to be eliminated aren't so blatantly incorrect that they can be struck right out at a glance, but it's not hard to notice the flaws when you look closer, and chilchucks A and B are the ones to point it out. chilchuck is naturally observant; most of his fakes seem to emulate this. (the one who addresses the fakes is A, the real one, but B is proving himself able to pick up on the things A notices. this is important.)

notably, chilchuck and senshi assume these must be laios's versions of them.

we can assume this is correct, if we want to. we can take the framing of this as being an intentional reflection of the truth.

or... or... we can look a little deeper. we can wonder if, perhaps, this isn't a reflection of laios, but a reflection of his friends and what they think of him. laios may not immediately notice the problems, but i don't think it's because he doesn't remember these details. i don't think laios sees much of anything in vague terms; he's observant in his own right, but in ways he doesn't really recognize, nor does anyone else. i think he was so focused on their faces and mannerisms that he didn't notice the bigger picture, glossing over something because so many other factors are at play.

senshi and chilchuck think laios doesn't take notice of things, but the vast majority of the shapeshifter arc is about them and marcille not trusting laios's judgement as it is, given how things went recently. is it possible there's more to their assumptions here than what the text explicitly says? i think so!

so then who do these two belong to? marcille, i think.

if we assume dumb laios is hers, then we can also assume her perceptions of the others are kind of broad and vague. she doesn't think poorly of them, necessarily (at least not in as obvious a way as she does with laios, who, i'll remind you, she's currently upset with), but she doesn't commit unimportant details to memory, like chilchuck's neck band or the damage to senshi's helmet.

we've got three more "obvious" fakes to get through, and laios offers another lore tidbit on how the shapeshifters work:

anyway, the first of the next round is marcille again, setting the stage for how these three next fakes are eliminated.

marcille changes her hairstyle all the time, so this isn't a surprise. the last one pictured here winds up being our next fake, as indicated by her grimoire:

so the fake marcille in this section is the one with the most visibly different hair texture (who even draws attention to this), and the spellbook that's woefully incompetent. i think she's from chilchuck.

he's observant, as i said before; even if he didn't commit her hair to memory, he did remember the stuff she's said about how important hair is to magic. maybe that's why the texture is so striking. more importantly, chilchuck isn't wary of magic quite the way senshi is, but he also doesn't understand it. the general tone of the low-quality grimoire also just... sounds like the way he'd frame something like that. (plus, the "how to turn back time" bit is a thing he specifically called her on when she suggested it a few chapters ago.)

so the next fake chilchuck and senshi are revealed via their tools:

i think the chubby-cheeked chilchuck with the simple lockpicks is from senshi, and i think the ordinary-looking senshi with the simple cookware is from chilchuck. the former speaks for itself--senshi sees chilchuck as a child, and knows absolutely nothing about picking locks. as for the fake senshi, chilchuck has a decent mental image of him but knows nothing about cookware.

so now we're down to the final three fakes, and there's only one person left who they could be from: laios. nobody thinks this, not even laios himself, but i want to explore the concept because i think it has extreme merit. the three remaining fakes have some key similarities between them, namely in that they're all close enough interpretations that making a distinction is difficult. they look a tiny bit different, but both the real people and their fakes make plausible cases for why they're the actual person. i want to talk about why i think laios is the one who made that so, and what that means about him.

chapter 39 ends with all his companions--real and fake--doubting his skills. seeing a pattern?

chapter 40 opens with laios determined to regain his friends' trust in him...

...while his friends (and their fakes) talk about how he's liable to like the fakes more, because they're monsters.

this is a needlessly cruel interpretation of laios, but after how things went post-falin-rescue, it's not a surprise. they see him as reckless and single-minded, more interested in the things he's weird about than in the people around him.

laios is really bad at talking about what he's thinking--not because he's hiding it, but because it doesn't occur to him that it's important. meeting the lunatic magician in the paintings is a prime example of this, but he does it a lot. they likely have no idea why he told toshiro about falin and the black magic; to them, laios was being flippant with sensitive information, not worrying about their safety. to laios? he was trying to get help. he trusted toshiro, and his perception of their friendship made him think the information would help them gain an ally who cared about falin as much as they do. he wasn't trying to put falin or marcille in danger--far from it, in fact. but he didn't tell his friends about his thought process. he didn't think it was important to share.

(he's autistic but we all know this. moving on)

so, we have laios's plan: the pairs cook together, while he watches for behavioral differences to discern who's who. it doesn't occur to him, or anyone else, that the people he's watching for mistakes are his own perceptions of his friends. and now we get into the meat of why i wanted to write this post.

assuming i'm correct... let's talk about laios's view of his friends, and how he challenges those perceptions.

starting with my favorite, chilchuck:

chilchuck A, of course, is in fact the real one. this is a pretty significant character moment for him too, in my opinion; we know he has difficulty expressing his emotions, and that a lot of his conflicts so far have stemmed from that. the fact that "chilchuck B asked for help with a menial task" is a gotcha moment to him is... telling. not only because it's so obvious to him, but because it's not obvious to any of his companions. he thinks they know this about him, but he's never openly expressed anything to make them think this is an issue he'd have, in addition to having sought help in the past.

his "convictions and pride and all that" seems to them like someone trying to convince them of something, not someone reminding them of facts he assumes they know.

anyway, back to laios. if we accept that chilchuck B is made from his memories, this suggests several things. first of all, chilchuck B is, despite his softer eyes and willingness to ask for help, still a fairly accurate portrayal of chilchuck. he's easily annoyed and he's observant, two traits chilchuck is known for. i think the reason chilchuck B has the kinder eyes and the more gentle disposition is because to laios, those things are indicative of someone being a good person, and he very much thinks chilchuck is a good person.

we know laios isn't especially good at reading people in general. thus, his idea of who his friends are is skewed in broad strokes, but not in the ways they think. he knows who chilchuck is, but he also associates chilchuck with his own ideas of what makes someone "good", which results in a chilchuck who's less rough around the edges. confronted with this--the real chilchuck asking him if he can tell--laios compares the two and thinks, reasonably speaking, the nicer one who trusts him has to be the friend he respects so much.

senshi and marcille also want to accept this chilchuck, likely for similar reasons. they also respect and care for him; they've seen him go through a lot. laios's ideal of him is just that, ideal. in a roundabout way, it's only their deep fondness for who chilchuck really is that makes them want to see him this way.

next up, we have marcille.

the fake, marcille A, is a radical departure from what makes chilchuck B a fake. laios notes that the real marcille is exactly the same as she always is. the reason, then, that marcille A confuses him--and the others--is that after everything they've been through, their perception of her has changed radically.

if we look back to senshi and chilchuck's marcilles, it's readily apparent when they're eliminated that both interpretations hinge on the knowledge that she performs black magic. senshi's tries to use it to prove herself; chilchuck's has a grimoire loudly proclaiming it's what she does. contrast this to marcille A: she doesn't mention black magic at all, and her grimoire looks strikingly similar to the real one.

that's because laios doesn't think her performing black magic changes anything about who she is. her doing so proved her to be just as dedicated to falin as he himself is, and the knowledge that her goals involve it doesn't faze him. (additionally, marcille has been teaching him magic, and falin had tried in the past. though his image of a grimoire is flawed to someone experienced, to anyone else it looks fine.) thus, marcille A isn't a flagrant black magic wielder; she's someone who's been fundamentally changed by what they--and falin--went through.

let's go back to chapter 27:

chilchuck and senshi are appalled, and will continue to be. while they ultimately don't prevent marcille from doing this, and care enough about both her and laios (and in chilchuck's case, falin as well) to be in tentative support, this changes their view of her in a negative way. she's dangerous now, in a way she wasn't before, but she's still marcille--goofy and a little reckless. thus, their views of her, and the illusions that result.

laios's opinion of her changes for the better.

she is, all at once, both competent and loyally dedicated. she will stop at nothing to help falin. whatever goofiness she exhibited before now is gone, replaced by the cold demeanor of someone who is doing something extremely dangerous for reasons that are inherently selfish, but ultimately too important to reject.

thus, we return to marcille A: cold, sharp, dedicated. not reckless or goofy, but methodical and haunted. she may have returned to "normal" since they left the castle town, but laios's opinion of her, and understanding of her love for falin, has been forever changed.

so faced with the real marcille--still silly, still whining, still frequently annoyed with him--he's confused, because that's deeply familiar, but it doesn't line up with what he knows about her now.

the truth, of course, is nuanced--these things are true about marcille, but only under duress; it's similar to how laios becomes a competent leader when the going gets tough. she has this within her, but it's not her default state of being. still, the shapeshifter picks up on the strongest memories laios has of her, this new interpretation of someone he thought he knew.

now then--onto senshi, the punchline of this particular joke about the differences between the copies. i still think it says a lot.

i think this one speaks for itself, though i find chilchuck's agreement interesting. senshi is the newest member of the team; little is known about him. laios happily notes that senshi "always looks cool" while chilchuck says he looks normal (and chilchuck B insults the real one). laios sees senshi this way because he thinks senshi is cool as hell, and this manifests in an idealized version of a face he's not as familiar with as he is with chilchuck and marcille.

this is clearly comedy, but it also speaks to the same desire to see the best in the rest of the party. marcille is the only one who notices likely because her opinion of senshi isn't so romanticized. chilchuck's senshi, of note, wasn't a perfect replica: we don't see much of him after the obvious fakes are hauled off, but he's a little squashed (he's the top one):

which indicates that chilchuck's visual memory of senshi is already flawed. if we compare this to giant laios and the marcille with the unique hair texture, it tells us chilchuck's attention to detail is more specific than the others'; he can remember the hole in the helmet, the importance of hair, but he doesn't quite see the bigger picture. giant laios is also surprisingly... rugged? which i imagine has to do with chilchuck's perception of him as a tall-man. (or maybe how he clearly has trouble seeing laios's face half the time, lmao...)

anyway. laios thinks senshi is super cool and chilchuck has an imperfect idea of what senshi look like as it is. (i wonder if chilchuck is some degree of faceblind? not enough to not recognize someone at all, but can't pinpoint specifics.)

and so, we arrive at the moment of truth.

so let's go over what i'm theorizing here... all the remaining fakes are illusions based on how laios sees his friends. the illusions manage to make mistakes that reveal the truth to him, but i think the reason for that harkens back to what laios said earlier... the illusions are being updated over time.

laios isn't considering any of the things that give the fakes away until this moment. if it had taken a little longer to resolve things, maybe they'd have started course-correcting, but they aren't given the chance. laios makes sure they aren't--he acts very quickly. even as he presents the three pairs with his findings, he's aware that everything will fall apart as soon as he does... and he's banking on that. while the shapeshifter illusions defend themselves from being killed, he gets right to the heart of the matter in the only way he knows how: confronting the actual monster involved.

when all's said and done, laios reveals how he figured it out:

potentially of note, all of these details happened before the red dragon fight. chilchuck fighting a mimic and revealing his history with them, senshi gushing about the dungeon's ecosystem, and marcille being attacked by the undine weren't super recent memories. when laios brought them forth in his mind, he had a delay before the shapeshifter updated its illusions.

well... except with marcille. marcille A actually didn't show her hand so easily; it was the real marcille's carelessness that proved her identity.

but what this suggests is that, when confronted with the realities of marcille versus his idealized version of her, laios had to make a choice: did it make more sense for her to have been radically changed by the revival and subsequent loss of falin, or was the presence of a marcille he knew so well proof of an illusion? she was the one who was the most different, and as such, the contrast was the same one that eliminated all three laioses at the start: with the real thing in the room, the fake became apparent.

so, to reach a conclusion: one again, laios has proven he's not as scatterbrained as his companions think, but this time he did so on a more personal level than usual. to them, he reveals that he knows their quirks enough to define them by such when they're otherwise faced with convincing copies. to us, the readers, if we accept what i've suggested here... he's revealed a lot more. he respects, admires, and idolizes his friends, all out of fondness: he wants to see them in an ideal way, whatever that means for each of them as individuals.

anyway thanks for coming to my TED talk

[itsonlydana]

Hi, I could not find your rules for writing, but if I may request some smut/fluff *Thranduil x reader*. You can imagine this scenario; the tranduil and reader are playing this kind of game: do or drink, and how they are playing, they have various tasks,some are funny, some are more s€xual... they are kind of sassy and playful, and they are teasing eachother (because none of them want to lose), and after that they will do what have to be done (yk what I mean). If you are not comfortable or I over-crossed your rules, than you can ignore this ♥︎. Thank you for your beautiful writings, cant wait for another !

Drinks and Dares | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

Boredom leads Thranduil to ask you to play a game that either end in far too many secrets spilled or far too much wine drank. When you agreed you wouldn't have thought the evening to end like this!

tags/warnings: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️, smut, oral sex (fem), fingering, pet names, slight intoxication on wine (they literally played a drinking game, it's all consensual), Thranduil gets off on reader wearing his crown

word count: 4,5k

an: this turned out to be much filthier and longer than I expected or planned but here you go! I'm getting much more comfortable writing smut though it's still not at a level where I could say: yeah i know what I'm doing so forgive me if it feels a bit "clunky"

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The truth was, you shouldn't have agreed to play a game with Thranduil. 

As his most trusted guard ever since he was crowned and daresay friend for the past two millennials you should have known better than to assist him in his mischief because you knew, you knew, that nothing good ever came to his bored ingenious mind and once again you were proven to be right in that initial judgment you had ignored again, and look where that led you:

Sitting cross-legged in his private chambers and staring up as Thranduil elegantly made out with his own reflection in the tall mirror.

It was one of the more…audacious dares of the evening because you see, Thranduil's idea of entertainment was, of course, combining drinking with luring out a side of you that you, on a normal day-to-day basis, hid behind the honorable task of accompanying your Majesty. Normally you would never allow it to be this carefree, to not bother checking your surroundings – or tongue, a far worse opportunity to slip up. Thranduil could protect himself very much without any help though he liked to keep you around for comfort, but your tongue?

No, there were far too many secret desires that needed to be pushed down with the utmost care. 

This concentration and focus were however nowhere to be seen after you had agreed to fool around with Thranduil's infinite supply of wine that never seemed to become less, despite the amount you drank. 

The dares became less light-hearted the more wine flowed. Sneaking around the servants' hall to steal Feren's comb changed into you having to yell out the first word that came to your mind when you thought of Thranduil (the bastard had you scream 'so fucking sensual' before you both collapsed into giggles). The dares you gave Thranduil changed quite drastically as well, going from tame things like telling whoever he hated the most on the council (Thorin was the only answer and that was nothing he kept to himself) to.. well – kissing himself in the mirror.  

From your point, you saw how his eyes were closed and his lips opened, smooched against the fogged-up crystal as his tongue sensually licked up a bit of spit he left. While his breath clouded the sight, you held yours in an effort to capture the smallest of noises like the soft moans that slipped out of him.

You heard and saw him press a wet kiss, a last shorter one, nothing more than a quick peck, against his reflection before his eyes snapped open to meet yours and you hoped he mistook the dilution in your pupils for the wine you held cradled in your lap and not for the pure arousal that cursed through your bloodstream and pumped straight to your core. He smirked, sharp at the edges of his with spit glittering mouth. He wasn't stupid. 

"So," you cleared your throat and leaned back on one hand, lifting the other to sip on your wine, "Your turn."

"Mhm yes." Thranduil lowered himself back on the chaise longue and tugged a leg under himself. He wrapped his long fingers around the chalice to click his nails against the gold; the beat echoing deep with the throbbing between your legs. "You shall do the same as me."

"What?" you huffed, "Kiss the mirror?"

He nodded.

Your eyebrows drew together in a frown, "You can't just give me the same task! That's not how this works, Your Majesty–"

"Then drink," Thranduil said unbothered by your nagging, "That is how the game works. You do," he paused and tipped his chalice into your direction, smirking, "or you drink."

Playing games like this led to far too many secrets spilled and far too much skin revealed, evidenced by the state of undress you're both in. 

Your armor had been placed by the door long ago, leaving you in a simple tunic and leggings that had grown uncomfortably warm by now. Thranduil too had rid himself of all the fancy robes and was left lounging in far too few layers for anyone else to see him. You saw the pale skin of his throat all the way down to a muscular chest revealed by a loose satin tunic and noticed every twitch of his legs confined in very, so very tight sitting, breeches. 

You glared at him and gripped your own chalice tighter, tempted to just down it all and give him another dare that his ego would not easily allow to give up on but it has been a long evening and most of your thoughts are still hung up on the imagery of Thranduil pressed against his own reflection, hand splayed wide against condensation of his own hot breath. 

Standing up quickly your head spun a few rounds didn't stop you from marching up to the mirror, swaying a bit to the left before reaching it. Thranduil watched you, his eyes locked onto yours and even if he may wanted to seem casual, leaning back into the cushions, his bobbing throat betrayed the image of unaffectedness he was trying to portray.

You told yourself it was the wine in your system that made you stand up on your naked tiptoes to reach the spot where Thranduil's breath had left an imprint of his mouth and, shaking just slightly, your mouth crushed against the warmed glass; right where he had been.

You tasted spit and wine and metal. 

It was not at all what you had expected and at first, there was awkwardness to kissing a smooth surface that didn't reciprocate your movements until you heard a choked-up sound behind you. Thranduil's noise fueled you on and remembering what he had done, you opened your lips, allowing your tongue to draw a suggestively figure-eight. 

Another gasp, this time it was your own at the lack of oxygen that would have taken you down had you not drawn back. By now the alcohol muddled your brain completely, making it impossible to stand still and not sway again. Heat pooled in your cheeks and down lower between your legs, and you were sure they were as red as they felt; flushed by this indecent behavior that only he could provoke in you because who were you but a fool in love?

"See, this was not very hard, was it?" Thranduil laughed huskily.

"Still a stupid dare," you bit and sat down again, glad that your knees didn't give up halfway across the room as they threatened to do. As a trained warrior, a good one at that, you may say so yourself, you should be able to control yourself better. It was truly pathetic how the scratch of Thranduil's voice combined with the heat that threatened to suffocate the room left your hands shaking and your knees wobbling. When the world tipped slightly, you gave in, falling onto your back to watch the ceiling spin. 

"Okay," your eyes followed the roots that curved through the stone. They had been there long before you built the halls around them though now they were intertwined in the very ground that held you all together. "You, um, you have to drink or–" You grasped at whatever coherent thought was left in the puddle of brain that swooshed inside your head. A girlish giggle left you as a most improper idea manifested, its origin that one fantasy you had for decades now, never more than a secret you only dared to think about in the most lonely times.

"Or?" Thranduil inquired. He sounded very amused and if you looked half as funny and flushed as you felt, you understood why.

"Or," your head lolled to the side, taking in his long body splayed across the chaise longue watching you with a look in his eyes that had heart feathering, fluttering like a bird's wings, "I'm allowed to wear your crown."

A beat of silence. 

Thranduil's eyebrows slowly wandered up on his forehead, creating the perfect arch to capture his short moment of confusion before his mouth followed. Just when you thought now you'd done it and fucked up his lips curved into a smirk and you hoped, begged, lusted after his agreement; you wouldn't survive a denial. 

Not now, not with heat curling hot inside your stomach.

You wouldn't say the atmosphere changed, not particularly; there had been an underlying tension ever since you both had freed yourself from the constricting robes and armors and pretended not to stare at each bit of skin revealed, but there certainly was a shift to what was already there: hunger. 

Starvation in the form of wide eyes and quick intakes of breath, your body screaming for him and you scrambling toward Thranduil, as he slowly petted the empty space next to him. 

"Sit," his voice commanded, and ever the dutiful admirer of His Majesty you sat up straight and placed your legs in a perfect angle in front of you instead of following his example and tucking them under your body. Thranduil unfolded them gracefully. He kept his eyes trained on you and you had no problems staring right back. "I must say, you are awfully brave to ask me for my crown," Thranduil said as he stood up and thus forced you to crane your neck.

"To be precise," you started, without a care in the world this would be most daring as well, if not borderline stupid and ignorant, "I did not ask for it." Thranduil's eyebrows wandered up again. You didn't shrink under his gaze but rather challenged it.

"Do you call your king a liar?" 

You lifted your chin higher, tilting it slightly in thought. There were many answers to his question, varying greatly on the specter of what one would deem inappropriate, and all of them lay on the tip of your tongue.

You settled on one of them with a soft smile on your lips that could be perceived as dreamy. "I do not call my king a liar," you waited until Thranduil thought this to be your final answer until that satisfied smirk of him thinking he had won another round appeared on his beautiful face, and then you continued: "There are rules to this game and so I didn't ask for your crown, I dared you to let me wear it. It's entirely in your hands to either accept the dare or you must drink." The last part you said slowly, not rushing out the words that fueled Thranduil's smirk further on just as you had predicted it would happen if you showed finesse in your answer and not gave into his power-plays. 

"So it seems," Thranduil said. He reached for the crown on his head, the oak sticks, lush with moss and green foliage that sprouted a colorful array of yellow buttercups, pink foxglove, fiery-red poppies, and blueish-purple tufted vetches for summer had come, and weighted it in his hands. 

He lowered it slowly, taking his time to take in every little breath you took, the rapid rising and falling of your chest that had Thranduil's special attention. When you felt the crown parting your hair, had the twigs press against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and were completely engulfed in the oh-so-sweet but heavy floral scent, all rational thinking left you with a breathy moan. 

There was control, and dominance in the crown, in all that it stood for and now you wore it, still physically beneath Thranduil but that too changed the moment your lashes fluttered looking up at him, intoxicated on wine, power, and the knowledge to be the only other person that ever had the privilege of this.

"Valar, look at you," Thranduil rasped, darkness blew his pupils wide and his hands fell to cup your neck into their large palms. Fingertips pressed against your fluttering pulse and you automatically, even though you had never allowed any Ellon to touch this delicate part, leaned into it. 

"And? How do I look?" you asked and gasped as his nails scratched over your neck.

Thranduil's grip on your neck nudged your head back further. He leaned down, loose hair like a waterfall out of starlight and if the hunger in his eyes was anything to go by, he was burning up just like you. 

When he spoke, it was a low tide rolling over coarse sand: "Majestic." His thumbs were under your chin, hindering it from dropping at the word though he felt the whimper bubbling up inside you where his fingers laid claim on your throat. "My turn," he said.

For a brief second, you didn't know what he was talking about, all that went through your head was that this, you sitting in his crown with him standing in front of you, was worth all the pining of a millennial. 

"You will address me by my given name, not by my title."

"What?" Your tongue flicked out to wetten your lips.

"I –," Thranduil's thumb wandered the same path that your tongue had, "dare you –," he pulled your lower lip back, revealing your open-in-wonder-gaze, "to call me by my name while I worship you in a manner deserving for a Queen."

Your heart stopped and were it not for the tension tying you down, you would have stumbled away. "Queen? Your Maj–"

"Silence!" Dark eyebrows furrowed in on themselves. Thranduil's hands trailed down your neck, over your chest bone and heaving breasts, nails tugging on the cord that kept everything together as it should, and effortlessly, one flick of his hand snapped the knot open – revealing the frantic breaths that moved your body. He sank to his knees, spreading open his legs to sit down on his heels.

"My Ki–" 

This time you stopped yourself, biting down on your lip to keep the word back that felt like a lie with the crown adorning you and instead doing nothing but stare at your King, because that was who he was in the end, Thranduil, Great Elvenking, Son of Oropher and Leader of the Woodland Elves, pulling on your leggings and removing the last part of clothing that had hidden your arousal. 

"You started this, little one," Thranduil murmured as he nudged his nose against your thighs, his lips only centimeters away from your skin. His eyes flickered to you, "you will forgive me if I finish it."

"Oh, you don't have to do that"

"Why not? Who are you to deny a King a wish most truthfully coming from his heart?" There was a taunting tone in his voice. "

"I am nothing but a mere guard, Thranduil," his name slipped your tongue more easily now that he was kneeling in front of your dripping sex and a certain shyness fell over you, "There are far different ellens deserving of this– of your touch"

"You have taken care of me for many years, far more than I can count," he said lowly and softly, while his hands brushed over the subtle curves of your naked legs, dipped into the bent of your knees to coax them open, "Let me be the one to care for you now."

His lips left a wet trail of kisses up your thighs, hot and open-mouthed and you were whimpering even before he sealed them over your throbbing clit and flicked his tongue over it. A whimper became a gasp, a broken one at that because Thranduil wasted no time teasing you but rather dived right into slightly open his jaw and using the flat length of his tongue, he licked through your lips in such a manner the obscene sound echoed through the entire chamber. 

Your hands flew to his head to bury them in the soft strands of his hair and you wrapped them around your fingers for a better hold. Not that that was necessary, the way Thranduil lapped at you showed no sign that he ever wanted to be anywhere else than between your legs.

His tongue moved through you swiftly, the talent of the wide enough to cover all of you, yet precise technique to flick against your clit again and again on his route brought a blazing hot pleasure to you that quickly dissolved all the muscles you had used to stay upright. 

Thranduil moaned against you, and through the mess that you had made of his hair, ruffled all across his forehead, you saw his eyes roll back into his head, and when his luscious lashes brushed your pelvic bone just as he heaved your legs over his shoulders to practically hold you up, your back arched beautifully and all that remained were your arms and shoulders that got burned by the fabric, the coil inside you snapped and all you could do was follow his orders to scream his name.

In a flash, you went from practically elevating in the air to being pinned into the chaise lounge, Thranduil's broad body covering you easily. Long agile fingers stayed where his tongue had been, two spreading you open and the middle one slipping right into you thanks to the mixture of spit and your cum that he had graciously left there. 

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked through gritted teeth and you felt him grind his own affection into you. There was certainly a heavy weight against your shaking thighs and you moaned at the loss of not having him inside you yet. Thranduil grinned, and you felt it on his lips kissing your neck and jaw. "You did," he chuckled breathlessly, "You sat there all evening, letting this game continue as your pretty head thought of a way to fulfill these filthy– filthy fantasies."

You clenched around his finger at his words and the low timbre he used to speak them directly into your ear. One of his rings, cold despite the heat that surrounded you both, met your clit and your hips flew up but were stopped by his body caging you in.

"Tell me," Thranduil opened his mouth and teeth grazed over your ear; you were keening instantly, dripping more than you have ever had in all the nights you pretended your own fingers were his though now you knew they would never come close to the actual thing, "What came next in your fantasies?"

"Preferably me," you whined.

It brought a full laugh out of him, heartily and so not at all fitting for the situation you were in but that lifted some of the stressful tension, leaving more room for playfulness that had been far back in your head out of the need to preserve every second, afraid this was just the wine playing tricks on you. 

His heavy yet perfect weight was a pressing reminder this was not at all an image your mind had conjured. 

"Is that a dare?" 

Damn him, you thought. He was still keeping up this forsaken game.

You raised your hands, missing your goal the first time at a loss of focus he robbed you of with a second finger fucking into you. The next time you tried you managed to wrap your arms around his neck and grab some of his tresses. 

"My King," you watched his pupils blacken out even further, taking away most of the calm blues and grays, "I dare you to respect the crown." Thranduil let out a throaty groan, almost as if he was tortured. You smiled, however much you could while his fingers scissored you open.

"I dare you to fuck me like there's royal blood in me."

He hooked his fingers, dragging the tips over a rough patch inside you that had you keening and stumbling over whimpers and gasps that slipped out of you faster than you could catch your breath. His mouth latched on to your neck again, sucking a bit of the soft skin into his mouth only to soothe the spot his teeth had nibbled on a moment later in a wet apology. The thought of a bruise in the shape of his canine is exhilarating, doused by the wine that left its hot film over all that's happening. 

"Such vulgar language," Thranduil mocked and, to your absolute disagreement, pulled out his fingers. His hand once again found your thigh, wet and glistening with the essence that he left on your skin, as his other hand made quick work of his breeches, somehow, gracefully pulling them off and flinging them somewhere across the floor through where it landed was not at all were your attention fell to but rather the impressive size of him.

He always had been muscular and well-formed for an Ellon, not that he lacked in elegance for that, but you had noticed his shoulders were broader, his chest defined yet slender and naturally one couldn't forget about his height. It was as if the stars had conspired to ensure that he would stand out in every way and exceed all expectations.

Eager to get his cock inside you you wiggled your hips, chasing after anything that could bring you closer to your goal. 

The only result you got was Thranduil's fingers coming down to pinch your clit as he clicked his tongue. His dark eyebrows raised in admonition. "It seems you require a lesson in behavior fitting a Queen. This impatience must be lost at once!" 

Faster than you could react he flipped you over, large hands effortlessly handling you to face the cushions, knees spread wide and your dripping cunt exposed to him. Your legs nearly slipped of the sides, bringing out a squeal of surprise. "Thranduil!" you laughed and turned your head.

As soon as looked over your shoulder and saw his flat hand palming your cheek, spreading you open while his other hand fisted his hard cock, all teasing became unnecessary. Thranduil let a drop of spit fall onto his hand which he used to lube himself up.

"A loyal subservient must always be on his Queen's side," he said and his hips twitched into his hand, "I will swear my allegiance to you from behind you."

Bright blue yet lust-clouded eyes stared at you and his smirk sent shivers down your spine; all for him to see. You felt his cock nudge against you, the tip alone larger than expected and you gasped. It became harder to keep your head where you could watch his face contort, to see his jaw slacken at your tight heat, and you pressed your chin against your shoulder in need of support. 

Every inch that breached you burned most deliciously and even now, most of his cock was still for you to see, he had imprinted itself to be the only Ellon who would ever fill you this perfectly. You want to howl at the burning pleasure that sparked up your spine, a glimmer of hot fire licking through your middle, and need buried its claws in your tender flesh.

He pushed into you completely, slipping right in due to his extensive preparations and the surreal amount of wetness that surely dripped onto the expensive fabric of the chaise lounge that burned where your knees dug into it. The moan he tore out of you at the intrusion vibrated through you wholly. You screamed in ecstasy, spiraled into an endless pit, and your head dropped down not unlike a puppet that had its strings snapped, however, yours were strung tighter. You felt your cunt blink around him as you accommodated the heft of him.

Thranduil moaned, grunted, and exhaled heavily throughout the whole slow push until his cock sat deep inside you and his sharp hips met your ass. His hand there gripped you harshly enough for it to probably leave bruises in the shape of his fingers and moons of his nails, and the fluttering of your walls around his length did not help in him loosening the grip. 

"Devine," he groaned lowly, "Oh, how I have imagined how you would feel stretched around me." Huh? "This sweet, sweet cunt plagued me for far too long for me to act upon it only now," he continued and rolled his hips against yours. It drove his cock deeper, meeting a spot that had you seeing stars and made it impossible to answer to his admissions, which only continued.

"The many ways I thought about your body beneath mine, your pretty lips sucking me off during these unbearable meetings." 

A hand wrapped around your chin, nudging your head away from the pillow you had used to stifle your moans, fabric lint dry on your tongue, and imprints of your teeth left behind, and as Thranduil pulled out of you, leaving just his tip in to stretch you, he turned your head back at him again. Long fingers stroked over your temple, pinched your cheeks together to draw your mouth into a pucker and you followed the silent instructions of sucking his pointer into it. 

Thranduil leaned down, his chest covering your back completely, you whined at the loss of the inch of cock this movement brought forth, then his lips were peppering kisses to your ear. "You dared me to fuck you like royalty?" he asked and you frantically nodded. Thranduil's teeth flashed at his wide smirk. "Then you better take all that I have to offer"

One smooth thrust, your moan echoing loudly, a wet squelch far too obscene, and Thranduil set a rhythm that had you rely on his arm that wrapped around your middle for any hold on reality. Your hands clawed at the chaise lounge, nails ripping apart seams to ground yourself against the punishing pace with which his cock drove itself home, carved a space for the massive length and width, and the sounds you made only fueled Thranduil on. 

"Look at you," he gasped, "taking me so well."

The praise washed over you with such a crushing weight. 

Days, Weeks, Years, Decades, Millenniums. All the time that had passed. You thought you would wait forever for a compliment as meaningful as this, to hear his appreciation and now.. oh he thought you to worthy enough to take him, to take all of him.

Tears pooled in your eyes, dripping slowly and falling down at the brutal pace used to hammer his cock into you, deeper, further, more and more until you thought it punched a way through your stomach up into your throat because all that you felt, all that you were, was a snug fit, taking him so well.

"Thran.. Thranduil–" you whined and the strings in your gut tightened. "Please," you begged, for all, for nothing, for him. He alone held you over that edge you barreled towards, he alone would be able to push you over into an abyss of the ever-growing pleasure.

"Cum," he ordered, voice strained and by the frantic rhythm of his thrusts you thought he was reaching a limit as well, "Let me feel you cum once more. I dare you!"

You wailed, another sound mixing into the slapping of skin, the shortened breaths and the grunts, the loud pounding of the blood inside your ears until his fingers dropped down to your clit, pinching it again through the slick that pooled there, lightening up yet another nerve ending and you screamed as hot white blinding pleasure exploded and engulfed you. It shot through your limps, branched to every last cell in your body, and filled all thoughts. Even your own heartbeat became an echo of his cock.

Stars

A sea of twinkling lights, burning up in front of your eyes as you screamed your release, your whole body twitching and at the same time pressing back into Thranduil's hips.

You wanted to see him unravel, to come undone and this egoistical part of you fed on the thought of being the one who breaks the Elvenking but when his hips stuttered one last time and you felt his release coating your twitching insides, Thranduil was just as electrifyingly and unfairly beautiful. 

Cold metal brushed against your lips and you blinked dazed. 

"Drink," Thranduil had grabbed the abandoned chalice and held it to your panting mouth, ignoring the drool that wettened the corner of it.

"But–," you mumbled and a dreamy, fucked-out smile spread in your face, "I haven't even heard the dare yet."

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[snakebites-and-ink]

What can I say, I was in a mind control/brainwashing mood. I’ve also lowkey been on a living weapon kick for a while, so I guess it was inevitable I would combine the two.

If the flow or voice of my writing changes unexpectedly in this one, that’s because I skipped around like crazy and wrote adjacent chunks of this at totally different times. 😅😅😅

CW: Brainwashing, mind control, captivity, corruption, dehumanisation, somewhat creepy whumper, bad ending (for the hero anyways 😈). I think I got a little unhinged with this one….

Hero was brought before their enemy, held between two of Villain’s goons.

“Villain.” Hero glowered. The villain came closer and looked them over.

“I’ve finally caught you,” Villain said, smiling. “Oh, you’re going to do great things for me.”

“I’ll never help you!”

“Not of your own free will, you won’t. But I believe I’ve found a way around that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Villain didn’t elaborate. Hero was taken to a dark room and forced into a chair with a gratuitous number of restraints. They tried to fight, but eventually ended up strapped down. And then more thoroughly strapped down. Restraints all over their limbs, across their torso, then something that wrapped around their forehead.

“I’d tell you that resisting is useless, but I don’t expect you’d listen,” Villain said from off to Hero’s side. “Well, I’ll see you later, Hero.”

Hero could hear the infuriating smile in Villain’s voice even though they weren’t looking at them. Hero growled slightly and tugged against the restraints—which didn’t give way, of course, Villain wasn’t that careless.

Hero heard the door shut, and just like that they were left alone in the darkness.

…

At first, Hero wasn’t sure what Villain had been talking about. Of course, they weren’t happy about the restraints and captivity, but none of it seemed out of the ordinary. They could handle this. Villain’s insinuations made them a little nervous, though. Villain wasn’t the type to make idle threats.

When they got bored and irritated enough, Hero tried shouting. No response. Still, they felt they could handle this. It’s not like their nemesis’ smug face was much better than isolation anyways.

…

It wasn’t just isolation that they were dealing with. Hero wasn’t certain how, but Villain was messing with their head without even speaking to them. It hadn’t been immediately obvious, but it was too consistent and drawn out now for Hero to explain it away as just their imagination. Lies were slithering their way into Hero’s mind in a manner similar to their own thoughts, but far too methodical to be just that. Sometimes Hero even experienced feelings that didn’t belong, however briefly. Hero knew they were lies, and could consciously reject them, but they couldn’t block them out.

Hero figured the most likely culprit was the weird band thing Villain had put across their forehead. It was thick and clunky enough to have some weird technology in it, and it didn’t seem a necessary part of their restraints. Hero wiggled and thrashed their head as best they could, but it seemed to be fixed in place too well for them to get it off that easily.

…

Hero had bruised themself struggling. Probably scraped a little too. They were sore in countless places from pulling and fighting against the restraints, but it had all been in vain. Nothing seemed any looser, and that horrid device was still well affixed to their head.

They were not giving in. With a physical struggle having proved useless, Hero turned their efforts at resistance inward, focusing on fighting whatever Villain was trying to do to them in their own head rather than in the physical world.

…

Hero was agitated. They didn’t feel quite right. They couldn’t be sure that whatever Villain was using on them wasn’t already having an effect. They countered it as best they could with their own thoughts, but they couldn’t be sure.

…

Hero felt sick. It was like what Villain was doing made them all messed up inside. They weren’t sure if it was a psychosomatic result of an emotional reaction they were having, or if some part of Villain’s treatment actually had a physical effect on them, but Hero was feeling nauseated. And just…off. They squeezed their eyes shut and made a sound that was a little too pathetic for their taste. They didn’t feel right. They wanted out.

…

Hero was still feeling unwell when Villain checked in on them.

Hero was transferred to a different room and restrained in a different position, but they were kept just as secure as before. Their captor strode into the room, seeming far too comfortable for Hero’s liking.

“Villain,” they spat, jerking ineffectually against their restraints with the automatic urge to fight their nemesis.

“Got some fire left in you, I see. Tell me, do you still remember your name?”

Hero cursed Villain instead of answering. Of course they still remembered their name, but they weren’t giving Villain any information that might make Villain’s nasty little project easier.

Villain was unphased by the vitriol. “Hmm. Sounds like it’ll take a while.”

“What will take a while? What exactly are you doing?”

Villain shrugged with the slightest of smirks. “Don’t worry about it. By the time you find out for sure, you won’t mind. Now unless you have something productive to say, I think we’re done here.” Villain beckoned to one of their henchmen.

“No! Don’t put me back in there!” Hero wished they could have said that in a way that sounded remotely threatening, but they just sounded desperate. They couldn’t let Villain change them, couldn’t lose themself.

“I’m afraid there’s not much of an option. Unless you’ve miraculously decided to change sides?”

“I’m not helping you. I’m not helping you.” Hero pretended they were only saying it to spite their captor, and not saying it partially to reassure themself. “I won’t do it.”

“We’ll see.”

Hero screamed and fought as Villain dragged them back there, but it wasn’t enough. Villain had them secured too well for it to result in anything but a few more scrapes and bruises.

Hero went back to the darkness, back to the restraints and the sickening feeling of Villain’s messages sidling their way into Hero’s brain.

…

They tried to fight it. They really did. But Hero couldn’t keep it up all the time, not for this long. They found themself slipping. Not listening really, but letting things through. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t what they wanted, but it was easier.

They picked up their efforts at resistance again when they caught themself, but the fact that they caught it happening multiple times was telling enough. 

…

Hero’s humanity felt further out of reach than ever before. It didn’t really feel like a person anymore. That wasn’t a good feeling. Hero wept.

…

It couldn’t remember its name. That was distressing. It wasn’t supposed to be able to feel distress, but it did. It wished it didn’t.

…

It had been told its name was 491. It supposed that must be true.

Something was still wrong, though. Its feelings weren’t quite right. It didn’t feel like this was how things were supposed to be. It knew things were meant to be this way, really, it just didn’t feel right. Maybe it just needed more time.

…

The weapon didn’t feel distressed anymore. It didn’t feel much at all. Villain had fixed it. It was working better now, not experiencing incorrect feelings or going against what it was made for.

It wasn’t going to fight against them any more. It would do what it was told, as it was meant to. It wouldn’t struggle anymore, or have bad emotions like it had when it was working wrong.

It understood what it was, and who it belonged to. It was a weapon, forged by Villain and for their purposes. The resemblance it had to real people was a testament to Villain’s craftsmanship rather than any sort of indication of its humanity. Its maker and owner was very skilled, and someone more than worthy of its best.

…

It didn’t know how long it was before Villain got it out of its restraints. Not that such things mattered to it. It was Villain’s to keep where they wanted, and they needed to make sure it was fixed and working right.

“How are you doing now?” they asked once it was freed and standing.

“Operating properly, sir.”

Villain grinned. They ran their hands over the weapon, inspecting, and it stayed in place and let them. Villain looked over it hungrily.

They slapped its face. It showed no reaction except to turn its head to face forward again afterwards.

“Perfect,” Villain purred, leaning on its shoulder and twirling a finger in its hair. 491 didn’t react to the handling.

Villain grabbed its hair and pulled its head back, exposing its throat. Not a very strategic position to put the weapon in, but of course its owner could do whatever they wanted with it. “Will you tell me what you are?” they breathed into its ear.

“Your weapon, sir.”

“That’s exactly right.” They released it and righted its head. “And you have no problems with that? No problems with doing whatever I say?”

“Of course not. That’s what I’m made for.”

“Yesss. Perfect.”

Villain took a step back and looked over their weapon once more. They were smiling, with something like victory in their eyes.

“Your precious hero agency won’t stand a chance,” Villain said gleefully.

“Sir?” 491 didn’t understand; the hero agency didn’t belong to it, nor did 491 think of it as precious.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s just…a figure of speech.”

“Yes, sir.”

[ghcstao3]

based on the addition of this because i think it’s silly

-

It didn’t look my different from the other tapes, and that’s about as far as Ghost’s defence goes.

Dated and labelled accordingly as is every other tape in the box Ghost had unearthed while digging through his old things, he hardly thinks to be deterred by something titled Tommy’s wedding—it sounds perfectly normal, a happy glimpse into a life Ghost misses dearly from time to time, and he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t show Soap what had been recorded of a great memory.

The tapes were the only way Soap would ever get to know the Riley family, and Ghost supposes the wedding would be the perfect captured moment.

Except, whoever penned the label on the VHS thought it’d be real funny to betray the organization system just to play some practical joke on whoever decided to put the tape into the player more than a decade down the line.

Normally, Ghost might blame Tommy—but once the incriminating footage begins to play, the fault is obviously on Beth, because no one else would have ever had the need to see this tape in particular.

Soap immediately curls back into Ghost’s side as he returns to the couch, content to watch as he had all the other tapes Ghost had decided to show—a gentle fondness is inscribed into his expression as grainy chatter fills the space, a soft smile on his lips as a camera is shakily—and stealthily—set up in one of Tommy’s old mate’s living rooms.

Ghost frowns. Because distantly he recognizes the scene as Tommy’s stag, and not at all the wedding.

Though, he supposes, to lend credit—the precursor, ceremony, and reception could very well all just be mashed onto one tape. It’s what Ghost presumes, anyway, until he hears playful jeering and the clunky click of someone pressing play on a CD player.

It happens too fast, and realization comes much too slow as Tommy and a younger Simon appear just off-centre of the screen, entirely unaware of the camera pointed at them. Simon hears the first notes of the song and scrambles for the remote—only to find that Soap is holding it out of his reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he seems to come to some sort of revelation, too.

Ghost narrows his eyes. Commands, voice low, “Pause it, Johnny.”

Soap grins. “Don’t think so.”

It’s too late, anyhow.

Ghost is well and truly fucked as the Spice Girls’ Wannabe filters through his TV’s speakers. He’s never been so mortified.

He wishes he could melt into the couch along with his shame, watching his brother and younger self dance to the song in the same way they’d choreographed when the thing first came out. As stupidly drunk as they were at the time of the video playing on screen, Ghost is surprised they remembered any of it at all.

Any being too much, of course.

Soap only pauses when the song comes to an end, looking to Ghost expectantly, biting his cheek to surely keep from bursting into laughter then and there.

Ghost refuses to look him in the eye.

“We were pissed,” Ghost grumbles. “Bachelor party.”

“You still remember the dance?” Soap goads.

Ghost turns to glare at him. “Johnny.”

“What?” Soap’s face twitches. “Just a question. Of which you didn’t answer.”

Ghost folds his arms petulantly across his chest. How he wishes Beth were still around so he could get revenge for this embarrassing incident. Beyond embarrassing, really.

“No, I don’t.” Yes, he does. “A word of this to anyone and you’re dead, Tav.”

“Aw.” Soap folds back into Ghost’s side, and Ghost could never deny the way he softens, even if just a bit. Soap trails a palm from Ghost’s bicep to his forearm, almost soothing if his only intention wasn’t to tease. “You don’t mean tha’.”

“I do,” Ghost insists, but really, he’s always been a bad liar.

Soap shakes his head. “Nah,” he sighs. “But… I won’t tell anyone, swear. So long as I get to see you do that dance—otherwise this tape is getting rewound and shipped to Gaz with the VCR.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Mhm,” Soap hums. “But only out of love, see.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. He plucks the remote from Soap’s hand and presses stop, not wanting to risk any more condemning footage appear. Perhaps he’ll have to start going through these tapes by himself first, from now on.

“Well, out of love I’ll let you live. How’s that?”

Soap smiles up at him, reaching up an arm to pat Ghost’s cheek twice. “Might be able to convince me.”

Ghost huffs. Convince he must, then.

He knows Beth and Tommy would’ve found this hilarious, the pricks.

In another life, he supposes.

[agustdiv1ne]

hey ash! soft hours idea i just had: you, beomgyu's best friend, takes his guitar and asks him to teach you to play something in a lazy afternoon. he oh so patiently teaches you how to play the beggining of a classic rock song and when you finally get it and play it right he blurts out how hes been in love with you... for like a decade.

(im melting

SAM YOUR MIND>>>>> i'm gonna disintegrate this is so adorable

god, just imagine: you're laying on beomgyu's bed one lazy afternoon, the weather outside is cool and soft gray clouds paint the sky, the soft pitter patter of rain mixing with the show that he had turned on earlier. the room feels comfortable, warm, cozy; you think that these words can be used to describe beomgyu, too.

speaking of the boy, he's laying right next to you, the warmth of his thigh seeps into your bare skin as the both of you relax against the bed's headboard, his fingers mindlessly playing with your own his screen-strained eyes stare at the television. shooing the butterflies in your stomach away, you tap his palm to grab his attention. his gaze slides over to you in an instant.

"'m bored," you pout. his nose scrunches up before he's asking you what you want to do, then, if he's just so boring to be around. you roll your eyes at his dramatics, but mull over the question for a moment. what do you want to do?

your eyes trail over to the acoustic guitar that is propped up in the corner of the room. "can you teach me how to play something?"

at first, he thinks you mean a video game, a taunt on the tip of his tongue about how you suck at them, until he follows your line of sight to his beloved instrument. his heart softens a little.

"yeah, sure," he responds while he gets up to fetch it. he sits back down with the guitar set in his lap. you shift so your body completely faces him and watch as he fiddles with the tuning pegs, strumming and adjusting the tensions until it sounds about right to his ears. he peers back up at you once he's satisfied. with a dramatic strum, he announces, "i'll teach you something easy 'cause you're a noob."

you slap his knee in retaliation. "i hope you choke."

"you shouldn't be saying that to your one and only guitar teacher," he smirks. "i could just not teach you. in fact, i'll just go back to watching my show-"

"fine, sorry," you concede, even though you know he wouldn't do that to you, not really.

thus, beomgyu's guitar class commences. he places the guitar in your lap. as he helps you with the finger placements for each chord, fingers gently covering yours, he hums under his breath. the first notes you pluck out are clunky and disjointed, and the tempo is wildly off, miles too slow for it to actually sound anything like the original song. the air seems to shift as he continues to guide you through the intro of the song; he's not cracking the usual jokes at your expense, and — while it might just be your imagination running wild, searching for things that are not really there — he seems to be leaning closer than what is normal for friends.

he works with you for over an hour. you push away those absurd thoughts all the while.

"alright," he says once he deems you ready, leaning back on his palms. "now try playing the full thing."

there's this furrow in your brow as you focus on the strings with the utmost concentration, ensuring that you're playing the right chords with the correct picking, until you successfully play the intro to pink floyd's wish you were here. with a final strum, you look up at beomgyu with a wide grin, and you just seem so happy and excited and proud of yourself that beomgyu just can't help himself-

"i love you," he blurts out. you tilt your head, and regret immediately curls around his chest.

"i love you, too? we're best friends," you respond, unsure what else to say. when he deflates, you continue, worried. "where is this coming from?"

"i don't think you understand."

"beomgyu," you sigh. "if you're gonna be vague about it, then i never will."

"fuck, um." beomgyu is nervous. gone is the typically confident boy, now fiddling his fingers and unable to look directly at you. "i love you. i've loved you for years, now, i think."

stunned, you gape at him, and he takes your silence as rejection, laughing humorlessly. "i shouldn't have said anything. i'm sorry."

shaking yourself from your stupor, you carefully place the instrument still in your lap on the comforter before shifting forward. your knees knock against his as you bring a hand up to cup his jaw. "you never let me respond, idiot."

he finally looks at you, and you send him a gentle, close-lipped smile. "if you hadn't jumped to conclusions so quickly, you would already know that i love you, too."

his eyes light up. "wait, for real? how long?"

"a really long time, probably since we were, like, fourteen," you mumble and your hand retracts, slightly embarrassed. "i didn't accept it 'til a few years ago, though."

"ah!" he exclaims, causing you to jump a little at the volume of his voice. he seems to be back to his normal self, which is confirmed when he starts poking you forehead and excitedly exclaiming, "i beat you! i've known since we were eleven. see, no one can ever beat me, i'm just that good at everyth-"

not without a playful roll of your eyes, you lean forward and capture your lips with his, effectively shutting him up. the kiss is brief and his lips are a bit dry, but your heart pounds nonetheless. when you pull away, there's these dopey smiles on both of your faces. he's staring at you in a way that you've seen several instances before, but never knew what it meant — you know now, what that unique glint in his eyes, the quirk of his lips mean.

"i love you, choi beomgyu," you say, pressing another kiss to his cheek. "but you really need some chapstick."

he groans. "you just had to ruin the moment."

"say it back," you argue as you hand him your own chapstick. his expression softens a little when he looks back up at you, his lips curling up in a tiny smile.

"i love you," he breathes. "now c'mere."

hands cup your cheeks, squishing them a bit, before the rest of him is surging forward to kiss you once more. it's all giggly and sweet and neither of you can fight off the grins pulling at your lips. he begrudgingly pulls away after a few minutes, if only to get more air into his lungs, reaching for the guitar and beginning to serenade you. you hum along with him.

this is what finally being home after a long journey feels like, you think.

this is what love feels like.

[mymegumi]

SEASONALLY YOURS ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ warnings: potentially ooc!choso (i dont rlly write for him:()

choso doesn’t really enjoy the winter.

he hates wearing big clunky shoes, and his doc martins don’t have any sort of grip to resist the icy streets when he has to walk places. sometimes, snow gets in his shoes and then he has to deal with terminally wet feet—of which the wrinkly little toe pads sketch him out and make him feel like he has to dry off as soon as possible. the snow melts in his hair and that means any sort of hairstyle has to be de facto shoved underneath a beanie. plus his ears get cold and he hates when his ears get cold.

there’s a few perks, like driving around and looking at christmas lights, and the late night first snow walks he loves taking—everything is so serene and untouched by humanity it makes his chest ache with the peacefulness.

he feels as though the winter cold seeps into his bones, chilling him to his core until he can’t seem to get warm. he could be standing in front of a fire and still the winter’s winds would find a way to him. he hates it. he hates being cold.

he supposes winter isn’t so bad because he met you one wintery night.

he’d been taking a slow first snow walk when he happened upon you. you were in the middle of the street, splayed on your back and making snow angels. you had your eyes closed and you just seemed so at ease, so in tune with the falling snow that he thought he had imagined you. the sound of the snow crunching underneath his feet had made you open your eyes lethargically, as if there was anything else you’d rather be doing.

you had smiled at him, all teeth and gums and sugary sweet happiness that he had instinctively smiled back. motioning to the space beside you, he had laid down and made his very first snow angle. he hadn’t worried about his hair until after you pointed at it and giggled over the way it was skewing wildly. watching you laugh, he had blurted out that he wanted to see you again and the shy smile that spilled across your face was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

and, he thinks, maybe winter is so bad but, spring isn’t any better to him.

the wintery snows melt into warm soggy rains and he hates tracking mud through the house. it’s a pain to clean every day, and he just wishes the raining would stop because his hair is always soaked when he goes anywhere, perpetually cursed to have bad hair. the spring storms are more tame than the summer ones, but he dreads the feeling of ice cold rain stinging through his clothes. the pollen is getting worse, too, and his allergies act up in such a way that his nose is constantly stuffed and it feels as though he’ll never breathe normally again.

the budding cherry blossoms and tiny, fragile blooms of flowers make him feel hopeful. hopeful for the future and brighter days and sunnier skies.

he supposes that one shining day is better than the rest in spring, as a year after you’d been together with choso, you’d moved in together.

he’s never lived with anyone but his brothers, and itadori—but he was a brother for lack of a better word. so he’s scared that his unusual oddities are going to be jarring and spook you like a shy stray cat.

but the first night he splays out on the couch, legs sprawled over the back of the couch and head draped over the seating area, he is delightfully surprised when you copy his motions. you complain that you’re getting lightheaded and end up back in a normal seated position, but lean down and press a kiss to his lips and tell him to be careful. he blames the red cheeks on the blood rush to his head. in the morning, you tease him for his snoring and he blames the spring pollen.

choso supposes he has a good memory to hold onto spring.

the days turn longer, the night hours slowly slipping away to daylight and choso finds himself restless.

choso despises summer for taking away the lonely nights. he finds solace in the dark, shadowy places he can tuck himself into when he feels as if the world is looking at him too long.

he closes the curtains tight, and cuts out the sunlight when he can. he sweats through his shirts and there’s a level of frizz happening to his hair that he thinks is just innately criminal and wants to absolutely obliterate the sun and the humidity and the stupid warm summer rains that make him uncomfortable in his own skin. he showers daily, and still it feels like the grime of the day sits on his skin and he has to scrub and scrub and scrub just to feel even slightly clean. the first time you catch him rubbing his skin raw, you hold him in the shower as tears fall down his cheeks like the shower’s water down his back.

after his showers, you always press a kiss to his forehead and hold him close, gently braiding his hair so it’s out of his face and so it’s wavy by the time it dries. ‘you look so handsome when it’s this way,’ you had said once, and he’d never done his hair any other way since. occasionally he’ll style them in his usual two buns to keep his sweating hair from sticking to his neck, but sometimes he lets his hair down at home in the air conditioning and revels in the way you tease and curl it around your fingers.

choso wishes the summer nights were cooler, so he could press against you and fake complain that you’re sticking your cold feet in between his thighs. secretly, the feeling of being needed is more important than the split-second shock of cold.

and when the days begin to bleed into fall, he thinks those are his favorite days. he hates to be cliché or even close to mainstream, but fall is truly his favorite.

there’s a feeling of satisfaction in his chest when he can go out in just jeans and a hoodie, hand wrapped tightly around yours because your hands get so cold in the fall and you refuse to wear gloves. he loves the feeling of interlacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand, lips cool to the touch. choso is admittedly greedy for the feeling of you, the feeling of your skin against his and the cool breeze of your laugh against his neck and the smile you always, always have when you kiss him. choso has never known being greedy in this way.

the bright green summer leaves begin to brown and he curls into the reading nook with something new—a thriller, a murder mystery, a slightly above-averagely horny book, anything he can get his hands on.

fall is, objectively, his favorite.

the weather is ideal, somewhere between cold enough to pile on blanket after blanket at night and warm enough that he doesn’t feel as if he’ll turn into an ice sculpture in the foreseeable future. the landscape is so picturesque he feels as if looking at the mountains punches the air out of his lungs. he’s living in a painting and all he can do is awe and gawk and sputter about the unreal scenery he’s surrounded by.

he also loves fall because you love fall. it’s easy to love what you love because everything you enjoy is seamlessly a part of what makes you, you.

truthfully, he might like fall the most, but every season is good enough for him because he has you in all of them. as long as your by his side, he’d weather a million blizzards, sneeze as many times as he had to in spring pollen, and sweat through every shirt he owned. his love and devotion is soft and quiet but it’s always there. he will always be there for you.

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

The Taming of Man - Dragon-shifting Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

Ay Yo, Starting a series maybe perhaps??? Idk, felt cute, might delete later. seriously though, lemme know what you think, because I'd really enjoy writing this out all the way.

EXTREMELY BASED ON The Willow Maid by Erutan, pls listen for best experience, lyrics at the end are from this!

words: 1,958

warnings: cursing, blood, probably poorly translated German, reader is she/her and will be AFAB in the future if I write this all the way out

"Fuckin' Bluebloods," Katsuki grumbled to himself, waving the Pyre Pine twig he'd picked up, batting at cobwebs and whipping tall Acrimony Trees. The trees, true to their namesake, warped their crimson roots up through the maroon dirt to try and trip him. He had been in this forest a thousand times before though, and simply dodged them, hopping on top of them as his clunky boots pounded into the ground.

He kicked at popping Portobello's, their ashy and highly spiced spores exploding out with a crackle into what fittingly appeared to be mushroom clouds, and jabbed at the star-shaped Fire flowers, which attempted to burn away his stick with flickering flames and a high-pitched squealing sound. The good thing about Pyre Pines is that they were fire-resistant, so the flowers died without retribution.

Yes, Prince Katsuki of Forrmidūl was in a terrible mood, and it was all thanks to some rich asshole who thought he was better than him. He had met with the prince of Novia earlier that day, Katsuki's mother and Prince Tenya's Father hoping for some kinship between them as the people of their countries were viciously feuding. Sure, the guy was civil, nice even, but Katsuki hated the way he looked at him. Like he was a brute. A savage. He hated the way he picked at their nations best delicacies, scraping off perfectly good Portobello paste, and he hated the way he couldn't do anything about it.

The very remembrance of it made his jaw clench, his fists tightening. He wacked at a blazing thistle with all his strength, the wine-colored stemming tips of the petals shooting off into mini red fireworks. A couple went wayward, flying into the skin of his arm. Shit. They set off, causing wounds similar to ones you might get from being shot with a BB. "God Fucking Dammit," He yelped, gripping at his left tricep and scowling at the dead plant. He swung at it a couple times more, beating the poor thing to a red mess. It wasn't blood, of course, but rather crimson chlorophyll that all plants this ring of the forest contained.

You see, he was currently in the first and largest ring of the Farbenreich Forest, known as either Böse or simply Rot, an area many dared not enter. Sure, other countries sat near the outer rim of it, but none were brave enough to seek entertainment or peace there. The area was highly dangerous, as you could definitely see, and the only people who explored it were highly skilled Dragonborne such as the Soon to be king, Katsuki.

The rings of the rainbow forest went as followed:

Böse or Rot; the ring of Rage

Eisen or Orange; The Ring of Protection

Schatz or Gelb; The Ring of Treasures

Leben or Grün; The Ring of Life

Nebel or Blau; The Ring of Mist

Unbekannt; The Unknown.

Some called Unbekannt, the center, Leela, assuming it'd be purple and follow the pattern of all the other rings, but many simply called it Unbekannt because that's what it was; Unknown. Katsuki had read about each ring in books, craving to know what was in the center, but he himself actually feared it. He never went farther than the very beginnings of Eisen, something deep within him compelling him to turn back.

He sighed, taking a seat on a rock and making sure no moss was present. The vivid memory of traveling this place with his father and sitting on a rock covered in Magma moss still haunts him. If he could recall, he couldn't sit down without being in pain from the burns for a month after. He hung his head for a moment, regaining what little calm he had, and tried to figure out what to do about his little wounds.

They'd heal in no time, surely, but at the moment blood was trickling out of each little indent in his skin. he decided to take off his linen shirt, ripping off the sleeves. He wrapped one around his muscled arm, flexing after securing it to make sure it wouldn't fall off. He took the other one and repeated, adding two layers of protection.

He told his mother he'd go camping tonight, bringing nothing with him so he could truly rough it like he always did, but given the circumstances he decided it'd be best to head back home. He stood up, turning around to head back, before something reached his ears. What was that? The humming of a dragonfly? no, it wasn't dragonfly season...no, it was definitely someone singing. Singing like an angel. He turned to the sound, whipping around but unable to face it. Who the hell was in here?!

He finally pinpointed it, realizing it was coming from deeper in the forest. Dare he wander farther? He heard many a story of mischievous Faerie creatures luring unsuspecting men to their deaths, but it was all fiction. He just wanted to know what it was...who it was...

He hesitantly began walking farther into the woods, his attention no longer on abusing the flora. He stopped periodically to close his eyes, keying in on the sound to be sure he was following it closely. Before he knew it, he was already entering Eisen, The sturdy and squat mahogany trees practically forming a wall, a maze of sorts. Mind you, when I say Mahogany, I mean the color and not the breed of wood we know.

He walked as far as he could, before the grove became too tightly packed for his muscled body to fit through. He looked around, determined to move forward and find the source of the lovely music, before finally looking up. He immediately began to climb up the dense tree formation, climbing for a solid 2 minutes before reaching the top. He stood amongst the tangerine leaves, examining what was before him.

These trees were hardly as tall as Acrimonies, so he couldn't see far, but he could see a break in the amber foliage. He carefully hopped from tree to tree, the leaves and branches unmoving, thanking whatever deity blessed him to have this adventure in the fall when most snakes and other deadly animals were hibernating. He eventually was able to make his way down, already at the joining between Eisen and Schatz.

He looked down, the soft orange grass transitioning into golden shreds. He carefully stepped on the new grass, grass he had never seen the likes of before, and it crunched beneath his feet. Pulling back, He saw that it bent like metal flakes, curling under. He began to continue his trek inward, looking around at the tall and thin fruit trees that appeared to be made of solid gold or silver. They held apples made of ruby, blueberry bushes made of sapphire, acorns of diamond...even the leaves were made of paper thin shreds of metal. Everything was shiny, and it appeased his dragon brain.

He reached up, snatching an apple off its lustrous stem, something that would take the average man all his strength to do. Stuffing it in his pack, he continued to grab up different leaves and gemstone fruits. It was heavy, really fucking heavy, but he was compelled to take as much as possible. At least, he was, before stumbling upon a skull. A human skull. A human skull, who's body was crushed beneath piles of treasure. Yeah...fuck that. He immediately dropped what was in his arms, whatever dragon instinct that had enraptured his brain being forced to silence for a moment.

Besides, that voice was getting louder, meaning he was getting closer. At this point, he could just barely tell that the singing wasn't just a tune, it had words, words that hurt his ears to try and make out at this distance. He shook off the greed he once felt, forcing himself to carry on and simply avoid looking at the stuff around him.

This section felt like the longest because of the fact that he'd have to ignore his animal brain, but it was probably smaller than all the others. He finally reached Leben, the smell hitting him before anything else. He could smell rain, and fresh flowers, and dirt. It was earthy, it was floral, it was life. He stepped to the border, watching the plants fade from gold to green. All around him was green, he'd never seen anything like it.

The trees had spirals of moss growing up the sides, a cool breeze flowing through the flora and ventilating the area. Pink flowers, similar in look to the fire flowers, sat close to the ground, it's petals facing up to the sky. Katsuki watched as a fly slowly and leisurely buzzed past, before one of the flowers shot up and snapped around it like a shark closing its jaws. Good to know.

Katsuki trod through the forest, the damp and rich soil sinking beneath his weighty step, doing his best to touch nothing as he needed to stay cautious. As he moved along, the singing got louder, and he finally could make out a couple words. The ones that stood out to him were "man" and "Forest."

He had to know what this was, who this was. He didn't even realize he had been walking for two hours in total, nor did he realize that the end of Leben was fast approaching.

The air became wetter as he reached Nebel, and he could see the misty area ahead. It was as if there was a wall of fog, a marker for the point of no return. He took a deep breath, gulping a little. "Toughen the fuck up," he muttered to himself, before finally stepping in.

The second he entered the area, it was as if night fell. He couldn't see the sky, nor the plants, nor the ground. Only fog. Even with his night vision he was blind here, and it irritated him. He began to walk forward, keeping his eyes open to try and see the slightest differences, but soon found himself re-entering Leben.

The fuck?

He tried again, and again he was in Leben. He knew now why Unbekannt was Unbekannt. He sighed, closing his eyes. This time, he saw with his ears. He cued in on the beautiful voice, the tone, the words. He slowly began walking towards it, redirecting himself when the sound began to get farther instead of nearer.

Louder and louder the voice became, Clearer and clearer, Until he no longer felt wet fog on his face. He opened his eyes, and what he saw amazed him. The trees were full of life, vibrant with fruit and leaves of all colors hanging from them, wildflowers growing in hefty fields in all arrangements of hue and style, and best of all, the singing maiden.

She was sitting on a ginormous tree stump, centered in the ring of trees, washing her feet in a brook that shimmered in all the colors of the rainbow. Her clothes looked handmade, a sage green dress layered atop a tight silk button up shirt and a white flouncy underskirt. She had more clothing in a basket next to her, presumably to wash.

Song poured from her lips like honey, her face serene as she unknowingly preformed for her audience of one.

"A young man walked through the forest With his quiver and hunting bow He heard a young girl singing And followed the sound below There he found the maiden Who lives in the willow He called to her as she listened From a ring of toadstools red Come with me, my maiden Come from thy willow bed' She looked at him serenely And only shook her head"

you were mesmerizing. You were a faerie.

You guys don't understand, this is BARELY THE BEGINNING 😭 please comment if you want more, really I'd love the feedback.

Check the comments for extra info!

[freesia-writes]

First time making a request, I'm nervous lol

I would love something kinda awkward but sweet with my main Man Howzer.

Either the "being too awkward to know what to do with the hands" and/ or the panic while figuring out if they are actually leaning in for a kiss

The awkward one being reader, GN as well if possible 🫶🏼

Feel free to ignore if the request post was old and my ask is out of place 😱

Have a great rest of the weekend 🫶🏼

Helloooooo my friend! What a joy and honor to be your first request. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience. Writing has been so hard for me lately; trying to have a steady stream of thought feels like wading through mud. But I've missed it and have felt more inspired to give it a try, so I hope my clunky effort is somewhat heartwarming and enjoyable! :)

Howzer x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.8k

You’d rolled your eyes when your Galactic Political Science class had assigned you to an externship on the planet Ryloth, having only heard of its dusty plains and occasionally volatile population. But now, eight months later, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your job shadows of various political aides and diplomatic entourages had led you right into the vicinity of the man of your dreams. He was a clone, which some of your Coruscant classmates teased you about, but you couldn’t care less what they thought, uppity and narrow-minded as they were. 

Captain Howzer had caught your eye in one of the first meetings held on the planet, and your jaw had nearly dropped open at the sight of him. Immediately overthinking it, you wondered if you were so shallow that something so simple as a haircut could really make that much of a difference. But in hindsight, you were convinced that you were instead just an excellent judge of character, as your time working in close proximity to him had revealed a depth and integrity that left you in awe. He was level-headed and clever, and often came up with solutions to issues or conflicts that were impressively insightful. 

He was also kind of a dork. 

You’d never have believed it, but the more time you spent together, the more you caught the cheesy little jokes he’d make or the awkward comments that would slip by. As if he couldn’t be any cuter, his self-effacing humor and easygoing approach to life were just cherries on top.

So when it came time for your externship to come to an end, you were not in any hurry to leave. You’d enjoyed a number of mildly flirtatious moments with Howzer amid a great many conversations and encounters within your line of work, and yet you still felt as though he had enough depth to keep you pursuing him for decades. But you didn’t have many options: your program needed to be finished and it required your presence on Coruscant. To drop out now would be to lose everything you’d worked toward… not to mention your parents would never forgive you. 

You weren’t sure what to do, but you knew you had to do something. 

Your chance came not too long after, as the Ryloth session came to a close with a “Review Ceremony”, complete with awards and rife with lessons on political butt-kissing and how to appear in public to best sway opinion in your direction. You couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable if you tried. It was a black tie event, with all of the leaders in the sector attending, as well as aides, classmates, and local law enforcement. You chafed in your outfit, trying to walk as smoothly as possible through the doors, which opened into a massive chamber so tall you couldn’t see where it ended. 

Graceful vines and floating luminaries wove an intricate pattern above the guests, casting a warm glow across the proceedings. The hubbub of conversation was punctuated by the tinkling of expensive crystal and effervescent laughter as the influencers of the sector rubbed elbows and congratulated each other on everything and nothing. You were at the edge of a group of some of your peers, nodding and smiling at what you hoped were the appropriate places, but you weren’t really paying attention. 

If this externship had taught you anything, it was that you didn’t really have any interest whatsoever in this side of politics, and you were instead trying to look around the cavernous room for any sight of Howzer. You were scheduled to leave in the morning and still hadn’t found a time or way to confess any feelings. Even if you had found the right moment, you were still going back and forth endlessly about doing it at all. You were leaving, so what was the point? It’s not like he could leave his post and come with you…

“Excuse me,” a voice broke through your reverie, a voice you’d recognize anywhere… You turned far too quickly to “keep your cool”, heart skipping a beat when you saw Howzer in his standard armor. He tilted his head and you could almost see his expression through his helmet as he continued, “There seems to be an issue with your luggage. Would you please follow me?” 

You’d packed all your things that day, scheduled to ship out bright and early with the first transport. At first, you frowned, feeling that familiar anxiety in the pit of your stomach as you considered any and every possibility of what could have gone wrong. But when you noticed his broad shoulders ahead of you headed out onto the balcony, you were thoroughly confused. 

“Howzer, where’s–” you began, but he turned around so quickly you almost ran into him, hands a hair’s length away from his chest plate. 

“Sorry,” he answered, a crooked grin on his beautiful face as he pulled off his helmet. “You looked as miserable as I felt in there, so I thought we could get some air. Plus, there’s something kinda neat out here tonight…” He looked almost sheepish, sending a thrill from your head to your toes. You opened your mouth to ask about it but couldn’t get a word out when he suddenly took your hand in his. You could barely feel the warmth through his glove, but the thrill it sent through you felt like an electric charge. 

He pulled you gently toward the edge of the balcony, where a thick railing curved in a graceful half-circle that allowed for a beautiful view of the evening horizon. The dark Ryloth sky was peppered with distant stars and nearby planets, as well as the occasional ship coming or going. As the two of you came to a halt against the railing, he released your hand, leaving a cold emptiness where it had been, and pointed at a cluster of glimmering lights in the sky. 

“If you watch there for the next twenty minutes, there’s a meteor shower expected to start…”

“Twenty minutes!” you laughed.

“I mean…” he began, faltering with a chuckle, “I guess that is a bit of a long time…” 

“We’ll have to find some way to keep ourselves occupied for all that time I guess,” you said, choking on your own words as they came out sounding far more suggestive than you’d anticipated. “I mean… I’d like to see it, and… Well I don’t know when the ceremony will be starting… But I also don’t really care…. I mean, not like I’m going to win any awards, but…” Your brain yelled at you to stop talking, because every word felt as though it were making it worse. 

But Howzer seemed unfazed, his steady presence brightened by the sparkle in his eye as he shook his head. “And just why wouldn’t you win an award?” was his only response, leaning over the railing to gaze out across the expanse, keeping his words light but still casting a sideways glance at you that gave you the tingles.

“They’re not given based on merit…” you began, cynicism rising to the surface in the wake of your stressful end-of-internship duties. His gaze danced in the moonlight, flickers of amusement battling an undercurrent of something deeper, something warmer. It felt like forever until his soft voice broke the spell.

"Well, I don’t know if they told you, but you were the first place finalist for the Howzer trophy," he countered, his grin widening as he turned fully to face you. 

You laughed out loud now, clapping a hand to your forehead. “Oh?” you asked curiously, hoping beyond hope that it meant what you thought. The awkwardness that had been simmering between you seemed to dissolve, replaced by a charged stillness. 

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant thrum of the city and the faint murmur of voices from within the chamber behind. Your hands, previously clutched together in nervous anticipation, twitched instinctively. One of them, as if possessed by its own will, drifted up, hovering near his armor plate for a second before returning to the railing.

Howzer's breath hitched, and his eyes flickered down to your hand, then back up to your eyes. His grin, which had been playful moments ago, softened into something sweeter, something tinged with a hint of vulnerability that mirrored your own. He leaned in, slowly, his face a mere whisper away from yours. 

“Yeah. I think you’re great,” he said softly.

Now your own breath caught in your throat, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Should you pull away? Lean in? Speak, even though the right words seemed impossible in the face of this sudden, electrifying intimacy? The decision was almost out of your hands as his face drew closer still. His lips, slightly parted, hovered just a hair's breadth from yours. Was he leaning in for a kiss? Or was he teasing, enjoying the delicious torture of unspoken promises? That didn’t seem like him, but why was he taking so long? 

“Howzer, I… um…” you began, kicking yourself immediately for speaking in a moment such as this. Should you cup his face? Playfully brush a strand of hair from his forehead? Interlace your fingers with his? Your palms felt slick with nervous sweat, your fingers twitching with the urge to do something, anything, but they remained awkwardly suspended in the space between you.

His eyes seemed to twinkle with unspoken laughter, as if he could see the frantic dance of indecision playing out behind your eyes. But then, a flicker of something softer, something genuine, replaced the teasing glint. His gaze held yours, steady and intense, a silent plea for permission and eager hope. And in that moment, you knew. This wasn't about playful banter or coy games. 

With a sharp inhale, you closed the distance, your own lips meeting his in a hesitant, unsure kiss. Your hands, finally finding their purpose, landed clumsily on his chest for a moment, then tentatively cupped his face. His own hands, just as unsure, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in the reality of his closeness. When you finally pulled away, breathless and dizzying, your eyes met his, and the awkwardness was gone, replaced by a quiet joy. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, relishing in the waves of bliss that were washing over you repeatedly. 

"So," Howzer said, his voice rough with emotion, a playful glint still lingering in his eyes. "Still about seventeen minutes til that meteor shower eh?”

You laughed, absolutely quavering with emotion and excitement. “What to do…” you murmured, voice shaky and heart bursting at the seams. 

“I can think of a few things,” he murmured, stroking the side of your cheek with the back of his hand.

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[thedvilsinthedetails]

Rosekiller band au microfic series part 5!!!!

link to first part

link to prev part

AHHH GUYS I FINALLY COMPLETED ITTTTT

Ok so. This one’s short

like real short

bc I was honestly gonna put pt 4 and 5 together originally (pt4 was like a little over 700 words and this one is a little over 300 and normally the microfics in this series are about 1200 words or so) but then I thought they kind of work better separate

so anyway here’s a lil ending for u, Evan’s POV is back and im so happy with how this series turned out

taglistttt: @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @depressedtheatrekiddo @picklerab23 @lady-stardust-incarnate @lulublack90 @always-reading @no-names-work @mossycow @weirdtinkerbellversion @nikholascrow @y0url0verb0y @idk-what-to-put-here-123

***

“…so yeah when we got to the venue we were told to avoid ‘untoward behaviour’ and…well we all know what that means so instead we kissed. Fuck the homophobic rules honestly.”

Barty did air quotes as he said ‘untoward behaviour’, twisting his face like he was tasting something bad. The comments were mainly positive, agreeing with them. As usual there were mean ones popping up at the bottom of the live, for once though Evan didn’t care. At all. His head was still fuzzy with the rush of the kiss. They’d kissed. He’d kissed Barty. It had been fucking electric and he was still buzzing. They’d fit together perfectly, even with the clunky guitar in the way. Now they were curled together on Evan’s bed in the hotel.

Barty ended the live and turned to Evan with a grin.

“You know Rosier you’re not even a half bad kisser.”

Evan laughed.

“Back for seconds already Bee? You just wanna kiss me that badly I guess.”

He leaned in dangerously close with a smirk.

He’d expected Barty to snap back, another joke or something. Instead Barty just stuttered.

“I-uh.”

Barty’s eyes were wide and so dilated that the brown edges had nearly disappeared, swallowed up the black.

“Barty?”

Evan reached a hand up, hovering it over Barty’s face questioningly.

“Evan.”

Barty replied in a breathy whisper. Evan kissed him, didn’t hesitate. Barty sighed into it immediately, crawling close and wrapping his arms around Evan’s back as he straddled him. Evan responded by cupping his face in his hands. 

They broke apart panting softly. Barty immediately buried his face in the crook of Evan’s neck, arms tightening into a fierce hug. He seemed uncharacteristically small. 

“Bee?”

“Can this…not be just once Ev? I don’t think I’d be able to go back and I- I don’t want to lose you but I don’t think I’d be able to ever go back to pretending I’m not like obsessed with you.”

“Barty. Hey, hey.”

Evan moved his head down and coaxed Barty out of the crook in his neck so he could look at him properly. 

“We’re never going back Bee. Ok? This- fuck I think this is it for me, you know?”

“Yeah?”

Evan nodded.

“I think you’re it for me too.”

And Evan kissed him again. 

***

AHHH THE ENDING WHAT DO WE THINKKK?

Also I have added it to ao3 and the link is here if you want it

[genericpuff]

Mystery solved.

Okay. Okay I gotta figure out where to begin with this- breathes

A fellow ULO community member was going through old S1 panels and pointing out typos that we had all somehow missed (LO typos have a tendency to sneak by like that) and one thing they pointed out that I had never noticed was this one panel from Episode 102:

Particularly pointing out how the font overlays Hades' fingers which is just hilarious. That was where it was supposed to end.

But have you ever actually read the letter?

Because I did. And it took me on a ride I wasn't expecting to go on at 2:30 in the morning.

This shot of the letter is from the second instance it appears, when Hades scratches out part of it and writes, "I love the way you treat me, and I want to feel that way all the time."

But the first time this letter appears, when he's actively writing it, it's delivered to us through narration, in Episode 47. I actually love this episode, it does a great job at visual storytelling without overuse of active dialogue, and the content of the letter itself shows a great amount of self-awareness from Hades in the moment, even though the dark implications of what he's feeling is falling on his own deaf ears and the scene itself is quickly dashed by the obligatory quip-for-comedy-so-people-don't-get-too-sad of Hades' dismissing his therapist's advice, with the irony of him not realizing his own issues as he's writing this letter mere hours before overstepping his boundaries and having a guy whacked for taking photos of the Goddess of Spring.

But there was one line in particular that's always stood out to me.

The line "it ends up hurting you" felt random and out-of-context. In the beginning on my first read through back in early-mid 2019, I thought maybe it was just being poetic and I "didn't get it", until I became a critic of the series and had a reality check and realized it was likely just a typo, perhaps it was meant to be "It would end up hurting you" or something of that nature.

But it was looking at that panel of the letter and actually reading the text that was there that I realized - the line feels random and out-of-context, because it is random and out-of-context.

Look back at the letter. Paragraph eight. Rachel didn't write the full line despite it being necessary to the line 'it ends up hurting you'.

The full excerpt reads:

"I WISH I COULD EMPTY A DRAWER IN MY DRESSER FOR YOU, OR BUY YOU A TOOTHBRUSH TO KEEP IN MY BATHROOM. THE TRUTH IS, EVERY TIME WE HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER... IT ENDS UP HURTING YOU."

I can't believe it's not just a typo. I can't believe it took me this long to find this. I don't know how this got missed by Rachel, I'm assuming she wrote the letter out first and then copy and pasted the words into a larger font size which she placed throughout the episode, but how could that one part have been missed when the line "it ends up hurting you" is a dependent clause that can't stand on its own without the line that precedes it?

At the very least, I do finally feel like I've found closure over this one scene, now that I know the full context to the line. And I wouldn't have found it if it weren't for people joking about the letter panel being drawn like shit.

But it's definitely discouraging because it begs the question, what else is being haphazardly left out of the dialogue? What other clunky sentences with next to no context or build-up or reasoning could be better if they were actually finished or if Rachel and her team had spent the extra time to double check the script and ensure that no sentence is being left half-finished?

The irony in this scene as well is that Hades acknowledges he's too old for Persephone, he acknowledges that they aren't good for each other and that he'll only wind up hurting her, he acknowledges that he barely knows her and he shouldn't call what he feels for her 'love', but infatuation, a very accurate and self-aware statement that I feel like the current Hades lacks. It makes it feel all the more distressing when the letter makes a return in Episode 102, and he makes one simple change:

As impactful as this statement was back in the day, looking back, knowing fully well how far his character has now fallen, this now feels less like a triumphant statement accepting his feelings and more like one of giving in to his selfish desires. This is even more accentuated by the use of the red ink, which splatters across the page alongside messy handwriting, contrary to the meticulous typewriting above.

He's pushing off his baggage as a mere bridge to cross later.

He's making hopeful assumptions about her feelings and putting her on a pedestal without communicating his actual baggage outside of his own head and with her directly. In fact, he doesn't get around to talking about this baggage until she's in a position to depend on him in Season 2.

He's fantasizing about their future with next to no foundation yet, and while he's recognizing that she might not be happy with him in the long term, he still tosses all those legitimate concerns aside to "I love the way she treats me", as if all that matters is what she can do for him - and what he can and can't do for her isn't important until it will inevitably rear its ugly head after she's already become his.

This is the turning point where Hades has become the villain. Where he's shifted from being the responsible adult and leader to an obsessive fanatic whose only goal is to have Persephone. To the point that, despite him saying in the letter that it would be best to limit his presence around her-

-seems to be upset over the notion of doing that exact thing as soon as she's the one to suggest it. Acting as if he's being rejected when he was the one to originally conceive the idea to limit their presence around one another for her own good.

Hades being a responsible King and adult went out the window years ago and I feel like this was the moment where it happened, and that red pen was the gavel. Apparently all it took was her admitting she has a crush on him - undoubtedly as shallow as his crush on her, based solely on infatuation but not written on paper as Hades' confession was - for him to toss aside all that work to unpack his feelings and all that responsibility he was willing to take. Never mind the fact that her feelings could undoubtedly use unpacking of their own. Never mind the fact that her liking him back still doesn't change the reality of their situation - that they're fundamentally different people, from different worlds, with vastly different experiences and outlooks and values and goals, living in massively different life stages. Try as it might to be presented as romantic, that "opposites attract", it's more appropriately and commonly known as being incompatible.

If this were any other story, this would be a precautionary tale in so many ways, made especially significant for an audience that's largely coming of age and experiencing feelings of infatuation and attraction for the first time.

But this isn't that story. It's Lore Olympus.

Hades is, through and through, the villain of this story, no matter what the narrative tries to convince us of otherwise. I stood by that statement before and I stand by it even more so now. Unfortunately we're now at the point where Persephone herself has become a villain, corrupt by the same system she used to criticize.

And just like the letter and all its raw text admitting to Hades' faults and baggage and showing he's willing to take accountability, so too does the narrative itself slyly tell the ugly truth in between its lines: that love is not enough, that love is not the same as obsession, that power can corrupt even the purest of hearts - that love is enough, that you should pursue the one you desire until they're yours and only yours, that you should climb higher towards those in power above you until you have that same power in your hands.

Because you love the way it makes you feel and you want to feel that way all the time.