#if any thing happens to them i will just have to kill a man

[dilatorywriting]

Truth Potion

Vil Schoenheit x OC x Rook Hunt Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: Truth Potions should be banned from the proximity of any and all far-too-attractive people for all time. Least of all when dating one of them who would be far to keen to use said lack-of-filter to his advantage.

[OC Archive]

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content! WARNING for References to a Character's Previous Death

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

The potion exploding in her face was nothing unusual. Saya had been cursed with cat ears, and fluffy tails, and all sorts of strange ailments at this point. It was like there was a target on her back that the universe had put there saying ‘hey! You! Don’t let this poor idiot escape a single potions lesson unscathed!’

What wasn’t familiar was the strange, staticky lull all throughout her mouth. Making her tongue feel light as a feather.

“That didn’t taste very bad,” she mumbled to herself, and then wondered why she’d muttered anything at all. “But I guess a lot of things don’t taste as bad as I was expecting them to.”

“Oh?” Deuce coughed, good-natured despite his own singed eyebrows. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “Cum.”

And then immediately screamed into her hands like she was being murdered point blank. She gasped against her palms in horror. Because she did not just say that. Out loud. In public.

“I didn’t mean to say that!” she wailed. “I haven’t even told Vil that! And he’s the one who’d actually want to know!”

She clamped her fingers over her mouth again and screamed louder.

“Oh my god,” Ace chirped, like this was the greatest gift God could have ever gifted him and all of mankind. “You got truth dosed.”

Ro blinked in worry from his place at the desk nearby. “Is she going to be alright?”

“No!” Saya wailed.

“Quick!” Ace beamed, dashing forward like a hound after a hare. “Ask her everything you’ve always wanted to know! Before it wears off!”

“Or before she kills us,” Jack scowled under his breath.

“I would never kill you,” Saya said, serious. “I don’t think I could. You’re too beefy. But you’re too nice too. The best. Right behind Deuce.”

“Oh,” Jack rumbled, gold eyes going wide and then quickly shooting away.

“This seems a bit like we’re taking advantage…” Robyn mumbled, looking guilty.

“Thank you,” Saya huffed. “Because—”

“Do you like me, yes or no?” the redhead blurted as fast as he could, and then immediately looked terribly chagrinned about it.

“If anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I wish you were actually my brother so I could finally have something good in my stupid genetic pool.” The words tumbled out like the shrapnel from a bomb—wild, and uncontrolled, and loud. Saya squawked in indignation. “Robyn Starling!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I just—I needed to know!”

“Fuck you!”

“Out of everyone in this room, who would you wanna fuck the most?” Ace piped in, like a rabid little demon.

“Jamil!” Saya blurted, and immediately covered her mouth in horror. Said Vice-Warden’s head popped up from his place hovering over his own cauldron, and he immediately looked like he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear from their entire plane of existence. But then, like some kind of absolutely malicious trick of fate, the words just kept coming. “Or Professor Crewel.”

“Someone go get Schoenheit,” the man in question groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Quickly.”

.

.

“A truth potion?” Vil muttered, rubbing his thumbs along a dot of blue smeared high along her cheekbone. “That’s all?”

“That I can tell,” Professor Crewel sighed.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Saya grouched, and then seemed to reconsider. “Actually, that was probably when I killed myself the first time around. But this is pretty up there.” Another pause. “Worst day of my life so far.”

Vil fought the urge to dig his fingers into his temples. He could already feel the stress headache forming. The last thing he needed was the add new wrinkles on top of that.

“How long until it wears off?”

“Hopefully no more than a day,” Crewel hummed, considering. “Perhaps sooner, if you can get her cleaned up quickly enough.”

“He can never clean me quick enough,” Saya complained past the shield of her fingers. “He always ends up fucking me in the bath, which is entirely counterproductive. Especially when he’s the one complaining about tight schedules. Like, sir, it’s your own fault you’re late. You didn’t have to spend half an hour with your tongue up my—”

Vil clamped a hand over her mouth and Saya looked grateful beyond measure.

“Please just get her out of public,” Crewel sighed, looking like he’d aged ten years over the course of the afternoon. “Before I have an aneurism.”

Saya said something else against Vil’s palm, but thankfully it came out too garbled and flat to comprehend.

“Of course, sir.”

The House Warden dragged his miserable, red-faced girlfriend out the office doors and down a back hallway—determined to skulk away to Pomefiore as stealthily as he could possibly manage.  

“God, what I wouldn’t give to be in the center of a Schoenheit-Crewel sandwich,” she sighed once his palm was off her lips, and then immediately paled from head to toe, like a ghost. “I might actually kill myself again.”

“Do not even joke about that,” he snapped.

“Can it be a joke if I’m under a truth spell?”

“You know,” Vil smiled, poisonously poised and vicious, “Perhaps I should go back and let you make your offer in person, hmm? I’m on decent enough terms with the Professor. Perhaps we can make an arrangement, if you’re being so truthful in the moment.”

Saya tucked both hands over her mouth and allowed herself to be herded back towards the elaborate, Pomefiore dorms in silence.

.

.

The bath that followed was entirely unsexy, and Saya nearly bit through her bottom lip in an effort to keep her bubbling complaints under wraps. Vil practically dunked her like a rag against a washboard, and she couldn’t help but think that he always got a bit like this—a bit too upset, a bit too mean—whenever her untimely demise was brought up all over again. Which, on one hand, she couldn’t blame him. Whenever Robyn talked about his own death, it made her stomach fall and her hair stand on end. And if Vil had done what she had—Well. She’d be upset too. So she sat politely and quietly in her towel until the stupid potion got the better of her. 

“I just don’t get it,” she said into his glacial sneer. “It’s not like it matters.”

“The fact that we’re having this argument yet again when you can’t even physically lie about it tells me you need more therapy than there exists on this godforsaken planet.”

“I am a little broken,” she shrugged, and something in the model’s amethyst eyes went so terribly sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I meant it. But I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t like upsetting you.”

Vil sighed and reached out to dry her hair, gentler now. Scrubbing the soft towel over her short, blonde, waves in little circles.

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll reward your valiant efforts by not pushing all of the things I would so love to use this opportunity to push.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she hummed, leaning into his kneading. “Not if it’s you. Not really, at least. Even if it is embarrassing.” She paused, and he watched her try to physically swallow down the words in her mouth before they came tumbling out anyways. “Your cum tastes good, by the way. Well, not good. Not like, I don’t know, candy or whatever. But like, not bad at all. I thought you should know. Because I said it earlier, but you weren’t around. And now you are. And now I also need to throw myself out the nearest window.”

The startled laugh that ripped out of his throat was entirely less dignified than he would have liked.

“Is that so?” he trilled, beyond amused. “I suppose I’m glad my healthy diet has been useful for… other unexpected benefits, as well.”

Her face screwed up like he’d forced her to drink rotten milk and he couldn’t help himself from feeling hopelessly fond at this miserable, sopping wet, little wreck of a person.  

“Anything else you’d like to confess?” he grinned. “While I have your full attention?”

More nose scrunching. “What do you want to know?”

It sounded like the question had to be pried out of her mouth with pliers. Vil’s smile went a little wicked. He dropped the towel to his bedroom floor so that he could dig his fingers into her damp hair.  

“What’s your favorite part? Of all the things I’ve done to you?”

“That you’ve loved me,” she said instantly, and that teasing mew melted off his face in a heartbeat. Saya looked positively stricken. “Oh my god, please. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I love you,” he chirped, mocking, and she made a gagging noise. “But as touched as I am by your sentimentality, I had meant on the more physical side of things. It’s so hard to get your honest feedback.”

“I thought you liked that,” she said, a bit mulish. “The whole ‘stubborn’ thing. Having to pin me down.”

Saya watched the round, black circles of his pupils jump and dilate. The twist of his mouth went smug and warm—familiar. In all the best and worst possible ways. 

“Is that why you do it?” he cooed, a dangerous lilt to his voice that had goosebumps dancing down her spine.

“Not completely,” she mumbled, gaze slipping away and cheeks going pink. “I think some of it is just—just me, too,” she gulped as his nose trailed down her neck. “That’s really distracting.”

“Is it?” he drawled.

“I just said it was!”

“You’re so lovely to me, do you know? Working so hard to try and meet my tastes,” he said against her collarbone, and she shivered. “What else could I do for you, I wonder?”

“You do more than enough.”

Vil couldn’t help but feel flattered at the ringing truth in that proclamation, but he pushed forward nonetheless. This was a golden opportunity not to be diminished—not even by the charming warmth of their sentimentality.

“But I could always do more. Tell me—I’m always open with the things I’d like to do to you. What’s something that you’ve always wanted to try.”

“DP,” she burst out, and then immediately ducked her head to shriek against his shoulder. “Oh my god, please forget I just said that. Well, don’t forget it. Because it would be—really, really—I just. Oh my god!”

“You weren’t kidding then,” he tutted, warm and calm, dragging a soothing palm against her lower back, “when you mentioned the professor and I earlier.”

“I mean, only a little. I’d never be able to look Crewel in the eye again. It wouldn’t be worth it. Especially when I think he’s just starting to like me.”

Vil huffed. “He adores you.”

“Yeah, more like he’d like to hit me with a-door.”

“I can see this isn’t the time to address your self-worth issues,” he droned, and then worked to shift back into the direction he’d been so carefully coaxing. “But either way. You were saying? Something about being taken by—"

“I know it’s not practical!” she immediately squeaked. “Like, I am fully aware you only have one dick. And also, like, I love you. I don’t have any desire to like, go around fucking some other random person just to, I don’t know, satisfy some weird fantasy. Everyone has their like, Thing that they’re like ‘wow. That’d be super hot. Will never happen. But damn.’ And that’s just—I don’t know. Mine.” A pause, to take her breath. “Also, like, it takes two to tango. Or, well, three in this case. And I’m still reeling over the fact that I’ve managed to trick one person into sleeping with me, let alone two.” 

Vil couldn’t hold back his snort. “I’m certain you could find more than double that on this campus alone who would be more than willing to step in to fill the role at a moment’s notice.”

She crinkled her nose. “Even if that was true, I still love you most. I don’t want other people.”

“And if I found someone suitable to partake in this? Someone who has perhaps displayed a keen interest in the past and who I trust enough to involve? Someone who’s already proven more than enthusiastic about the topic?” Vil asked, and he watched her eyebrows jump up in startled confusion. “Would that be amenable then? If you had that on top of my fullhearted approval and support?”

Her brow furrowed, clearly taken aback. “Who the fuck are you talking to about screwing me?”

Vil snorted another laugh.

“My, you’re feeling crude today.”

“It’s this stupid potion and you know it!” He watched that tight little tick in her brow grow deeper as she dove into the depths of her thoughts, searching and searching for an answer he was sure she’d find. All of a sudden she choked. “Are you talking about Rook?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually, kitten.”

“But he—” she gaped. “He doesn’t—I haven’t—” she spluttered. “He doesn’t even like me. I bet he’d hang my head over his fireplace if he got the chance.”

Vil barked out a laugh. “That would certainly be the highest of compliments.”

At her continued fretting, he leaned closer to tug her in tight and go back to running his fingers up and down her spine. “Naturally it’s your choice, but I can assure you, I’ve heard more than my fair share of soliloquies about the wonders of your bountiful bosom to know he’d be more than thrilled to assist.”

“They’re not even that big,” she grouched under her breath. “But that’s… Even if he was okay with it, what about you?” she asked, nervous.

Vil grinned, sharp and seductive. “Darling, who hasn’t shared something so private with their closest friend, hmm?”

“Uhm, me?” she gaped. “If you ever catch me in a three-way with Ro, please just shoot me in the face—"

“You’re moving away from the point,” he accused, snagging her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now. Tell me—would that be a situation you’d be amenable to?”

She chewed at her lower lip hesitantly and looked up at him through her lashes. “I trust you enough that if you think it would—it would be a good idea, then…”

“This isn’t about me,” he tutted.

“Everything in my life is about you,” she corrected sharply, and then immediately went beet red. “Fucking just—gag me or something. Please.”

Vil laughed. “That can be arranged. But first,” he grinned, moving to slip lithely to his feet. “I do believe I need to have a conversation with my Vice Warden.”

.

.

 “Shouldn’t we at least wait until the potion wears off?” Saya asked, hoping she didn’t sound nearly as panicked as she felt. “And, I mean,” she spluttered. “This all probably feels a bit sudden, right? Like, I know if someone knocked at my door one minute to—to—"

Rook’s answering grin had a shiver running down her spine and Vil reached out to tweak her cheek like an unruly child.

“Nonsense. How else will we know if you’re being honest about the experience, hmm?”

“That’s fair. I do lie about how I’m feeling a lot,” she said, and then instantly bit into her lip with a scowl. Fucking— “But that still doesn’t answer the,” she waved her hand around her head. “The other bit.”

“Ahh, but what predator could ever turn down such an opportunity to pounce when a feast is presented to him, hmm?” Rook cooed, hand over his heart as if he was about to start delivering a grand poem. “Particularly when it is a meal I’ve most looked forward to. And I can promise that I have thought on it long and often, mon chaton,” he smirked—a strange, dark, twisty thing that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. “It is so hard to look away when so much fluttering beauty twines itself so frequently beneath a shared roof.”

Dutifully ignoring the implications of that little statement, she frowned and said, “But you like pretty things.”

Vil frowned right back, but before he could launch into another one of his irritable spiels about self-value, and ‘in the eye of the beholder, blablabla,’ Rook ducked in and scooped her hands up between his.

“There is loveliness in delicacy,” the hunter agreed easily, smoothly. “But there is also beauty in a storm, in destruction. Qu'est-ce que la vie sans la mort? Qu'est-ce que l'amour sans l'horreur? And you, petite tentatrice,” he grinned, “are the loveliest storm of all.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “I’m sorry, but did you just French your way into saying that me being an unruly bitch is hot?”

“Ahh,” he crooned, lifting a hand as if he was about to swoon, “you’ve found me out!” And then that grin was back, sending all kinds of nervous goosebumps racing down her arms. “An easy hunt may speak to one’s skill well enough, but sometimes I can’t help but hope for a chase.”

“You’re unsettling her,” Vil warned, reaching out to twine an arm around her waist and rub soothing circles into the divots of her hips. “I told you not to overdo it.”

“Ah, pardonne moi, pardonne moi!” he lamented. “But I could hardly help myself.”

Vil’s amethyst eyes narrowed, a silent reprimand and threat all in one. You will help yourself, that glare warned. And while the Vice Warden certainly didn’t outright cow to that sneer, he dipped his chin in easy submittance nonetheless.

“Of course, mon reine,” he chirped. “This is a gift! And I will do my best to cherish it so.”

He reached forward and brushed a wayward strand of honey-hued hair from Saya’s eyes—fingers landing neatly on her cheek after to rub at the spreading flush there.

“How could I not? Especially after you’ve trained her so wonderfully.”

Saya gasped in indignation, that nervous blush staining plum red with rage instead.

“I’m not a fucking dog!” She snapped. “And he hasn’t—I haven’t been—”

“We’re working on it,” Vil droned, and Saya started spluttering all over again.

“We are not!”

“Well, we aren’t,” the ethereal beauty sighed, as if terribly put upon. “That is my job, after all. And you don’t make it easy, darling.”

The snarky retort twisted off her tongue with the taste of popping bubbles and lingering herbs, and instead, what came out was a pouty, “I thought that was the point.”

She cursed colorfully under her breath and Rook burst into gleeful laughter.

“Oh, she is just merveilleuse, mon reine. Je suis honoré que vous souhaitiez partager une telle merveille avec votre humble serviteur.”

Vil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Perhaps if you were so humble as you’d like me to believe, you wouldn’t have been so bold in your spying these past months.”

Rook held up his hands with another snicker, as if to say ‘you caught me!’

“But it worked, did it not?” he beamed, and then leaned forward to nuzzle along the underside of Saya’s jaw. His teeth skimmed the delicate, pale skin there and she pressed back against Vil with a squeak.

Vil rolled his eyes yet again and shifted so that Saya could tuck herself up against him in one, long lean line. Like a cat arching away from the wandering hands of an overenthusiastic guest and towards the familiar warmth of its owner. But all that being said, proper socialization was all in the name of the game. And he would be terribly bereft to go lax in his diligent efforts now of all times. 

“Gently,” he reprimanded. “She startles easily.”

“I’m not a—” she squeaked again, and Rook ducked forward with another sharp nip. “It’s not weird to be jumpy. I’d never done anything like this before I met you.”

“Ah, comme c'est chéri,” Rook cooed, as he burrowed in closer and latched his mouth against the hollow beneath her throat, sucking an angry, purple bruise against the pale skin there. “Did you know,” he trilled, popping back with a preening little smirk to observe his handiwork, “that our dearest queen does have quite the love of, ah, how did you describe it?” Rook mused. “Un amour de la corruption?”

“Rook,” Vil sneered, lip curling in warning.

“Not like that’s anything I didn’t already know,” Saya scoffed under her breath, and then squawked when familiar, painted nails dug into her hips.

“What was that, kitten?”

“I—I just meant,” she gulped, cursing that stupid potion with every fiber of her being. “It was—you got excited. When I said I was—that I had never—and you—I—” she trailed off with a nervous incoherence.

Vil hummed against her neck and she shivered.

“This is quite the difference,” he mused, a note of interest curling over his words. “To ask for an answer and to receive one rather than some stuttering, biting attempt at maintaining your dignity. I can’t say I’m opposed.” His hands trailed lower. “Perhaps not forever, but as an anomaly—as a treat,” he smirked. “For all my hard work.” She could feel the blunt, rounded edges of his nails trailing back and forth at the inseam of her thighs. “I do enjoy the ensuing correction far too much to want this new sweetness of yours to become a permanent fixture in our lives, but for the time being…”  

Saya gulped, and she could see Rook’s eyes trace the movement like a fox watching a rabbit’s hole.

“Tell me, won’t you” Vil demanded, head going high once more and some of that haughty, put-upon superiority lighting his eyes. Saya knew that expression, and it meant literally nothing good for her hips or spine for the upcoming days. “What makes this so appealing to you?” He grinned against her hair, sharp. “Wanting to be taken so thoroughly.”

“I—” she spluttered, feeling those awful, terrible remnants of magic dancing around her mouth. “It just—I—” and then that arcana popped with a focus and she was babbling all over again. “It just seems—seems nice. To be wanted that badly to be shared like, like something special. And—being between—the, the warmth of it seems—I…” She was going to die. Melt into a puddle and stain his stupid carpet with her untimely end. “I like to be squished, and held. And being that full seems nice.”

“Tellement poétique!” Rook crooned, looking nearly sparkly-eyed with wonder.

‘I hate this,’ she tried to spit, but instead, “I don’t mind this.”

Vil snorted a laugh into her hair.

“Yes, darling. I could tell.”

His hand dipped past the edge of the towel and brushed pointedly between her legs. He pulled back when she squeaked and held his fingers up with the same air as a teacher offering a demonstration. The wetness on them caught the light overhead—shining and slippery—and Saya tried to bury her face in her hands.

“You’re not particularly subtle,” he hummed, amused. And Saya felt like her blood was about to boil straight out of her veins.

And then, because apparently the love of her stupid life was actively trying to send her into cardiac arrest, she watched through her fingers as Vil stretched forward and offered his hand for Rook’s inspection. The hunter’s gaze tracked the slow, sticky drip of her and his emerald eyes pointedly flickered down to the space between her thighs, still artfully hidden beneath the fringe of the bath towel. And then those too-bright eyes slipped back up to meet hers and he leaned forward to lick a long stripe up Vil’s palm.

“No need for embarrassment,” Rook promised, licking his lips pleasantly. “Neither of us can lay claim to the notion of subtly either, favori.”

“Oh my God,” she choked.

“Ah, ah,” Vil tutted, twisting his other hand forward to pinch at her thigh. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Vil,” she gasped, a bit too close to a petulant whine.

“Better,” he smirked, and then reached up to loose the folds of her little towel, sending it fluttering to the mattress beneath them. Saya shivered at the rush of cold air, and then again when she caught the strange, predatory gleam in their guest’s green eyes. His gaze was like a tangible thing, running over every bit of exposed skin like the edge of a blade dipping along her shaking limbs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she snipped, embarrassed.

“Oh, not to worry!” he chirped. “I’ve taken several!”

“What—"

Vil twined his fingers through the shorter hair at the base of her skull and tugged. “Focus, kitten.”

“I’m always focused on you,” she snapped, potion bubbling off her tongue. And Vil rewarded her honesty with another sharp tug and a dip into a deep kiss. He pressed her down until she was dizzy, and when he finally pulled back with a contented hum and a flickering, wine-warm smirk, Saya felt like she was ready to melt into the bed.

“How do you always look so stupidly put together during sex?” she complained, unbidden. “And I always wind up looking like I’ve been railed halfway to Sunday.”

Vil snorted in amusement. “Perhaps that’s the point.”

His purple irises jumped past her shoulder and then the bed was dipping again. Saya blinked, not even having realized that Rook had stepped away. But then the hunter was back and she squeaked as a pair of deceptively well-muscled arms hauled her up against an unfamiliar and very naked chest. Vil nodded, as if in satisfaction with the state of things, and then eased himself back towards solid ground to also begin the process of divesting himself of his ridiculously intricate House Robes.

A pair of unfamiliar fingers snagged her chin and Saya found herself turned to face a smile that would not look out of place on a shark.

“There you are, chérie,” Rook purred, like a big cat hulking down over its kill, and then ducked forward to press his mouth against hers in a kiss that was like a whirlwind. While Vil kissed like an artform—a perfected, poised, creation that pushed as soft or as hard as he felt suited the moment, Rook kissed like he meant to eat her alive. He nipped at her lips until Saya was tasting copper, and the self-satisfied groan that rumbled from his throat had her nearly vibrating out of her skin.

The bed was dipping again and she felt another set of far more familiar hands work their way around her waist—pushing the leach away and dragging her back across the sheets to sprawl along a lean lap. Rook laughed, pleasantly amused, and pointedly reached up to wipe a speck of blood off his chin.

“Poor thing,” Vil sighed, brushing a thumb along the smear of crimson at the corner of Saya’s own abused mouth.

The poisonous beauty leaned forward to press his lips back against hers. He laved his tongue across the fresh cut there, easing the sting and sharpening it all at once.

“He’s just terrible to you, isn’t he?” he cooed, all mocking softness. “I suppose you’ll never be able to complain about my own methods again, once this is over. I’m not nearly that mean, am I, kitten?”  

“I like it when you’re a little mean to me,” she admitted, eyes darting away in mulish embarrassment.

Vil chuckled against her throat—a warm, satisfied thing. “You’re providing me with far too my ammunition this evening, darling.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “I’m literally never going to live this down.”

“Ah,” Rook trilled, slipping forward to tuck himself up against the skin of her back. And Jesus, she’d known the two of them were pretty substantially taller than her, but being wedged between them like this was a stark reminder of just how teeny she was. “But is it not better to be open and true with the one you love, hmm?”

“It’s not my fault I’m emotionally constipated,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” the hunter mused. “If you provide me with a list of the ones who are suitably responsible then, I would be more than happy to ensure that such a strain upon your person would never occur again.”

“Uhm,” Saya spluttered. “Appreciated, but… I mean, they’re all back in my old world anyways.”

“Ah,” he hummed, ducking over her shoulder to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Quel malheur.”

There were too many hands at her waist, and the pull of it was a bit disorientating. Saya swayed into one kiss and then another, neck craning back and forth—left to right, left to right.

“How would you prefer us?” Vil asked, with all the casual nuance of someone inquiring after the weather. It was going to drive her insane. And holy fuck, holy shit, they were—

“—actually doing this,” she choked, feeling lightheaded and far, far too warm.

“Of course,” Vil smirked, amusement playing across his face. “Unless you want us to stop.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” she squawked, and then buried her face in his shoulder in humiliation. Rook laughed, chiming and musical against her collarbone.

Vil reached around to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her rump and squeeze. “Well? You haven’t answered me.”

“…You in front?” she asked, tentative. “So I can…”

“So you can?” he pressed, dragging her back and forth between them in a horrible, torturous grind.

“So I can kiss you,” she mumbled, pink from the tip of her chin to the roots of her hair.

That upright, royal smugness melted from his face for a moment in a wave of golden fondness, and he ducked in to press a sweet, soft kiss to her lips—his hands coming up to cup her cheeks and run gently through her mused hair. She could hear Rook let out the most besotted little sigh, like he was watching a favorite scene from one of Neige’s romcoms.

“Ah, l'amour vrai,” he breathed, leaning forward to hook his chin over her shoulder. “I never will tire of the sight.” 

“Mmm,” Vil hummed, pulling away from her mouth with a lingering nip and a long, deep drag of his tongue along hers. “I suppose not, if I have any say in it.”

Saya blinked—dizzy, and warm, and jaw still hanging slack—and Rook laughed at the startled look on her face.

“Meaning he’d like to keep you forever, mon coeur,” he chirped. “So such a treat on the eyes will never have an expiry date.”

“Oh,” she whispered, still far too dazed and only falling further into that horrible, hot spiral when Vil’s fingers shifted back down to her waist to pull her back into that slow, smooth, grind between them. It was awful, and wet. And surely she was making a hideous mess of the sheets. And their thighs. And all of it. But neither of them seemed to mind, only groaned low against her skin as the blonde beauty rocked her and back and forth, and back and forth, and back and—

“Still alright, kitten?” he laughed, leaning forward to suck another dark mark against her throat.

“I want that,” she blurted, and it came out shivery and far too high. “Being—” Son of a—No! No! She had some dignity left! And stupid fucking truth potion or otherwise, she wasn’t going to let him tease her into saying— “Being yours forever.”

Another kiss, so deep and strong it had her collapsing back against Rook’s chest with the push of it. She whined against painted lips and she felt the hunter’s pleased rumble along her spine in return.

“Si réactif,” he sighed, dipping down to the other side of her throat to lave a matching mark to one Vil had only just bitten into her skin.

Vil hummed again, deep in his chest—lips trailing from her mouth, down her chin, and all the way to her collarbones. “Isn’t she?”

“Okay, okay,” Saya squawked, fighting a shiver when Rook’s hands curled around her front to cup at her chest. “Can we stop talking out how stupidly squeaky I am and just—just get on with—"

Two of Vil’s fingers curled up into her in one, sharp thrust and she gasped.

“What was that, kitten?” he cooed. “I couldn’t hear you—” another brutal thump thump thump, another strangled exhale, “over whatever—” gasping, and gasping, “you were trying,” Saya squealed, hands coming down to tug fruitlessly at Vil’s wrist as he drilled up into her over, and over, and over—“to say?”

She bucked against his grip and then Rook’s palm was slipping forward to press down hard just below her naval. And she could practically feel the tips of Vil’s fingers grinding up against the hand at her abdomen. Full, and tight, and so, so—

The hunter’s other hand dipped low between her legs to rub tight, focused circles against her clit and the winding, spring of heat in her gut just about snapped. Hard, and fast, and sudden. And then it was gone. Those crafty, wet fingers slipping away to stroke along her flank instead. Saya threw her head back against Rook’s shoulder with a whimpering gasp. She bit into her lip and pressed her fingers over her mouth in a bid to trap some of the horrible, embarrassing noises trying to sneak off her tongue. To trap the complaint, that she could feel bubbling up along with those awful, terrible mews. Because if she ever, in all her life, let a whiny, little ‘why did you stop?’ pass her lips, Rook Hunt would never let her live it down. Ever.

She breathed through her nose, counting slow and steady as she tried to drag her head back out of the clouds. And just when she thought she was settling that horrible, heat addled, fog into something manageable, the grinding started again and she squeaked.

“Wh-What are you—” she choked, twisting down against a third finger. A fourth.

“I know that normally you prefer a bit of a sting,” Vil said, and Saya was nodding along with the bubbles of that godawful potion before she could help herself. There was a twitch in Rook’s fingers along the dip of her spine, and she could feel his nails dig into the skin there like he couldn’t help himself. “But this is something new, darling. So it’s better safe than sorry, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t be sorry,” she blurted, and then cursed under her breath. “Probably.”

Vil chuckled, indulgent, against her cheek, and then curved his fingers in a way that had her seeing stars.

“Another time, perhaps,” he trilled, soft, and went back to scissoring back and forth. A steady, slippery grind to ease their way.

There was a curious hum at her shoulder and then Rook’s fingers were dancing back around to tap at Vil’s steadily rocking wrist.

“May I?”

Those heavily lined eyes narrowed for a moment, considering, and then he slowly shifted his hand to make room for Rook’s own, slipping two fingers aside to leave a soft, warm space between them.

“Carefully,” he warned, firm.

“Bien sûr, bien sûr!” Rook trilled, delving forward too fast, and too quick, and not in line with his sweet, little reassurance at all. Saya squeaked and clenched her thighs shut around his hand. Hips stuttering on the rapid thump, thump, thump of his knuckles meeting her folds. She arched away with a gasp, toes twisting in the sheets and head tossing back and forth in a tight, strangled little mewl.

“Slower,” Vil snapped, and Rook sighed like an unrepentant child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Yes, yes. As you say, mon reine.”

The brutal pace grew more tempered, more constrained, and Saya’s muscles slowly eased out of their rigid arch. Vil hummed, approving, and deftly began to twist his own fingers again in time with Rook’s enthusiastic exploration.

“Angle yourself a bit more towards the front. And a touch to the right,” he coached, and then there was familiar pressure against a tight, far too sensitive part of her that had Saya keening. “Ah. That’s it then.”

“Merci, merci, Roi de Poison,” Rook beamed, “for your marvelous guidance, as always.”

“Please, just—” she begged, twisting and bucking against the mess of hands between her legs. Because she couldn’t—it was all—there was so much—and— “It’s fine. I’m ready. Please. Can you just—”

There was a sharp pinch at her hip that had her whining and flinching away.

“Don’t rush me, kitten,” Vil chastised. “You know the rules.”

“Of course I do,” Saya snapped, more of those same, terrible truths popping along her tongue like fizz off a soft drink. “And breaking them is the only thing that gets you to actually fuck me nine out of ten times. So of course I—"

Another wicked sting at the inside of her thigh, and Saya yelped.

“My, you are an unruly, little thing aren’t you, favori?” Rook cooed, nails raking up and down her pale skin like he wanted to etch those stark, red lines into her flesh like a tattoo. “Your darling Queen adores you so much, and this is how you repay him?” There was a near-feral, hungry spark in those emerald eyes that had her trembling. And suddenly Saya felt very much like a rabbit trapped between the jaws of a cackling fox. A feisty, smirking predator who just wanted any excuse to chase, and pounce, and bite—

“Enough, Rook.”

 Another sigh, long and lamenting. And Saya shivered against a fresh wave of goosebumps.

Vil hooked a finger beneath her chin and pulled her forward into a slow, syrupy kiss. His tongue traced steadily along hers, lining her teeth, pricking her canines, twining round and round until she was easing back against him with a soft sigh.

“There you are, kitten” he hummed, pulling back with a thin, sticky trail of saliva—keeping close enough that it didn’t have quite enough stretch to snap and break between them. He cupped her cheeks between his palms and Saya did her best to ignore the stripe of thick, slippery wetness that rubbed along her skin. “I think we’ve teased you enough for one night, don’t you?”

She nodded, still a bit too shivery and teary-eyed. Trembling like a leaf in the wind. And Vil leaned forward with a sweet coo to offer her another kiss.

“Do you still want this, darling?”

Another nod. One that she probably would have offered even without a Truth Potion coursing through her veins. Because, yes. It was a lot. But—but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? And Rook was still a bit, well, himself. And Saya still felt like he was two steps away from sinking his teeth into her throat and never letting go. But she trusted Vil to stay the Hunter’s hand—to keep them both in line. So she twisted her fingers through his own, finely manicured ones and leaned forward to press a soft, tremulous kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“There’s my good girl,” Vil hummed, an indulgent, little smile curling his red lips. “Now, how to best go about this…”

Manicured fingers rose to clasp firmly along the line of her shoulders, and then Vil was easing her back flat against the mattress. Her head landed with a soft ‘thump’ against Rook’s thighs, and immediately the hunter’s hands were curling into the loose waves of her hair, raking his nails along her scalp until she was shivering all over again. Vil slid his palms down along her sides to cup under her rear and raise her hips off the pooling, silk sheets. One curved further along her lower back to keep her aloft, and the other ran down her legs one at a time, hooking one calf around his waist and then the other.

He shifted forward on his knees until he was looming over her and ducked down to press another deep, breath-stealing kiss into her lips. And then he was rocking forward and slipping in slow and smooth. Saya whined against his mouth and he nipped softly at lower her lip in reprimand.

“Relax, kitten.”

She whined again and tried to shift her hips to better accommodate the familiar stretch, but Vil dug his fingers into her side to keep her firmly in place, tapping one, painted nail against the dip in her waist like a reprimand. She stilled under that firm grip all at once and Rook trilled something enthusiastic and saccharine sweet in her ear.

“Si bien entraîné,” he cooed, peppering kisses all along the curve of her jaw, up her cheek, along the bridge of her nose. “Si adorable,” another wave of pecks along her forehead. “Tu le prends si bien, favori.”

Saya scrunched her nose beneath the endless press of fluttering lips, ticklish, and Rook laughed—bright and fond. He leaned in closer to run the broad flat of his tongue along her lips instead and Saya fought a complaint, because that would just open her mouth up to the rest of him. And going by the spark darkening that emerald leer of his, that was exactly what he was hoping for.

Vil shooed the hunter away with an exasperated wave of his hand and shifted his palms back along the dip in her spine.

“Up, darling.”

He rolled back onto his knees and Saya shifted obediently alongside him—letting herself be swooped up from the long, lean sprawl and into his lap. She wobbled a bit and dug her teeth into her lip to focus on keeping her balance. It was an odd sort of position. Normally when Vil settled her in his lap, she was flush with his thighs. Pressed core to core so that he could grind her down along his length and whisper terrible things into her ear that made her melt. Now, she was situated far further up—sticky clit bumping against the firm muscles of his stomach and thighs shivering into an arch. Like trying to hold a rising trot on a horse.  

Vil ran a soothing hand up and down her trembling sides.

“Good girl, doing so lovely for us” he hummed, pressing her closer and encouraging her to grind low, slow circles against his abdomen. Saya fought a shiver and bit her lip harder. “Stay just like this, hmm?”

She nodded, jittery but determined, and he smiled indulgently against her throat.

Amethyst eyes flashed towards their guest and Vil dipped his chin—an order. And then Rook was draping himself along her back once more, hands curling around to knead and pinch along her chest like he couldn’t help himself. Squeezing handfuls of soft, squishy flesh between his palms, rolling pink peaks between his fingers in sharp, overenthusiastic twists, and panting near-indiscernible obscenities into her neck all the while. Vil shuffled them around until they were situated to his liking, smacking at Rook’s limbs whenever the hunter tried to readjust himself or slip too close too soon. Two sets of hands dug themselves into her hips, and Saya could feel the hot, blunt press of Rook at her back like a brand. He sighed, whimsical, against her shoulders and rutted short, aborted thrusts against her rear—leaving smears of tacky, warm precum in his wake like a signature. Saya could feel it cooling in sticky trails all along her skin, but Rook seemed more than merry with the idea of letting it pool there, thick and messy, until they were stuck together at the hip from it.

She was still pressed up at that awkward angle, still rubbing those soft, wet, maddening circles right where Vil had told her to. And even though her thighs were really starting to ache, Saya realized oh. Like this, Rook could drive right up into her, couldn’t he? They both could. And then, after she was wrapped up between them like a lock and key, they would be able to pass her back and forth so easily, and—

Vil rocked up into her in one quick, sharp thrust and Saya’s attention was immediately snapping back to him on a high-pitched keen.   

“Focus, kitten,” he chastised. “Just for this part, at the very least. So that we can make sure everything’s going the way it should. And,” he pressed, flicking at her nose, “because you will be telling us if anything hurts. Understood?”

The potion popped in her mouth with a vengeance, and she found herself pouting, “But I like when it—"

Vil nipped at her lips to stop the words in their tracks, but Rook was already gasping delightedly in her ear.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he chuffed, amused.

The House Warden propped his chin against her shoulder to press a wet, lingering kiss beneath her ear. And with his teeth still scraping against her skin, he canted his head back to shoot Rook the coldest, sharpest look she’d ever seen him level at the hunter in their bed.

“She’s small,” Vil said, like a warning. But there was something else there too, underlying. Something curling, and dark, and possessive that Saya wasn’t really sure what to make of. “So you need to be careful.”

She couldn’t see Rook’s reaction from over her shoulder, but whatever stare down they were locked in felt like it dragged on for an age. And then, finally, Vil was relaxing against her with a nod and drawing the both of them back into the little cradle of limbs he’d so deftly constructed.  

“Go on then,” he ordered, in the same, haughty tone he might use for making demands of an unruly student. “She’s waiting.”

“A crime I shall never be able to repent for,” Rook crooned, and then dug his fingers along Saya’s hips until she was carefully arching away from Vil’s with a soft hiss.

It was a bit of an awkward balancing act at first—trying to keep herself from tipping too far forward or too far back. To keep Vil between her legs without slipping off entirely while also bowing her spine enough to give Rook the access he needed. He panted along her shoulder, biting and licking as he went in a way that made her think of rabbits and predators all over again. She could feel the steady, blunt pressure of him as he rocked forward bit by bit. Careful, just like Vil had demanded he be. Saya shifted against the strain in her legs and gave a tentative swivel of her hips, trying to coax him into seating himself deeper. And, naturally, Vil was there in an instant to nip admonishingly at her throat and tighten his grip until she kept herself still once more.

“Be patient, kitten.”

I am being patient, she wanted to whine back, but in that moment, Rook hit a point where the resistance seemed to give way all at once, and she was sliding all the way down against the both of them with a noise like the air had been knocked straight out of her lungs.

Vil groaned, low and punched out, against her neck, and Rook hissed from behind his teeth.

“Si serrée,” he gasped, hips rabbiting up fast—once, twice—like he couldn’t help himself, and Vil snapped something under his breath that Saya was too out of her wits to make sense of. Because it was so, so much. So tight, and hot, and the pressure was just, so, so—

She panted around them and dug her nails into Vil’s shoulders hard, hard, hard. He didn’t even flinch.

“Alright?” he asked after a moment, mouthing gently at the hollow below her collarbone as he glanced up at her from beneath heavy lashes.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, jerkily, dizzily.

“Nothing painful?” he coaxed, and Saya shook her head until her hair was flying around her cheeks. The pressure and the tight, tight, tight, tight of it was almost too much to bear. Teetering precariously along that ledge of ‘too much.’ But it was also so, so good—

“It feels—”

“Go on,” Rook teased, voice a bit tremulous and breathy, and she could feel the words slither along the shell of her ear. Vil shushed him sharply and then pressed another encouraging kiss to her throat.

“Don’t mind him, darling. When you’re ready.”

“It’s nice?” she managed to choke out, when Vil shifted a bit at her front and it sent a tidal wave of all sorts of unfamiliar pressure through the rest of her. Lovely, and full, and different, and—

“Ah, avez-vous entendu que, mon reine?” the hunter tutted. “We are but ‘nice.’ That doesn’t sound like much of a resounding success, no?”

“No,” Vil hummed on a wry sort of agreement that sounded like nothing but trouble. He shifted again, giving an experimental rut of his hips as he did so that had all three of them shivering on a moan. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. How unfortunate.”

“Very nice?” Saya spluttered out frantically.

“Oh, come now!” Rook mewed, and she could feel his fingers reaching around to dig into her hips and gently begin to pull her down. “Surely we can do better than that, mon reine.”

“Surely,” he echoed, gaze flitting pointedly over her shoulder to whatever expression was curling over their guest’s face. Vil’s eyes narrowed again, but that swimming, dark something from before was absent. Now, it just looked like a challenge. Saya could feel Rook’s smile widen against her cheek. “Keep to my rhythm,” Vil demanded, giving another sharp, deep, push that had Saya dipping back on a gasp. Rook chirped in delight.

“I will, as always, endeavor to follow your lead in all things, mon reine,” he trilled, letting his own hips jump forward in response. It was too hard, too quick, and Saya yelped when the force of it nearly toppled her out of both of their laps.

“Rook.”

“Apologies, apologies,” the hunter cooed, giving another, gentler thrust. “I was too eager, I’m afraid.”

Vil huffed under his breath and then started up his own, measured grind. He twined his fingers along Saya’s hips and pulled her down at each upward press. Meeting his thrusts in time so that they struck long, and deep, and hard along all the familiar, sensitive places that he knew far too well. It took a moment for Rook to match it—to push in as Vil eased out. To rut just hard enough to have her whining and gasping but not squeaking in discomfort. And Saya was dying. The press of the two of them was so, so much. She felt out of her skin—like her pulse was a match to the pressures in her belly and those alone. She raked her nails down Vil’s back until he was hissing with it and Rook trilled in delight.

“Next time,” he sighed, dreamy, and stuttered on a thrust. “Ah, la merveille de sentir tes griffes dans ma peau,” he crooned. He bit at her throat, hard, and Saya choked on a squeak. “What I wouldn’t give—”

“Focus, Rook,” Vil snorted, reaching a hand down between them to rub tight circles against Saya’s clit until she was shivering.

“Ah, désolé, désolé,” the Vice Warden chirped, and then drove up hard enough to nearly send her sprawling all over again. But this time he kept his fingers firm around her waist, hauling her down against the pair of them just as sharply. And Saya keened.

Vil didn’t even bother to chastise him this time, his own head falling back on a startled grunt at the tight, tight heat—his hips catching on the slick drag of it and nearly tugging him under. He dug his fingers in alongside Rook’s and pulled her down harsher. Until Saya was hiccupping on every thrust and panting desperate, whiny sentiments against his shoulder. That curling, clawing warmth in her gut spiraled higher, and Vil’s eyes caught on hers like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“Almost there, kitten?” he breathed against her cheek, wet and fast. “We do have an audience this, time, don’t we?” he cooed, pupils pulsing so wide and blown that they nearly swallowed the amethyst there in its entirety. “So we’re going to have to make it count.”

And then his fingers were working over her clit in earnest and Saya squealed.

“Vil—”

“Louder.”

She gulped, nearly choking on air, and that potion bubbled in her veins like a promise.

“Vil.”

“Can’t hear you, darling.” Which was absolutely rich, coming for the man currently pushing words past his throat like he trying not to gasp for breath. Like every other sound coming out of him wasn’t some airy, punched-out groan.

“Vil—"

“You can do better than that, kitten.”

Saya’s very rightful complaint broke into a squawk when Rook drove up harder. When the two of them met in the middle in perfect sync—in a perfect, terrible pressure that was far too much. And she wanted to scream, and scream, and—

“That’s it, darling.”

Saya wailed, tucking herself tight against Vil’s chest like she could crawl inside him if she pushed hard enough. That she could live there forever alongside the staccato thump thump thump of his heart at her front, and Rook’s at her back, and—

The spring snapped and Saya was tumbling over the edge all at once. Rook moaned, low and long, from over her shoulder and Vil cursed under his breath. Both sets of hips stuttered at the tight, tight clench and then, as she was still trembling, and panting, and seeing stars, Vil groaned and released deep inside her in a familiar, wet, wave of heat. Rook followed not a moment after, sighing, and gasping, and pushing forward as far as he could go.

It took a long, long time for her to come down. And even after that, Saya was still shaking, and shivery, and far too oversensitive. Rook shifted at her back—still tucked up as deep inside as he could manage. Still wet, and warm, and heavy—and she winced at the tender sting of it. Vil’s lips traced a soft, sweet pattern against her temple, murmuring reassurances that she still wasn’t quite in the right mind to make sense of, and then he was gently easing her off the both of them and back down towards the sheets. Carefully, carefully. Saya’s thighs throbbed, and then the rest of her gave an answering, sore flinch. All the way down to the core of her. She was sticky, and aching, and there was a pool of white, tacky, wetness cooling between her legs that she could feel trailing down, down, down. She shifted with another flinch, hoping to take some of the pressure off her hips, and Vil’s hands reached down to slot a pillow beneath her lower back.

“There you are, darling,” Vil hummed, tucking her gently between the pair of them so she could curl up into his side, mess be damned. Rook draped himself delicately along her back, rubbing circles into the bruises by her hips and cooing soft, low sentiments into her hair. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

Saya grumbled something drunkenly incoherent into his chest and Vil chuffed in amusement against her flushed cheeks.

“Une prestation magistrale,” Rook encouraged, still a bit warbly, a bit breathless, and licked a long, lazy line over the sweat beading along her skin. “Truly, I have never witnessed such perfection in human form, mon coeur.”

Saya’s head lolled forward on another, soft hiccup and she snuggled in tighter—embarrassed. Limbs loose and shivering.

Vil’s hand trailed up and down her arm in slow, measured strokes.

“Too much?” he coaxed, concerned, and Saya managed to shake her head until he was laughing at her under his breath. “Ah. Just enough then, I suppose.”

She took a moment to just breathe—to take in the familiar scents of Vil’s lingering cologne, the soft, floral breeze of his shampoo, the lavender musk that was just him. And overlaid amidst all that cozy comfort was the smell of cypress and pine. Of ozone, and leather, and sprawling forests. Saya scrunched her nose nervously against Vil’s collarbone for a moment, taking in another few, deep breaths to steady herself. And then she turned back onto her side, wincing all the while. The hands at her hips faltered, and with careful, cautious movements, she managed to flop all the way over without squeaking even once.

Saya peeked up at Rook from beneath her golden lashes, nervous. And then slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Uhm…” she spluttered, quickly averting her gaze and ears going pink in chagrin. Despite how innocent it was in comparison to all the things that they’d just done—what they’d done to her. “…Thank you.”

And then she was ducking back into the safety of Vil’s arms far too quickly, wheezing in discomfort when it tugged at muscles she didn’t even know could ache. She burrowed back into his chest with a sniffly little whine that was far too teary for her pride to admit, and Vil was immediately back to cooing and carding his fingers through her hair.

The House Warden smiled into her mused locks for a moment longer before letting his sharp gaze dart back to the hunter sprawled out beside them.

Rook had a hand delicately raised to his cheek, as if he could trace the imprint of Saya’s kiss with his fingertips alone. His green eyes had gone wide with surprise, and there was a strange, curling, spark blooming in them that Vil knew far too well.

“Oh,” Rook whispered, sounding choked. Like his heart had grown enough to swell past the cage of his chest, to press hard and welcoming against his airway like it couldn’t help itself. Ready to steal the last breath it could. Ready to take it willingly.  

Vil snorted into Saya’s hair and let her press herself in an exhausted puddle along his side, right where she was always meant to be. He closed his eyes, feeling the pleasant, sore twinges in his own muscles as he settled back against the pillows. A moment passed in silence, and then another. And then, predictably, Vil could hear the soft shft of Rook slipping closer along the mattress—feel the dip along Saya’s hips as the hunter draped himself over her back like a cloak.

Saya stiffened for a moment in surprise, but then was slipping back into sleep between one, soft breath and the next. Vil tucked himself against her nape and felt the brush of Rook’s hands as he reached forward to clutch at the teeny, shivering blonde between them like a lifeline. Vil sighed again and let himself be lulled into a dreamless doze alongside her.

They could discuss the future another time. 

.

.

[sporesgalaxy]

I’ve thought about it some more and I want to rephrase: the specific thing about the way Dungeon Meshi handles gender and autism that makes me bonkers is the blunt way the author states the differences between Laios and Falin’s treatment by the world. If Falin had been the one to try and carve out a space for the both of them, she would have been dismissed at best. But Laios was the one to try that, and for the crime of being a big autistic man, he was beaten for it. Many- most, even- aspects of this world and the real world favor men, when a gender or presentation is favored. Misogyny is extremely present in so many of our lives. But it is naive to pretend that there are no downsides to being seen as a man, especially one of color, or one that’s not neurotypical, or any number of things. Falin faces unique struggles as an autistic woman, usually internal, and usually to do with the social pressures placed on her to be seen as nothing but agreeable. But Laios faces unique struggles as an autistic man, like getting the shit kicked out of him or punched in the face or having people plot to kill him.

I’m super not trying to say that either has it better. Facing conflict because you are incapable of not presenting as exactly the kind of person you are isn’t inherently worse or better than being unable to present at all, trapped within yourself. But the way it’s presented in Dungeon Meshi is fascinating to me.

Ok so first of all I want you to know I GET IT. I HAVE SEEN HOW BAD IT CAN SUCK FOR AUTISTIC MEN IN A LOUD AND OPEN AND PHYSICAL WAY and how NO ONE FUCKING DOES ANYTHING ABOUT IT because Guys Are Supposed To Be Tough and You Should Just Stop Acting Weird And Having Feelings and all that bullshit!!!!!!! I watched that happen to someone very close to me over the course of My Whole Childhood. It's fucking dismal and it makes me really happy to see a character like Laios where those struggles are front and center.

BUT! I also want to point out that your wording here, altho it is not your intention to belittle Falin's suffering, makes it seem like her/typical autistic women's suffering is wholly immaterial. Which is NOT true. It's not that Falin's emotional suffering is equal to Laios' physical suffering, it's that their autism/neurodivergence makes them both vulnerable to physical AND emotional abuse, but in different ways because of gendered social dynamics.

•••

(Quick aside: non-autistic men and women both experience physical as well as emotional abuse because of their percieved gender as well, btw. Yes, men get priveleges, but patriarchy harms them, too. You know what, this video discussing the strengths and weaknesses of The Barbie Movie actually explains it really really well. Anyways, back to the main point.)

Due to the different gendered social expectations placed on men and women, yes, men are more likely to escalate social conflict to physically fighting each other. But the same way that doesn't mean that there's NO emotionally abusive aspect to men's social punishment for being too different, the fact that women are expected to use emotionally abusive tactics to address social conflict does NOT mean that there is no physically abusive aspect to the ways that autistic women are mistreated.

The same way Laios' inability to hide his autistic traits puts him at risk for both getting the shit beaten out of him AND being lied to for purely social reasons, Falin's coping strategy of being agreeable puts her at risk for being shunned emotionally AND enduring physical harassment.

If Falin had tried to actively & forcefully carve out a place for herself and Laios in the world, dismissal is NOT the worst that could have happened to her. What Falin's childhood experience being subjected to folk rituals by her mother and rejection from the town REALLY shows us is that, if Falin was TOO unnacceptable to the people around her it would have become someone else's responsibility to "fix" or "cure" her. Her parents', or a doctor's, or a betrothed.

I'll try to find it later, but in one of the bonus comics where we learn more about the Touden sibs' relationships to their parents, one of the things we learn is that their mother tried to "treat" Falin's magical abilities using a variety of ineffective folk cures. Their mother felt pressured to do this by the townspeople's very negative response to Falin's magical abilities, which along with their father seeking advice from a Gnome, proves that the threat against Falin was not completely in Laios' head.

Falin says she saw this as quality time with her mother, but...I mean, girls with unhealthy relationships to their bodies often see childhood dieting and clothes shopping with their mothers as quality time, even if that "quality time" instilled in them a deep-seated belief that they should mistreat their bodies and view themselves as objects to be consumed. Just because Falin thinks of it as quality time now does NOT mean that there was no damage done.

In a world where her social and fiscal autonomy are already highly limited, Falin's physical autonomy is threatened by her neurodivergence, just in a more roundabout way than Laios' is.

[mulloey]

innocents • yunho

it’s easy to forget you’re his prisoner

warnings: criminal!yunho, mentioned sex trafficking (but it’s in the context of him Not doing it), mentioned murder, reader is held against her will but nothing is done to her without consent, her shitty boyfriend pimped her out kind of and yunho’s not about that but he is Not a good dude in this, dom yunho, implied drugging (alcohol), implied physical punishment, other than the *implications* this is actually pretty tame. also san is yunho’s goon lol

this doesn’t represent yunho, ateez or my perception of them in any way. don’t like, don’t read:) please comment if you enjoyed!

—————

The first time you met Yunho, you were a payment. Your stupid, doofus boyfriend, thinking he was tough and smart enough to survive a life of crime, had gotten in too deep with the wrong people and found himself with a bounty on his head, pursued across the country until he was finally cornered in a dodgy part of Seoul. Dragged unceremoniously to Yunho’s office, he’d realised quickly who he was dealing with, and what was about to happen to him, and in a moment of desperation had offered you up instead. “Take my girlfriend,” he’d begged. “She’s at my house and she’s beautiful, you can have her. Just please don’t kill me.” And Yunho, disgusted that your boyfriend would offer you up like cattle but intrigued by the thought of you, had sent one of his men to pick you up.

You knew what your boyfriend had gotten involved with and you knew how spineless he was, so you weren’t surprised to see an armed man in your doorway, telling you to come with him if you wanted your boyfriend to live. You were more annoyed than anything else, but as much as you hated your boyfriend for selling you out like this, you didn’t want him to die, certainly not in the slow, painful way the man in your doorway had so graphically promised. So you followed, allowing yourself to be brought to a sprawling property on the other side of the city. When you were dragged into Yunho’s office, your coward of a boyfriend wouldn’t even meet your eye. But there was one person who couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The tall, dangerous looking man behind the desk.

He looked you up and down for a moment, ordering his man to turn you around so he could see the back of you, before nodding. “I accept your offer,” he told your boyfriend. “Leave her with me and don’t ever return to Korea, and I’ll wipe your debts and set you free. Understood?”

And without a moment's hesitation, your boyfriend agreed, thanking Yunho profusely for his generosity — for taking her instead of me. You could have attacked him if you weren’t surrounded by armed henchmen, but you were realising now that this pathetic little man wasn’t worth any more of your energy. So you let him scurry away with your back turned, eyes cast downwards to the floor.

The room was silent for a moment, tension in the air, until Yunho spoke. “If you’re wondering what I’m going to do to you, don’t worry,” he said. “I sell things, not people. Not women, at least. You’ll be safe here with me.”

You nodded, not really convinced before he ordered you closer to him. You shuffled forwards, as slow as you could before one of his men shoved you so hard you stumbled, landing on the solid wood of the desk.”

“San, you fucking idiot,” Yunho snapped, standing from his chair and rounding the desk to help you up. You looked you up and down and, satisfied you weren’t hurt, released his grip on you. “Your boyfriend’s lucky you’re such a beauty,” he said. “And so are you. Cus he’s not being fed to dogs right now, and I’m going to take much better care of you than he did.”

For some reason, maybe the sting and annoyance of the idiotic betrayal you’d just suffered, you believed him. Yunho would take care of you. He’d keep you safe. And you’d never be bounty again.

True to his word, Yunho was for the most part perfectly respectful. He didn’t touch or try anything with you without your permission, and he made certain none of his men did either, as made abundantly clear your second month under his care, when a low level fighter had cornered and felt you up, and Yunho, upon hearing about it, had summoned him to his office and, without a word, shot him between the eyes with his own gun.

The only time Yunho wasn’t so nice to you was the few attempts you’d made to escape. As much as he respected you as a person, he’d forgiven a lot of transgressions and missed out on an awful lot of money to have you, and he wasn’t going to let you go. And in the months (you think, time moves strangely in Yunho’s house) you’d been in his possession, he had by his own admission, developed feelings that gave him another reason to want to keep you with him.

After a few failed escape attempts and quite severe reprisals, he’d settled on another way to keep you pliant. With your previous boyfriend you’d gotten heavily into alcohol and as Yunho quickly realised, supplying you with it was a good way to keep you happy and obedient. And to keep you safe by his side, anything that worked was worth it.

You’re a few drinks deep when he comes into your room, taking a seat on your bed, eyes on you. You’re at your desk and facing him, fiddling absentmindedly with an empty glass.

“Come here.”

You feel dizzy, and not just because of the alcohol. You see the small knife in his hand, dwarfed by his massive palms. You know what those palms can do to you. You’ve tried everything to avoid finding out about the knife.

“Are you going to cut me?” You try to sound as afraid as possible, knowing it softens him — not because he feels bad for scaring you, but because he likes it. You’re such a good girl, he’d say, being so afraid of me. He thinks it’s sweet. It makes him happy. And you like when he’s happy.

His face is blank. “Why would I cut you?”

“The knife.”

His gaze flickers to it, then back to you. “Ah,” he says, smiling slightly. “This isn’t for you.”

“Did you hurt someone?” You ask softly.

“I’m going to,” he says. He puts the knife down on the bed, behind his back where you can’t see it. But now you know it’s there and you guess that was his intention. Your time with this man has taught you that nothing, nothing he does is an accident. “Come here.”

His tone is harder now, on the edge of anger. Since becoming his prisoner, as he hates when you call yourself, you’ve learned that Yunho does not like repeating himself — a lesson that has been painfully delivered to you more times than either of you would like. Not wanting another, you scurry over to him, stopping short of settling on his lap, because he hasn’t said you can touch him, and you know not to do it without his permission. Nothing without permission.

He smiles, recognising your obedience and pats his lap. “Sit.”

You settle yourself in your lap, heart still racing slightly, but the feeling of his warm hands on the small of your back always calms you. He strokes up and down your back, humming softly with his gaze fixed on you. “Have you been good today?” He asks.

You nod. “I have. Thank you for the drinks.”

He hums, running his thumb across your plush lips. He pushes it in slightly, letting you suck at the tip while his other fingers stroke your cheek. “I wanted to check on you,” he says quietly, “before I leave. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you say, smiling softly.

He narrows his eyes, studying your face for any signs of dishonesty, but you know better than to lie to him. You know that in less than a second, the soft, gentle touches on your back could turn hard, crushing and striking, and it informs every choice you make with him. He nods, apparently satisfied that you’re telling the truth, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Good girl,” he breathes.

You smile at the praise, out of relief as much as happiness. You’ve learned quickly that Yunho is very, very good at concealing his true feelings — a necessary skill for someone of his profession — so you never bank on him being satisfied with your behaviour until he confirms it himself. But today he is satisfied, and it fills you with relief. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Yunho smiles at you and pushes his thumb back into your mouth. Focused on the feeling, you don’t notice his other hand move from the small of your back to the top of your leg. The feeling of his hand on the sensitive bare skin of your thigh makes you jolt and he tuts, tightening his grip slightly. “Still,” he orders gently.

He lets his hand wander further up your leg, into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close. Your breath hitches as his hand slowly approaches your most sensitive area. “Yunho,” you whisper, the desperation in your voice evident.

He smiles softly but shakes his head. “I don’t have time now, darling,” he says regretfully. “Just wanted to play with my baby a little before I go. Get her worked up and ready for when I’m back.”

The hand on your face moves to grip your thigh, holding you in place as the other pulls your tiny shorts to the side and presses a long finger into your hole. You gasp softly; it’s been a while since you’d started playing with Yunho like this, but you’ll never get used to his size, not just of his dick but of his entire body. Everything about him is large, strong, brimming with restrained power until he has a reason to unless it.

The finger reaches deep inside you, curling as he pushes another in. He starts to pump them slowly, quickly speeding up until you’re whining and squirming on his lap. A third soon joins and you almost choke. “Yunho,” you cry.

He hums, not acknowledging you further. You love when he plays with you like this, clinically and methodically pleasuring you but seeming indifferent to you or your reactions. He doesn’t care what sounds you make, how many times you come undone on his fingers. You’re his toy and he’ll play with you until he gets bored.

He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing in circles to drive you close to the edge. You’re babbling incoherently now, crying and gasping as he works you to your orgasm.

“Yunho,” you sob as his fingers speed up. “Yunho, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he says. He doesn’t look up at you, gaze still fixed in your gushing pussy.

You cry as you let yourself go, juices coating his entire hand. He chuckles at the sight, pumping his fingers a few more times before pulling them out, but you know that’s more due to his time constraints than any desire to show you mercy. Other than your worst misbehaviours, the only time Yunho shows the merciless, cruel side of himself with you is during sex. He’s in charge, and he loves the way you cower and come undone beneath him.

He holds you in his lap for a few more minutes, stroking your gently and whispering praises as you come down from your high, before he gets up, a sad look on his face. “I so wish I could stay, baby,” he says mournfully. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

“Me too,” you sigh. “Please don’t get hurt.

He tilts his head, lips twitching with an amused smile. “I never do that,” he says. “And I’m not fighting anyone tonight. Just teaching them a lesson. Be ready for me when I’m back, yeah?”

You nod and he smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips before picking up his knife and walking out of your room. You hear the lock click behind him, a reminder that as much as you love each other, you’re still his prisoner. But the ghosts of his touches on your skin make it so much sweeter.

—————

[lxmelle]

Gojo was once described by Gege as a “man of resignation”.

It is a facet of enlightenment - in which the concept of “non-attachment” is a big part of (attachment is viewed as the root of suffering).

We can interpret “resignation” in so many ways, as it explains so much about his immense capacity for love / acceptance, but also his tendency to... simply resign himself to an outcome / fate I guess - a form of passivity that can be either considered positive or negative, perhaps depending on outcome.

Going with the flow, neither chasing nor halting anything in particular with his immense might and potential. He swayed things to gently influence an outcome. Followed a designated path trying to rebuild the sorcerer world through being a teacher... which he couldn’t fully commit too either, because he had a role as a special grade who had to keep working.

That’s not to say he didn’t achieve anything - because of course he did. But nothing revolutionary. He said so himself to Geto: he didn’t see a point in it. There were just some things he didn’t think would change - someone else would replace the higher-ups.

And thus. Despite his massive strength, he never did ever manage to go all out. Perhaps this is symbolic of an inherently gentle/accepting nature? But there was indeed a monster inside him too - the one that thrived on the thrill of killing and defeating. It was a beast he seldom let out. It was a beast with a thirst.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll paraphrase: like a sprinter limited to go at 8kmph, like a singer who is only allowed to whisper her song, a painter unable to use any paints for their desired masterpiece - how dreadfully, painfully unfulfilling.

So of course it was FUN to have this final brawl with Sukuna - to give it his very best, especially when he also didn’t feel lonely anymore with a bunch of monsters he can pass the gauntlet (his body and his will) onto in the worst case scenario.

But of course Gojo doesn’t have the ability to predict the future, so how can anyone expect that he make decisions and judgements perfectly or accurately? All he can do is consider based on his own judgement. Alone. As the only other person who help him plug those holes in his judgement, Geto, had left him.

It is up to interpretation whether Geto was left behind first, but this really isn’t a competition or about assigning blame… because where do we even start?

One cannot hold Gojo totally accountable for things that happen around him or how others interpret his actions. He was born different to everyone else. Probably treated as if he had this role to fill where people had an idea of what they wanted or needed him to be, but never gave much thought over what it would feel like for him.

Gojo, Shoko, and those left behind have had to suffer the same resignation. After all: What else are you supposed to do but resign yourself, in the face of a reality where even to things you don’t wish to happen, have to happen? All you can do is what you can... and if you can, you wield it with all your might.

Geto tried it to the best of his ability.

He wasn’t Gojo, who could do it if he wanted to.

Understanding that Gojo wasn’t, and accepting that he (Geto) shouldn’t change that about him (Gojo), as he was likely more suited to be at the school - essentially following nanami’s words and “leaving it to him” as Gojo was in his element / thrived on it, but Geto couldn’t be complicit in the system that would lead them to watch their own kind die one by one — Geto left to follow his ideals.

Gojo was referred to as the only one who can take that curse into his own hands. I used to see it as “the only one to kill Geto” after he failed and almost lost his humanity for the sake of power (killing Yuta would go against his principles) but now it also has a new meaning: the only one who can take charge and pursue the ideals to actually change the world.

The curse is the sh*t that is in the world of sorcery in jjk. Gojo seemed to (imho) now feel the need to catch up and hold the reins this time.

It is the end of Resignation Man Gojo Satoru. The emergence of The Monster Gojo Satoru (who Geto assisted in helping Gojo keep at bay through being the “model of humanity” that Gojo could follow) who was then fully ready to take the stand. Like Geto on that stage.

Bye higher ups.

Before, despite his immense strength, he didn’t force his way through. Perhaps this was the outcome of having been forced to be born and live with no choice but to be the six eyes + limitless. You do not actually have freedom.

Unless, you’re willing to become a pariah. To wield these cards that were dealt to you and completely become the extraordinary.

And now, Yuta embraces the same resigned acceptance of becoming a monster. After all... only a few will be able and willing to turn into a Monster.

Out of love. A Monstrous love indeed.

Geto had monstrous motherhood in him. I guess this extends to others now too. To cast away humanity because nobody else will. Nobody else can. So they have to wield it. Become it.

Yuta represents both the old and new world... in some way, he is like Gojo and Geto combined... power / strength + sincerity / kindness. Of course, like the yin and yang, each half has a bit of the other in it - so Gojo and Geto had a combination of power and compassion, but they symbolically represent each,

Arguably, had Geto someone else by his side, things may have been different.

All of this mess… ugh.

It didn’t have to come to this, right? Nor did it have to be the extermination of humans, but it could’ve been a collaboration of the special grades (Yuki, Gojo, Geto) all trying to solve the 3 different factors to the problem: humans as the origin of curses (research), the old-fashioned higher ups + clans, and the elimination of the curses. There may be others, but you get my gist.

But alas, this is the jjk world.

Just some thoughts, I’ll end it here before it’s more word vom.

[ssplague]

Chapter Four

Mature 

Masterlist

Warnings: A/B/O themes, soulmates, mating, sex, manipulation, power and control.

Oh how can one’s feelings

spin a tale so profound? 

For only true love shall

Determine whether darkness 

Or light shall abound?

You were now queen of an earthland kingdom, you were married to the Dragon King, a mere princess no more

                                                                                                          ✨          👑          ✨

“Gods for the millionth time, I’m fine! Why are you two so worried about this all of the sudden?!” Bakugou snapped, slouching further in his high backed chair.

It made him angry that he’d had to leave you like he did just to meet with these two old geezers! That combined with their repeat line of questioning had him growing increasingly furious. 

“Now more than ever are your draconian instincts going to need regulating Katsuki, you can’t run the risk of letting them get the better of you, if you get upset and do something irresponsible like shifting accidentally, your wife could be in real danger” Jeanist reminds the soon to be king. It was frustrating for a decorated general like himself having to tip toe around the truth. A surprise shift pales in comparison to what those “in the know” truly feared happening. Both himself and Aizawa had made a promise to Midnight that they would advise Bakugou to the best of their abilities in order to keep tragedy from befalling the Royal family once more. If they fail, then what would remain of the kingdom would forever be condemned to suffer, and surely the young King’s soul would be eternally damned.

“You’re sure she’s your true mate? What does your dragon feel about her? If we’re satisfied with its response then we’ll dismiss you for tonight” Aizawa offers, yawning loudly before focusing on the young monarch. Closing his eyes, it’s easy for Katsuki to call forth his dragon and it needs no prodding to talk about you; “I knew she was mine as soon as I laid eyes on her, her scent puts the most expensive perfumes to shame, I’m growing restless, what importance are these stupid human customs when it comes to claiming my mate? I want to kill anyone that looks at her with lust in their eyes, and crush the skull of anyone harboring perverse thoughts about my goddess, she’s mine and im going to make sure she knows it, 

y/n…my greatest treasure”.

“You harbor no ill will towards the lunarian princess? You do not despise the light that radiates from her pure heart?” Jeanist asks, studying the king’s form for any hint the dragon is thinking of uttering a false hood. “Dragon’s protect their mates, our love knows no bounds, our love is eternal, and unconditional…unlike you human’s” snarls the beast. “That’s good enough for now” Aizawa states, signaling for the king’s consciousness to return.

With a fierce display of teeth Bakugou returns, “There, are you geezers happy now?”.

“For now…but I think we should meet once more the morning of the wedding, and weekly after that” Aizawa says, looking at Jeanist for his approval. “I agree, just as a per caution-“ the finely dressed dressed man adds, only to be cut off by a furious snarl. 

“I’m getting real fucking sick of you two insinuating I’m some loose cannon that would bring harm to my woman!” The irate blonde shouts, banging his sparking fist on the table “Ever since I returned home and told you guys about her you’ve been acting weird, is there something going on that I don’t know about?!”.

Both of the older men give each other a side eye, which only proceeds to agitate the temper-mental man further. 

“For years I’ve respected you both for your knowledge and strength, that’s why you became my trusted advisors in the first place! That aside, I’ll tell you one last thing…” the dragon king gets to his feet, leaning forward on the sturdy oak table “If I find out either one of you has been keeping information from me, are aware of any conspiring, privy to any plot against my marriage or that could possibly bring harm to my wife…I will execute you myself…understand?”.

Crimson irises are alight with fury as they stare down the two men. Neither one of them display any emotion as they reply in unison;“Understood, your majesty”.

“Good, this meeting is fucking adjured…Tell the old hag I’m retiring for the evening” with that, the soon to be king storms out of the room, red cape billowing behind him.

Mate is safe, she’s here where she belongs, that’s all that matters…forget their words, the Thoughts and feelings of humans mean nothing when it comes to the bonding between dragons.

With a heavy sigh, Katsuki can’t help but agree.

The day before the wedding has you bombarded with last minute preparations non stop. You’d stood for nearly two hours as the capital’s best seamstress, accompanied by her assistant, took your measurements and quite literally crafted a dress (made from your ideal choice in fabrics) by magic. Naturally everything happening was seen under Queen Mitsuki’s watchful eye. Which allowed the two of you time to bond, the stories of her time as ruler had you looking at her with stars in your eyes. This woman was not to be trifled with; She was a warrior unlike any other, going as far as to ripping out the heart of an enemy general who had attempted to over throw her rule. You weren’t entirely sure how old she was, since it’s rude to ask (but dragons do live extremely long lives), she looked to be in her late twenties, and her mannerisms were every bit as youthful as her outward appearance.

“My son is lucky that the goddess has granted him such a perfect bride, and myself such a wonderful daughter” the older woman says as she marvels at your appearance in the finished wedding gown.

Examining yourself in every angle from the surrounding mirrors you can’t help but be delighted. You finally felt like you were coming into your own as a future queen, not just the daughter of the moon goddess.

As the day wound to a close you were finally dismissed from wedding preparations! Completely worn out, you couldn’t be happier to finally sit down for dinner. A table had been placed in your room to make things easier for the maids helping you get dressed tomorrow. A small spread of food rests atop it, along with four place settings for yourself and the three individuals you insisted dine with you.

“I don’t understand where Katsuki could have run off to, he’s been gone all day…I didn’t even get to see him off this morning, he left before I woke up” you glumly inform your new friends. Serro and Denki took Kirishima’s place in guarding you, as his majesty had apparently needed the bulky redhead for something. “You most likely won’t see him until the wedding your highness, he had plenty of his own preparations to see to” explains Serro. “You gotta tell us your secret on how you deal with him y/n, he’s been so weirdly calm ever since you came to stay” Denki states, tearing his bread roll in half.

“Well I hope to continue keeping the peace around here in the future, I’ll do my best….unfortunately I have no special secret, or method that I use on him” you reply with your usual polite smile in place.

“Not even your “womanly wiles”? Ow! I was joking Mina geez” the electric blonde cries, rubbing the knot on his head.

“Do you want to get executed? You idiot! You are talking to the new queen, if his majesty hears that kind of talk happening around her you are dead!” The pinkette scolds.

“I swear I won’t tell! We’re all friends here, right? No telling the king anything that won’t hurt him!” You exclaim nervously, “That was a hard hit you delivered Mina, how does a hand maiden know anything about hand to hand combat?”. The two men begin to snicker at your question, hiding behind their hands as the pinkette glares at them. “Actually y/n…I have a confession to make…I’m not a hand maiden, I’m the second in command of his majesty’s royal guard” Mina admits, giving you a bow and a wink.

“Wait…what?! Oh no! How rude of me to have been thinking you were my assistant this whole time! Oh goddess, what must you think of my ignorance” you fret, the other three watch you with amused smiles. “You didn’t treat me badly y/n! We’re friends remeber?” Mina asks, using your earlier words against you. “Yes, we are…we’re all friends! Regardless of station, you’re all my precious new friends” you say with a nod, dazzling smile back in place. The rest of the meal was uneventful, your guards tease you about tomorrow’s festivities until it’s time for you to turn in. The two males take their places outside your door, while Mina stays to brush out your hair. Once you bid her good night and get into bed you already know it’s pointless. Your mind and body are abuzz with excitement and anxiety, sleep won’t be coming so easily. Moonlight peeks in through the cracks in the curtains, you sit up noticing the soft glow growing brighter, the shadows shrink back as if they were being burned, the air in the room began to shimmer.

Without any warning a gorgeous woman materializes at the foot of your bed. Her long silver hair sparkles, her deep blue eyes twinkle, she wastes no time in coming to hold you close to her chest. “My sweet girl, so far from home…about to become Queen of this foreign land…my how you’ve grown up so much in such a short time” her voice is as beautiful as the sound of wind chimes in a summer breeze. “Are you proud of me? I’ve finally found my way” you ask, nuzzling into her embrace.

“I am always proud of you, that will never change” Selene responded, holding her princess tightly. 

“I wish you could have met Katsuki before the wedding, I know it all seemed so rushed but words can’t describe how he makes me feel…It’s just right, I know it is” your words are rushed as you try to get everything out in one breath. This makes the moon goddess chuckle, your bottom lip begins to poke out.

“What makes you think I haven’t met him, hm?”

The question hangs in the small space between the two of you.

She motions for you to scoot over and she brings her legs up to rest atop your bed. Her hand begins to caress the top of your head once you’ve gotten comfortable with it laying in her lap. “How? When?” You ask, blinking up at her in adorable confusion. “The first time was about a year ago…the last was around six months ago” Selene says thoughtfully, “Before you get angry at him for not telling you, I used my power and swore him to secrecy, he couldn’t have told you if he wanted to”.

Just as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off;

“That story can wait until another day, you need to rest, tomorrow is an exciting day, your mind needs to be focused on the present”.

“You’ll be here tomorrow? From the time I wake up?” You ask as your eyes begin to grow heavy.

“After you get dressed I’ll come to see you, but I want to be seated well before the ceremony begins so I don’t take away any attention from you, we’ll have time to talk afterwards, good night my love” as soon as her words reach your ears you fall asleep.

“Your majesty”

You’re suddenly roused from the most peaceful slumber you’ve had in ages. 

“Princess, it’s time to wake up”

“Mm awake…jus need a minute” you murmur groggily, yawning and rubbing your eyes. 

“We prepared a light breakfast for you your highness, it’s on the table” says a maid to your left.

“Would you mind if we applied some oils to your hair while you eat? That way once you finish, it will be ready to wash out before you get in the bath” says the maid to your right, who places a robe over your night gown.

“Whatever you guys need to do is fine, let me know however I can help make this easier on you” you replied, shuffling over to the table that had a single plate amongst a number of other items. Unwrapping the silk scarf from your hair both maids lightly brush out your strands and set to work applying the conditioning mixture. It doesn’t take long to finish your toast, handful of grapes and swig down the cup of tea that made up your breakfast.

The same two maids usher you into the bathroom and you’re immediately reminded of that first day with Mina and Momo. Only you aren’t nearly as shy when you allow these women to exfoliate your entire body and scrub all your cracks and crevices. It was during that time each of them gave you their names.

“You have such a lovely complexion, it’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before!” Hakagure croons as she and Tsu finish drying you off. “Is it true you come from the moon, princess?” The green dress the dark haired woman wears reminds you of a frog’s skin. Especially with the off putting way her tongue seems to peek from between her lips on occasion. “Yes, that’s where I was born…” you replied, hesitating to disclose any more private information to these two women. So you skirt around any further personal questions, just replying politely to mundane small talk as they got you ready. Mina stuck her head in to check on you a little while later, and immediately took over the task of styling your hair. Demoting Tsu to polishing your now sharpened nails as she did so. Momo entered shortly after that greeting you and giving congratulations before handing you a silk bag.

“Ooooh let me see!” Mina squeals as you examine the contents. Reaching in you grabbed out what appeared to be a scrap of lace, confusion had you looking further into the bag and upon further inspection your face burns with embarrassment.

“You‘ll change into them after the ceremony!” Ponytail assured you “Those things are for his majesty’s eyes only, so don’t feel embarrassed”. The pinkette snickers, waggling the hair brush at you, “I’ll help you put them on 

y/n don’t worry!”. The other two women laughed along with her while Momo berated them for such childish behavior. The memories of having the king pressed up against you the other night immediiiately came to mind.

“Treasure…”

Just remembering the way he sounded growling in your ear as he ground into you against the wall. It had a flush crawling up from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. “I need to tell you guys something…so I can ask some questions…and I hate how this will sound so commanding…” purposefully using the repeat pause between words to build up the nerve you needed, your eyes briefly close. When they reopen any flicker of insecurity or hesitation was absent, the e/c irises now sparkling with confidence,

“As your soon to be Queen I demand that any part of this conversation is not repeated outside of this room, is that clear?”.

A cheerful chorus of “Yes, your highness” comes from each of the women helping you get ready.

A relieved sigh allows you to relax against the high backed chair you occupy, “I’ve never had any sort of intimate encounter with anyone, let alone anyone of draconian descent sooooo…What exactly am I supposed to do? How will our um…how will he? Oh goddess you lot know what I mean right?!”. So much for the cool, calm, collected persona you’d channeled seconds ago.

MoMo clears her throat in attempt to hide her embarrassment, “Ahem, well my lady if I may, since you are looking for pointers on how to go about consummation-“

“Bite him!” Mina interrupted.

“Scratch and growl at him!” Hagakure exclaims.

“Stroke his ego” Tsu offers.

“Ladies please!” Momo shouts, the other three are still tittering with laughter as she clears her throat once more “Now as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, when it comes to consummation in our culture”.

Now that her mediative hour had concluded Midnight gets to her feet, stretching her limbs to combat the soreness from being stationary for so long. Extinguishing the incense she’d been burning, the dark haired woman moved across the room to push back the heavy drapes and throw open the large floor to ceiling windows. Inhaling a large breath of fresh air, she savored the taste of spring on her tongue. The oracle was optimistic, her cheery disposition had been favorable as of late. Eyeing the dark purple slip and black robes she planned to wear for the days festivities, she began to get ready.

Only for a sharp rap on her door to interrupt, her cheeks puff out in frustration as she hurried to answer it. The two men on the other side don’t wait to exchange pleasantries as she allows them entry.

“How did your talk with his majesty go?” 

The difference between the two men was always similar to that of night and day. Today however, it could be considered comical; With Jeanist in his perfectly pressed dark blue General dress robes adorned with shining silver metals, matching cuff links sparkling brilliantly. Standing tall beside Aizawa in his black Dress robes with a few obvious wrinkles but equally decorated with badges of honor, his tattered scarf ever present around his neck. The latter speaks first; “The king was more on edge than usual, I’d chalk that up to pre wedding jitters, the beast-“.

His companion is quick to take over the explanation, “The dragon gave the same answers as we reported the other night, I detected no treachery or malicious intent, to be honest it seemed preoccupied…possibly a bit bored”.

“So it’s thoughts were elsewhere? Where might that be, my lord?” asks Midnight from behind her changing stands, an airy chuckle reaching their ears. “I hardly think it’s up for discussion if there was no indication of hostility towards the Princess” Jeanist replied in a clipped tone, but professional as always. Stepping out in her new outfit, the oracle grabs a black ribbon off her vanity and moves towards the dark haired man. 

“Since you will be amongst the audience you’ll get a chance to see the two of them interact, we can rehash our individual thoughts after the ceremony concludes” Aizawa says with an annoyed huff as Midnight pulls his hair back, tying the ribbon around his messy locks.

“I agree with that, now which of you is escorting me?” Her violet eyes fluttering as she smiles at the men, even though she knows the answer.

Jeanist opens the door, gesturing for the Oracle and Advisor to go ahead of him. “Don’t forget to lock it!” The woman calls as she tosses a key towards the sharp dressed man. Heeding her request, Jeanist shakes his head as Midnight’s patronizing giggles echo down the hallway.

“Are you nervous?”

The question comes from one of the two older women sitting behind you. It was strange to see Selene and Mitsuki enjoying a cup of tea together in this setting.

Both beautiful in their own right, two powerful women, one a queen of this earth land kingdom, and the other a queen residing over the moon that oversees this blue planet from the heavens above. It was the moon goddess herself that had made an offhand suggestion that perhaps Mitsuki would be able to trace her lineage back to the warrior queen of Mars. They both chuckled at this, and watching their exchange you can’t help but wonder if there just might be truth to her claim.

Seeing them get along so well made you feel at ease.

“A little” you admit, examining your reflection in the mirror for the umpteenth time “But listening to your banter has made it easier to relax, you two seem more like old friends rather than two women who just met the morning of their children’s wedding”. Both women looked towards each other before looking back at you with smiles on their faces. Almost like they knew something you weren’t aware of.

“Maybe Goddess Selene will bless us mere mortals with her presence more often now that you’re here” Mitsuki’s voice had a slight teasing tone about it, and you could swear your mother had the slightest flush to her cheeks.

“Careful what you wish for, what if you were to grow tired of my constant intrusions? Then I’d have to give you twelve years of bad luck” Selene replies, as quick witted as ever, yet her tone held no malice.

“Mother!” You squeaked, shocked she would even joke about such a thing. The two older women laughed at your reaction. 

“Well I suppose I should go check in on Katsuki, I haven’t seen him yet today” the blonde woman says as she gets to her feet.

“You haven’t seen him at all?” You ask confused.

“That boy is a nightmare to deal with when he’s preparing for an important event, one could hardly blame me for preferring the company of two lovely celestial ladies over the company of my foul mouthed brat” she replies, patting you on the back as she walks past. Only to pause at the door and glance back at Selene, “I’ll meet you in the foyer in fourty-five minutes?” She asks.

Your mother nods and the two of them hold eye contact for a few seconds before the blonde woman leaves the two of you alone.

“How long have you known?” 

The question is sudden and quiet.

The goddess sighed before answering your question,

“After you fell asleep last night she came to your room and sought me out, I just found out”. You merely nod in response, now wasn’t the time to confront her about it.

“You look so beautiful, I’m happy that you followed your own path, I raised a perfect young woman” Selene comes to stand behind you, wrapping an arm around you.

The both of your reflections smiled in the mirror, “Oh no! I forgot to ask you-“ your sudden exclamation was hushed by your mother “I have it”. The shimmering piece of selenite appeared in your hand, it was crafted into a perfect crescent shape, a small gold hoop stuck through the top. “Thank you momma” you gushed happily “It’s perfect”. “I have one more thing to give you” she replied, moving towards your dresser. She brought back a small stone box with a large moon on the lid, ancient inscriptions were carved in on all sides proving its age. 

“This belonged to my great grandmother, and now it’s yours” 

The handsome (albeit grumpy) king readjusted the gold chain and fang necklaces around his neck for the umpteenth time. An annoyed growl rips from his throat as he takes the smaller few off. Looking back In the mirror he nods, now sporting only the largest golden chain and his newest piece made from the fangs of the ancient dragon he’d slayed recently. The Royal jeweler had just delivered it this morning, along with a few other pieces that Bakugou had also requested be made.

“Very impressive your majesty” Kirishima says with a flash of his own fanged smile. The red head and three other members of the king’s personal guard lean against the wall of Bakugou’s bedroom closest to the door. Just the five of them occupied the room, the servants that had tried assisting the temperamental Royal at getting ready had vacated the premises a long time ago.

“Looking a little nervous my king” Kaminari says offhandedly.

“Not getting cold feet are you?” Serro is quick to add, both men smirking at the king’s now obviously ruffled feathers.

Katsuki whirls around on them with clenched teeth and fire alight in his eyes, and just as he opens his mouth to begin a ferocious tirade, the bedroom door opens.

“You clean up well brat” Queen Mitsuki teases her son as she enters the room “Would you four give us a moment, it’s about time for you to take your places”.

A chorus of “Yes your majesty” comes from the four knights as they single file out of the room.

“Here it is, the day of my first and only son’s wedding…The day you will become king in more than just words, this land will be not just your’s to rule but your Queen’s as well” the blonde woman comes to stand before her son, “I know your father is proud of you, and I am just as proud of the man that you have become Katsuki”. The way his mother wraps her arms around him comes as a surprise to the king, he is still quick to return her hug just as tight, mumbling a soft “Love ya mom”. When the two of them separated the older woman dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, “Don’t you dare hold this against me, I’m probably going to be bawling more than once today”.

“Wouldn’t dream of it hag”

“So much for a sentimental moment between mother and son, you brat”.

“My lady, it’s time” the voice of a servant alerted you. Taking one last look at your reflection, the glittering tiara atop your head fills you with new confidence. The magic that flowed through your veins even seemed to be amplifying thanks to the treasured heirloom. You had to walk yourself down the aisle, which would mean that every eye will be focused solely on you. Remembering that you are a representation of the lunarian kingdom, you were sure to stand tall and proud, walking with the utmost grace. Exiting the open door, a beautiful burgundy rug has been laid out over the grass, leading down the sloping palace grounds, between the many rows of occupied seats. Excited whispers began as everyone turned to watch you walking down the aisle.

“Absolutely stunning!”

“Is she really from the moon?”

“How beautiful our new queen is!”

The compliments only made you more reassured in your self-confidence. You look towards where the rug ends, seeing steps leading up a raised platform and your heart skipped a beat. The Dragon King stands waiting for you in all his glory; His usual fur lined cape is draped over his shoulders, tribal ink snaking up his impressive biceps, that unintentionally flex as his arms are crossed in front of his chest. The golden chain around his neck glitters, drawing your attention to the second necklace he wore made up of black beads and large jagged teeth. Somehow you manage to keep yourself from hurrying forward. Each step you take is slow, and meaningful and once you finally reach the bottom step Katsuki reaches a hand out to you. Which you take and return his firm grip with a squeeze, allowing yourself to be led up the remaining few steps. He resembles something like a demigod, with the way his blonde hair shines in the sunlight, surrounding his head similar to the halo of an angel. Both of you smile as you take in the appearance of one another, quick to become lost in each other’s eyes. The priest clears his throat and it puts an end to the stupor you two were seemingly caught up in.

“Today marks a momentous event that will forever change history; A bridge between heaven and earth, the joining of celestial and terran, the blessed union between our Dragon King and the Lunarian princess” the elderly man says, pausing to allow the applause and cheering of the crowd. It was nice to see the few hundred or so people seated in chairs closest to the raised platform, but it was astounding to see all of the hundreds if not thousands of people, along with magical creatures, crowded in to the castle grounds. Those that didn’t fit were seated atop the heads of dragons, enabling them to watch the ceremony despite being behind the protective walls.

Turning your head away from the crowd, the squeeze of the grip on your hands has your eyes flitting upwards. Looking into Katsuki’s eyes was like being swept up in a harsh current. The priests words were immediately garbled nonsense, you were drowning in a sea of red. The veil over your face fluttered in the wind, and the king says something aloud. 

The smile he gives you has you feeling weak in the knees.

“Princess Y/n”

The sound of your title has you standing at attention, listening to the priest’s words intently;

“Do you take King Bakugou Katsuki as your husband? To have and hold through good times and bad? To stand beside him and rule this country to the best of your ability as a queen and wife?”.

“I do and I shall” you replied confidently, squeezing the large hands holding your own.

“Then by the power invested in me, witnessed by all that are here, I now pronounce you husband and wife” as soon as the words were said the veil was lifted from your face and Katsuki was kissing you. The kiss was deep and breath stealing, you could feel the desire and happiness in it. Cheers had broken out all around the courtyard, the roars and shouts echoing from all around the kingdom. Just as your lungs began to burn from lack of air did the kiss finally end.

“I now present your new King and Queen!” Announces the priest, holding his arms open as he declares this to the crowd.

The events that followed all happened in such a rapid procession, it felt like you were wrapped up in a sort of whirlwind.

You remember receiving hugs from both Mitsuki and your mother, but after that it was just a bunch of congratulations, well wishes, and handshakes from a variety of strangers. It was only once you were ushered back into your bedroom that you could take a moment to breathe. Sitting down on the soft bed everything had started to sink in; You were now queen of an earthland kingdom, you were married to the Dragon King, a mere princess no more. Speaking of which, you hadn’t gotten a single moment with your husband, the kiss at the altar was the only one you’d gotten thus far. He hadn’t said a word while you two were being bombarded by the gathering well wishers. You hadn’t even been able to give him your present…

Fishing the selenite out from your cleavage, you sighed. Without warning the door of the room burst open and in came Mina and Momo.

The latter holding three champagne flutes, while the former clutched a half empty bottle.

“Congratulations y/n!” The pinkette cheered, hugging you happily.

Kicking the door shut behind her, the dark haired woman strides over gracefully, offering you one of the flutes, “How about a toast before we help you get ready for your special night?”. “Ah yes! That would be lovely” you smile, taking the glass as you get to your feet.

“To our new queen, and beloved friend y/n! May your marriage be happy and the fires stemming from undying love as well as passion never extinguish!” Mina exclaims and the three of you clink glasses.

Laughter proceeds only after you’d each drained your respective glass, along with Momo giving Mina a hard time about her ridiculous toast.

True to her word, Mina had indeed helped you Into the garments from that silk bag.

You couldn’t bare the embarrassment as you peeked at your reflection in the full body mirror. The two women had made sure to bathe you throughly once again. “The king won’t react well to anyone else’s scents on you during your bonding” Momo had explained, as you gave her glove covered hands a strange look.

They rubbed you down with a slightly vanilla scented, shimmering body oil (Apparently it was close to your natural scent, according to Mina). Now you were standing in the middle of your room skin glittering, clad in what was essentially scraps of silk, with dragon scale accents that hid your nipples and pussy (barely). Just as you were downing another glass of champagne, the girls pulled a thin, floor length black cloak over your shoulders. Making sure it was secured before placing a cape over your shoulders. “A gift from the King” you had been told. The outside fabric was thick and white while the inside was a black velvet, and a black fur made up the collar. It was almost just like the one your husband always wore. Your helpers made sure everything was fastened to keep any of your unmentionables from slipping out.

Just as they both stood back to admire you, a loud knock could be heard on the door. “You’re all set! You look lovely your majesty” Momo smiles. “Remember everything I told you! Especially that last bit! Just relax It’s going to be great, no worries!” Mina reminds you cheerfully as the two of them accompany you out of the door.

Kirishima was standing there waiting to escort you with his usual smile in place, he offers you his arm. Taking hold of it, the knight begins to usher you down the hall, both ladies cheering until you rounded the corner. “You look very nice my lady” the red head compliments, keeping his eyes forward but still smiling all the same. “Thank you…” you appreciate the compliment but the nervousness you felt grew with each step forward.

Finally reaching the end of the hallway, its down a short staircase and the knight opens a door for you. Another exit from the castle you weren’t aware of. The breeze is gentle, and stars are beginning to twinkle in the twilight sky. You see your mother and Mitsuki talking to Katsuki, who immediately looks towards you as you walk across the grass. His intense gaze has your face heating up, and if both your mothers weren’t standing there he probably would have pounced on you. Once you come to stand beside the three of them your king takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it “Ready to go?”. The spot his lips touched sends tingles throughout your body, all you can do is nod in reply. “You two have fun” Mitsuki says while pulling you into a hug.

“Mother, I thought you and I-“

Selene interrupts you before giving a hug of her own, “Plenty of time for that when the two of you return, enjoy this special time with your husband”.

You don’t have time to argue due to the sudden appearance of a familiar red dragon waiting just a few feet away. Bakugou bids your mothers goodbye and scoops you up bridal style. He doesn’t set you down once the two of you are seated, you stay in his lap as Kirishima takes flight. Katsuki groans as takes in your scent, nipping and kissing the sensitive flesh “Been waiting for this moment all day, could hardly wait to get my hands on you”. One of his hands slips beneath the cloak to run up your bare legs. Your toes curl as he squeezes one of your thick thighs, he doesn’t miss a beat when engaging you in another passionate lip lock. Your fingers lightly caress his cheeks before running them down to his pecs.

Your tongue tangles with his when you finally feel yourself slicking up.

The wetness between your thighs reminds you that a thin string is the only thing there to catch any drips, and you’d rather not leave a wet spot on your new husband’s pant leg.

Breaking the kiss, you rest your forehead against his as you catch your breath. “My king…I’m sorry if I may not act like a proper lady tonight, I hope that come sunrise you won’t hold any of my actions against me” You say with a sigh, moving your head back to properly look him in the eye. A blonde brow is raised before a sinister smile appears on the king’s handsome face, “oho is that a challenge or a threat? my queen”. Your eyes catch sight of the slivers of sharp canines in his mouth, and your gaze lingers on them as you quietly reply, “It’s neither…I just don’t exactly feel like my usual self right now, not to say I’m someone else but my feelings are unfamiliar and overwhelming”.

Gently you reach for one of his hands and guide it towards your chest, laying it over your heart.

A sudden shyness comes over you, and looking up at him with innocent eyes you enquire, “Do you feel it?”.

Unbeknownst to you, Katsuki had been able to hear the pitter patter of your heart this entire time.

How adorable, it’s just like a bunny that’s been cornered by a hungry wolf

He can’t help but agree, his hold on you becomes impossibly tighter.

Eliminating any space between your bodies, he cradles the back of your head in a large palm. Guiding you to rest it in between his neck and shoulder. “S’normal to be nervous treasure, because after tonight you will be a different person” your king presses a kiss to your forehead “Just relax for now, it won’t be much longer until we arrive”. Something inside of you feels as though Katsuki’s voice has this underlying nefarious tone to it. An abrupt shiver shoots down your spine, in attempts to soak in the natural warmth that radiates off his skin you’re quickly wrapping your arms around your lover.

The wind is always a bit cooler at night, especially at this altitude. That explains where these continuous chills are coming from.

Right?

A/N: Something I didn’t call attention to at the end of last chapter; If you read the prophecy laid out in the prologue, and compare it to the version that Izuku reads during the flight in chapter 3 you’ll notice quite a big difference! Just to explain that in case anybody didn’t catch onto it; Only a few people in the kingdom were made aware of the complete prophecy that Midnight spoke of. There was a heavily censored version that was put out to the kingdom’s general public and it’s regarded in a celebratory way. So much so, the people turned it into a nursery rhyme song for children. This is because they remain ignorant to the other half of it. The version they know only speaks of the king finding love and that the kingdom will in turn be blessed and forever remain prosperous.I felt this was important for me to explain, just so nobody is thinking “This bitch is so dumb she can’t even remember words that she wrote three chapters prior 🙄”.I would hope none of you think that negatively of me 😅 It sure doesn’t seem that way but just Incase! ❤️‍🔥 So any thoughts or theories as to what’s going on or going to happen?

Thank you all for every like, share, comment and follow! 

Honorable mentions 💌

@lalachanya  @mrsmelaninhood 

@whatdidshesayyy @faemagic88

@viridianhero  @alishii @rv19 

@maggiecc @crazy-eight17 @nnubee @nemisimp @yesitsmewhataboutit 

[finleyforevermore]

Vent with religious themes, themes of trauma, suicide, assault, abuse, murder, and depression under the cut. Please, I beg of you, do not read if you are sensitive to any of these topics. Thank you.

Dear God (no, for real this time),

If what has happened in my personal life during this month/late last month has told me anything, it's that either:

A.) you are real and are just very bad at your job

or B.) you AREN'T and I've been praying to a wall for most of my existence

If A is the truth, I've got some words for you. Since you see all or whatever the fuck.

I've questioned your existence many times but I think this year is just it for me. Because looking back on it, you've done nothing of use for me or family this year.

I'd already been pretty committed to seeing things realistically but you letting Radio be taken away from me was the kicker I guess.

Radio/Simon, or @5ampuppetshow for those who aren't aware is currently inactive because its mom found their Tumblr and is now monitoring him. I don't know if/when he'll be back.

You really expect me to believe that YOU, the Almighty, allowed two of my dear friends to be taken away from me a month between each other?? Emory's (@wantmeifyouwantme) parents found his account and now I've lost my virtual big brother, and now you've allowed Simon to be taken away from me.

But why stop at just that? No no we've gotta allow 99% of some of the greatest people I've ever met to be traumatized, suicidal, have low self-esteem, or depressed. Because isn't that delightful? Isn't it so fucking wonderful to have people you love so much be traumatized and suffer beyond belief and lead the boy who has nothing but pure love for them to have many a breakdown over this? /sar

My mom and nana watch these crappy videos from "prophets" talking about "the end" and how everything and everyone is secretly wicked and selling their souls to the devil.

Well riddle me this, Big Guy Upstairs. Where the fuck were you to send me a vision or a sign that Liam was going to fucking kill himself? Where were you to send my friends a prophecy before their Tumblrs were taken away from them? Where were you to stop my friends from being assaulted? Where were you to stop my friends from being abused? Where were you to stop 99% of my friends from having such horrible, unbelievably terrifying trauma? Where were you to stop George Floyd's murder? Or Nex Benedict's? Or Ryan Gainer's? Where are you right fucking now to stop the ruthless murders taking place daily in Palestine? Where were you to stop my mother from marrying my father and save her from 14 years of torture? Where were you when my mom got breast cancer (she's cured now, her doctors were amazing)? Where were you when my father was born? You smited firstborn children in Egypt, you couldn't have killed my father?

My father will remain the worst man I've ever known and will ever know. But putting religion and other beings into the equation, that spot goes right to you.

For my entire life you have done nothing for me. You've done nothing for my family. You've done nothing for my friends. You've shown me utter indifference my entire life.

With every fiber of my being, I hate you.

See you in Hell, I guess,

Finley

[justlostintheinternet]

HERE IS MY RAMBLING CONCERNING TMAGP 17

Spoilers under the cut of course

Disclaimer: I spent 2 hours on this post making theories up as I went. It's probably not making sense in some ways but at this point I just want to finish it because even if it was fun to write I'm kind of too tired of it to reread it for typos and everything. Please feel free to point out things that do not make sence and make your own theories (I love reading them and will probably reply but I'm just done at the moment), but I won't change anything on this post because I don't want to spend another 2 hours or more theorising.

Okay so there a lot happening in this episode... Let's talk about Today's "Protagonist" statement, Darrien.

Statement and Research assessment for candidate PD553 Magnus Institute – Oxford Outreach Centre. Private and confidential. Viability as subject – low Viability as agent – low Viability as catalyst – low Recommend continued incarceration as part of Welling Mutare Materia research program.

The Magnus institute makes a comeback ! In this document, Darrien is said to be a candidate, not a patient, not a suspect, a candidate.

And with it's viability on everything, I'm part of the people convinced TMAGP Magnus Institute served the same purpose as the Institute for TMA.

Viability as catalyst - For me, a catalyst would be the tipping point to send the world into an apocalypse, (so the equivalent of Jon/the Archivists).

Viability as agent – For the Agents, I think this would be more like the Assistants in TMA. Here to "help" the catalyst reach the goal of the Institute. Or also maybe something kind of similar to the Externals of the OIAR, to take care of "nuisances" Viability as subject – I'm a bit more lost considering the subjects. But it could perhaps be "Test subjects", in a trying artefacts and spooky powers on them way ? This is the one I'm less certain about.

One question I'm wondering, is the Magnus Institute still fully Eye aligned, perhaps being more controled by the Web, or since the fears have been said to be more muddled in TMAGP (Said by Jonny or Alex if I'm right), just wanting to bring the apocalypse without any perticular Fear getting more control ?

Coming back to Darrien.

He got caught, probably having Sharon tipping the institute off (With a Statement perhaps ? Having your violent boss mysterious half-brother/doppleganger killing him and taking his place would probably work as a statement)

I’ve lived Darien’s life for four years now. It wasn’t as hard as you’d think, turns out your world and mine are pretty similar.

The whole statement makes me think of the woman in TMA with Hill Top Road, who 'slipped' into another world.

And of course, of the person classifying this statement, our dear Celia.

The Case finishes and CELIA considers it for a moment. ALICE is sat nearby working with headphones on. CELIA (to computer) Thanks, I guess. Not exactly the same is it? ALICE (removing earbuds) What's up? Got a good one? CELIA Nothing useful. ALICE (returning earbuds) I mean when are they ever? CELIA True. Beat. She sighs. CELIA CONT. (to herself) True.

I have to admit first, one of the first thoughts that came to mind on the Celia situation after this episode was "She didn't kill her other self to steal her son and her place, right ?"

But, this part makes me think otherwise

Thanks, I guess. Not exactly the same is it?

Not exactly the same, so I'm more of the opinion that she relates more to the 'getting stuck in another world' part rather then the 'murdering your other self'.

The baby, Jack could have came from her pre-TMA apocalypse life, which could explain the lack of father (hard to ask for child support from a man you don't remember in another world (if she is the same Celia as in TMA, and don't even remember her own name, Id say it's not too far fetched that she might not remember a significant other), with the pregnancy perhaps having been halted from progressing by the domains, a cryptic pregnancy or just something that wasn't mentioned in the TMA episodes or more simply, it could be a one night stand that lead to nowhere in TMAGP world.

Now at this point, I think it's pretty safe to say that Celia came to work in the OIAR looking for information, on how she came to this world or the reason she seems to sleepwalk.

Talking about her sleepwalking accidents, she woke up next to an highway and on the tracks of a train. Now I wonder why whatever is trying to kill her by putting her in dangerous situations, because I don't think normal sleepwalking takes you to Oxford.

Writing this I realised the document mentionned Oxford Outreach Center as some kind of a branch of the Magnus Institute, and it's also mentioned as a place where the rich Darrien had gone to university.

So there the possibility that something is trying to kill her (perhaps because she doesn't belong in this world), but also she could be attracted to some kind of place ?

LOOKING BACK TO HILL TOP ROAD ON GOOGLE MAPS I REALISED THAT

1: It's located in Oxford

2: There is multiple universities around it

So she could be attracted to Hill Top Road because there might be some kind of pull to it for people from other universes. Because at this point I don't think her and Darrien are the only ones that ended up in another universe.

Anyway, there was a new receptionist behind the old front desk, some big, soft looking guy who stumbled over every word. A year ago, it would have probably wound me right up but what can I say? Therapy works. There was another patient too, some bookish-looking guy with serious city miles. I used to play the game “what are you in for” where I would pass the time guessing… well, you know. In my head he was definitely some kind of weird pervert, really into stroking orchids or something. Thinking back, I almost wonder if the same thing happened to them… Do you know? Would you even tell me if you did?

This feels a LOT like a red hearing, I can almost hear Jonny and Alex cackling knowing we would freak out about those descriptions. I want JonMart to be okay, but I think they could just be lookalikes of TMA Jmart. Or just alternate universe versions of Jon and Martin because i'm still dead set on the TMA Jon, Martin and Jonah are stuck in the putter theory.

If I'm following the dopplegangers we have here, Darrien ended up with his other self and killed him. Celia (aka probably TMA Lynne Hammond), couldn't remember her own name, so it could probably be difficult to track her TMAGP self (who would probably still be name Lynne since Celia only lost her name in the apocalypse) if she has one, suffer from sleepwalking that tries to kill her/bring her back to Hill Top Road.

Could something try to eliminate doppegangers so there is only one left in a universe ? And since Celia can't find TMAGP Lynne, something could try to make things "right" by killing one the double.

[its-your-mind]

okay well I know I said I wasn’t watching tonight and I’m STILL NOT but ALSO I did see pics of the new art and 1. I love it all so much they are all. Very pretty. Ashton and Dorian specifically did make me briefly black out. Friends you are going into the snow wtf are you doing but also don’t stop doing it holy SHIT I bet Orym just got a nosebleed as soon as he saw both of them anyways speaking of Orym 2. ORYM. MY BBY MY BOY. Two things. First I love the bluebells he’s growing bc that’s his DORIAN flower and that’s cute as fuck but SECOND AND MORE IMPORTANTLY he is growing!! His!! Hair!! Out!!!!!! Do you understand me???? It’s long enough to curl! It’s got enough weight to it to hang down over his face!!

(and you KNOW this was an intentional decision on the part of Liam “Caleb shaved his beard as soon as they got to xhorhas but let his red hair grow long and started to take care of it” O’Brien. He knows what he’s doing.)

I have been having so fucking many thoughts about Orym and his responsibility to his husband and dad and keyleth and his people and the hells and dorian and and and and. and I’m Not gonna be able to get them all into one post I think but Y’ALL. He is Intentionally ditching the military haircut. That’s the kinda haircut you gotta Maintain, ESPECIALLY if your hair curls (trust me — my undercut is on a Strict Schedule bc if I don’t shave it back every month or so it just becomes a field of curly-cues beneath my long hair). My boy Orym keep that cut Sharp and Precise for five years of wandering mostly alone. There hasn’t been any commanding officer telling him to cut it since he left home. But he kept doing it!!

I’m sure it was part routine, but it was absolutely also a connection to home and to the responsibility he had taken on, which we KNOW at its core was a responsibility to his husband and father. They were soldiers. So was he. They wouldn’t stop fighting. Neither would he.

And the Hells found the killer! Found out why the attack had happened! Reported it all back to keyleth, even! Orym did his duty - he hasn’t been an active air ashari soldier for a while now, even if his five years away counted as official business.

But he kept the military cut.

Until now.

Until after he had finally helped to kill the woman who had struck down the man he loved and the man who raised him.

Until after Dorian came back, only one day after Orym begged him, not because Orym needed his help, just because Orym needed him.

And so Orym wears his Ashari armor, is working to advance the world-preserving efforts of the Tempest, but he also lets his hair grow out, and he adorns himself in bluebells.

When Orym died on the end of Otohan’s blade, Will sent him back. Told him he wasn’t done.

Will wasn’t talking about a mission from the Tempest, or his own need to be avenged. Orym knew that then. He knows that now.

But Orym did still feel the responsibility to his family and to his people, to end the threat. And even though it was only a small part of a greater danger, it is still a threat neutralized. Now, there’s this freedom, this world of possibility that wasn’t there while Otohan was still alive.

And yes, things are horrible. They’ve all just lost a dear friend. It’s causing internal ruptures and dangers and it’s still possible the world will end soon. He’s made a lifelong deal with an Archhag. He’s still not sure what his responsibility is to the Tempest.

But Dorian’s here, now. Back by his side.

And Orym decides to let his hair grow out. Just this once. What the hells, right? Everything is changing. The world might end. Might as well see what kind of person he can grow into before he’s done.

[blacclotusss]

Do You Know What It Means to be Loved by Death?

My meta and analysis of my favorite scenes from IWTV s02e02

Louis and Claudia at the Cafe

Been a favorite of mine since the scene dropped way back in February. I've always loved Louis and Claudia moments where the two of them are just acting like the siblings they are. Claudia's question of who Louis is, I believe, implants something within him. Louis does dodge the question, of course, but I think we'll see what happens once he's without her. Now, the question is whether he will be without the hallucination of Lestat (I don't think so).

Claudia and Madeleine Meeting

Claudia and Madeleine's first meeting! Eep! There was more tension than I was expecting, but I liked the interaction. Claudia bursting in and demanding her wants is music to my ears.

Louis Cruising

Baby...I'm so glad Mr. du Lac is in Paris living it up and doing so freely. I do wish we could have seen him cruising more...explicitly; especially with the way Armand and Louis described their love lives. But, it's nice to know he was free and without judgement to do as he wanted.

Louis and Armand's First Meeting

Can we talk about legit love and first sight?! They're both so cute in this moment, it's the sweetest thing. The awkwardness of Louis against the smoothness of Armand meshed together beautifully. And the way the two looked at each other as they recounted the story was so magical. "I will not harm you" "And I never have." Such a tender moment and I hope and pray Armand has not hurt that man in any way, even indirectly. I can see it in the both of their faces that they wish to go back to that time, if only for a little while.

Introduction to the Theatre/Coven

I am such a sucker for all things camp and theater and this was both of those on steroids. The theatrics, the acting, the usage of both the projector and the blurred lines between real and fake was amazing. It felt like a show all on it's own. Louis and his facial expressions were hilarious and you can clearly tell it's not his thing, but Claudia wants to fully immerse herself in that. It was so sweet looking at how in awe and happy she was to see the production. Cannot wait to see her on the stage. I'm glad the show have each member of the coven a bit of backstory instead of just sticking them in the scene. We can already see on stage Santiago's personality and I'm intrigued with how he'll develop. I also noticed Armand seemed to be a bit distant when watching them interact. I believe he's already began to pivot his focus to Louis, which is confirmed in the murder mansion scene.

Lestat Reading His Letter to Louis

The only time we see Lestat in the episode and of course it's a tense moment. The first time we hear from de Lioncourt himself (will we have more of these moments?) and you can feel the tension and despair in the air. It probably made things worse for Louis for a couple of reasons. One, even in "death" Lestat, his first vampire love, loves and trusts him. "Know only this, mon cher, you are the only being I trust, and whom I love, above and beyond myself. All my love belongs to you. You are its keeper." That probably made Louis' heart swell. But, as much as it swelled, it hurt him beyond measure. The mention of treachery and seeking revenge probably made him feel as if he was choking. He knows he's the one that's going to have to let treachery eat away at him and let Lestat's face press up against his longing. I'm not sure if his hallucinations of him are longing, but the idea of killing him is still eating away at him.

Louis and Armand Toying with Daniel's Thoughts

Whew boy. This was a doozy, wasn't it? I was not expecting the flashback moment in that scene but I have a few theories. One: Armand is Alice. Yes, it's controversial but after this episode I don't think it's as far fetched as it was in season one. Armand popped up at that moment for a reason. And it's quite funny how no one has checked on the man, not even his daughters. I get strained relationships, but was it that bad? Now, I still don't fully believe this theory, but it's a thought. Another theory is that Armand's relationship with Daniel parallels his and Alice's. We don't know the full extent of what happened, but the two got divorced and no longer speak so it wasn't good. Third, Armand could have simply planted that in Daniel's head, which I think is the strongest one here. We all know Armand possesses the capabilities to do this and that flashback could have been him planting that in his mind. I saw someone say something about the editor messing with Daniel as well since they were the ones who pointed out flaws in his book (read by Louis in season one), which would be crazy, to say the least, because why?  And say what you want, that old bastard deserved it.

Murder Mansion Scene

Another scene I've been obsessed with since we saw it last year. These two are just lost in each other as there's a whole murder party happening behind them. I did like how protective Louis was of Claudia when Armand mentioned her (Armand please don't piss me off), but I hope he takes lessons from Maitre about shutting off his thoughts because that could definitely be his downfall.

[shveris]

rant about 261, spoilers, gojo character analysis ft. my bestie who doesn’t even know a lot abt jjk

imagine growing up in a family that almost works like a cult. and you are born with two rare abilities at the same time — the last person to have those spontaneously has passed 500 years ago. and your whole ass family/cult/clan treats you like just a weapon to be used in the greater scheme of things. you grow up with no friends, you only know pain and torture and sore muscles after training. but you’re the strongest. and the most loneliest because no one will ever understand you.

then you get into a school that promises to teach you even more, make you even stronger. you meet this one guy who seems to be like you — not the same but similar. suddenly you’re not alone anymore.

the second year of highschool approached, you have the best two friends by your side and they understand you, they support you, they have your back. your principal sends you on a mission with your best friend because you’re the strongest together. together.

everything goes well until it doesn’t, you get killed. you revive yourself. you kill your killer.

you carry the corpse of a girl you called your friend and almost lose it.

septemper 28th, your best friend massacres a village and leaves you his button as a silent love confession. they want you to kill him but you can’t, he’s your other half — he made you feel complete because all you knew your whole life was bitter and cold loneliness.

a decade passes, you’re grown up and still the strongest, you’re teaching at the school you lost your happiness at. one of the students you saved from being killed — by yourself — and he looks up at you with so much respect, it makes you wonder how you can protect the children under your care forever. you’ll certainly try your best.

your other half suddenly turns up and declares war. you remain mostly silent.

the fight was pure chaos but you find your way to him anyway — because you belong together. you tell him you love him. he laughs. you kill him. you can’t even burn his body.

another year passes, you’ve taken in another boy who ate curses like your dead best friend. they told you to kill him (a mere child) and you said no because you were always selfish. you were certain you could protect this boy until it was time to execute him for good. you just wanted him to have a chance at teenagehood, something you never had the chance to experience properly.

the days get colder and you get trapped. those eyes stare at you, your other half, who should be dead, as the prison closes around you. it reeks of death. you wait.

the second you get released, you teleport to his body. you want to kill whatever is using the corpse of that man but the body of the boy you saw as your own son stopped you.

on 24th of december you fight who was once your son and he kills you — cut in half, with a cleave so powerful it could shred the universe itself. but it was okay because when you opened your eyes, you saw your other half.

the first boy you protected and guided took over your corpse, using as what you were always meant to be: just a weapon.

no one seemed to care about a proper burial after you fought for your life just to save theirs; to protect them from any more harm so they could just be kids.

none of that mattered to them because everyone has always seen you as a weapon, except for your other half, sitting next to you in that empty airport.

i kinda just dropped this in his dms a few hours after the initial leaks. it’s actually pathetic how attached i am to a fictional character, the last time that happened was with oikawa and i was a hormonal teenager. i’m a whole ass adult now but still the same level of mentally ill and neurodivergent so guess that’s the perfect mix to make this happen

some more thoughts from our convo (i love him for trying to distract me):

[604to647]

Safest with You - Ch. 16 (The Matchup)

8.4K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din comes out of retirement for an unsanctioned boxing match.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Poe is Poe, light violence (non-graphic), boxing match physicality described (by someone who doesn't really know anything about boxing), some machismo and testosterone fueled talk, allusion to thigh riding, semi public sex, established relationship, oral (m receiving), light face fucking, unprotected PiV, recorded sex, panty gag, dirty talk, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, etc.), degradation (slut/whore; affectionate), Paz and Din each give reader a little boost/lift once, reader wears a dress.

A/N: Oof! The word count on this one really got away from me - mainly cause it got dirty as heck at the end 🫥 Hope the tension between the clans comes through even though this primarily devolved into filth🤞🏻 And if anyone is wondering, my hc for Al's attack command is "Dracarys" 🤭🤭 Dividers by the awesome @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist

(I think this is my favourite chapter I've written 🥹 It used to be The Drycleaner, now I think it's this one.)

“Pretty bird, everything will be okay.”

It seems like unretiring is all the rage these days.  First, with the amount of time Din’s been spending working with the Mandos to help contain the recent unrest, you basically consider him to have unofficially unretired. And now this: an unsanctioned boxing match.  You could kill Poe.

There had been a commotion brewing outside Mando’s when you approached with Al earlier this afternoon.  From a few blocks away, you saw two men facing off, speaking aggressively - the tension in their body language evident even from a distance.  Flanking each man were several others, posed to jump in if the confrontation went beyond words.  Once closer, you realized that one of the men having words was Poe and the people standing behind him were Paz and Din - the faces of all three men furrowed and serious.

Remembering what Paz had once said about how he and Din used to have to bail out Poe’s big mouth, you wonder if that’s what’s happening now.

When Din sees you, he takes out his phone and sends off a quick text: Go inside please, pretty bird.

You nod when you see the message and head straight for the side door entrance to Din’s place; you’ve almost got your key in the lock when you hear someone speak out, “Nice to see you again, sweetheart.”

You’re not sure where he came from, but you recognize the slimy sneer of one Gorga Hutt right away.  He’s walking towards you without any heed to the situation playing out only a few meters away; from the corner of your eye you see Din turn, ready to come and intervene, but you’ve got this.  You’ve just come from Peli’s and listened sympathetically as she ranted about the recent attack of vandalism on her shop, you were not in any mood to tolerate men who enjoyed attempting to intimidate a woman.  Whispering the trained command into your dog’s ear, you hold on tight to the leash as Alfredo goes absolutely bonkers, snarling and snapping his jaws while growling viciously.  The effect is instantaneous – Al’s booming barks silence whatever is happening between the men in front of the gym, and Gorga quickly rejoins them, forced to walk backwards as you advance, holding taut the leash that’s being pulled by your attacking dog.  When you step to Din’s side, you pull up and lean down to pet Al’s head, whispering the stop command he so perfectly learned; and just like that, Al stops barking and sits, the only noises from him are happy pants as he absorbs your praise and ear scratches.

Wordlessly, you give Din a kiss on the cheek and turn to go upstairs to the apartment like you had originally planned.  As you get to the front door you hear:

“If only Mando’s boxers had that kind of attack in the ring.”

“Fuck you.” 

Poe’s incredulous response is the last thing you hear before the door closes behind you.  Upstairs, heart still pounding, you focus on getting Al fresh water and giving him soothing pets to help him calm down.  The attack command was one that you had worked hard on with your trainer, but you rarely use it (if ever), because of the stress it puts the dog under.

Din enters the apartment half an hour later to find you and Al snugging on the sofa, your face buried in the soft neck scruff of your dog while he rests his snoozy head on yours. 

“Hey pretty bird, you and Al okay?”

“Mhhmmmm,” you mumble, face full of fur.  You feel the couch dip near your head as Din sits down and then you feel his big rough hands start to gently stroke your hair; you’re positive Al is getting the same treatment.  When you look up, you’re stunned to see that Din has the beginnings of a swollen lip and a little cut near the upper left corner of his mouth.

“Din!” you immediately sit up and scramble into his lap to check the rest of him over.

“I’m okay, baby, don’t worry.  This,” he points to his lip, “is friendly fire.  Courtesy of an overexcited Poe.”

“Geez Louise,” you shake your head, “but it ended with fists, whatever was going on downstairs?”

Sighing, Din leans back and presses the heel of his palms to his eyes, “As it often does when Poe gets feisty.”

Apparently, when Poe had pulled up to the gym today, he had spotted two lower-level Hutt family members milling around on the same block, seemingly doing nothing.  Tensions running high from the recent incidents of mischief, Poe had accused them of having less than innocent motives for hanging out where they were.  The shouting match escalated to where a few Mandos had come out from the gym to see what was happening and a few Hutts had driven up to back up their brethren.

Then, apparently, Poe had been likened to a chihuahua whose only useful purpose was to “use his yap” to summon his guard dogs, which had set off a string of verbal diatribes where Poe, defending his little chihuahua honour, had disparaged the physical prowess and effectiveness of the Hutt family’s own “dogs” and the lackluster success of their business ventures.  Being Poe, he needled in on the Hutt’s inability to produce any serious contenders on the boxing circuit recently, a known sore spot for the Hutts.  This led to a proverbial pissing contest where Hutt and Mando’s past and current fighters were compared, more insults were thrown, eventually escalating until the Hutts decided that they would very much like to demonstrate some of these fighting skills that they were being accused of lacking.

You had shown up and left right before things had gotten physical.

A short fisticuffs then ensued where the main challenge for Din and Paz had been holding Poe back and making sure he didn’t get beat; an errant swing from Poe when Din had pulled him away to avoid an incoming punch was responsible for Din’s swollen lip. 

By now, you’ve retrieved a little bag of ice and are holding it up to Din’s lip as he tells you how it all ended.  While still struggling in Paz’s arms, Poe had spit out a challenge: any fighter from Mando’s gym could take on the Hutt’s best fighter, weight class or fight experience be damned.  Gorga had sneered, ‘Any?’ before proposing a bout between the Hutt’s current top fighter and Din, knowing that it’s been years since Din fought professionally.  Caught up in his own pride and that of the Fetts and Mando’s, Poe had shook on it.

You’re in shock.  You don’t even know anything about the other fighter, but you can’t imagine it’s fair to pit someone who’s in the prime of their career against someone who hasn’t seen the inside of a competitive ring for years, no matter how good of a fighter they are. 

“How are you so calm about this?” you’re already filled with anxiety and worry.  Din takes the bag of ice from you and sets it aside, raising your hand to his lip, he gives your knuckles a few ginger kisses.

“Pretty bird, everything will be okay.  It’s a fight.  It’s nothing I haven’t done before.  I’ll train, I’ll fight, I’ll win.  Sure, it might be harder or different than it used to be, but I’ll train harder, fight harder, win harder.  My body knows how to do this.”

That’s true, you suppose.  Din’s in excellent shape, it’s not like his body’s been languid and idle; he’s not starting from square one, he just has to remind his body what it needs to do to win.  “Okay,” you breathe, “so we train.”  Din smiles and repeats back to you, “We train.”

And train he does.  Over the next several weeks, Din’s regimen is strict - his daytime work at the gym is replaced with physical training: cardio for endurance, weights for strength, sparring with each and every boxer at Mando’s to keep his technique on its toes.  He’s given some reprieve from any nighttime security duties so he can get the rest his body needs, and for this you’re infinitely grateful.

Sadly, you have to stop baking sweet treats for the gym, but instead, spend your time in the kitchen making high protein and carb-based meals to help Din bulk up and stay lean.  You bemoan whenever a little bit of his soft tummy disappears.  You and Al practically move in during this time so that Din stay focused, but mainly so you can take care of him; you suspected that with all the training and prep for the match, Din would neglect proper self care at the end of his tiring day.  After a long day of training, you make sure he takes long soothing baths to relax and soothe his overworked muscles, and not just short showers to get cleaned quickly.  When you start to notice that Din’s daytime showers are leaving his hair dry from the constant shampooing, you bring over your expensive salon-quality hair care products and condition his locks and massage in hair masks all while he lays in the steaming water, eyes closed with his head on your chest.  After you dry him off, Din grinning the entire time you very meticulously rub him down, you’ll wrap the towel low on his hips and shoo him to the bedroom with instructions to lay facedown on the bed.

Lathering him up in massage oil, you push and pull at the long lines of his muscles, working out the tension and kneading his knots, victorious when you feel him melt under your firm and loving touch.  You work your nimble fingers down the strong, corded muscles of his arms and the broad expanse of his back, paying extra attention to where his smooth skin dimples at the base of his spine.

You work diligently and attentively as you straddle his bare ass, and though your intentions are altruistic, inevitably, Din will feel your wetness even through the slippery oil you’ve massaged over his backside.  That’s when he’ll catch you off guard - flipping you over and pinning you beneath him with the weight of his body within the cage of his strong arms.

Some nights you’ll let him win, allowing him to smirk, “Your turn, pretty bird,” before giving him access to your body and letting him pull the most delicious orgasm from you with his talented mouth and fingers.  As a follow-up, he rails you face down into his mattress, leaving you crying and drooling as you come, fluttering around his cock before he paints your walls white.

Other nights, you’ll gently scold him before slowly rolling him back onto his front and climb back on top of him, continuing to massage his overworked body with your hands - pressing and warming his muscles under your skilled fingers as you grind yourself down on the back of his thigh until you come.  Then, and only then, will you let him roll onto his back, just so he can watch you sink your dripping wet cunt down onto his weeping cock and ride him until you both see stars.

The night of the fight finally arrives and you think you and Poe are more nervous than anyone else.  It’s not that you doubt Din’s skill or fighting prowess, you’re just anxious knowing there’s some Hutt in the building whose sole goal tonight is to beat the shit out of your boyfriend.  You’re in the back hallways of the venue where you first met Greef and Jimmy many months ago, but this time you’re the one who led people down the hall to meet the group.  Bea and Lala are here with you tonight, to cheer on Din of course, but mainly as your emotional support; they know how much this matchup has been stressing you out.  Thankfully, as you watch Greef and Din laughing with Jimmy and Paz, and all the Mandos getting hyped for the fight, you find yourself getting swept up in their enthusiasm.

When the time comes for you to go to your seats, you sidle up to Din and gentle pull him away from the group so you can have a little privacy. 

“I’m proud of you, baby,” you whisper, lifting up on your tip toes while you pull him down with gentle hands around his neck.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Din closes his eyes, reveling in this moment of calm with you before what is certain to be a night of chaos, “Thank you, pretty bird.  Couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“You’re gonna do great, Din.  You’re my killer.”  Your lips ghost his and Din sucks in your breath, pulling you closer with his wrapped hands spread wide across your lower back, “… and when you win…”

“You gonna give me a prize, sweetheart?” Din smiles against your mouth.

You nod into his mouth, “… I’ll let you take your prize right in this locker room here.”  The two of you both glance at the door next to you before reuniting your lips for a deep, searing kiss that manages to simultaneously reassure and ignite an electrical current within you.

“Hey!  Save that for after the fight!” yells Greef.  You and Din break apart with a chuckle and you leave him with a “Good luck, killer!  I love you!” blowing him a kiss before taking off down the hall with your friends and Paz.

---

The roar of the crowd is deafening.  Despite this being an unsanctioned match, spectators have showed up in droves - drawn in by Din’s celebrated fight history, the underlying clan rivalry, or both.

When Din and the contingent from Mando’s make their ring entrance, the noise level crescendos; you hold on tight to Bea and Lala’s hands and catch Paz’s eye with your own, shining bright with pride as you cheer loud.  Somehow Din discerns your voice over the clamour and as he passes your row looking calm and formidable, he finds you and his eyes soften just long enough to throw you a wink before settling back into a steely glare.  Jimmy, on the other hand, follows behind Greef all pumping fists and testosterone fueled howls.  He hypes up the crowd even more, reaching in to fist bump you and the girls before accepting a hair tousle from Paz’s long reaching arm.

The crowd remains loud but slightly more subdued for the entrance of Din’s opponent, Rotta Hutt.  He’s young, around Jimmy’s age, but way bigger than both Jimmy and Din.  He’s Din’s height if not taller, with most of his heft on display as a wall of muscle in the upper half of his body.  His arms are tree trunks.  His face is impassive but you spy a small curl of a sneer framed by his clean-shaven jaw; all of this topped with a mop of blond hair swept over the front of a high forehead.  He looks… sturdy and you can’t help but recoil a little in your seat when you recognize the same sluggish look that you find is common among the Hutts that you’ve met.  Lala and Bea both make faces that clearly indicate where their loyalties lie.  Paz points out Rotta’s coach who’s walking close behind the boxer, hands on the boy’s shoulders, whispering in his ear, “That’s Ziro Hutt.  He’s a piece of shit.  Guarantee you he’s telling Rotta to fight dirty and pull some illegal moves on our boy since it’s an unsanctioned fight.”

You look at Paz with alarm, but he’s grinning, “Don’t worry, Lil’ Lady.  Din’s got that punk’s number.”

As the fighters go to their respective corners for last-minute pep talks, your gaze shifts over to the crowd on the other side of the ring where you see a continent of Hutts that includes Gorga and his usual lackies.  They’re amped and you can feel a sinister charge to the energy emanating from that side of the room. 

The fighters and their coaches meet in the middle of the ring with the referee as is customary before the coaches retreat back to their corners for the start of the match, but before that happens, all hell breaks loose.  You see Din’s face curl into a snarl before he lunges for Ziro, shoving the slimy man right in his chest with a force that knocks him into the ground; Rotta attempts to retaliate with a punch to Din’s head, and then it’s just a flurry of bodies: the ref trying to get in between, Greef pulling Din off Rotta, Ziro somehow getting up and mixing right back in.  The Hutts on the other side of the ring are up on their feet, jeering, some even advancing towards the ring.  Paz is on his feet and you see the rest of the Mandos do the same from their seats peppered throughout the stands.

The ref directs everyone back to their corners; you see Greef wrangling Din, turning him to face his corner stool before giving him a little shove in that direction.   You don’t know what happened but you know Din must have been provoked; he can’t start the fight in this uncontrolled rage, it won’t fare well if he’s not in a calm, focused mindset.  You make your way ringside and reach up, finger tips brushing gently on Din’s arm.

What you didn’t know is that right before the ref was about to send the coaches back to their corners, Ziro had sneered to Din, “When you lose, how about that pretty girl of yours come spend the night with a fighter that isn’t past his prime?  Someone who has some stamina?”

Din was still seeing red that that asshole even mentioned you, seething with adrenaline fuelled protectiveness.  And possessiveness.  His chest is still rising with each heavy breath, agitation rolling over his entire body in waves; he’s barely registering Greef’s words about calming down, when he feels a soft warmth on his arm.  He looks down and it’s you.  You with your soft smile and pretty eyes, exuding calm and sweetness.  Instantly, his breathing evens and his heartrate slows. 

“Hey pretty bird, things are getting crazy,” he gives you a little lopsided smile, as if the two of you are the only people in this building, your presence drowning out all the outside noise for him. 

You laugh and Din feels his muscles release some tension just at the sound; it’s too awkward for him to lean down and kiss you, but you reach up with both hands and grab on to his wrists, bringing his gloves down so you can lift up and kiss them.  A good luck smooch to each, leaving a lipstick imprint of your perfect lips on each.  Din grins at you.

“Now when you hit that idiot, it’ll be from the both of us,” you chuckle, and again, it’s like there’s no one else here – just you and Din alone in this yelling crowd, eyes and ears only for each other, “Din, don’t let them get in your head, they don’t want you thinking straight cause they know you’re smarter than all the Hutt braincells combined.  Focus and save your energy, killer.”

“You got it, pretty bird,” he flashes you a devastatingly handsome smile, the one that makes your stomach drop every time and tonight’s no exception, you mouth “Love you” before walking backwards to your seat, never breaking eye contact with your man as he mouths it back.

By the time the ref calls the fighters back to the centre of the ring to touch gloves, Din’s back to his steely cool self, focused and calm - ready to take on the world.  He looks so fucking good, the lights shining off his broad shoulders, the strong lines of his muscles flexing and pulsating with each breath.  You mourn the loss of his soft stomach, but suppose if you have to live with this harder trunk of an upper body, you will.  You sigh and Bea leans over to tell you that you’re drooling a little – you giggle out loud.

The ref announces, rather than requests, that it will be a “nice clean fight”; Din and Rotta touch gloves and with a ding the fight starts.

For the first few rounds, you’re learning Rotta’s fighting style and you know Din is doing the same, getting a feel for the younger man’s style, ticks and weaknesses.  Rotta’s light on his feet for someone so big, but Din is faster.  Though Din is older and the frame that he has to move is just as large, his experience in the ring has his muscles well trained, his moves executed by memory alone.  Din anticipates where Rotta will be before Rotta even knows, and his body just follows.

It’s clear by the third round that Rotta favours a right hook, which Din finds easy enough to deflect and more than once is able to combine this knowledge with the Mando roll to devastating effect.  You cheer loudly when you watch Din extend his long right arm in a precisely landed cross punch, retracting it lightning fast with grace as Rotta staggers backwards. 

Where Rotta is a threat is his sheer power - pound for pound, punch for punch, he’s Din’s match.  His size and bulk have the potential to inflict real damage, if Din wasn’t the overall better fighter – Din’s experience and technique are too well honed; Rotta is consistently caught off guard by Din’s moves, and his own in response are amateurish and predictable.  And he’s getting tired - the Mando Roll is making quick work of him.  Poe was right – the Hutt's best boxer couldn’t hold a candle to a Mando’s boxer, certainly not this one. 

By the time the 8th round starts, Rotta is getting frustrated, and as Paz predicted, has started fighting dirty.  He’s pushing and shoving Din into the ropes and attempting to hold him, anything to stall the fight and prevent Din from getting in the combinations that would surely finish him off.  When Rotta barrels head first into Din’s chest, wrapping his arms around Din’s torso and starts to punch his lower back, you’re on your feet and screaming for the foul call before the ref even blows his whistle.  You’re seething - that dirty cheat!!  Rushing over to where Din is drinking from his water bottle, you reach up and touch his leg to get his attention.  He grins immediately upon seeing you, calming your heart a little. 

“You look like you’re going to kill someone, pretty bird,” laughs Din, his voice once again drowning out all the external noise so that it’s just you and him again.

“That neanderthal is going to get it from me if he doesn’t stop with all his dirty shit,” you hiss, though your eyes remain all adoring for Din.  Even when sweaty from head to toe, the impressive cut of his body still takes your breath away.  Fuck, he’s hot. 

“Sounds like I'd be doing him a kindness by knocking him out, then,” grins Din, and the two of you smile at each other dopily, sharing in your little jokes while the crowd around you gets more and more riled up.

“I wish I could reach you,” you lament, pouting.

“Let me help,” Paz has appeared right behind you, no doubt to provide some encouragement for his friend.  With your permission, he crouches and wraps his arm around your calves, and after you’ve steadied your hand on his shoulder, he boosts and deposits you so you’re sitting on the edge of the ring.  You don’t know how much time you have before the match starts again; wasting no time, you reach through the ropes and grab Din’s face, pulling him towards you so you can kiss him through the slit.  The kiss is hard, heady and messy, but it’s exactly what you and Din both need.  “Put him out of his misery, killer!” you shout back as you jump down, sending Din a wink before leaving him, Paz and Greef to talk shop.

When the fight resumes, Din quickly finds that he’s had enough.  The younger boxer isn’t stopping with the illegal moves, starting to throw elbows and attempting to kick.  Clearly on the advice of his uncle, Rotta has foolishly decided that if he can’t win fairly, then he will do everything he can to frustrate Din, be it by stalling the fight, attacking him illegally, or messing up Din’s focus like his uncle did at the start of the match.  No doubt hoping Din will finally make a mistake and open himself up to a late attack.

After Din gets in two quick jabs that Rotta isn’t fast enough to evade, Rotta staggers back, eyes unfocused, and when he shifts forward again, he spits out, “Your girl is real pretty.”

Din ignores him and hits Rotta square in the jaw with a blinding cross.

Swaying to the side, Rotta doesn’t know when to quit, “She’d look even prettier with my cock in her mou-”

You think you actually hear the sound that Din’s upper cut makes when his glove hits Rotta's chin.  The crowd silent as the crushing power of Din’s fist reverberates through the layers between it and his opponent's jaw, the unmistakable sound of bone being crushed rings through the venue.

It’s only with the resounding thud of Rotta’s body hitting the floor of the ring that the crowd reawakens, screaming at an ear-splitting volume - some for the loser to get up, and others in victory.  Din looks animalistic, still bouncing on his feet and panting, as if waiting for Rotta to get up.  Rotta is not getting up. 

After Din is declared the winner of the fight, arm raised high by the ref while still towering over the unconscious body of his opponent laying at his feet, he’s smartly ushered off to the locker room by Greef and Paz.  Not that Din's the type to gloat and boast in an unsportsmanlike manner (Poe doing enough of that all on his own at the moment), but the mood in the arena is incendiary at the moment, clearly you’re not the only one that thinks getting out of here is a good idea.  That doesn’t stop Din from reaching into your row as he goes by and pulling you in hard by the waist for a bruising victory kiss.  In his arms for only a few moments before he has to go, Din lifts you off your feet – his own little trophy to show off as you gaze down at him in adoration, mouthing, “I’m proud of you.”

You and the girls chat excitedly with Bo and Mayfeld as you practically skip back down the back hallway towards where some of the other Mandos and people from the gym are celebrating.  Leaving your friends in the capable hands of the Mandos, you sidle past Jimmy who’s standing guard and give him a cheeky grin before you push open the door to the locker room where Din’s currently showering.

When Din steps out of the shower, he’s only mildly surprised to find you there, sitting casually with your legs up on a bench, back against the lockers, strolling through your phone like it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be in a men’s locker room.

Looking up, you feel your heart nearly stop at the sight before you: Din’s looking at you with a devilishly handsome smile, hair still wet from the shower, which he’s lazily toweling off.  Another towel hangs loosely over his hips, leaving his massive chest uncovered; droplets of water clinging to the bare expanse of his torso and glisten like tiny diamonds.  His arms, loose after his fight, still look powerful even when relaxed, thick muscles corded under his smooth skin.  He’s a fucking snack.

You want to climb him like a tree and sink your teeth into his skin; it's not an imagined ache that has you suddenly desperate to feel any and all the muscles in his arms, chest, legs, flex against your pussy while you ride them until you cry.

Spacing out with what must be a look of pure lust written all over your face, you start when Din’s deep baritone cuts through your horny thoughts, “What are you doing here, pretty bird?”

Beckoning him over to you with a curl of your finger, you smile coyly, and when he’s within arm’s length reach, you hand him your phone, “Come collect your prize, killer.”

Looking at you, then back to your phone with a confused expression on his face, Din cocks an eyebrow at you quizzically.

You plant your legs on either side of the bench and reach up and grab onto Din’s hips, guiding him towards you so he’s stands in front of you, similarly straddling the bench.  Looking up at him with an innocent doe-eyed expression, you coo, “Let’s make a video, daddy.”

Din’s eyes widen; the two of you had discussed making a sex tape before, but made no concrete plans on when you would film one - apparently, you want to memorialize him claiming his prize for winning the fight.  Testosterone and adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Din puffs his chest out, ready to perform.

He opens up the camera app of your phone and swipes to video mode, framing your pretty face on the screen as you smile up at him, he strokes your chin with his free hand, “Ready, pretty bird?” 

You nod - when you hear the bloop of the video starting, you dip your chin down to capture Din’s thumb in your mouth and start to suck, eyes never breaking from the camera.

“Such a good girl, here to reward your daddy.”

You smile with your lips wrapped around his thumb as you pull off Din’s towel, his cock already at half mast, bobbing out towards your face.  Din removes his thumb from your mouth and brushes your jaw with his fingers, as if to say go on.

Reaching out, you give Din’s length a few experimental strokes in your small grip before bringing him to your lips, gifting his tip a few shy kitten licks.

“Fuck, baby.”

Flattening your tongue, you run it along the underside of his cock from base to tip, lathering him up with your spit; pumping him a few more times you purr to the camera, “May I please suck your cock, Din?”

Din’s groan thunders through his chest, “Show me what you’ve got, pretty bird.”

Your mouth envelope over Din’s cock, taking as much of him as you can to the back your throat, bobbing your head slowly, giving his head a little extra lick when his tip rests between your pretty lips.  Feeling him swell and harden in your mouth, you apply a little more pressure, suck him a little harder, a little bit faster, both of your hands working the base of him that you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Look so pretty with your mouth stuffed with my cock, sweetheart.”

You look past the camera and into Din’s eyes, lustful and blown, and decide to really give him a show.  Eyes back on the camera, you smile around Din’s dick and place your hands on his thighs to brace yourself before you start to work him down your throat.  Once he's hit the back of your throat, when you have to force yourself to push past the resistance, you gag, and you immediately feel Din’s hand fly to the back of your head, as if to provide you some reassurance or to hold you steady.  You appreciate both.  Forcing yourself to breath through your nose, you relax your throat and push yourself further down on Din’s throbbing cock, spurned on by Din’s moans echoing off the walls of the empty room.  When you finally feel the hairs at his base tickle your nose, you open your eyes and find Din staring at the screen of your camera, looking absolutely wrecked.  One hand cups and plays with his balls as you give a small hum of satisfaction, proud of taking him all the way; the combination sensation causes Din’s dick to twitch in your throat and you have to pull off, coughing, spit spilling out of your mouth.

Din pets your hair and looks at you with obsidian dark eyes, “One more time, little slut.  Wanna feel my cock right here,” and he reaches down to wrap his hand gently around the middle of your neck.

“Can you be good for daddy?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod, but Din wants more for the camera.

“Need my pretty whore to use her words.”

“Yes, daddy.  I can be good for you,” you breathe, as you open up your mouth and stick your tongue out as an invitation.

“Goddamit. You’re going to be the death of me, pretty girl,” Din taps his fat head on your tongue before feeding it slowly to you.  Once again, you use Din’s legs for stability, hugging the back of his thighs as you relax and work his length further down your throat.  A little easier this time having already opened up for him, you keep your eyes on the camera as you try to even your breathing, coaxing his dick deeper and deeper.  When he’s all the way down, Din runs his thumb gently over the column of your throat, and chokes, “Took me so deep, baby. So fucking good for me.”

Eyes watery with tears already running down your cheeks, you can only blink up at him in a daze. 

“Can I fuck you a little, bunny?” Din asks so softly. Such a distinct contrast from the lewdness of having his cock shoved down your throat, you feel his tone hit right in your core where your arousal is already starting to leak; you blink quickly to give your permission.

At first, Din is slow to thrust even a little down your throat, careful not push too much or too harshly should it hurt you; when you blink at him and let the tears rolling down your face tell him that you can take more, he holds you head firm and speeds up a little. The ensuing gulg gulg gulg noises your throat makes bounce off the walls and light up your insides - you start to roll your hips and grind your pussy down on the bench for some semblance of friction. 

When Din notices, he pulls out and leaves you gasping and continuing to rub yourself down on your seat.  Using the hand not holding the still recording phone to help wipe away your tears and spit, he chuckles, “Does my pretty slut need something between those legs of hers?”

Fresh faced and eyes bright, you’re positively strumming for Din’s touch by now.  You lean back on your elbows, bite your lower lips and whimper.  That’s apparently enough for Din, as he sits down on the bench, murmuring to himself and the camera, “What do we have up here, little bun?”  He pushes up your skirt and takes an upskirt shot of your soaked through black panties, “Looks like my little cumslut is all wet.”

He smirks as he reaches and rubs his thumb over your clit through the fabric, causing you to gasp, “Daddy!”

“I wonder if you’re just as wet under these lacy panties?” He hooks the gusset of your underwear to the side, revealing your glistening cunt and gives a low whistle, “So fucking pretty.  Who are you so wet for, baby?”

“You!” you whine, wanting more.  Needing more.

“Who?  Is this for that other fighter?”

“No! Daddy!”

“Is it for those guys across the ring that couldn’t keep their eyes off of you?”

“No!  Din, no!  It’s only for you, please!”

“That’s right, this perfect pussy is all mine.”

“All yours, Din!  Please, oh god, please touch me…”

“Well since you asked so nice, sweetheart,” Din inhales sharply as he backs up on the bench and leans down to bring himself face to face with your dripping seam.  He hands you your phone and smirks, “Gonna need both my hands for this.”

You train the lens onto Din and frame his handsome face in the shot so that everything below the tip of his nose is hidden by your lower body; making sure you’re capturing the moment, Din gives you a wink before diving into your cunt.  He eats you like a feral animal who doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from.  Licking, sniping, and mouthing at every wave and dip of your core, then pushing your legs up by the back of your thighs so he can press even deeper into you.  You cry out and moan with abandon, your hands too occupied with holding the camera and yourself upright to stifle the noise.

“Fuck, yes, Din – fuck I love your mouth,” your screams dancing over the wet sounds coming from between your legs.  Din dips his tongue into your tight hole, fucking you with his smooth muscle while his nose bounces off your clit over and over until it’s hard and swollen.  The band beneath your belly is starting to tighten, and all the blood in your body rushes to your bottom half so you can’t hold yourself up anymore – you lay down and use all the focus and strength you have left to hold the camera steady with both hands between the valley of your breast.  You watch Din’s now dried curls bounce on the screen as he continues to tongue fuck you into another stratosphere. 

Your never ending chat of Daddy, daddy, daddy, is broken only by the high-pitched cry you let loose when Din replaces his tongue with two of his thick fingers without warning, you hiss, “Din!”  Half scolding, half in ecstasy.

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbles, but you can feel him grin against your pussy; the vibration of his words shoot straight to your chest and you feel a fresh wave of slick wash down your inner thighs and Din’s wrist.

“Fucking soak me, pretty bird,” Din commands before sucking your clit into his mouth.  The sounds Din is pulling from you are obscene and downright pornographic, you sing obscenities and his name so loud they almost drown out the squelching sounds of his fingers punishing your cunt.

All it takes is for you to look down at the screen of the phone still grasp tight in your hands, take in the vigor with which Din is eating you out, his dark eyes on you as he swirls his tongue over your clit and you’re gone - arching your back off the bench and screaming, “Daddy!” as you gush all over his face.  Din continues to finger fuck you through your high, the camera held in your shaky hands capturing the soft butterfly kisses he plants all over your lower stomach while praising you, “Did so good for me, pretty girl.  My perfect little slut.”

Sighing a heavy exhale of contentment, you let Din pull you up and kiss you messily, his mouth and scruff shiny with your release.  You giggle as you taste yourself on him, putting the phone down so you can cup his face in your hands, helping him clean up even as you make more mess with your hungry open mouth kisses.

“Uh, uh,” Din tuts as he pulls away, pointing at the phone, “pick that up, bunny.  We’re not done yet.”

You do as he instructs and pick up the still recording phone and point it at Din, now standing stark naked and holding his hand out to you.  “Hang on a sec, killer,” you smirk as you pan the camera over his nude form, your mouth watering as you rake the lens over his broad frame, his bulging biceps and his taut flexed legs.  You can't help but zoom in on your favourite parts of his body: his big paw hands where his fingers are currently curling with a twinge of impatience, the little hollow dip at the base of his neck that pulsates when he swallows deeply, like he’s doing now, and his cock, throbbing and angry.

“You done, pretty bird?” Din asks with an edge.  Swinging your leg over the bench, you take Din’s hand and gasp when he spins you around quickly, pressing you flush against his back before walking you forwards with your dress bunched up around your waist and his hardness pressed against your ass.

“Liked what you saw, bunny?” he whispers against your ear, crowding you up against the sink and using his hand to lift your elbow so you’re pointing the phone at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

“Yes, Din,” you whisper, leaning back to kiss the underside of his chin.

Din drags the zipper of your dress slowly down your back so that the sleeves of your dress fall down your arms, tugging down the front and revealing your matching black bra to the camera.  “I like what I see too,” Din murmurs, as he unclasps your bra and pulls the straps down to meet your fallen sleeves, your tits falling out, nipples already hard and pointing at your reflection.  Kissing down the back of your neck, all the way down your spine, Din pulls down your panties and helps you step out of them.  When he stands back up, it’s to place the soaked lace next to the sink in front of you, before positioning you, the rest of your clothes still half on, so that you’re bending over the sink, hands braced against the front, your back arched and ass sticking out for him.

You wiggle it a little and whine, “Need your cock, Din.”

He gives you a harsh spank that’s harder than you expected, causing you to yelp as the smack echos into the shower stalls, “Daddy!”

“Get used to it, pretty bird.  Daddy’s going to get rough with you now.”

Eyes widening and meeting Din’s in the mirror, you smile and lick your lips, “What’s got you all hot and bothered, killer?”

“Some assholes thought about having you tonight.  Talked like they might have a chance with you.  Want you to walk out of this locker room with my cum dripping down your legs so everyone knows who you belong to.”

“I’m yours, Din, everyone knows tha-” you’re cut off, breath stolen away when Din sheaths himself into you without warning, bottoming out in one smooth motion.  He doesn’t give you a moment to get used to him, just starts immediately fucking into you, driving his cock into your tight hole over and over, punching the deepest parts of you that only he can reach as he pushes all the air out of your lungs.  You close your eyes and whimper.

“Eyes open and looking in the mirror, baby.  Who’s that pretty slut?”

“Me.  Oh Din, fuck, I’m your pretty slut.”  You make sure your phone still has the entire mirror in view and that it captures the way he’s thrusting into you, every snap of hips jolting your forward so your tits bounce and your mouth is forced into an open ‘O’.

“That’s right.  All mine.  And what do you want, pretty girl?”

“Ngh—”

“Words, baby.  Not gonna give it to you until I hear you say it,” Din lays another heavy spank to your ass, watching your cheek ripple under his hand as he keeps up his grueling pace.

“Uh – fuck, Din.  I- I-, I need you to fuck me, daddy.  Fuck me so hard I feel you tomorrow.  Take me hard against this sink like a dirty whore.  Please, please, daddy, please. Uhhhhhhhh, Din, fuck me pleas-“

“Are you my prize? Is my prize for winning tonight getting to fuck a little whore in the locker room as hard as she can take it?”  Smack, smack, smack, your ass reddening as it continues to take the double punishment of Din’s pelvis rutting into you and the blows from his hard hands.

“Harder.”

“Then get louder, little whore. Want everyone in this building to hear you.”

You let loose a whine from the very back of your throat as he snaps back into you with a force that nearly knocks the phone out of your hand.  Recovering so that you don’t lose a minute of this lascivious footage, you lean and brace your free hand against the mirror while grinding your ass back, meeting every one of Din’s thrusts. 

With the way Din is fucking you - hard and unrelenting, there’s a small part of you that isn’t sure if you can take it, but the sticky mess between your legs says otherwise; you want to please him so much, so you take, take, take, and scream out for more, “Daddy, daddy, fuck!  Your cock feels so good, no one fucks me like you!”

“My. Little. Slut.”

“The only whore who take my cock this good.”

“Daddy’s going to wreck this pretty pussy.”

Din knows how much you love his dirty talk, but it’s dirtier than usual tonight.  Not fully immune to the aggression and macho bullshit that always permeates the atmosphere of these fights, tonight Din’s possessiveness has an edge, his roughness has bite.  Din’s degradation shoots straight to your cunt and your walls flutter around him as you scream in pleasure.

“Changed my mind.  Your pretty slut noises are mine too,” Din grabs your panties from where he left them next to the sink and stuffs them in your mouth; you whine a muffled sound like a wounded animal as he keeps the lacy fabric from falling out with his fingers, hooking down the corner of your mouth.

“Pretty little whore with her panties down her throat.  Good for cock and nothing else,” Din grunts right into your ear, loud enough for the camera to pick up as well.

“Mmmfffmmmm,” you cry, mouth full and unable to articulate anything as Din drags his fingers down from your mouth, giving your neck a little squeeze when he grazes his hand near the bottom of your throat.

“This throat is mine.”

His hands travel down further until they reach your breasts; he grabs and gropes you roughly before pinching on your nipples, rolling and tugging harshly, “These tits are mine.”  Your screams stifled as your eyes roll to the back of your head, you tip your head back to arch into his touch, leading Din to chuckle darkly.

“Always wanting more, my little bunny?” He drives into you even harder when you nod vigorously, eyes glassed over, cock drunk.

Din’s hands drags down your abdomen and cups your pussy. “This pussy is mine,” he growls as he starts playing with your clit.  You’re about to black out, your whole body is vibrating, nearing overstimulation – every one of Din’s dirty words nearly taking you out. 

“And she comes when I say so,” Din orders with authority into your ear.  You look at the screen of your phone that you’ve somehow managed to continue to hold upright, still filming, and stare through hazy eyes at the you in the mirror on the screen: blissed out, tits out and bouncing in time to every hard thrust of Din’s cock, mouth stuffed with your wet panties and crying out against the fabric. You plead to the Din in the mirror with your eyes.

“Come on my cock, baby,” comes the command you’ve been waiting for, and you positively wail as your walls contract and clench down hard around Din’s dick.  His arms wrap around your breasts to hold you upright, and you shudder to his stuttering thrusts, held tight and limp against Din’s chest as he pumps his spend into you - not sure how you manage to hold on to your phone as you capture every last moment of shaky footage.

Finally having the mind to press the red button to stop the recording, you place you phone down by the sink and let yourself melt back into Din, letting him pull your lacy gag out of your mouth.  He holds you close and presses soft kisses into your check, neck and lips, whispering how good you did for him, how perfect you feel around his cock, how sweet you are to let him fuck you this way.  You close your eyes and let him praise you and hold your boneless body.

Soft pledges of love and devotion are shared as Din cleans the two of you up with the towel he was using before, and as you right your lingerie and dress.  After Din gets dressed and packs up his gym bag, you share one last tender kiss before walking hand and hand to leave the locker room so you can join your friends for the after party at the bar across the street.

You open the door and slyly peek out, expecting to see Jimmy, but instead, you’re met by Greef wearing a pained expression on his face.

“Hey,” says Din, amused.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” deadpans Greef, “I’ve had to rotate every Mando off this door, none of them able to stand it for more than a few minutes.  You’re paying for everyone’s group therapy, boss.”

You giggle, feeling the heat creep up to your cheeks as you turn and hide in Din’s chest; Din is laughing as Greef walks off in a huff, and calls out, “Take it out of my winnings, Karga!”

Looking up at Din, you crinkle your nose, embarrassed, “Do you think we were really that loud?”

Din chuckles, “Maybe? I guess we’ll never know.  Oh wait,” he playfully grabs your waist causing you to squeal, “we could watch the video later and find out.”

The idea of watching your sex tape together has a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your still drenched panties and you squeeze you legs together; your actions don’t escape Din’s attention, and he whispers low in your ear, “Let’s get through the after party first, then we’ll go home and do… what do the kids call it?  Right, Netflix and chill.”

You roll your eyes jokingly, “Alright, old man,” already expecting the playful swat on your bum. Squeaking and grinning, you slip your hand back into its rightful place in Dins and tug, almost shyly, "What are we waiting for then, killer?"

Yep, Din thinks, I won.

[stargazedwinchester]

Mine, Not Yours | Sam

Summary: The Winchester brothers are notorious for starting things they can't finish, until you come along.

Based off of this request here! I'm sorry it took so long, I've been so busy with work :( but here it is! It's a little different to what you requested so if you want a rewrite just message me :) This’ll be made into a 2 or 3 part series depending how long I make it lmao, thank you <3

There is some gore mentioned but not a lot, just a prewarning!

Word count: 1,233

Tag List: @chaospossum @take-it-on-the-run @girlsforpjm @themidnightwitch44 @rowenalovee @amythedoctor

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

It felt like it had been hours since you settled here, in the desolate corner of a forest near West Monroe, Louisiana. You're always on the road, but something has told you to stay put, to monitor your surroundings, as something isn't quite right.

You had already spoke to investigators and police prior to staying at your campsite. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary, a typical civilian had been killed and no one knows how it happened. It's like you've relived this life a hundred times.

Something rustles in the bushes nearby, which breaks your thoughts. You scramble toward the nearest tree, the huge trunk hides your entire body and could cover more. Keeping your breathing steady, you hold your knife up to your chest for safety. "Sammy, I'm not sure this is the right place..." A voice emerges, footsteps slowly approaching. "It is the right place... Hold on," The footsteps stop. "Here. North." He carries on. Who the Hell are these guys and why are they taking your hunt?

You keep yourself stable, undetectable. The footsteps grow louder as they unknowingly pass someone who's more than willing to strike no matter what.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Keeping your distance, you follow them inside. The two have no idea they’re being tracked. One broad man, taller than the other. Long-ish hair just past his ears, whilst the other had shorter, darker hair. He’s holding a flashlight, scanning the room for any clues that link toward the murder. They’re conversing about something that you can’t quite make out.

Before you know it, a creature lunges out baring it’s teeth, yellowing at the gum, saliva dripping from the fangs. Your heart races, that thing is terrifying. “What the fuck…?” You gasp, and the men quickly whip out their weapons and aim. Stepping back, you attempt to see if they can handle it themselves. The creatures is almost 15 feet tall, it’s skin almost pearlescent with a weird film, like it’s sweat and slime in one.

Wendigo.

They rush to their sides, pulling out silver knives, arrows, basically anything with silver on it. You had memorised multiple Anasazi symbols, incase of emergencies. The wendigo flinched as the shorter one aimed a pistol and fired a single silver bullet into it’s collarbone. The wendigo jolted back, a bellow escaping it’s throat. It felt as if it shook the whole room.

“C’mon!” One of them roared, “For something your size, you’re not putting up a fight!” He fires another shot, this time, missing. “Dean?” He panics, slowly backing away but keeping his aim. His eyes dart from his partner to the oversized freak in front of them. “Dean!” He yells as the wendigo swipes at him, narrowly missing his chest. “Fuck this,” You say to yourself. You take your silver machete out from it’s sleeve that’s hung on your back and you make your way over to the helpless victims of this ugly behemoth.

Treading lightly, you impale the wendigo with your machete, causing it to scream out in pain. Its whole body doesn’t even have to turn around to face you, it leans sideways and strikes. You somehow manage to dodge its spindly fingers, and slice its hand. “What the Hell?” They panic, wondering who is behind the blade. The taller one’s eyes widened and his breath halters, stepping back. His hands start to tremble as he tries to keep a steady aim. “Over here!” The older-looking one shouts, grabbing the attention of the wendigo. It takes huge steps toward them, giving you a minuscule amount of time to do something, anything. You take a random marker from your pocket and start to draw a huge circle, with squiggly lines coming from it, somewhat resembling a cartoon sun. You slam your hand into the middle of the symbol, a purple spark igniting and following the same path you drew. The wendigo’s eyes light up, a sudden wave of fear takes over it. Something you don’t see when it’s normally the other way around.

Suddenly, there’s an eruption of flames that engulf the monster, starting from its feet and climbing its way up covering the whole body. Flickers of ember float to the ceiling and then disappear. Taking your machete, you climb onto a crate and ready yourself to take a leap. You jump, grabbing onto the creature, piercing your blade right through its neck, blood gushing out splattering onto your face and all over the floor. You stab again, this time the wendigos head hanging on by a thread, then falling to the floor. As it falls, you tumble to the side and let the flames hug the now deceased.

You try to catch your breath, meeting the eyes of the two men that had started the fight without you. You look at them up and down, scanning their body language. You stand strong with your machete in your hand, still on edge. The shorter one scoffs. "That was some Lara Croft moves right there," He chuckles, looking at his partner. The other rolls his eyes. "Sorry. I'm Sam, it's nice to meet you." He holds out his hand for you to shake. You cautiously take it.

"I'm Y/N. Who's the Tomb Raider fangirl?" You joke, making Sam smirk at your comment. "I'm Dean. I'm not just a fangirl, I just think she's hot, okay?" He rambles, whilst you and Sam share looks. "You're digging yourself into a deeper hole, man." Sam almost whispers, and you giggle. "Yeah. I know." Dean agrees, his hand meeting his neckline and he turns away.

Sam is tall, wearing a dark olive green jacket with a red and navy blue flannel underneath. His hair falls perfectly at his ears and curls slightly outward at the tips. His broad shoulders make him seem massive. He looks gentle but like his guard is still up. Dean, on the other hand, is wearing a dark blue denim jacket, a lighter green button up and a black t-shirt. His smile shines bright in the gloomy moonlight that's shining through the boarders nailed to the walls.

"Well, anyway, I think I'm gonna go. It was somewhat fun while it lasted. Looks like I did the hard work for you." You say with a slight hint of annoyance in your voice. The size of these men is comparable to their cowardly attitude. As you’re about to walk away, one of them breaks the silence with by clearing their throat.

“If you ever, y’know…” Sam starts, stepping forward, he almost towers above you, your frame marginal. “Need help with anything, give me a call.” He smirks, and you laugh. “How am I supposed to call you without knowing your number?” You gaze up at him, and his face lights up as if he connected the dots. “Oh! Yeah, uh..” he rapidly checks his pocket for a pen, unable to find a single piece of paper or receipt. “Can I?” He asks, reaching out for your hand. “S-sure,” You say, allowing him to take your hand and write his number across your wrist. His skin is rough, callouses and cuts along his knuckles and the tips of his fingers. You watch his face as he concentrates on writing, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes scanning to make sure he’s done it right. He steps back and you look down at your wrist, then back up at him.

“Thanks, Winchester. I’ll be seeing you.”

[yanderes-galore]

Diavolo with a La Squadra darling? Like, she wants nothing to do with him since he was responsible for the murder of two of her teammates and only wants revenge, and he can't help himself but be obsessed with her. I feel like he would stalk her as Doppio first, then shortly after(because you KNOW this man is not risking it) kidnapping her himself with the help of King Crimson.

I actually think this is interesting as Diavolo knows you can be an issue with your team.... Sorry for the long wait, made pairing Gender-Neutral as I never used any pronouns.

Yandere! Diavolo with La Squadra! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Murder, Violence, Blood, Kidnapping, Sadism, Emotional manipulation, Threats, Dark themes, Biting, Neck kissing, Forced relationship.

To be fair, I think your team is already monitored by Diavolo.

Ever since he realized your team was trying to reveal his identity... He just knew he couldn't risk things.

Originally before the deaths of Sorbet and Gelato, you worked just as hard as the rest of the hitman team.

Being a Stand User yourself, you were often praised for your skills.

A little blood wasn't new for you and even Diavolo knew you could get a job done once given an order.

However, like the rest you felt burned when The Boss didn't allow the team more territory.

The unfortunate downside of being expert killers is The Boss distrusted La Squadra.

Which meant no new territory... and not a lot of income.

Sorbet and Gelato had gotten close to exposing The Boss, only to be killed as a message not to fly too close to the sun.

La Squadra felt like family to you, a close group of assassins all trying to just get paid.

Unfortunately, killing Sorbet and Gelato had the opposite effect Diavolo wanted.

Now you all just wanted to find a way to get back at him, which just so happens to be kidnapping Trish.

I can definitely see Diavolo using Doppio to stalk you.

Originally, like usual, it's to find a way to keep you at bay.

Not necessarily to kill you, but to throw you off his scent.

He's having Doppio keep an eye on the rest of your team too.

Although you're the one that manages to catch his eye.

Part of him does admire your killing instinct and loyalty.

You listen to your leader, Risotto Nero, no matter the command.

Diavolo just wishes such potential wasn't wasted on a reckless mission to find him out.

The fact you have no idea Doppio is him is something he uses to his advantage.

Truthfully, Diavolo could care less about the rest of your team?

He isn't even sure why he's so fixated on you of all things.

Most of his obsession is keeping track of you.

He wants to keep an eye on you and the team so he knows when to get rid of them.

Later on he may even do just that.

Except not only would it be due to the danger they pose, but because he wants to get a message across to you.

Diavolo is aware of how attached you are to your team.

I can see him using that attachment to isolate you.

Through Doppio he'd probably drag you or your teammates into certain situations.

Diavolo is a big planner.

If he ever did try to get you alone, he has his reasons.

That being to kill you, or in your case, abduct you.

He'd lure you with a fake order, only for you to be ambushed by Diavolo.

By the time he's interested, he's already used Doppio to gain info on every one of your habits.

Diavolo is the type to use your weaknesses against you.

First he'll reveal himself, using King Crimson to render any attack useless.

He's researched your ability right up to every little weakness you have.

By the time he's ready to take you out of the equation, he counters your ideas with a grin.

"You did say you wanted to know my identity didn't you, dear?"

Diavolo purrs, voice dripping with sadistic delight once he knows he can corner you.

"Perhaps destiny decided to be kind to the both of us, Hm?"

You don't understand his words, how could you?

You're a hitman trying to avenge your fallen comrades, meanwhile he's an obsessed madman that's been following you for a long time now.

Fate plays a cruel joke on you, allowing you to meet your target but unable to kill him.

Destiny still seemed to aid him as he's been wanting to get his hands on you for a long time now.

Once Diavolo has you, he has ways of keeping you compliant.

How? Well, remember when I said you were attached to La Squadra like family?

He threatens them with similar fates to Sorbet and Gelato.

That is, unless, you decide to play along.

He wants you to play into his desires, in return your team shall be spared for now.

Really, their fate is sealed either way.

Your team will still die even if you accept the deal.

Threats and careful planning is a big part of Diavolo's obsession with you.

He uses fear to make you controlled, even if he is a coward.

He doesn't need to put a hand on you, he doesn't want to.

No, instead he'll target one of your old squad members to be taken out.

Then he'll bring back proof.

What, aren't you used to blood?

So why do you look so ill when he brings you the corpse of a fellow La Squadra member?

Death was part of your job.

Don't spare them any tears.

Diavolo seems like the type of yandere to force you into his embrace as you stare at the corpse of a former friend, nibbling on your neck as he tells you that he "told you so".

He's possessive, viewing the deaths of your comrades as a way to get rid of a nuisance.

If the experience breaks you, good, it l benefits him.

He wants to make sure you understand who you belong to.

The moment Diavolo breaks you and gets rid of your team, he's won.

He looks forward to such a victory with a grin on his face, looking like a true demon in your eyes.

"Why don't we make a deal, dear?

[bansheeoftheforest]

I see you are asking for oneshot requests! Might I offer; truth serum but Jekyll isn't drunk this time, and the Lodgers have to deal with the guilt of their founder actively panicking as he spills his secrets. (Bonus: Jekyll trans reveal + Ito loudly stating her support of him/him reconciling with the Lodgers)

!!!!! I am DEFINTIELY Rusty and realized now that I am finished that I could have probably moved this in a different direction, but I hope the wait was worth it and that you'll enjoy this oneshot!! :D

also pls tell me if there are any mistakes because I've been trying to read through this a million times and I've forgotten how to post fics- help-

———————————————————

Title name: Secrets To Be Found

Wordcount: 4989

Summary: As Virginia Ito tries to keep her mentor calm during a day of anxiety, Dr. Ranjit Helsby and Mr. Seward Griffin decide that it is time to get some truths out of their founder.

Relationships: Robert x Jekyll (mentioned), Morcant x Jekyll (mentioned)

CW: Unconsenting drug use, internalized transphobia, transphobia

———————————————————

Helsby was up to something. 

  The man was a gossip, and by extension, he was always in someone else’s business, trying to find out more and more in an almost deliberate attempt to get his curiosity killed. Dr. Jekyll had never liked it, never liked it when the older man would smirk and grin, like he knew something you didn’t, which he often did. It was uncanny already, but this time... He did not like what his gut feeling was telling him. 

  He had tried to wave it all off, when it first started happening earlier this week. When Helsby would throw smug glances towards Griffin, as if silently communicating. He did not have any capacity to care much about either of them, he would not have cared if Griffin was the target of Helsby’s plot, yet he knew that that wasn’t the case. Griffin was a recluse even among the Lodgers, his temper and chronic migraines often kept him from forming any sort of positive connection with any of them, and so his sudden friendship with Helsby was... Concerning. His own suspicion was not quelled when a handful of days passed and their dubious behaviour only seemed to get worse.

  Safe to say, Dr. Henry Jekyll was nervous. 

  He forced himself to ignore this -probably imaginary- plot, and yet he had woken up with a horrible feeling within his very bones. He wasn’t really sure what it was, something within him was just... Jittery. Something was crawling inside of him but it was nothing he could put a finger on. He was almost certain that it wasn’t Hyde, as he had, in his own way, been quite calm and genuine the last few days, at least not seeming like he knew what was up with Jekyll or their body. He was not a stranger to anxiety, of course; but his anxiety normally came from something, it hadn’t come up without a reason in years, and that thought alone almost made him more nervous. Perhaps there was a reason, but really, why would he be nervous if Helsby and Griffin simply had a little prank planned? He could almost be certain he would not be at the receiving end, and yet...

  The anxiety had only worsened during the day, perhaps solidified by a familiar, nauseating feeling within his body; a dysphoria in which everything within and regarding his body felt wrong, no matter what he changed or how much he had convinced those around him that he was a perfectly normal man. Deep down, he felt- or perhaps knew- that he wasn’t. His jaw was not angled enough, his waist was too thin, his hips were too wide and his hair was too long- otherwise obscure details to his appearance which now felt like tell-tale signs of his biological sex. Perhaps that was what had caused the anxiety; the very fear that someone, at some point, would find out, and especially so when he knew- or assumed- that Helsby and Griffin were sniffing for vulnerable secrets. It wasn’t like he only had one skeleton in his closet, either. There were a myriad of things which someone could find out about him, which would inevitably ruin his life, and his imperfect body was merely one of those. 

  Regardless, the physical signs of his illness had manifested quite early and throughout the entire day. By breakfast, his hands had been shaking, and his cup of tea had slipped right out of his grasp and shattered onto the floor, making him jump as his heart practically galloped out of his chest. Before noon, another one of Luckett’s fires had gotten a bit too close to the chemistry lab, and while it had been nothing but a minor explosion, with minimal harm to equipment and no harm done to any of the Lodgers, it had still been enough to scare the doctor out of his boots and leave the anxiety in a thick lump in his throat. After noon, yet another bill came, another one that would be put in the “overdue” pile before the end of the week. Safe to say, Jekyll couldn’t wait for this day to be over. 

  It was evening now. The Lodgers had clearly noticed their founder’s jumpiness. They had asked, of course, but Jekyll didn’t have answers. He didn’t know why he was like this today, all he knew was that he had slept and he had not consumed anything out of the ordinary, he did not drink anything remotely caffeinated and so he could not have made himself into a pile shaking bones through overconsumption. Whether or not the Lodgers believed that was an entirely different question. He was just happy that Robert was not here to see him like this. He was not necessarily ashamed of his irrational nervosity, but he knew that Robert would worry and, quite frankly, not leave his side until he had gotten him to calm down. 

  ... 

  Perhaps that would have been a good thing, actually. 

  But it was too late now. Ito seemed to have sensed his nervosity, regardless. She was often a quite strict and stoic lady, but she could never help but to worry for her mentor, she seemed to sense his distrust and paranoia and had stayed close for most of the day, after the little explosion in the chemistry lab. Jekyll could get no work done today, and Virginia could not focus on her own work when her worry clouded her brain, and so they had spent the majority of the afternoon in Jekyll’s office. He laid down on his couch, one arm covering his eyes to block out the light in an attempt to rest, while Virginia stayed by his desk and looked through some of his old notes. Notes which he knew were safe, notes that she would be studying, as his junior. But it was getting late now, and Ito knew that Jekyll’s anxiety would not be made any better on an empty stomach. He had been reluctant, of course; he felt safer in his office, but Virginia did not want him to eat alone and there wasn’t enough space for the two of them to dine in here, so Virginia helped him up and linked their arms together as they left the office in search of the dining hall, where Rachel would have prepared today’s dinner. Jekyll could not help but look around in every corridor, as if afraid that someone was watching, or that something more would go wrong when he least expected it. He, of course, told Ito that it was just his nerves, and it was. It was not a lie, she knew it wasn’t a lie, but it sure as hell did not make her any less nervous. 

  They came right by rush hour. The dining hall was filled with chattering Lodgers, all behaving perfectly normal and no one seeming out of the ordinary. Mrs. Cantilupe and Miss Lavender met them with sympathetic ‘how are you feeling’s, and Luckett once more apologised for the day's mishap. The alchemists sat down by their own table, a bit further away from the rest. 

  Jekyll didn’t have an appetite. How could he, when his stomach was riddled with knots? The mere sight and smell of the food got him to feel full, but Ito had none of it, and left the table to get them both something to eat. She knew what her mentor liked and what would be good for him, after all, and she would make sure that he ate what he could.

  But then again, this also meant that she left Jekyll alone. 

  His hands rested on the table. One grabbed the wrist of the other, thumb against his veins where he managed to feel his own rapid heartbeat, and he continued to look around. As he was turned away, he soon felt the chair next to him move, and as he looked back, he was met with the grinning face of none other than Dr. Ranjit Helsby- possibly the last person Jekyll wanted to see today.

  “My good fellow!” he greeted, “how’s it going?” 

  Jekyll blinked, confusion already evident.

  “I... I’m sorry, did you need something?” 

  Helsby waved him off. He grabbed the teacup that was neatly placed by Jekyll, pulled a teapot into view from vaguely under the table and poured tea for the other doctor, before giving him back the cup.

  “Nothing at all! I just wanted to see how you were feeling, good sir.” 

  Jekyll squinted. Helsby -sarcastic, dramatic or not- never called Jekyll “Good” or “Sir”, and certainly not both in succession. Helsby was not quiet about his general dislike for Jekyll, or perhaps dislike was a strong word. He often thought that he was a toff, and he very clearly did not like the direction to which Jekyll was moving the Society, but that didn’t have to mean that he actively disliked him. Still, Henry did not trust his newfound politeness, and yet he also knew that it would only be terribly rude of him to dismiss the diplomacy which was now offered. He noticed that Helsby already had a cup of tea for himself, and as the other doctor raised his in a silent ‘cheers’, Jekyll had no choice but to smile politely and do the same, before taking a sip. As the liquid went over his tongue, he winced, doing his best to not cough up the metallic fluid right afterwards- what on earth was this abomination of a tea? He tried not to gag, really- it was absolutely foul-... He recognised it, he recognised the metallic taste and the sour smell- but from where? 

  He felt someone moving towards his right, soon Griffin slammed the palms of his hands against the table quite aggressively, making Jekyll jump and successfully gaining the attention of the Lodgers by the nearby tables.

  “Well well, Jekyll,” He said, smugness evident, “You would not mind telling us a few things, right?” 

  His grin left little to the imagination, less like a human smile and more like baring teeth, more like a threat. Jekyll almost sank back into his chair, his heart beating and beating like it was about to crack through his ribs. Still, he tried to act calm, and pressed out a forced smile. 

  “Whatever do you mean?” 

  By this rate, or perhaps by Griffin’s loud movements, the rest of the hall had fallen silent and the Lodgers’ attention was now on the three men. Virginia, who was just on her way back, quickly placed the plates with food down at the nearest table and rushed towards her mentor. It was in this moment that Jekyll recognised the liquid which had practically been forced upon him, and he felt the panic take hold of his body.

  Truth serum.

  But it was too late.

  “Jekyll, what are your biggest secrets?” 

  Something within Jekyll stirred, an involuntary feeling which was not unlike the one which rose when Hyde took over control- his tongue began to move, and the words began to spill from his lips faster than he could process what he was doing. 

  “I was born a woman.” 

  The men’s expressions were unreadable, yet Jekyll continued, spellbound.

  “I’m bisexual and I’ve been in love with Robert Lanyon for over 15 years.” the words practically tumbled out of his mouth, he barely processed what he had said as the next confession slipped out, “I was in an unhealthy relationship with an ancient werewolf named Morcant.” His heart continued to thrum, he could feel how his breathing quickened, “I don’t think I’m good enough for anything and I fantasise about throwing myself off of the cliffs of Dover but I’m way too busy to even entertain such a thought” He attempted to struggle, to shut up, but he was as paralyzed in his chair, until his last confession finally came out, “I’ve been hallucinating my minds most horrifying creatures for weeks and I am Edward Hyde.” 

  …

  Silence. 

  He was hyperventilating, now. Jekyll’s mind was an absolute mess, trying to process what had just happened- and yet the Lodgers around him just stared, mouths agape. He tried desperately to speak once more- any explanation, hell- any anger which he could throw towards the perpetrators- and yet he couldn’t. His vision- he hoped it was just panic- started to blur, and before he knew it, he had already pushed the chair away from the table, as he quickly got up and just ran, out of the room, into the corridors. 

  He heard yelling behind him. He heard rapid footsteps of Lodgers who tried to follow him. He was not sure where he was going, but he would rather be anywhere but near the Lodgers- his dear Lodgers to which he had split all his secrets, and Griffin and Helsby, who had drugged him and forced him into this. He had been drugged- just like that- His heart pounded within his chest, like a hare with a heart attack. Before he knew it, he was back in his office, slamming the door closed behind him and locking it from the inside, before the exhaustion took hold. His legs gave in, and he sank back against the door. He could barely process the footsteps that ran after him now stopping in front of the very office he hid in.

  “Jekyll? Henry! Henry- Please, open the door!”

  It was Virginia, banging on the door in hopes that he would, in fact, open up for her. He heard more footsteps as more Lodgers arrived, he could hear their various voices through the door. He pulled his knees up to his chest, attempting to hide his face despite there being no one to see him.

  “You BASTARDS!” 

  Virginia seemed to turn her attention away from the door. He could hear shuffling and high-pitched yelps.

  “How DARE you do this to him?! WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELLS WERE YOU THINKING?!”

  “We didn’t think he- or she- or- whatever- was going to have THAT many secrets!” 

  “HE. Don’t you DARE call him by any different-” 

  “Hello? Did NO ONE hear that he confessed to BEING Hyde!?”

  As the third voice spoke, the commotion stopped, briefly, like they all started to properly think about the things he had said. Soon more Lodgers began to speak. 

  “...Well- he also said that he is a bisexual!” 

  “Yeah, but is anyone even surprised by that?” 

  “Should we not focus on the fact that he said he wanted himself DEAD?-”

  “Fantasising about jumping off cliffs is not the same!”

“Then what the HELL is it?” 

  Oh, God...

  He could try to escape. He could take the HJ7 and jump out of the window like he usually did, escape into the night and not come back- well... Not come back until he thought the Lodgers had calmed down, that is. At the same time, he felt paralyzed. To think that he had freely and openly admitted his deepest regrets to the Lodgers- Lodgers, who were now arguing about the severity of what he had said. At the same time, his mind was only filled with the shame of his very first and last confessions; he had not been a woman in multiple decades- if he ever was- but his body was itching by a need to practically pull off his own skin in an attempt to rid himself of what made him unmanly and a monster, of what made him the abomination he is, the horrid thing which the Lodgers now knew about. That was to not even mention that he had just told them everything- from his shameful love for Robert and his horrid affair with Morcant- he had told them that he created Edward Hyde. Why could he not have simply been allowed to forget it all? Why did they have to dredge up the past- could they not have let him keep his secrets? They had no right, yet they had taken that liberty, unaware or uncaring about the damage they had done. 

  His mind was a mess, still trying to grasp what had happened. He couldn’t help it when a sob broke free. He could barely hear the Lodgers outside quieting down, destroying any hope that they weren’t hearing his anguish.

  “Henry... Please, open the door. Griffin and Helsby are gone, we just want to help you.” 

  He didn’t believe it. He knew Virginia just wanted to help, but he did not believe for a second that the rest of the Lodgers wanted to. The others... He could barely imagine what they thought. Were they going to mock him? Or were they upset over the lies he had led them to believe? Would they blame this on him? Or perhaps some were already on their way to tell Frankenstein about what they had heard?

  He felt something push against the door, and then the sound of something sliding down. On the other side, Virginia mirrored his position.

  “Henry, I’m not leaving until you open the door. I can stay here all night if I need to.” 

  Through his tears, he couldn’t help but snort. As a Lodger, he only believed that she was staying to force more truth out of him, to shake out every last secret until he was nothing more than a sack of skin, but as his junior… Deep down, he could perhaps believe that she did care. It was confusing, yet a pleasant thought. He had no doubt that she would stay, she had always been stubborn, he couldn’t deny that. Whatever her true intentions were would, seemingly, not be revealed until he opened the door, but he was sure she wouldn’t stay that long...

...

He wasn’t sure how long they had stayed like this, now.

  It was darker outside. He was certain it had been at least a few hours since the mishap in the dining hall, the serum should have worn off by now. He had not dared to show himself since, he had not moved from his paralyzed place against the door, but he was quite sure Virginia hadn’t either.

  It was stupid, all of this. 

  He began to wonder if he had overreacted. Or perhaps underreacted. Griffin and Helsby had violated him in a way few could have managed… But he had no real choice, now. It was getting late, he had to open the door eventually and until then, he would be barricaded in his office, alone with nothing but his thoughts. He just wanted all of this to be over, even if it hurt. 

  He took a deep breath, and with shaky legs, he stood up and unlocked the door. 

  The sound of the lock and the push against the mahogany seemed to be enough to get Virginia to jump up and get away from the door, making Jekyll able to actually open it. She was ruffled, but she had indeed not left. He barely managed to fully open the door before she threw her arms around him.

  “Oh, Henry.” She murmured, her arms going tightly around his neck. She was not much shorter than him, but she still had to stand on her toes to be fully able to reach him. He could not help but melt against her, his own arms going around her waist as he buried his face in her shoulder. They did not often hug- he was her mentor, after all, and she did not like people touching her, but this felt... Nice. 

  After what felt simultaneously like too little and too much time, they parted, and Virginia placed her hands on Henry’s cheeks. Behind her, he could see the faces of various other Lodgers, who also had stayed, although he wasn’t necessarily sure why.

  “You don’t have to talk about anything, if you do not want to, but please, do not run away from us again.” 

  She didn’t necessarily sound heartbroken, but he knew her well enough to know that she most likely was. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty.

  “I’m... I’m sorry. Please, forgive me- for everything.” 

  She scoffed, shaking her own head in a gesture that seemed to only be aimed at herself. “I don’t think you have anything to apologise for”, she said. Her hands moved to straighten Jekyll’s cravat and waistcoat, equally ruffled from his stay on the floor. “What is important is that you are fine. Yes, there might be things that need some explaining, but that can wait. I have no doubt that you have good explanations for everything. ” 

  Jekyll took a deep breath, and looked around at the group of Lodgers- his Lodgers, who had waited for him. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about it, truly. He was not sure of their intentions, but today’s constant panic had left him... Indifferent, stoic. Like every emotion had been squeezed out of him. Yet, as he looked over the gentle faces of his Lodgers, he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows.

  “...What happened to Griffin and Helsby?” 

  He glanced back at his apprentice, and watched as her expression hardened. Her eyebrows furrowed, but she forced herself to not get aggravated once more. 

  “I made sure they are now at the mercy of Rachel, after what they did to you.”

  Jekyll winced.

  “Good god.” 

  “Mmhm. Serves them right.” 

  The other Lodgers seemed to nod in agreement. They seemed unanimous that what the two men had done in the dining hall was violating and horrid, no matter if it just so happened to be Jekyll and not one of them. It was… Surprising, and yet comforting, almost. But he sighed, moved forward a little, before closing the door to his office behind him. Mirroring his previous actions, he sank back down to the floor, expecting this conversation to take a while. 

  “I... Guess you’d like some explanations.” He said, exhaustion and hesitance clear.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I do. You all already know and I... I want to be able to explain.” 

  Virginia didn’t seem convinced, but accepted his stance. She sat down next to him, and the other Lodgers resumed their positions on the floor. 

  He began to explain Hyde; presumably his darkest secret. He did not want to dwell on it, he did not want to confess to the deprecation he had found himself in which had led him to Hyde’s creation, but he had to. And so, he explained, to the best of his ability; He is Hyde, but they are not the same. Hyde was everything that Jekyll thought wrong or imperfect with himself personified, yet he was his own person, with his own desires. He reiterated that they were separate multiple times, so none of them would think that they had been secretly talking with Jekyll, when they thought they were talking with Hyde. He stuttered and paused and had to regain himself multiple times, and through it all, the Lodgers just... Listened. Patiently. They simply let him finish his explanation on his own terms, without being forced. 

  Finally, as he quieted down, the silence remained for a few seconds. They understood, of course; what Jekyll had been feeling back then couldn’t have been easy, and while they were not entirely convinced of his reasonings for not telling them, they accepted it, and told him as such. They could especially comprehend his hesitance now, as they had not been particularly understanding of him and his situation lately, having been too busy admiring Frankenstein’s every word... At least Jekyll could feel happy that he did not have to dwell more on the fact that he didn’t feel like he was good enough, or the fact that he wanted to throw himself off of cliffs, as they seemed to have grasped that from his monologue about Hyde. 

  After a few seconds, Miss Lavender spoke.

  “Wait- did you not also say that you have been hallucinating? Was that also Hyde?” she asked, confusion evident. Jekyll grimaced. 

  “Ah- well... Yes and no.” he started, scratching his neck a bit awkwardly, “after Moreau, Hyde and I fought, and, well... I wouldn’t necessarily say that he created the hallucinations, but he certainly kicked them out the door. It was mainly because I hadn’t slept in almost a week, though. They disappeared soon after I actually did so.”

  “Was that why you looked constantly terrified a little while ago?” 

  “... Was it that obvious?”

  “Well, yes, we thought you were suddenly terrified of everything and everyone- even Ito and Lanyon!” 

  Jekyll winced, although he tried to get out an apologetic smile. He desperately hoped that this was all of it, that he was done with explanations and could be satisfied with a neutral reaction from the Lodgers. He took yet another deep breath.

  “Any-” he coughed, “any other questions?” 

  The Lodgers looked between themselves, then shook their heads.

  “Nah, we already know that you like men, and we don’t mind if you happened to have been born a woman” one of them said, making Jekyll’s cheeks burn red as he realised what he had missed. “Although, like- are you and Lanyon dating or..?” 

  Jekyll attempted to cough out the ball in his throat, to no avail. He felt himself sinking down further against the door as he attempted to hide his face, clearly wishing to escape the conversation.

  “I... We never... Dated, so to speak. We had a... A fling when we went to university, but he broke it off. And... I guess I haven’t moved on as well as I thought.” 

  He removed his hand and watched as the Lodger grimaced, Jekyll wasn’t sure if it was out of sympathy or because they thought he was pathetic, at this point it very well could be both. 

  “And the werewolf?” Sinnett spoke up, and promptly got nudged by Luckett.

  “... Once, back in university still, I went on a vacation with Lanyon, to his family’s cottage. We came upon an injured werewolf and I insisted on nursing her back to health... I- I was young, and easily manipulated. I don’t... Like to talk about it.” 

  Sinnett looked apologetic, and Ito began to rub her hand against Jekyll’s arm in an attempt to comfort him. God, he was exhausted. Considering it must be past midnight by now, it certainly wasn’t hard to understand why.

  “Well...” Ito began, “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we are... Sorry. We did not know about Griffin’s and Helsby’s plan, we were definitely not in on it- and at the very least I am sorry for what you have been through, then and now.” 

  Jekyll closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door. Still, he smiled gently.

  “I know. I’m sorry you all had to bear witness to this.” 

  “I... I’m also sorry for... The Frankenstein situation,” Miss Lavender continued, “I didn’t know you were hurting so much.”

  Jekyll opened his eyes, and watched as the group of Lodgers nodded in agreement. He normally would have simply snorted, it was awfully convenient that they were so sorry after he had a break about it, it really was. Water under the bridge, sweep it under the rug, whatever they wished to call it- but he was too tired to think about how genuine they were, or how convenient it was for them now. He just wanted all of this to be over.

  “I accept your apologies.” he said simply. God, he just wanted to go to bed...

  He wondered, for a moment, if the perpetrators would apologise, later. Or if they would double down and state that they didn’t see what was so wrong with what they did. It was wrong, so incredibly wrong and violating, they had to know that, too. But whatever would become of them would be the topic of another day, for now, Dr. Henry Jekyll was absolutely drained. If he was lucky, he could end the day and tomorrow would be perfectly normal, no one would mention or talk about the fact that he had spilt the contents of his heart and soul for them, unwillingly at that. He doubted that that would be the case, but he could always hope. 

  A soft sigh escaped his lips. He was just about to stand up and state that he would be turning in for whatever remained of the night, when he heard his own stomach grumble. He felt how his cheeks once more flared up in embarrassment.

  “How about we see if Rachel has any food left in the kitchen, eh, Henry?” Ito suggested, “then you can sleep- and I will make sure you get no disturbances tomorrow.”

  He thought about it for a second, but was interrupted by yet another grumble. He couldn’t help but crack a sheepish smile at his dear apprentice. “You’ve convinced me.” 

And so Ito grinned, as she helped Henry stand up. The various Lodgers parted, some deciding to tuck in and others deciding to come with them for a late-night snack. It felt oddly anti-climatic for all of them, Henry especially, yet he was almost relieved. At least he could only be happy that his secrets had been... Accepted. Perhaps it all had just been his paranoia. Or perhaps it was fate, divine intervention- no, of course not. But his truths were told and his soul was bared, perhaps this was the beginning of a stronger foundation within his relationships with his Lodgers. At the same time, he couldn’t help but be curious. Of course he knew that he had been the target of Helsby’s and Griffin’s little plan, in some way he was glad that he was, so no other Lodger would have been at the receiving end of this treatment... 

  And yet.. he couldn’t help but wonder; if it had been someone else, what would they have said?

  After all, who knew what secrets you might find, if you only knew where to look?

[laur-the-cat-prince]

[monards]

i know hoyo is setting up rhine to have good intent and whatever in her trying to 'save' khaneri'ah or whatever; but i REALLY hope they stay with the cruel persona thats been built up for her. because it would be so wonderful to see a character who had good intent in the beginning just get absolutely corrupted; with the inability to ever go back to that prior state purely because of what had happened. also because there is NO way in her turning back after all that shit